Bed bugs, paper work and sleeping on the sidewalk
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Day 36
Start – Bangkok, Thailand Finish –Pursat, Cambodia Distance travelled – 490km Words by – Johnny Bang |
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As Dan and I were sharing a room with only 1 double bed, it had been my turn to sleep on the floor last night. I had unwisely supplemented my bedding with the hotel blanket, which turned out to be full of bitey creatures that kept me awake for most of the night. It was easy to wake up early (I was just lying there waiting for the sun) – but fresh I was not.
We had a good run to the Cambodian border – with a brief stop while I changed fuel filters trying to eliminate possibilities with my recurring fuel starvation problem. We realised at the border we needed special paperwork for our bikes to be stamped out of Thailand (apparently something we should have done when coming in from Malaysia), and that we needed a Cambodian Visa (which luckily could be purchased on arrival – although it was $30 not budgeted for).
As so often happens on the trip, the delay manifested itself into new opportunity and we made friends with some cool Indian guys who had ridden Harleys from India through Myanmar, Laos and Vietnam on their way to Malaysia. We swapped ride stories, and as we were travelling in opposite directions - up-to-date reports on road conditions. Although I must admit that their horror stories about crossing 200km of washed-out road and sand on 300kg Harleys in Myanmar had our little 250’s chomping at the bit.
After the Thailand episode with the bike paperwork, Dan decided that he wanted to get his bike stamped into Cambodia (not usually a formal requirement). We found the customs building but where told by the guard we would have to wait an hour as we had come during the official ‘nap time’ (mental note to float this concept with my employer when I return home). Anyway, to the interest of surprised onlookers I parked my ‘big bike’ in the shade of a tree on the busy customs footpath and proceeded to have a nap of my own in full riding gear while Dan waited in the lobby. Dan woke me later as a crowd was looking over our bikes – ‘go get stamped – it’s easy’. He was right – and the customs official didn’t even check our bikes before letting us in.
The Cambodian roads are better than Indonesian roads, but, worse than Thailand, and definitely not as good as Malaysia. For a country with seemingly prevalent poverty, I was surprised to see the amount of Lexus, BMW and Mercedes cars (a new Cambodian friend would latter explain that there was no ‘middle class’ in Cambodia – only the very rich and the very poor).
I found the road attitudes towards bikes had deteriorated somewhat – and we found ourselves being muscled around by cars, trucks and busses again. In my experience so far – the more numerous motorbikes are, the more respect they are garnered on the road. The car ruled once again in Cambodia.
We made Pursat before nightfall and stumbled across a good hotel with WiFi and a pool for $15USD. The timing was right and we took it. The only story of interest about the hotel was when a little old Asian lady yelled at me for jumping in the pool without using the outdoor shower to wash my body first (I didn’t know that was a rule here but it has happened to me before at a Japanese wash house). I had to get out of the pool and skulk over to the shower while being berated. I was rewarded with a frown and a head shake.
We had a good run to the Cambodian border – with a brief stop while I changed fuel filters trying to eliminate possibilities with my recurring fuel starvation problem. We realised at the border we needed special paperwork for our bikes to be stamped out of Thailand (apparently something we should have done when coming in from Malaysia), and that we needed a Cambodian Visa (which luckily could be purchased on arrival – although it was $30 not budgeted for).
As so often happens on the trip, the delay manifested itself into new opportunity and we made friends with some cool Indian guys who had ridden Harleys from India through Myanmar, Laos and Vietnam on their way to Malaysia. We swapped ride stories, and as we were travelling in opposite directions - up-to-date reports on road conditions. Although I must admit that their horror stories about crossing 200km of washed-out road and sand on 300kg Harleys in Myanmar had our little 250’s chomping at the bit.
After the Thailand episode with the bike paperwork, Dan decided that he wanted to get his bike stamped into Cambodia (not usually a formal requirement). We found the customs building but where told by the guard we would have to wait an hour as we had come during the official ‘nap time’ (mental note to float this concept with my employer when I return home). Anyway, to the interest of surprised onlookers I parked my ‘big bike’ in the shade of a tree on the busy customs footpath and proceeded to have a nap of my own in full riding gear while Dan waited in the lobby. Dan woke me later as a crowd was looking over our bikes – ‘go get stamped – it’s easy’. He was right – and the customs official didn’t even check our bikes before letting us in.
The Cambodian roads are better than Indonesian roads, but, worse than Thailand, and definitely not as good as Malaysia. For a country with seemingly prevalent poverty, I was surprised to see the amount of Lexus, BMW and Mercedes cars (a new Cambodian friend would latter explain that there was no ‘middle class’ in Cambodia – only the very rich and the very poor).
I found the road attitudes towards bikes had deteriorated somewhat – and we found ourselves being muscled around by cars, trucks and busses again. In my experience so far – the more numerous motorbikes are, the more respect they are garnered on the road. The car ruled once again in Cambodia.
We made Pursat before nightfall and stumbled across a good hotel with WiFi and a pool for $15USD. The timing was right and we took it. The only story of interest about the hotel was when a little old Asian lady yelled at me for jumping in the pool without using the outdoor shower to wash my body first (I didn’t know that was a rule here but it has happened to me before at a Japanese wash house). I had to get out of the pool and skulk over to the shower while being berated. I was rewarded with a frown and a head shake.
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