Chapter 23. Lemongrass Stains - Koh Kong

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It is a tough task to understand how dodgy a third-world border town can become until stuck there overnight. The frontier between Thailand and Cambodia is open during sunlight hours, and for good reason. For as dodgy as it is during the day, even the border guards and customs officers leave when the sun goes down. Ban Hat Lek meets Cham Yeam where Thailand’s eastern shore can no longer penetrate into Cambodian territory. Cham Yeam is a one-purpose town with a handful of buildings to support the entry process. Curiously, none of the buildings house a currency exchange to buy Cambodian riels. I soon enough learn that between baht, U.S. dollars, and riels, the Cambodian money is the least desired; prices are more often quoted in the two former. I finally shook an aggravating tout after showing him nine fingers of my ten; each digit represented the number of times I told him “No” to his questions about bus connections, boat departures, how many women I’d like for the evening, and his assistance to get a visa to enter Cambodia.
The young teen even followed me into the plain, one-room building to watch me deal with three customs officers process my visa. One ensured my penmanship was correct and collected the application fee, very important. The second transcribed my passport information to the visa decal, and the third man, all friendly, of course, applied the adhesive side of the visa to an open page in my very worn and pliable passport. The three make a great team. As the only applicant at the time, I then needed to go to a fourth official to have the entry stamp impressed on the visa and I was in. The tout followed me for about five hundred yards into Cambodia until he calculated that our war of attrition would not produce any profit for him. I did not have to worry, however. Teams of tricksters lurk wherever they smell vulnerability and/or see a Western face.
Cham Yeam is part of a duty free zone belonging to the first large town in Cambodia, Koh Kong. Koh Kong is no more than a launching point for the coast or points onward. Those who stay in Koh Kong overnight misplayed the transportation connections or failed to arrange for someone to collect them at the border from Ko Chang. As luck would have it, I fall into both categories. I refuse to pay the inflated prices agents charge on the island. So to compensate for my firm standards, the border and I will get to know each other a little better than I anticipated.
No effort is required to figure out where to stay at the border. In many cases, my option would be a flea-infested hotel that prays upon stranded travelers. Having walked into Cambodia four hundred more yards, I could only find a side alley that I was sure was a junkyard of scrap metal and rotting cardboard. The a soiled woman popped out of one of the hovels to hand up laundered children’s clothes. This is where she and her family lived. I stepped back aghast. I have seen horrific living conditions. Somehow, I wasn’t ready for these because I did not know they were homes. Had I known, my affective filter would have protected me. I walked away shaken and disturbed. This rarely happens to me anymore. I ma glad it still does. Luckily for me, it is the upmarket Koh Kong International Resort Club, a beach retreat for spoiled Thais who deeply hunger to spend their disposable income as foolishly as possible. Three bellhops at the grand drive-up entrance with two concrete lions seated upon pedestals at each side of the front staircase escort me inside. They extend to me attention I usually don’t receive; I am ragged, soaked in sweat, smelly, and though not completely strapped, have my financial limitations. I approached the Sheraton-like reception desk and the uniformed concierge gave me on of those snotty up and down looks. He wanted to say: What are you doing here? The campground is ten kilometers up the road. He refrained.
“Can I help you, sir?”
Yes, you jerk, can you tell me how to get out of this hole of a town and on a bus or boat to Sihanoukville? But I needed the man’s cooperation. Furthermore, I knew there were no more departures for the rest of the day. I wanted to see if the resort could arrange something up for me. They couldn’t. “Yes, I’d like a room. Do you have any available?”
He cleared his throat and handed me a pricelist. The other bellhops peered over my shoulder. The resort’s clientele is entirely Thai, pre-packaged, and arrive in air-conditioned SUV’s or sedans like a Toyota Camry at worse. “We have rooms right now in these two categories”, he said with a tone of arrogance that made me chose the forty-five dollar room instead of the one fifteen dollars cheaper.
“The deluxe will be fine.” Emotionless, he pushed a registration card in front of me. The air conditioning had little impact on the mounting reservoir of sweat ready to fall from my crown. I finished with the arrival details with one exception.
“Oh, sir, you will need to leave a security deposit for the room. Cash only.”
“What will you need? You don’t trust me? My credit card won’t do?” He detested my tone as much as I came to dislike his condescension.
“One hundred dollars, please.” He thought he had me. He thought I couldn’t pay it and this would cause me to lose face, a big no-no is Asia. He had no regard for independent budget travelers. What an ass.
“Is that all?” I handed him one crisp note with Ben Franklin’s face on it. I forced myself not to extend him my middle finger.
Having failed to get rid of me, his pretty colleague took over. She showed me the pool, the duty free shop, and pointed out the location of the two gambling halls. Dinner was at seven, breakfast the next morning at my convenience,a nd if there was anything else she could do…
“Yes, for the concierge. Have him call for a txi to collect me form my room at seven fifteen and have him place a wake up call for me an hour earlier. I’d like my breakfast at six forty-five.”
“Absolutely, sir. Anything else?”
“No, you are a very lovely woman and very, very polite to me.” She knew the compliment was a stab at the concierge as much as it was sincere to her.
“Thank you”, she replied glowingly.
A bellhop showed me to my room aross the street through a garden. We passed two security posts set up just for the resort. The blue uniforms are everywhere, a testament for what is needed to keep the flow of guests coming to Cambodia, and stay as far away from Cambodia at the same time. I imagined the feeling here at night, now that it was afternoon. It will be creepy, I told myself. As I climbed the stairs to the second floor and room 2205, I memorized the guard posts and knew I would be asking for escorts after dark.
Thirty minutes later, I was changed and back in the main complex of the resort near the reception desk. Bathed, shaven, and in a polo shirt and khakis, I looked the part. I walked by and the concierge caught my presence. I waved and gave him an over-the-top smile.
The resort club fulfills some of the expectations of a finicky guest. But there are gaping holes. The pool is delightful, though the Thai guests do not use it. Signs and menus are in English to lend legitimacy to the ambience, but few guests speak anything but Thai. The board listing the currency exchange rates at reception contains places for the French franc, Deutsch mark, Dutch guilder, and Austrian schilling; all those currencies were dissolved into the Euro over half a decade ago. Nine staff scurry behind the reception desk pushing papers behind clocks that read the local time for world cities. Two of them are inaccurate. However overstaffed, cigarette butts stain the corners of the lobby. It is not necessarily a bad place, unless you are a child of course. There are no activities for children. Youngsters run around the hallways chasing each other. Some play hide-and-go-seek in the lobby. One girl shoves herself under a sofa. It is easy to get annoyed at their noise and intrusion. But who can blame them? They were not taken into consideration when the resort was conceived.
Meanwhile, Mom and Dad have retired upstairs to the blackjack tables. No more than a large banquet room, it is a casino hall in miniature. In the corners, customers buy chips. A team of lady servers in pretty outfits bring drink to the tables. Dealers are well trained. They would fit in anywhere else in Vegas or Europe. Near the entrance, minimum bets start at one hundred baht. The deeper into the casino, the steeper the opening bets. Pit bosses showed me to the VIP room as if I was going to sit down. I shook their hands and conversed with them about how happy I was to be here, that this is a wonderful set up, and other lies. They thought I was a big player.
I’d have to be out of my mind to play one hand. In the VIP room, the minimum bet commenced at two thousand baht. But each bettor placed stack of chips in front of the dealer for a single hand. The sixty dollar bet was merely a suggestion. Mostly men in t-shirts and faux Ralph Lauren apparel played. They lost by the bucket loads. Ys, it is cheap change for them and would not merit a blink of an eye in Atlantic City.
The slot room is far more cheerful. To keep their offspring occupied, Mom and dad arrange for their children to bring large plastic pails of baht coinage to throw into the machines. The four-year-olds have the most fun. Whenever they drop a coin in the slot machine whirls, spins, and chimes. When it comes to a stop, the child pays ten more baht for the pleasure of hearing the soothing noise please her. Children run rampant about and try machines not for the chance at winning money, but which ones expel the most amusing tunes. Her parents are far too busy upstairs to check in on her, of course. In the glass cases at the Duty Free shop next door, pens and wallets are for sale at prices most people would pay for a new suit, shirt, and tie.
So what, right? At dinner, an elderly gentleman slips fifty baht notes to each of seven eager waiters assigned to his reserved table of six. Other patrons imbibe on Johnnie Walker, and pick at finely prepared meals. Few smile. It leaves me with an empty feeling.
I still can’t get the image of the woman hanging her laundry out to dry amid mud and squalor just a few minutes away.

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Photos

Big Time Resort?
It will do for tonight only...

No Photos Allowed
Is that why I got kicked out?

Motion Sickness
Nauseating ride to Sihanoukville.