Loco

Crossing the border from Thailand into Cambodia it soon becomes apparent we’re in a different country. Not everything changes of course: the tropical heat is still intense; the writing just as squiggly; the large paintings along the roadsides of their monarchs with medals similarly blinged-up.

The friendly demeanor, the enticing smiles may continue, but we soon find out that these two countries share more differences than just the ongoing border dispute, (a nasty little row which has recently spilled over into out-and-out, albeit small-scale, fighting.) This current conflict is most certainly not good for business, at least in Cambodia’s tourist epicenter, Siem Reap, much-needed tourist dollars are down as visitors are scared off, leaving guesthouse owners and tuk tuk drivers like our own, the curiously-named Mr Pea, competing with too many others for too little business. Unlike Thailand, this is a country where crushing poverty is endemic and the recent past is very dark indeed. This starts to become apparent the moment we cross the border: hassle from hawkers increases; begging becomes commonplace.

Any westerner is a potential meal ticket and the locals go to great lengths to prise the much-valued dollar out of your willing hands (in Cambodia, the mighty Greenback is King; the local Rial currency used only as small change). At times it becomes just plain uncomfortable. Riddled with guilt from a day spent batting away beggars in rags and scrawny waifs we sat down for dinner at a café on the street. Within minutes they had zeroed in on us, trying to flog us their pitiful wares, surveying you with hungry eyes and making each mouthful feel unjustified. The tuk tuk drivers are incorrigible, following you into your guesthouse in a bid to secure the next day’s business: “where to tomorrow sir? Killing fields? Market?”. They usually draw the worst of my ire, but whilst you can bat them away with steely eyes and caustic curses it’s hard to deny those in greater need.

Whilst all this hassle this is often distressing, leaving you feeling powerless at best, and more often than not a cruel, cold-hearted, exploitative Westerner, there are also moments of light relief. Top marks have to go, in a very tough field, to the young lad who tried to sell us his wares whilst stood in water up to his knees in Siem Reap’s bus station during one of the frequent torrential downpours. There was no stopping this indomitable little chap. He had us in his sights and, in the pouring rain he bounded over, umbrella in one hand, fruit in the other. He danced up and down on the spot, every inch of him sodden wet yet still bearing a massive grin on his face, “Pineapple sir? Banana?”

Photo:  mckaysavage, jmhullot

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