Border Crossings: Cambodia-Thailand

I broke the rule. I broke the rule and flew into Thailand.

Travel must, according to a strict, though unwritten rule among backpackers, occur overland. There are a couple of basic reasons. Obviously, cost is a factor: backpackers live on limited resources. The other and more important thing, however, is pride. Budget travellers want to say they have seen all the people and places and cultures from A to Z, to trace an unbroken red line on a map and say they've been on those roads. Yep, I've been there. Where have you been?

We also get bonus points when the mode of tansport is the cheapest available. That way, we can tell the hardest of hard travel stories. To date in South East Asia, I've done quite well.

There was the local bus to the China-Vietnam border. The creep and dip through road-sized potholes, around village livestock and stray dogs. The driver and his dirty, sweaty towel. The chicken that nearly gained flight only to be silenced with a kick and a shove under the seat.

There was the doomed bus from Nha Trang. Up the hill and down the hill, up and down, up and down - no up again. Much darkly-worded talk, beside the dead vehicle, about the driver and his driving. The savior of a beach town.

And there was the local bus to Chau Doc. The low ceiling at the back, which made introductions with my head on the bumpy roads. Bump. *%^$! Bump. *%^$!! The rice sacks considerately jammed under my feet, knees now up at my chest. The vendor ladies who would have got a smack had they tried to sell me anything - "I make good price just for you!"

There was my unbroken line, that beautiful string of red on a map. I had gone overland all the way from Hong Kong to Siem Reap. On the roads and the rails and in the water, my feet had been firmly planted on the planet - until now.

Backpackers are also a deeply gossipy bunch. They talk about what they've done and where they've been and how they got there, and I had heard them say that the trip to the border and on to Bangkok was not a good one. The roads were hell. Poipet, the border town, wasn't much better. I formed an impression of pain that was not worth the effort and decided to break the rule.

I knew what I was getting myself into. Only a few weeks ago, a friend took a plane to Vientiane and was ridiculed by others. High-roller! Big-spender! I still booked a trip from Siem Reap to Bangkok, 55 minutes instead of half a day travel.

When I got there, the airport was a ghost town. Even then, ghosts may not have been there because they had no one to haunt: no one at the airline desks; no one at customer service; not one person inside the terminal. Airport staff showed up and lineups formed an hour later and the nice lady at the counter gave me the exit seat. Long legs, she said with a smile. Oh, bless you!

By 1:00 in the afternoon, we were in the air. The Bankok Airways attendant came by with in-flight meals and offered drinks - all for a one hour trip!

"Coffee, sir?"

"Yes, please."

So I broke a rule. Okay. I still made Bangkok in record time and in style. Now it's on to the rest of my trip.