We're getting off the bus in Phnom Penh, and at first glance the bus station appears to be the parking lot of one of Cambodia's few actual gas stations - most of the places to get petrol we've seen have been roadside stands with gas in 2 liter soda bottles. There are approximately 100 moto drivers waiting for us.
We got this bus as it was pulling away from the station in Siam Riep - our tuk tuk driver apparently worked for a particular company, so had gone out of his way to make sure we were late arriving for any other bus but theirs. Luckily, by pointing at Joel and asking if he would go and see if there were any seats available on the bus that was driving away, I was able to secure us a seat on that bus. 3 dollars, too. Rock on.
Anyway, six hours later we're pulling into Phnom Penh anfter a bus drive that featured several Khmer Khomedies - gay dudes in matching outfits trying to hitch rides, fat people stealing melons, women pissed off like whoa - all of which were stopped approximately every five seconds when the laser disc skipped. Also there were chickens on the bus. So we're getting off, and we're the last off the bus, but virtually all the others on the bus were either Khmer or Khmer enough not to need to get a tuk tuk, so Joel and I have become, in a very real sense, the last great white hope for these amassed moto drivers. I'm screwing around with my bag, so Joel walks to the door of the bus, looks down upon all the drivers, and asks: "does anyone have... a tuk tuk?"
The good thing about traveling with Joel is you know you will be largely blameless in your own rapidly approaching death.
Phnom Penh was good - we took it easy/expensive at a riverfront hotel and ate a lot of Italian food in between visits to the Killing Fields and the National Museum, the former of which was beyond all expectations in terms of quiet horror, and Í've seen that Sam Waterston movie, so I was expecting to be punched in the gut with it. Wé've got a seat reserved on the early morning bus to Siem Riap - Khmer, incidentally, for "go fuck yourself, Thailand," which I find pretty funny given the town's recent fame as the spiritual home of stately Cambodian architecture.
I just bought a shirt at the Foreign Correspondents Club which has a swank balcony bar overlooking the Mekong delta. I kept hoping someone would challenge my credentials for being in the bar - there hasn't been a restriction on non-press for years and years - so I could press pass the insolent bastards, for old time's sake.
We got this bus as it was pulling away from the station in Siam Riep - our tuk tuk driver apparently worked for a particular company, so had gone out of his way to make sure we were late arriving for any other bus but theirs. Luckily, by pointing at Joel and asking if he would go and see if there were any seats available on the bus that was driving away, I was able to secure us a seat on that bus. 3 dollars, too. Rock on.
Anyway, six hours later we're pulling into Phnom Penh anfter a bus drive that featured several Khmer Khomedies - gay dudes in matching outfits trying to hitch rides, fat people stealing melons, women pissed off like whoa - all of which were stopped approximately every five seconds when the laser disc skipped. Also there were chickens on the bus. So we're getting off, and we're the last off the bus, but virtually all the others on the bus were either Khmer or Khmer enough not to need to get a tuk tuk, so Joel and I have become, in a very real sense, the last great white hope for these amassed moto drivers. I'm screwing around with my bag, so Joel walks to the door of the bus, looks down upon all the drivers, and asks: "does anyone have... a tuk tuk?"
The good thing about traveling with Joel is you know you will be largely blameless in your own rapidly approaching death.
Phnom Penh was good - we took it easy/expensive at a riverfront hotel and ate a lot of Italian food in between visits to the Killing Fields and the National Museum, the former of which was beyond all expectations in terms of quiet horror, and Í've seen that Sam Waterston movie, so I was expecting to be punched in the gut with it. Wé've got a seat reserved on the early morning bus to Siem Riap - Khmer, incidentally, for "go fuck yourself, Thailand," which I find pretty funny given the town's recent fame as the spiritual home of stately Cambodian architecture.
I just bought a shirt at the Foreign Correspondents Club which has a swank balcony bar overlooking the Mekong delta. I kept hoping someone would challenge my credentials for being in the bar - there hasn't been a restriction on non-press for years and years - so I could press pass the insolent bastards, for old time's sake.
posted by Jeremy at 12:40 AM
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