Goodbye Vietnam, Hello Kampot
We left Rach Gia on a small, crammed minibus, feeling the heat of the approaching midday sun. After what seemed like a very long and rather scary journey, driven by a lunatic bus driver on some of the most bumpy roads we've been on, we arrived at the border town of Ha Thien. As soon as we got off the minibus, we had swarm of people touting for business as usual. We got chatting to one, who explained that due to the reunification day celebrations there were no busses going across to Cambodia that day. What?! Why did Vietnam continue to be present us with a problem at every turn?
Conveniently though there happened to be two moto taxis who could take us to the border or even to Kampot. Well, how very enterprising of them to capitalise on our misfortune. After negotiating hard we agreed on a blatantly hugely inflated figure, we clambered on behind our respective drivers with the backpacks squeezed between the driver and handlebars. Within minutes we could hear the thunder and lightning that had been brewing overhead and the heavens opened up to thoroughly soak us. The ground became a field of red mud and both us and our clothes got splattered as we rode through to the border crossing.
My driver luckily spoke a tiny bit of English and pointed at the exit border for us and said "you go, we wait". Apparently there was no reason to take our backpacks off their motorbikes. As we walked to the office I really started to worry, we had already paid these guys in full to take us all the way to Kampot, at best they would dump our bags to the side and shoot back into Vietnam; or worse they could just take the bags and disappear. I was so nervous, every minute I would turn around and check through the windows to see that they were still there. I really must have looked like I was trying to smuggle something illegal across a national border.
We seemed to be at the back of a very long queue at the exit office. Each passport was being checked by multiple Vietnamese officials, then it would be stamped, each page photocopied, then checked again. Luckily our drivers were still there and I asked Mark to tell them there will be a tip waiting for them when we got to Kampot so that they didn't get any ideas of leaving us somewhere along the way.
At the border we had to provide 2 passport photos each along with $50 for our visas. We also had to fill in at least 4 different documents (each at different offices along the border crossing) detailing our personal information, passport details, how long we intended to stay, where we were staying and even had to fill in a questionnaire about our health status and be checked by a doctor, all the while greasing the pockets of each government employee with extra service charges (aka $1 bribes with each piece of paperwork to speed up the processing).
Immediately after crossing the border the difference in people was obvious. Even at the immigration control, the Cambodians processing our application were happy, inquisitive and a rather friendly bunch giving us tips and asking about our time in Vietnam. It was a welcome change to see people smile back at you when you gave them a smile. This genuine friendliness was apparent along the way to Kampot. As we travelled through the lush greenery and the occasional paddy field, we saw ladies walking their single water buffalo to the pasture, skinny, naked children playing in the muddy water littered with everyday rubbish. There were small white cows and scraggly dogs lying by the side of the roads. People were busy working on their porch of their small wooden house on stilts. Even elderly people seemed to be working carrying heavy baskets on top of their heads full of some grain from their fields. The children waved at us and the adults smiled and said hello. I was already hooked. The Cambodians who live near this border were so very poor. They had next to nothing, but they seemed happy, getting on with their everyday life and a couple of westerners on the back of motorcycles were funny to them. It was really an eye opener to see these people have so little and a big reminder to be grateful for everything we have back at home.
We arrived at 'Kampot Guesthouse' where we had booked to stay for two nights. At the cost of $7 for a room with a/c, it was a steal. Mark was gearing up to do some work for one of his old clients to get some money in the bank and was happy to find that their wifi signal was strong in their beautiful garden restaurant. He spent the next day and a half moving very little from this point except to go out for dinner with me and of course to find a bar showing the Tottenham Hotspurs game.
I had a nice walk around town one afternoon and decided to check out the massage by blind recommended in the lonely planet. As rain started to get heavier I dashed into the first place I found before realising it was called 'Seeming Hand Massage'.
The massage tables were laid side by side and 2 were already occupied with customers in blue robes and blind masseuses. The manager came in and gave me a basket with fresh blue robes to change into and asked me to wait for 5 minutes. He then went outside and made a phone call. After what seemed like a 20 minute wait, a guy turned up on his pushbike, parked and then shook the managers hand before running up the few stairs to the salon. Just before he entered he changed his demeanour and came in and asked me to lie down whilst looking at the ceiling. There was a slight awkward moment and I couldn't quite help the giggles but I tried to hide them as a cough. This guy had arrived on his bike, able to see and now he was pretending to be blind. The massage itself was weird japanese style of pushing and pulling on your joints. On my back it was quite nice to have my spine pushed back, but on my hands and feet he pulled my fingers and toes so hard that they all clicked. There was also some top of head slapping and ear pulling. It was not relaxing to fear what might be coming next and overall wasn't my cup of tea. On the way out I thanked my masseuse and again he continued to stare at the ceiling. Perhaps he could only see out one eye or maybe he was a dare devil riding his bike blind. Who knows?
After my massage I went into our favourite little restaurant in Kampot called 'The Rusty Keyhole'. They do an amazing rack of ribs here - Mark had devoured a full rack the night before even though the menu suggests it should have been for 2 people - also you can sit outside and enjoy a stunning sunset over the river as you sip your cold drink and nibble on freshly roasted peanuts, and chat to fellow travellers about where you've been and where you're going.
It's been a lovely few days of relaxing in the sleepy village of Kampot but I'm certainly ready to head to the coast and see if we can find a nice beach hut and some sunshine.
