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Location: Bangkok, Thailand to Siem Riep, Cambodia
I bought my ticket from Bangkok from one of the trillion
ticket vendors on the Koh San Road, they had sold me a bargain
150 baht ticket for an "air-conditioned", "luxury"
coach that would take me all the way to Siem Riep in
Cambodia. After four months in India, the words "air-conditioned"
and "luxury" were like therapeutic music to my worn
and weathered ears, I knew it would be too good to be true
but still, just the sound was good enough.
At six o'clock in the morning, I awaited my carriage and true
enough a vehicle pulled up with all four wheels intact, no
chickens hanging off the end, no hoards of people clinging
to the roof, not even a trickle of petrol followed behind
it. Absolutely delighted I got on, I had a seat all to myself
and even had a little room for my legs and bag, ah luxury.
A few hours later we arrived at the border and after relatively
painless cues on both sides I joined the rest of the group
in a little outdoor waiting lounge framed by a low metallic
fence.
I sat and gazed around me trying to acknowledge the fact that
I had just crossed into Cambodia and by all accounts was on
new and entirely different soil. Some kids had wedged their
heads between the railings in the fence and were cheekily
trying to get a better look at us, other kids, some girls
no older than seven or eight with babies wrapped in cloth
strapped onto their backs watched us tentatively through the
corner of their eyes, adults waved us over to buy drinks,
others tried to sell us onward journeys, others just looked
pointed and laughed.
We sat and waited for our bus which would take us the remaining
three hours to Siem Riep. Eventually our driver came along
and told us we would be split-up into two groups, 16 and 16,
and a smaller mini bus would take us the rest of the way,
it was to be expected. We followed a man with a red cap who
lead us to an extremely small rusty and decrepit pick-up truck.
We failed to understand how they seemed to think that sixteen
grown up people with sixteen large rucksacks were going to
fit on. Suddenly another pick-up truck drove past carrying
about 20 people plus a couple of cages of chickens and a few
pigs, suddenly we understood.
We all got on, except for this American bloke who was sporting
an eighties Michael Bolton hair-do and a dodgy tie-dye t-shirt.
He mumbled something about having to sit in the front seat
because of a "fused spine". None of us heard him
properly except for an Australian girl who completely mis-heard
him and explained to us with a "this guy is weird"
look, that he had claimed the only comfy seat because of a
"bruised thigh". Cheeky bastard, we all thought,
the mutual feeling immediately bonding us and immediately
alienating the poor American guy that was probably genuinely
in pain. With no other choice, we squeezed on between elbows,
knees and toes and teetered off the edge of the truck holding
on for dear life as it flew over the pot holed bright orange
bit of dirt that is the Cambodian road.
This is a journey that will always remain in my memory as
one of the best I have ever taken. It was meant to take three
hours, it took six, I made friends that have now become my
best friends, I saw the amazing Cambodian sky transform itself
from a cool wispy peaceful transparent bluey colour to a deep
fiery and powerful orange. The freedom of sitting out there
with the wind in your face meeting new people, breathing in
the new air, taking in the new surroundings, uncomfortable
and totally orange, granted, but inwardly at peace and thinking
about the unexpected and unpredictable marvels that life can
throw into your path. Now that is what I call luxury, not
some air-conditioned comfortable bus which delivers you on
time, clean and unscathed, no dirt stains and bum bruises
to jolt your memory. Tell me, just where the hell is the fun
in that?
Text © Romina Tedoldi, All Rights Reserved
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Travel Writers: Bumpy Shade of Orange by
Romina Tedoldi
