Poipet, the border town on the Cambodian side, gives the impression of being a lawless kind of place. Except that this frontier is located in the renowned mystical Far East and not the Wild West. Featuring a few upmarket hotels with adjoining casinos, hectic crowds fancying a flutter storm the town during weekends. The residents seemed gregarious still Poipet was the sort of place that the sooner you leave behind, the better.
Dusty streets choking the air while dubious characters loitered around town, Poipet wasn’t the best introduction to this fascinating country. Once inside the relative safety of the bus, it wasn’t going to be long now until we left. I was looking out of the window, intrigued by this unfamiliar place, when I noticed a white-robed, head-shaven elderly Buddhist nun chatting with a few children on the other side of the road. Smiling back I waved as the nun coyly returned the compliment. The fleeting friendly moment bode well deciding right there to forget about Poipet, dust, mud and look forward to exciting days ahead.
I did find it puzzling however that this trip was going to take an incessant ten hours when the distance from Poipet to Siem Reap was less than two-hundred kilometres. However being the peak of the wet season, heavy rains made a total mess out of some roads. The road we drove on was nothing short of a mud track fit for a competitive off-roading event. The passing vehicles were splattered and covered in mud, so much that the original paintwork was impossible to distinguish.
Any attempt at reading would have been absurd instead I tried distracting myself listening to some music or survey the scenery. Bouncing off the hardest of seats in a rickety bus steered awkwardly down a potholed muddy road, undeniably bruised not just mine, but everyone’s backsides. It was laughable and ridiculous at the same time. The situation amused the bus driver and his mates although they were surely used to both the bumpy ride and the travellers’ bewilderment.
A few sighed in disbelief when the bus was driven down and up potholes that could double up as swimming-pools. The only difference would be swimming in murky waters. Hardly a car or dwelling in sight, sometimes we stopped by the wayside to respond to calls of nature. With no facilities inside the bus, the funny side was that one could relieve themselves enjoying the sweeping view and appreciating a deserved break from getting beat.
Despite being hurled all over, amazingly I still dozed off on the odd occasion. On it went until I was seriously and absolutely getting sick of this trip. Fortunately we stopped in a small town to grab some food and at the same time have a rest. Invited over to the driver’s table, I accepted the offer and joined in. The driver spoke no English, but one of his mates, a burly young man was rather conversant. The group gathered round the driver’s table were in a jovial mood and seemed pleased that a barang (foreigner) was part of the camaraderie. Even though I was quite full, I was offered beer and requested to sample everyone’s food. Now and then, the burly man shifted to his native Khmer, uttering something which was met with laughter. He could have said anything, but somehow all this did not feel quite right.
Dinner over, I could not wait to get going again. It was probably less than an hour later when suddenly the rattling in the bus died down and without even trying I could at last sit properly in my seat. A house here and there or someone walking by, meant that at least we must be in the fringes of Siem Reap. Approaching on to midnight, out of nowhere I felt a buzz of anticipation mixed with impatience. Visions of a comfortable bed, decent room and a long shower would in truth be a welcome reward to make up for a gruelling trip. However, without really expecting, my dream was shattered in an instant, the rough ride not over just yet.
