Day Three
And so we wake up to our last full day in Phnom Penh. Well, my last half-day – last night’s boozy night out means that I wake up early in the afternoon. Sonny and Nick have already left to return the hired motorbike and get some lunch, so I wander on my own to find the British pub/restaurant I saw last night that advertised an all-day breakfast.
Half an hour later I’m polishing off the remains of sausage, bacon, ham (wrong), saute potatoes (wrong again), fried eggs, toast, beans and mushrooms. And tea. And orange juice. No black pudding, but you can’t have everything. English cuisine may not be the most elegant, but by crikey we know how to treat a hangover.
I spot Sonny at La Croissette on the way back to the hotel and join him for a coffee and a flick through yesterday’s Bangkok Post. We head back to the hotel, Nick shows up, and we go for a wander around the city.
There’s a lot of squalor and a lot of dirt – garbage sits stagnant in the street. Some of the side-streets are little more than dirt tracks, but are nowhere near as bad as yesterday’s trail to the Killing Fields.
There is a lot more greenery visible than in Bangkok – one good thing – but the overwhelming impression is one of extreme poverty and discomfort. We are, again, eyed with distrust and unease by some. We are so, so lucky to have been born white Westerners, into middle-class families.
We drink pappaya fruit shakes at a street stall, then go for a traditional Khmer massage (which is almost identical to a traditional Thai massage, unsurprisingly) – $10 each for two hours, which is a little more expensive than Thailand, surprisingly. However, I’ve no doubt that this is a tourist version, and that the local versions, if they even exist, would cost pennies.
Later it’s back to Cafe Rendezvous via a few clothes stalls. I see some shirts I know I could buy in Bangkok for $5 at the most; here the pushy stallholder demands $10. Pizza for dinner, then a few beers and bed.
Day Four
In the morning we check out at around 7am, and get a tuk-tuk from the hotel to Phnom Penh airport. We check in, then discover that there’s a $25 “departure tax”. We don’t have enough dollars yet. There is a door between the departure tax booth and the ATMs, which we are not allowed to open. So we have to leave the airport, walk around the building, and get some more dollars.
We breakfast on a burger and fries round the corner, return to pay the bill and head to departures. The duty-free store sells cigarettes at 50% more than the cost in Bangkok, so I leave well alone.
Finally we board the plane, and within what seems like moments we’re back at Suvarnabhumi Airport, Bangkok. Immigration is straightforward – a pleasant surprise given the recent chaotic changes in visa rules.
When I used to arrive at Don Muang International, it was a simple matter to avoid the queue (and surcharge) for using the official taxi rank by hopping upstairs to Departures, and hailing a taxi that had just dropped off. Here at the new airport, the authorities have become wise to the trick, and the security guards tell us that we have to use the rank.
Nick is having none of it, and hails a cab. It’s a little rude, of course, but our social status as farangs in Thailand means that the guard will not actually stop us getting in the cab. The hierarchy is a double-edged sword. We save ourselves a long way, and 50 baht, and the drive home is swift, comfortable and easy.
My apartment is still here and intact, which is nice, and I flop onto the bed to sleep.
