Extortion on the open road (continued) February 6
A short discussion ensued, and the man mad an abrupt gesture which I took as a dismissal - a “you go now” gesture. I thought perhaps he meant I should leave without my bike, or my things. My money, passport, everything were on that bike.
When there’s an ambiguity, or a misunderstanding, and the outcome is important, always misunderstand in your favor. So I chose to understand he meant ride off.
Sometime during all this, another motor bike with two men rode up, and had a few words in Khmer with the other two men.
At some point, the two men figured out I was going to Skon, the opposite direction to which my bike was pointed, which seemed to pacify them somewhat. Throwing away the rest of my unfinished mango, I rode off, thanking them, as at that point, I understood the interchange as them warning me it wasn’t safe to be stopped like that. They rode with me for a short distance, then said goodbye, and rode off again.
I was a bit shaken, but ok. Then the other motorbike rode up behind me. I don’t remember whether they had followed me the whole time, or had ridden off, and come back.
Cambodians seem to have an annoying predilection for riding, if I were in a car, right in my blind spot - roughly 45 degrees off my rear. I can hear them, and usually can see their shadow or headlight, but have a very hard time seeing them. As long as they’re not so close as to run a risk of running into me, I generally ignore them.
As I did this motorbike. Finally, after a few minutes, they pulled along side of me, and started trying to start a conversation in Khmer. Long after making it clear I didn’t speak any Khmer, and didn’t understand what they were saying, they still persisted. Which seemed a bit off at first, and seemed stranger and stranger as time went on. Usually people in this situation get frustrated after a short while, and ride off. And these two didn’t look to be the particularly patient language teacher types, either.
Finally we reached what looked to be Skon, and they pointed at a multistory building which looked like it might be a guesthouse on the edge of a small market. I pulled up in front, but still had the two guys on the motorbike in tow. And they very much wanted something, though it was unclear what.
The more I didn’t understand, the more upset they got. They kept saying something in Khmer, and point at the motorbike. It was another case of ambiguity. I thought perhaps they were after money, but refused to officially understand that until it was made totally clear.
Another guy on a motorbike rode up, and cleared up the understanding. “Two dollah”, he said, pointing at the two guys on the motorbike. Now I was clear on what they wanted, but still didn’t understand why they wanted it, or rather, why they thought I should give it to them.
I apologized as best I could, and rode off, this time with far too many motorbikes and bicycles in tow for my comfort. I asked for a guesthouse in Khmer to one of the more innocent ones, and he pointed further down the main road.
I rode past the first one I cam to, and turned into the driveway of one set back from the main road, thinking it might be quieter. It was throbbing with bad pop music, so I rode back to the first guesthouse.
My friends on the motorbike were waiting for me, Mr. Two Dollah in tow, not a one looking very happy. I pushed by them, and asked the guesthouse owner if he had any rooms. He said he did, for $5. I started bargaining a bit, but Mr. Two Dollah was right behind me, acting very menacing.
Still not understanding what was going on, and why people were demanding fairly large sums of money from me (relatively speaking), and why they were acting so angry when I refused to give it to them, I asked the guesthouse owner if he could help me understand, since he spoke some English.
He spoke a few sentences in Khmer to them, before turning back to me. “They say they brought you here and protected you, and they want money to pay for fuel and for their motorbike.”
At that moment, they were the only people I felt I needed protection from, and besides, two dollars is an absurd amount of money for 5km worth of fuel.
I explained that I had not asked for their protection, and that I did not understand they were protecting me, nor that I would be expected to pay them. But it was clear, by the way he was laughing, the guesthouse owner took none of this seriously.
After all, he likely held the common Cambodian view that all foreigners are rich, and able to deal out endless sums of money. He even said to me with a laugh, “You should pay them.” I made it clear to them I wasn’t going to pay them, and went about getting a room.
During this, Mr. Two Dollah had picked up my map, which was tucked under a lashing on my pack. This happens a lot, and locals seem to really enjoy looking at it. I thought nothing of it, until I tried to get it back.
But Mr. Two Dollah was going to keep it as ransom, waving it just out of my reach, signaling for the two men on the other motorbike to take it and ride off.
And that’s when I lost it. I lunged for the map, and ripped it out of his hand, irate. I was well scared by now, and trying to figure out how this was going to end. Mr. Two Dollah gave me a very menacing look, and shook his finger at me, as if to say, I’ll come back for you, this isn’t over.
And, in that instant, I changed my mind. This had escalated far beyond where I felt comfortable, and besides, it’s never wise to start grudges with angry stupid men who have better access to firearms and explosives than you do.
The fee at this point was down to a dollar, and I asked the guesthouse owner if I gave them the dollar, would they go away. He sort of laughingly assented, so I handed over the dollar, seething, and waved them off. I stormed back to my bike, and threw the map to the ground.
Even now, nearly 48 hours later, writing about it makes me extremely angry. At the time I felt very threatened, and as though I had no one who would stand up for me. What happened was nothing short of extortion. Yet, no one, not even likely the police, would have stood up for me. The police too would have likely seen me as the rich foreigner, to who two dollars is “small money,” the catch phrase of Cambodian corruption.
I have a very strong sense of what is right and wrong, and what is fair and unfair. This was completely, totally unfair, in a way I’ve experience few other times in my life. But the reaction from the locals, and even other travelers, has been one of nonchalance, of “this is the way it is”.
In the end, what happened wasn’t such a big deal. It was relatively small money, at least compared to what I stood to lose, and it did diffuse an ugly situation.
Yet, what has happened has jaded my view of Cambodians. I’m much more on my guard now, suspicious of people that approach me. I’m struggling not to feel almost resentful of Cambodia as a whole.
But ultimately, what happened was entirely preventable. I simply shouldn’t have been riding at night, and I should have known better.