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Our Train Journey
Benn and unidentified girl who is less than happy to be sharing a seat with my Attorney. Not much more than a few weeks have passed since the General and I found ourselves happily sucking down sub-standard Singaporian swill and stuffing our faces with Roti Cani, in the capital city of Malaysia.
“How did I get here? This land of ancient temples, endless rice paddies, and unexploded ordinence.”
It turns out that three days, two bus rides, a twenty-six hour train journey, multiple subway and skytrain fiascos, our first of many tuk-tuk rides, and the longest taxi ride ever can get you too, from the center of peninsular Malaysia, to north western Cambodia. Or I suppose you could probably just take the two hour flight from Kuala Lumpur and arrive with a belly full of freeze dried, reconstituted mee goreng, that only a budget Asian airline can whip up and pass of as actual food. But I say, where is the adventure in that?
“How did we get here? This land of smiling faces, relentless motor scooter traffic, and offers of illicit substances and moto rides?”
Its 7:00 am. The sun reluctantly peaks out from behind the endless rows of oil palm trees. A low layer of fog blankets the city and our
Cambodian Border
Typical view from the Cambodian side of the Poipet border crossing noses twinge with just the slightest hint of urine in the air. We find ourselves drawn to this rather chaotic bus station by some sort of unspeakable force. It is like our limbs have been pierced by invisible guidelines and are being twitched at will by only the most sadistic of puppet masters. Why were we there and where were we to go?
As our groggy synapses decided to wake up and start firing, the two of us found ourselves encircled by a hopeful group of bus touts. The near constant barrage of offers to take us to any one of the exotic sounding, far flung, pseudo-cities in Malaysia, must have struck a note in us. As my attorney shifted his oversized pack to look at me, one word escaped both of our mouths at exactly the same time....Bangkok.
We found out, in record time, due to the help of our newest bus friends, that no busses travel directly from K.L. to Bangkok. We were soon hustled onto a “very nice” bus that would drop us of in the most exotic sounding Malaysian city ever, Butterworth. Yea, exactly, just like the syrup. It was either there or Aunt
Angkor Wat
Another Pic you can find in a history book. Jamima, but we thought that that was a ridiculous name for a Malaysian city no matter how much you like pancakes. From Butterworth, we had no plan as to how we were going to get across the Thai border and make our way to Bangkok. It didn’t really seem to matter because this bus ride felt like it was our destiny.
Once comfortably jammed into the South East Asian sized bus seats, it didn’t take long for my attorney to meet the one man who would single handedly change the course of our near future and send us hurtling headfirst into our new mission. Never finding out this gangly prophets name, we have since, and will continue to refer to him as Turkish, on account that he is Turkish. Turkish, fresh off his two day visit to the red light district of Singapore, was on his way back to his rented apartment smack-dab in the middle of Hookerville, Pataya, Thailand. Needless to say, this man’s good Christian morals could have been called into question, but never the less the entertainment value kept us hooked. It was also he who convinced us to take the twenty-six hour train ride to
Bangkok, saying that is was by far the fastest way there. I of course, have my suspicions.
It became readily apparent that Turkish’s knowledge of S.E. Asian destinations was centered around where he could find the widest selection of monetarily procured female companionship. Ill spare you the details. And just when we were sure that this character’s stories were going to spiral into a realm in which both of us would be forced to expel the meager contents of our respective stomachs, a tasty morsel of information arose from the burning wreckage of our conversation. And like a Phoenix from the ashes, this bit of information would become the unseen hand, forever molding the course of our aimless wanderings...at least for the duration of our soon to be issued Cambodian visas.
Like whispers on the wind, roomers emerged of a mythical taco stand, deep within the wilds of North Western Cambodia. And then came the kicker. It turns out that once ever hundred thousand years or so when the sun doth shine and the moon doth glow....and the dust doth blow, a tasty concoction of guacamole appears. And fueled by our unslakeable lust for that most delectable of
Tex-Mex culinary concoctions, we soon found ourselves at the Thai-Cambodian border, arguing with Cambodian officials to give us the $20 tourist visa for $20, not $30.
As you sit face to face with a big plate of chicken tacos and realize that the pitcher of margaritas that you just drank was weaker than a bottle of Boons Farm, you start to realize that the quaint little town you are in is close in proximity to some of the finest architectural creations that an ancient civilization has ever built. We start to think, “Maybe there is more to this Cambodia place than just its tacos.
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Nana Friant
non-member comment
Expected to hear more ab Cambodia
Dear Aaron I am following your travels as closely as possible. It makes me feel like I am right there with you sometimes. I had been reading up on Cambodia after hearing you would be there and learned that it is one of the poorest countries in the world. Did you find that fact to be obvious when you were there? Keep your blogs coming. Love, Nana