You have to pay more to leave Cambodia than you do to get in the first place…in more ways than one.
Departure day was upon us, and Diane was the first to go. Our tuk-tuk driver came by at 11am to pick her up, leaving me all alone with a free afternoon and a nasty bout of…let’s call them stomach issues. I decided to partake of a foot massage (notice the correct usage of the term “to partake of” unlike an aforementioned incident of the obscene overuse and incorrect use of the phrase) and a leisurely lunch (of none other than my favorite Khmer dish, larp (pronounced “lahp”) which would have been even better with a delicious pomelo salad, but my stomach simply couldn’t handle too much that day). Once I completed those grueling tasks and wandered around the Bar Street area (yes, you read that correctly…and…it is as advertised), I slowly found my way back to the guesthouse to wait for my tuk-tuk driver.
Fifteen minutes prior to my departure, a driver came by and told me he was taking me to the airport. Confused, since he wasn’t the driver with whom Diane and I had been working (and because Diane didn’t pay for her trip to the airport in our attempt to ensure that I got a ride to the airport that afternoon), I explained that Leoung Sei was my driver. The guys at the guesthouse insisted that this driver was sent in his place and pushed me out of the courtyard. I got in, the whole time feeling like something wasn’t right and worrying that I had found myself in the middle of some bizarre scam, but I didn’t know what else to do. When we arrived, I handed over the money for both trips to the airport and attempted to make my way inside—and that’s when the trouble really began.
Four officers guarded the front door. As I approached, they created a human barricade and demanded proof of my flight details before allowing me inside. I showed them my itinerary and was met with suspicious looks and whispers. One of the guards told me that they wouldn’t usually let me in given the circumstances but were willing to make an exception. Not knowing of what circumstances they were speaking, I just shrugged it off and walked into the building. A quick survey of the twelve ticketing booths was far from reassuring. Why? Because Lao Airlines was nowhere to be seen. Being the eternal optimist, I figured that I had arrived too early for my flight check-in time (and that assumption was correct as I arrived four hours earlier, rather than the two that they require).
I decided to find a bench and settle in until Lao Airlines set up for business. It’s not like I had anything better to do, and when you’re nervous about flying on an airline with such a sketchy safety record that even the UN won’t allow their people to fly on their planes, who doesn’t want a couple extra hours to come up with fifty terrifying scenarios right before boarding a flight headed for what was the poorest country in the world up until two years ago?
So, I sat. I waited. I watched people check in for their flights to Vietnam. After an hour and a half, I started to get a little concerned that there were still no signs of Lao Airlines in the terminal. It was at that point that I decided to ask an expert. Okay, that might be taking it a little too far. I decided to ask someone that might know more than me. A young army officer was walking by, so I asked for his assistance. The confused look on his face after reading my itinerary didn’t make me feel any better. Being the helpful lad that he was, he went to talk to someone else. Armed with new information (and of course a semi-automatic assault rifle), he proudly told me that I could check in for my flight in a half an hour. He also told me how pretty I was…repeatedly. In fact, he swung by several times to let me know that he thought I was REALLY attractive and offered to sit with me until Lao Airlines opened up their booth. Unfortunately for him, his superior officer informed him that he had to guard the airport rather than just me.
At last, the final half an hour passed. I anxiously looked over at the booths, but Lao Airlines was still a no-show. I watched another couple approach the counter that I suspected to be the future home of a Lao Airlines agent, just to see them turn around angrily. My officer friend ran over to them, then scurried over to me to inform me that the flight had been canceled. He was so apologetic and so flattering as he expressed his appreciation for my immense beauty once again before directing me to the airline offices in the building next door, that I almost didn’t want to leave the terminal area.
I joined up with the couple, a delightful pair of newlyweds from Australia, and we hunted down the offices as a team. Once we got inside the building, we split up and roamed the halls until (about 20 seconds later) we found the Lao Airlines office. As you might expect, it was closed. A woman from another airline came running down the hall offering her help. Sadly for us, she was far from helpful. The only help she was willing to offer was to tell us that Lao Airlines was closed—a fact we were already well-aware of. She also mentioned that we would have to go to their offices downtown. Being that we had no idea where “downtown” Siem Reap was located, that piece of information was useless. We asked for a phone, but were shut down. She claimed that there were no phones in any of the offices. Really? None? How do you people get anything done around here?
After much frustrating back and forth (during which the woman gave me a clue as to the whereabouts of this downtown office), the Australian husband walked into the Air Asia office and managed to convince them (quite easily) to allow us to use their phone to call Lao Airlines. I suppose now would be a good time to explain why the phone call was so important. It was 4:55pm. All of the airline offices (including the already closed Lao Airlines offices) closed at 5:00pm. Had we not phoned the Lao Airlines people, they never would have waited for us at the other office (which did exist after all). The Lao Airlines folks instructed us to come to their downtown office, insisting that EVERYONE knows where they are located, so an address was totally unnecessary.
We three brave travelers hailed a tuk-tuk, explained where we wanted to go and agreed on a price (all this after getting a guarantee from the driver that he knew exactly where we wanted to go). The tuk tuk pulled out of the airport and we traveled about a mile or so down the road when the driver pulled over next to a field. He turned to us and said, “I’m sorry. I lied to you. I don’t know where the office is. I think it is back at the airport. I’ll drive you back, and I won’t charge you more for it.”
All three of us lost it. Why? Why lie? And why would we have to pay you MORE money for taking us nowhere? Before the man of our group totally lost his top, I pulled out a helpful piece of information given to me by the very UNhelpful woman at the airline offices. “Do you know where the Vietnam Airlines office is downtown on the main street?” The driver nodded. “You aren’t lying this time? This is important. The Lao Airlines offices are next door. Can you get us there?” He agreed, and we were off once again with nothing but a hope and a prayer that we would get there.
Ten very tense minutes later, we pulled into the Lao Airlines office. At that point, we decided to dismiss our tuk-tuk driver altogether. We walked into the office, and they were quite accommodating. They claimed that they canceled the flight a couple days prior but couldn’t reach us. The only problem with this scenario was that I had called about the flight the day before and it wasn’t canceled, but I’m not one to split hairs.
The three of us were transferred to a flight the next morning. The airline put us up in a decent hotel (which was nicer than anywhere else I had stayed in the country during my week), they bought us dinner, a show, breakfast, and provided transportation to the hotel and to the airport the next morning. Not bad for a tiny budget airline with a not-so-favorable reputation (and far better than what any US carrier would do for you in the same circumstance). The night ended up being a little too enjoyable as was evidenced the next morning by our throbbing headaches when we met up in the morning to make our second attempt at leaving Cambodia.
Take two was a breeze. We were able to check our bags without incident. The boarding passes were handed over without hesitation. Everything was going swimmingly until we walked toward security. Just before security, travelers have to pay a tariff. It’s called a departure tax, and for whatever reason, the airline doesn’t bundle into the price of the ticket, which would really make more sense. Rather, everyone has to pay $25 to fly out of Siem Reap. Twenty-five dollars. Why am I so insulted? Because it only cost me $20 to get INTO Cambodia (for my visa). Why must it cost $5 more to leave? Despite my inner protestations, I paid my tariff and went through security.
Once through security, we sought out a coffee shop to purchase water in hopes that it might help our aching heads. As we walked in, an irate French woman was busy screaming at the severely underpaid cashier about the price of coffee. Her argument was that $2.50 was an outrageous and downright criminal price to pay for a cup of coffee. According to her, the coffee at the Siem Reap airport was more expensive than any cup of coffee one might purchase in the entire city of Paris (she obviously doesn’t frequent Starbucks). As she was screaming and making failed attempts to barter down the price, some American girl popped out of thin air commenting on how ridiculous food prices were at the Siem Reap airport as compared to anywhere else in the world.
Now I don’t know where these two bargain hunters usually go when they are purchasing food and beverages at the airport, but in my experience, all airports are expensive. And, really? While coffee at the Siem Reap airport costs more than coffee in the city itself, the airport coffee is still far cheaper than any other airport coffee you might stumble upon in an industrialized nation. You know, the kind of place these two weirdo complainers call home. The screaming and complaining persisted, even after the French woman had made her purchase, and then just as mysteriously as she had arrived the annoying American commenter whose only true purpose was to further fuel the eternal flame of anger in the French woman just vanished.
And that’s when I decided to board my flight because it was finally time to leave Cambodia.
No comments:
Post a Comment