We arrived in Phnom Penh at about 4.30 in the afternoon.  Due to time constraints (what else), we’d decided to head straight up to Siem Reap that evening.

Just to explain something about Cambodia’s transport systems.  They have no trains in the entire country.  The planes in and out are pricey (hence why we had to go to Phnom Penh and not just straight to Siem Reap airport) and we’d read the bus service could be erratic at best.

After doing some research, we discovered there was a night bus from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap, leaving at about 8pm and getting in close to 2am.  I read around a little bit and was quickly warned off the night bus (perhaps advice we should have remembered later on in the trip), so I emailed the hostel for the best way to get to Siem Reap quickly and safely. The night bus was rumoured to be unsteady at the best of times and downright horrific at the worst.  The drivers, in a rush, literally fly along the roads, and whilst this may not seem that unsafe, they don’t even attempt to slow down for crossing animals.  Hit something big and you’re on your head in a ditch in an instant.

We were advised to take a taxi.  Taking about 5 hours and costing around $60, we thought this would be the best option.  We came out of arrivals and looking for the most legit way to get a taxi, we headed to the tourist information desk.  The woman was unbelievably unhelpful, telling us a taxi would be $140! And so, we started the haggle with the swarms of taxi drivers around us.  I was tired and knew it was going to be a long journey, so quickly got bored with the game. We had a quiet word and agreed that we’d go if we could get it for $70. Although, to be honest, we didn’t have that much choice!

After haggling for about 15 mins, it became clear that we were going to struggle to get below $80. I was just about to give in and take $80 when there seemed to be a sudden change of heart from one of the taxi drivers – who said he’d do it for $70.  We checked several times that he meant $70 and wasn’t going to suddenly charge $100 when we got there.

So we trekked off to the taxi, and whilst loading up our bags were quickly told that we needed to go into town quickly to change the car.

“Errr… why? Why can’t we just use this one, you’ve just been telling us how great this car is?” I asked.

“This is an airport taxi, we can’t take it on long journeys” was the vague answer we got.

So, shrugging our shoulders, we jumped in the taxi and began the journey into Phnom Penh. This seemed straightforward enough (although the driver spent more time with his hands on the horn than on anything else), but alarm bells started ringing when we pulled off the main road and then down a dirt track.

Flying down the track, shacks and huts on either side, I leant across and whispered to OH – “do you get the feeling we’re in the ghetto of Phnom Penh?!” “Yes” came his worrying reply.  I was straining my eyes staring out the window trying to figure out where the hell we were going and if we were being taken somewhere dodgy.  I reached over and grabbed the Lonely Planet out of the bag, quickly flipping to the pages about the risks of travelling in Phnom Penh. I checked through the known scams, luckily with no mention of ‘don’t get in a taxi where they tell you you’ll change cars later’.

Scanning the maps, I was pretty relieved to notice that Phnom Penh has a street structure like New York – all regular blocks and right angles. I was so relieved because it had dawned on me that he (probably) wasn’t taking us to some backstreet den to chop us up into little bits. He was, in fact, avoiding the rush hour traffic. I hoped.

After many, many calls on his mobile, we pulled up on the side of a road. We’d been driving for an hour by this point. I had my eyes peeled for the most rusty, clapped out car on the road as I was pretty sure that’s the state our taxi would be in!  Luckily he pulled up, in a pretty respectable car, which didn’t appear to backfire, had all four wheels and the boot actually shut without a bungee cord.

We transferred our luggage over, and got in. Still nervous, alert and slightly shaky, I felt like I’d had FAR too much coffee. The guy didn’t speak much English and spent most of the time on the phone.  The car clearly wasn’t an official taxi but he did have a piece of paper over the rearview mirror with his name and photo.  Or some sort of Cambodian text and his photo anyway.  Hearing him quite clearly making plans got my imagination in overdrive. We were quickly out of Phnom Penh and heading north, but with the monsoon season having been particularly heavy this year, the road was surrounded by floodwater. It felt precarious – quickly falling dark, with oil tankers flying at us from the other direction, our driver with his hand attached to his horn overtaking buses that looked like they were last serviced (and cleaned) in 1959.  I was quite convinced that even if we survived the inevitable crash, we’d go flying into the flood water and drown.

Like I said, my imagination was in overdrive. Even if there was no crash, I was becoming steadily convinced that our driver was spending his time on the phone organising where to stop so that we could be robbed and murdered.  I noticed he had virtually no petrol. Not a great sign. Was he planning to ‘run out of petrol’ so that we would be stranded on a pitch black Cambodian highway? Seemed pretty much a certainty to my adrenaline wired brain.

Despite all this drama and fear, I couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of our surroundings. The sun was setting over mountains and flood water. The houses lining the side of the road were so diverse – some nothing more than 4 walls barely held together, some elaborate brick buildings with high upper balconies to take in the view. But every single house was built on high, high stilts. As the last of the daylight ebbed away, the flourescent lights gave us an insight to the interiors. Doors open, most houses simply 1 room, with a bare lightbulb in the middle of the room providing light to live by.  Food was cooking, people were chatting, a certain sense of community seemed to prevail in this waterlogged world.  It felt surreal and slightly supernatural.

Relief once again washed over me when our driver stopped for petrol.  Keeping a sharp eye on our bags (the taxis are wired up to take the cheap fuel, with something looking like  a nitrogen tank in the boot), we waited for him to climb back in. He told us this was our only chance for a toilet stop for a while but I was too tense to even worry about that.

With a sharp jab in OH’s ribs and a warning that he was NOT falling asleep on this journey, we were off again.  Pitch black, the highway was busy with oil trucks and motorbikes.  People walked along the side of the road, with no fear or concern for the speed of large vehicles heading their way.  It was terrifying and fascinating in equal measure!

The most magnificent storm lit our way.  Fork lightning streaked across the sky.  Torrential rain battered the car.  But no thunder?  It was bizarre.  The lightning was literally stunning.  We drove right through the storm, but it seemed to go on for hours without any respite.  Looking back there must have been a number of storms in the one area… our route.

After a few hours, the driver slowed and pulled over on the side of a road in front of some houses.  By these point we were over halfway and I’d relaxed somewhat. Not enough to sleep, or to convince myself that this wasn’t go to be my last journey, but enough not to freak out too much when he stopped the car. Maybe my imagination had quite simply tired me out.

The driver got out and went to meet a woman and some children. They looked harmless enough! The murder-planning calls had obviously been reunion-planning calls as he let friends and family know he was on the road again and would be stopping in to pick up some bits and pieces. He got back in the car with some bananas and packages, and to our surprise and gratitude, tossed some bananas back for us to nibble on.  I was beginning to regret my automatic assumption that he was a serial killer.  Later on, he pulled over to a roadside restaurant and bought us some bottles of water too.

After 5 long, tiring and at times emotional hours, we started to arrive in Siem Reap.  He asked where we were staying and when I handed over the address, he pulled over to have a closer look. This is where it got really weird.  5 or 6 young men, some topless, approached the car and started staring and shouting in the windows. They leaned on the car and were pretty intimidating.  The driver was completely unperturbed, just sat with his light on looking at the address and getting the phone number of the hostel.  Urging the driver to go on, he looked up at the men, laughed, waved them away and slowly pulled off. OH and I glanced at each other in a slightly incredulous fashion – what the hell was that?!

15 minutes later, we pulled up at the hostel (of course, in the rain, we couldn’t arrive at a place without it being raining), paid our agreed $70 and went in.

We’d survived and arrived, but not without a serious realisation on my part that getting in any car, you make yourself pretty vulnerable and open to all kinds of drama.

CatDog xx