Italians in Thailand/3: more on the seafront clique - Pattaya

Continued from here

And then there are non sex-related scams as well.

- "What did you say? Your visa is about to expire? No problem at all, we can arrange a return trip to the Cambodian border. It won't take more than two, three days at most. You pay us and we'll take care of everything...great, isn't it?" And then it's all a sequence of inflated prices: transportation, accommodation, immigration procedures, duty free, casino, meals, revelries, imitation Viagra and, if one cannot stay away from them even for a couple of nights, more hookers, just to have a taste of Khmer culture as well, besides the Thai one, because after all you don't get to know the world just by listening to what other people say, looking at it from behind a car window or reading a few pages of a travel guide: you need first hand experience, meeting the locals...that's the secret!

"Give me two more boxes of that generic Viagra then..."

I suppose that the whole trip will cost him no less than 10000 to 15000 baht (about 300-500 USD), but it might be much more depending on the vices the dupe will indulge on. If he only knew that various agencies in town organize visa runs by minivan, leaving at 6am and returning at about 3 pm on the same day, for a total of just 2000 baht (70 USD), including the Cambodian visa. They would only need to know ten English words. Or the help of an honest Italian, of course...

Mystic confusion - Siem Reap, Cambodia

No temples today: I've rented a motorbike with a driver who is showing me around the countryside. He's explaining me about the crops, the Khmer Rouge, the river, the villagers. He says that most of them are Buddhist but there are also quite a few Buddhist Muslims. I smile and say nothing. He will repeat that funny expression various times. When he tells me that many Buddhist Muslims live in the village we're driving through I decide to give it a try.
"So you're saying that the Muslim community here is quite large..."
"Yes, very big, many Buddhist Muslims here!"
OK, he didn't take the bait. 
A few minutes later I try with another test.
"In the bigger cities though, like Phnom Penh, there must be many Christians as well..."
Let's see what he's got to say now.
"Yes, a lot, many Buddhist Christians in Phnom Penh."
Buddhist Christians as well...alright my friend, I give up. I'll have to convert to Buddhist laicism then.

Siem Reap, Cambodia, August 2004

What makes the difference - Angkor, Cambodia

Angkor Roads, by Un rosarino en Vietnam

60 dollars for a weekly pass. A heavy blow, well, at least if you're trying to stretch your budget - a tight one - on a two-three-year-long bed of travels. On the other hand I don't feel like visiting Angkor like the majority of the tourists that I've met so far does. Just one, two or three days. Wake up at dawn, sprinting from a hill to a temple, panting from a hut to a monument, back to the hotel at dinner time, with confused memories: where were the roots of those centuries-old trees, that wrap up the walls and the statues? And the bas-reliefs? What was the name of the four-faced-heads temple? Wat...Wat...Wat something...
Well, I'm willing to leave the "Wat something" experience to someone else. The weekly pass will allow me to take it easy - which, by the way, is my favorite hobby. I can see the temples at dawn today and at sunset tomorrow. I can focus on Angkor Wat one day, on Bayon and Ta Phrom another, on the circuit of the minor temples later on. Easy, relaxed, spending the morning or the afternoon at the guest house, reading, studying and planning my next visit. Or in Siem Reap's colonial quarter, taking photos, scribbling, peeking, nibbling, browsing, chatting, getting lost, watching, daydreaming - which happen to be my other favorite hobbies.

To tell the truth, I will start to use these tactics only on the third-fourth day. At the beginning the charm of Angkor will get hold of me and - victim of an irresistible greed for experience and atmosphere - even i will be swallowed up by the dust and the heat that choke this place. The first day I follow the standard procedure: I rent a motorbike with a driver who leaves me at the temples and picks me up once I'm done. I feel like a bag with arms and legs, hat and camera, only lacking brain and totally character-less. At the end of the day I feel uncomfortable: it's an indigestion of notions without the experience seasoning.
In the evening I meet a Japanese backpacker, dressed up the typical way: sunglasses and a small white towel wrapped around the head. I'll call him Akira, after an animation movie that I watched many years ago. Akira is visiting the temples by bicycle. Everyday he rents one downtown, rides it along the road that leads to the site and pedals his way around the temples.

"What's the difference?"

"You try first, then you'll let me know!"

"Alright, I'll join you tomorrow then..."

Obviously a bicycle is cheaper than a motorbike, good news for my savings. I'm not fit and the bike is not like the ones they use at the Tour de France, so I can only progress very slowly. Akira is right though, compared with the motorbike this is another story. I couldn't imagine that the sound is what makes the difference. It's as if I were in an old recording studio and a technician had turned off the engine's frequency switch, turning up the others. I can listen to the birds chirping, the children playing, a man who is sawing a piece of wood behind his house, a dog barking at a mole. Angkor, in perfect oriental style, is an archaeological site surrounded by people who keep living their lives, with houses, small shops, schools. It's a magical atmosphere that I would have completely missed hadn't I listened to all those sounds. It takes long to reach each temple, but the journey is not boring at all. I have time to look at the vegetation, at the fauna, the life, the colors, the shades. Sometimes i sink into this new Angkor, its hypnotic atmosphere, so deep that I cannot re-emerge before I get to a temple, and I proceed to the next one.

I get back to Siem Reap in the evening. I look at myself in the mirror: it's as if I had crossed the Sahara on foot. I'm soiled like a ridiculous chimney sweep of the fairy tales. The blanket that is covering me is not made of soot but of dirt-road's dust hardened with sweat. My shirt, which I would normally put in the washing machine, is beyond reclaim: I take it off and directly throw it away. I take a half hour-long shower, and I have to scratch very energetically to take off the crust that is wrapping me up.

Starting tomorrow there will not be any more day-long expeditions. I'll enjoy the temples two-three hours at a time. But the bicycle, that simple and clever idea that I owe to Akira, well, nobody is ever gonna take it away from me.

Angkor, Cambodia, March 2002

Like chickens in a coop - From Siem Reap to the border, Cambodia

(Spring 2002) 
Come on, come o-on! I don't have time. It's gonna be a never ending trip, a double day, I get a herniated disc just to think of it. I must hurry up, without messing around. Follow your schedule, you prepared it yesterday, when the heat and the mosquitoes didn't let you sleep. Glob that pancake, gulp down your coffee, pay this rat-hole bill and roll down the stairs. The mototaxis, the motorbikes, where are those kids? There were so many when I didn't need them. Here is one who's spotted his fool, he's coming along to pick me up.

"Need a motorbike? Angkor temples, Sir?" What temples...what Angkor...I've arrived to Siem Reap a week ago, I've consumed those temples more than the centuries and the jungle. "To the main intersection, where the pick-up trucks are." He stares at me blankly, like a sleepwalker or a koala. Koala bears only have two expressions: the eucalyptus-chewing and the eucalyptus-swallowing, in both cases it seems that they're dying with sleep. How do they say main intersection here? The owner of the hotel, she will be able to help me. "Madam, hey! Madam, here! Can you please tell him where I'm going in Cambodian?" The woman lets out some cracks from her throat, it seems that she's breaking wood with her mouth. The koala-driver switches expression, his second way to look a bit dull. He nods his head, lowers his chin, does he understand? Or maybe he's just swallowing some eucalyptus? There's no time, I hop on the bike. He starts, speeds up, yeah, he understood! When we get to the junction I know it's the right one: there seem to be at least a hundred trucks. Which one is it? Who can speak English? This is definitely not a place for tourists, they travel on pseudo-comfortable vans, but I was late, the seats were sold out.

Diplomatic mess - Bangkok, Thailand

When everybody was starting to believe that the situation was finally getting back to normal, that the political deadlock and the Bangkok unrest was only a bad memory of long time ago, the Cambodia-Thailand dispute over the temple at Preah Vihear, so far a totally separate issue, has surprisingly managed to revive the polemics. Thailand has asked Interpol cooperation to arrest the former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra. And what was the latter's next move? He managed to be appointed economic adviser to the Cambodian government led by Mr Hun Sen.

To make things worse an interview  with Mr Thaksin appeared in the newspaper "The Times". The content of the article was considered offensive to the Monarchy by many in Thailand. Mr Thaksin stated that "The Times" report was distorted and now both he and the Thai government are asking explanations from the newspaper editor.

According to the latest news the Thai government is ready to fly its citizens out of Cambodia should the diplomatic row between the two countries come to a head.

In the meanwhile, in the expats forums, people seem to be relieved because the border hasn't been closed and their visa runs are still guaranteed. 
Well, if they are happy with that...

(Image from wikipedia.org)

Dr Jekyll exists, and he lives in Phnom Penh - Cambodia

(From my 2004 diary)

The traffic light turns green and our bike gains speed but after few meters we come to a stop. We have been around for eight ours at least and we got caught at dusk, when we were almost back. The policeman smiles and approaches us. We already know what he's looking for and we decide that first he will enjoy our show.

He throws a glance at Lorenzo's licence, then ask if we have an international one. We pretend that we can't speak a word in English, that we are also quite nervous and rather dumb. When he asks for the papers we look at each other, we slowly translate his words in Italian, then finally grin and hand in the same licence. He points out again that this one is not good, that we need to have a document written in English. Once more we throw amazed looks at each other, then we patiently explain him that this one is Italian.

After five minutes of this slapstick show he finally invites us to make a donation. When we hear the word “dollars” we smile and yell, as if we had finally understood what he means. A beam of satisfaction brightens his face, as he sees his efforts bringing back a reward. But it's a short-lived joy and his frustration is back when we pull the rental contract out of our bag.

After a few more more minutes of this back and forth, we decide it's enough and we bargain the price. He pockets the money without writing a fine. You can tell by the way he's greeting us that the daily sum was a well-earned one.

The next day we're reading a local paper in English. A journalist writes about corruption and bribes. Part of the article is an interview with an officer, who explains that the problem is a serious one. At the end of the column there's a photo of the cop. The man is proudly standing next to his bike. A shiny white helmet, U.S. Air Force shades, a confident smile and a thin black mustache.

We look at the picture and try to make out that face. We wonder if the author could possibly know that the nice Dr Jekyll who was talking to him, is the same Mr Hyde who entertained us.

Image: Richard Mansfield in The strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Henry van Der Weyde (PD), circa 1895, from Wikipedia.org