You know where you are? You're in the Jungle, baby....

And so the primary goal of our 1104 mile journey (which actually does not include our 250KM round trip into the wilds of NW Cambodia), Banteay Chhmar.

We woke up and departed our brothel. Noone was stirring except us at 6:20 am, except a rather attractive woman cleaning the room next to ours. We drove to the Chom Jong / O'Smach border crossing, arriving about 8:00 am. We were immediately met by Tou, an aggressive Cambodian who greeted us with a cheery 'You go Siem Reap?'

No, we said. '2,000 baht go to Siem Reap private car.' We're not going to Siem Reap, we want to go to Chhmar and come back to O'Smach today. 'Oh, 2,000 baht to Chhmar.' Much haggling ensued, wherein we came to a mutual understanding that a return trip to Chhmar was worth 1,600 baht, or $40.

Great, onto immigration. Thai side, no problem. Sigh...I love Thailand.

Cambodian side. Visas. The man behind the window asked for 1,100 baht each. No, I said, we're diplomats, we don't pay. ed. note: You have no idea how good it feels to say that. It had little effect on him, though. He still demanded the $55 for the two of us. No, I said, we don't pay, and to drive the point home, I flipped to Katherine's previous visa and showed him the 'A' visa. Beaten, he hung his head and agreed to give us our visas gratis. Black passports rule.

Visas in hand, we proceeded to the next window, where we ran into a group of immigration officials who were either a) trainees or b) mesmerized by our powerful black passports. Either way, it took about 25 minutes for them to figure out that visa validity and authorized length of stay are separate concepts, and the former can be two months and the latter three months and the world will not end.

Katherine, ever the trooper, waited expectantly for our new Cambodian friends to stamp us into the country.


Across the border, we piled into our car with Tou after he conferred with some colleagues and drove to a nearby market to load up on provisions for the coming journey. Water and fruit. Katherine nixed the coconut-flavored crackers, a decision she would come to rue as the day progressed. We are going to miss SE Asian fruit come next March.


At the market, our driver was conferring with a colleague, intently studying a piece of paper. Our shopping done, he approached us to say that, although we had agreed on a price of 1,600 baht for the day, he couldn't possibly. I mean, just look at these figures on this piece of paper. 1,000 baht for gas and 200 baht for police payoffs. That leaves little for Tou. How about 2,000, he says.

But wait, 2,000 was the starting point previously, and we negotiated in good faith, agreeing on a respectable 1,600. Never mind all that, it couldn't possibly be done for that price now.

Okay, we said, we'll go to 1,800 (we were secretly prepared to pay 2,000, but didn't want to, and were sick of sitting in the market haggling...again) but no higher.

DEAL! But one more wrinkle. Tou is no longer our driver. Between the border and the market, something has come up. As such, our driver can no longer drive us. What has come up? Who the hell knows. In reality, nothing. But Sor is now our driver, and Tou, all smiles and handshakes, bids us farewell, and in parting asks if we might find it in our hearts to give him a little tip, just 200 baht, for all he has done for us to this point. I mean, he's already paid off the cops.

What cops, we say, we just crossed the border and have seen no police. He holds out for a couple minutes, then gives up and goes away.

And really, with Sor, we traded up. He kept a steady hand on the wheel the entire trip. All 6 fingers keeping us safe.

Extra thumb means extra safety.



Here's a rural Cambodian gas station. 5 liters of gas please. No problem, 5 old Pepsi bottles of gas later, and we are on our way. This particular gas station also provided wedding photography services.