This post was contributed by a community member. The views expressed here are the author's own.

Health & Fitness

Cambodian Rhapsody

In which I run afoul of the law, spend some time in the joint and then fall in with a bad crowd.

I had arrived in Thailand almost a month ago and the clock was ticking on my 30 day visa. If you overstay they charge a significant daily fine on departure, so I had to take swift and decisive action. I checked my map and determined the closest non-totalitarian international border to be with Cambodia, a 4-5 hour bus ride. My plan was to simply travel to the border, stamp out of Thailand, stamp back in and get a new visa. No problem. 

The trip was uneventful and consisted mostly of a swift passage through the types of farms and hills and villages I have already described in exhaustive detail. The border, on the other hand was total chaos. The bus dropped me off in a town on the Thai-Cambodian border, but there were no signs in English and I had no idea where I was going. Before long, though, I got the flow of the place and found my way to the checkpoint. The crossing was a busy and bewildering place, and most of the traffic consisted of people pushing carts of agricultural products for sale across the border. The confusing thing was that the flow in both directions seemed to carry the same products, so I didn't really understand what that was all about. 

I may have mentioned that it was a confusing place with few English signs, so perhaps I might be forgiven for having made a small faux pas. I passed through the Thai checkpoint and got stamped out of the country. Then I walked out into the other side and stood around soaking up the scene for a while before turning and heading back to the Thai border. When I got to the immigration desk, the man stared at my passport for an uncomfortably long time before snapping it shut and returning it to me unstamped. His only explanation was a statement so wonderfully enigmatic and yet quintessentially Thai that I burst out laughing. He said, "Same, same. Return to Cambodia." As I savored this remark, however, his smile quickly cooled and he pointed back at the door, curtly dismissing me with a "You go now."

Find out what's happening in Three Villagewith free, real-time updates from Patch.

Okay, so now I'm back in Cambodia and totally confused. I started walking further away from the Thai border and eventually came to an area with lots of soldiers and police and other busy uniformed personnel who seemed somewhere in between the two. Finally, I saw a gate with a sign that had some Cambodian writing and the word "Passport" in English. Bingo! I walked through the gate and down the sidewalk but soon noticed there was nothing else out there: I had left the security area. This realization came at almost the exact moment I heard a sharp command in a language I did not understand and felt the tight grip of a hand on my arm.

The hand belonged to an excessively pretty and heavily armed female Cambodian security agent in whose custody I now found myself, a situation which I will confess occasioned dramatically mixed feelings. Marched back into the gated area I had just left, she treated me to an extremely thorough but disappointingly brief frisking which unquestionably violated my civil rights, and then made me sit on a steel bench. She spoke not a single word of English, but I flirted with my stone-faced captor shamelessly and ineffectively while I sat and waited, presumably for an English speaking inquisitor. 

Find out what's happening in Three Villagewith free, real-time updates from Patch.

The issue turned out to be that I had tried to re-enter Thailand without stamping in and out of Cambodia, and that in my confused wandering had accidentally entered Cambodia illegally. Everything was soon sorted out, and after much bowing and shaking of hands and everyone repeating the word "Yes" over and over (including me) I was finally released and escorted back out into the inter-border zone for another go at it. 

That's when things took a turn for the weird. Set up on the sidewalk was a tent, and in the tent was a desk. On the desk was a tea service, and seated behind the desk was a burly Cambodian policeman. Flanking him were two younger officers. They all looked exceedingly bored. I guess he had seen me emerge from the detention area and was curious, because he gestured that I should join him. He seated me next to the desk, and standing over me, extended a beefy hand and said "Passport." I gave him a long side-eye but he only stood impassively with his hand out. 

Now this is one of those tricky situations where you can kind of get a sense of where it's heading, and with a quick joke or a few words in the native language you can usually diffuse it. In this case however, I had only been in the country for about an hour, most of that time as a prisoner, and I hadn't picked up much of the local tongue from my silent jailer. 

I handed over my passport and it felt like it weighed 10 pounds, so significant to me was its conveyance. He nodded and sat down in his chair while the two junior officers suddenly perked up and approached the desk, one standing behind me where I could not see him and the other standing behind the seated officer. Resting his hand casually on the grip of his gun was probably an unconscious act on his part, but it did serve well to reinforce my understanding of the fragility of my situation. I had heard some horror stories about Cambodian police, and it was not hard to imagine a bag of opium in the officer's pocket just waiting to be transferred to mine at a moment of his choosing. 

The senior officer leafed through the pages of my passport, occasionally murmuring and tapping on the stamps of some of the countries I had visited. Placing the book down on his desk, he told me that the lines for Cambodian immigration were very long and that it would take many hours to get in and out. He expressed doubt I would even be able to complete the process before they closed and asked rhetorically if I knew of any hotels to stay in. However, he continued explaining cheerfully that his friend works inside and would be happy to walk the passport through for me.

"Oh, no," I said. "I don't want to bother him and anyway I am very happy to wait and spend a little more time in this country!"

Obviously, he would not hear of it and after a few more futile attempts on my part he made it clear there was only one way this was going to happen, and that was as follows: I would give him my passport and 300 baht (about $10) and then wait at the desk while he had the stamps taken care of by one of his associates.

I sat back in my chair to contemplate this and watched the street scene play out in front of me. In the sweltering tropical heat, the air thickened and time seemed to slow. A masked woman sat motionless on a reed mat with a handful of berries for sale. A man with one flip-flop slowly pedaled by on a creaking bicycle. Under his arm was a placid hen. To all appearances I could have been sitting with a group of friends in the tent, taking refuge from the afternoon heat, sipping tea and chatting. 

The officer sat patiently watching the street as well until I turned to face him. We scrutinized each other for a few moments and then I smiled. "Okay," I said. "but for 300 baht can you also include some tea?" The officer translated this to his men and they all laughed. I hoped that by drinking tea together it would change the dynamic and improve my chances for a favorable outcome. 

My passport and money were soon in the hand of one of the junior officers who got on his motorcycle and sped away. I watched him depart, repeating to myself his plate number again and again until he vanished into the crowded street. The senior officer, who had meanwhile been preparing my tea, noticed my gaze and asked me if I liked the motorcycle. I agreed that it was a fine machine and he nodded thoughtfully. 

In a very short time, the motorcycle returned and I was shown the two stamps in my passport. The first problem was that he had returned so quickly we hadn't finished our tea and I didn't want to be rude. The second problem was that he didn't actually give me back the passport. Not wanting to offend my hosts or jeopardize the delicate situation, I sat calmly and talked a bit about my travel plans while the officer continued to refill my tea over my protestations. 

Finally I stood up to leave and they all stood as well. The senior officer pointed to the motorcycle and said he would drive me back to the Thai border, a five minute ride. Less, even.

As this post is probably too long already, I'll briefly say that the next hour was one of the most terrifying and (in retrospect) hilarious hours I have ever spent. With me on the back of one of the bikes, the four of us thundered through the streets, dismounting occasionally for stops such as the one where we "bought" some pineapple from a street vendor. This involved them standing around eating fruit, talking and shoving chunks of pineapple at me as well. As we were leaving I gave the vendor 100 baht, which more than covered it. We made similar raids for cigarettes and roasted peanuts. They were good-naturedly psychotic and clearly had made a career choice well suited to their temperament. 

Maybe I was experiencing Stockholm Syndrome, but when the men finally drove me up to the Thai border and escorted me into the building, we exchanged warm goodbyes and they continued watching and waving until I cleared immigration and passed back in Thailand. 

We’ve removed the ability to reply as we work to make improvements. Learn more here

The views expressed in this post are the author's own. Want to post on Patch?