Crossing the Line

Vietnamese telephone repair call

Nguyen showing us some of the Mekong farm products

We were determined to make the border crossing into Cambodia at the new Xa Xia station we had read about in our Lonely Planet. This is the far Southern route, connecting coastal towns of Vietnam with coastal towns of Cambodia. The closest town to the Xa Xia station is Ha Tien, a big enough town to have it's own listing in the Lonely Planet, though admitted off route for most foreign travelers. It made more sense to go that way, but... but everyone we talked to, every hotel desk, every tour operator, even Huong and Vong, said that we should instead go through Chau Doc. They aren't that far apart judging from the map, but the Chau Doc route takes you through the common tourist trail for Mekong Delta tours then spits you out into Cambodia en route to Phnom Penh. From Phnom Penh you transfer and get on a bus to Sihanoukville. 12 hours total. Except that we wanted to go along the coast... it seemed to make more sense.

Eventually, if you ask long enough, you find someone who offers you what you want. And so, the day before we were due to leave Saigon, we wandered into the Kim Travel office, told them what we wanted and, for the first time, got a response that didn't involved furrowed eyebrows. “Sure,” he said, “we can arrange a private car with driver to take you to Ha Tien.” Great! Just what we wanted. We made the arrangements and went off to enjoy our last evening in Saigon.

I had originally wanted to spend several days on this part of our journey, meandering around the Mekong Delta area in a private car, getting off the main road and exploring some of the smaller villages farther South. In the end, we decided to make a beeline to the border instead and so we mostly drove along the busy main road, a 2-lane highway lined with dirt paths and dusty shops and homes, and providing the main travel artery for bicycles, motorbikes, pedestrians and children playing as well as a handful of larger transport vehicles and some buses and minivans. It was a miracle we didn't hit anything along the way, as we were passing people with barely an inch of clearance – typical Vietnamese driving conditions – for hours on end.

If you look at a map of Vietnam, you can see that, as the crow flies, the distance between Saigon and Ha Tien is probably about like driving from Palo Alto to Sacramento, maybe less. But because of the rutted and crowded road conditions in this region, we broke it up into two days. The travel company had made arrangements for us to do a “homestay” on Vinh Long Island, which is in the middle of the Delta region. We did some touring with our trusty guide Nguyen (pronounced “Win”), visiting parts of the island by boat, having lunch along the riverbanks, taking a bicycle ride along its dirt pathways, then finally settled in to one of several family guest houses set up to house tourists.

Next day, some more touring on the boat ride back to town, then Mr. Chu picked us up and we continued along our way to Ha Tien. I think it's safe to say we were both glad to get off the bumpy Mekong road.

The land crossing itself was interesting. If we'd arrived in Phnom Penh at the main airport, we would have gotten our visas and gone through customs pretty much like anywhere else. But making the crossing by land is a whole other experience. It's one of those borders where you exit the first country in one place and enter the next in another. In between is a no man's land between the two countries which you traverse by foot. First things first, the Vietnamese authorities stamped our passports goodbye. Ten feet later we passed an inoperative looking baggage scanning machine, walking slowly past in case someone wanted us to use it. Another 10 feet and we're at the Defense Ministry exit station, with guys looking information up in large books before waiving us along. This was a fairly routine stop, thank goodness, since you've already technically exited the country, so in the event that you are determined to be some kind of exiting defense threat, I'm not sure under whose jurisdiction you would be detained, or which government would be in charge of making sure you get to call your embassy.

“Good luck!” the defense officer called out to us as we walked away and began our 2 kilometer trek through no man's land. “Good luck?” we said to each other... “that sounds ominous. What does he know?”

The weather was balmy with a cool breeze blowing and it was a pleasant walk across. On the far side, we first stopped at the visa office, a tiny, cinder block hut where two officials met us and handed us some forms. One of them engaged us in an apparently innocuous conversation about some relative that lived in California, during which we noticed, as he at one point leaned forward, that in fact the “conversation” was being recorded. More like an entry interview. Maybe they wanted to make sure we really are from California. Meanwhile, the other guy had hauled out a book of visa stickers and told us the price, $50 each, or so we understood. I felt Patrick cringe at my side. We knew that the real price should be between $20 and $30 each. But what can you do? The price isn't posted so you pay what they ask... and once they've told you how much you're going to pay, well, they couldn't very well negotiate – that would be an admission that they were keeping some for themselves. So, reluctantly, Patrick pulled out fifty bucks and gave it to the sticker guy. A moment later, I did as well.

After everything we'd heard about official corruption in Cambodia, we were totally unprepared for what happened next. Sticker guy smiled and handed me back my $50! “It's $50 for two together,” he said. “I wouldn't want to take too much.” With a smile.

“Oh. I see. Thank you.”

So much for Cambodian corruption. OK, next stop: the Health Inspector. Another tiny cinder block hut, this one with a lone medical officer inside. And more forms. No, we are not sick. No, we have never, ever, in our entire lives had any of the conditions listed below. We are healthy and whole and absolutely do not need to be detained for any length of time in the little room marked “Cambodian Medical Quarantine” behind the doctor. No way would I want to spend even an hour in that room. Fortunately, this too was a piece of cake. He waved a temperature sensing device near our ears – several inches away from what I could tell, didn't even seem close enough to get any kind of valid reading at all. Then he charged us a dollar each for our medical inspections and waved us on our way.

Next stop, last stop, finally, was immigration where... more forms, more surreptitious conversations, at the end of which we were unceremoniously sent along our way with another chorus of “Good luck!” to the small collection of drivers waiting to take us to town. We were in Cambodia!

The road to Kampot was one of the most beautiful drives I've ever been on – bright green rice paddies being worked by families, limestone mountains jutting out of the flat earth, water buffalo and an occasional pig. Friendly children waving hello from the sides of the road. Bouncing along in a tuk tuk down this road on a cool December morning seemed like the perfect way to arrive in Cambodia, and we were glad that we'd been stubborn about making our way through Xa Xia.

Between then and now we spent a night in the riverside town of Kampot, followed by four nights on a tropical island that not only had no cars but no motorbikes as well. More on that later. Tomorrow early we leave for Chi Phat, a village with an ecotourism project that sounds fascinating. With any luck we'll be spending Christmas deep in the jungle of the Cardamom Mountains and unlikely to find a good wireless connection.