first run-in with the law

Two days ago I was driving up the Cambodian coast on a motorbike, checking out some of the beaches along the way. I discovered a very fancy resort called the Independence Hotel, on Independence Beach of all places.

I drove past the entrance at first because I saw about 12 wild monkeys on the side of the road. I stopped to observe them properly and snap a few photos. A fight nearly broke out between an alpha and the patriarch of a family with a young one. Things escalated and it became quite contentious, but thankfully everyone was able to cool down and get home safe and sound. Afterwards I felt inspired by the monkeys, especially by their cool under pressure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Though perhaps this was not the lesson I should have learned, I decided to sneak into the Independence Hotel. I figured that even at such a fancy all-inclusive resort there would be minimal (and likely underpaid) security, and once I was in, I was in. As I drove through the entrance I waved to the security guard, big smile on my face, yet he returned no such expression of warmth. He knew not who the hell I was, but I pressed on with confidence, knowing that any hesitation or weak line of questioning (“Hey I’m not staying here but was wondering if…”) would have me turned around in a jiff.

I was stopped by security more than once as I attempted to penetrate the barriers of the highest profile estates, but was able each time to present myself as a guest of the resort simply exploring the grounds. Eventually I meandered down to the resort’s private beach via glass elevator. There I walked along the seaside bridge until I found the perfect place to plop down and watch the sunset.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The majestic setting was both powerful and tranquil. Hundreds of crabs scurried about the rocks, bracing as waves crashed into them. The setting sun shed a brilliant yellow-pinkish hue upon the western sky. For a while I listened to the tide roll in, feeling at peace, at one with my environs. As I walked back across the bridge I listened to some Otis Redding who is, undoubtedly, the man.

After ascending back up the glass elevator I spotted the resort’s fitness center, and despite already possessing a toned, rugged physique I decided to make use of the facilities for a time. Judging stares greeted me as I entered the facility barefoot, a trail of wet sand in my wake, yet I held my chin high. Hoping to maintain an air of entitlement (thus confirming that I belonged in such an establishment), I marched toward the TV and picked up the remote to change the channel. I mean, who in their right mind would do such a thing in a club they snuck into. Plus, the Dog Whisperer was on and there was no way I was watching that garbage. I flipped through the channels until I found Home Alone 2, perfect work out entertainment. I got my pump on for around 45 minutes, focusing mainly on biceps and core. As I left I waved goodbye to others in the gym. Though they waved back to me I could tell they felt conflicted doing so.

Many of you readers out there may have been thinking that my run-in with the law would come in the midst of this daring trespass, but it actually came the next day as I was driving through town.

It was yesterday, a warm and cloudless sunny day, as I cruised through the heart of Sihanoukville on my motorbike. I was on the way back to Otres beach after driving up the coast to check out more beaches as well as a zoo with large snakes and crocodiles. Cruising in the far left lane I suddenly heard a shrill whistle and looked up to see a police officer standing in my path about 150 meters ahead, pointing his baton in my direction and signaling for me to pull over across the road. I obliged.

Several officers were there already, although they did not appear to be engaged in what you might call ‘official police business.’ These fellas were sitting around telling jokes and sipping cokes. I was asked for my driver’s license, which they seemed shocked to discover I actually had. After taking a good long look they said that I needed an international license to legally drive in Cambodia. I apologized and said that I had not been told by the folks I’d rented the bike from. I then asked why I’d been pulled over, for surely they could not have known beforehand that I didn’t have such a license. They said that my lights were on which is illegal during the day. Ha!

The officer told me that I would need to come down to the station, where I’d have to spend the rest of the day, at least, speaking to his boss, applying for an international license, filling out various paperwork pertaining to my egregious negligence. I asked him if this could be avoided since I was on my way to return the bike, plus I had a boat to catch in an hour. I knew where this was going anyways. He said OK, but first you have to pay something for your mistakes. How much? I asked. Up to you, he replied.

So let me get this straight, this officer is bluntly asking for a bribe, but allowing me to dictate the terms? Weird. I did not want to give more than I needed to but I also assumed that a bribe too low could result in my arrest, or worse. I examined the contents of my wallet and was not pleased with what I found – several large bills and very little small currency, amounting to around $3. (US currency is used in Cambodia except for anything less than $1). Sighing, I handed $3 dollars to him. To my surprise, his eyes opened wide and he nodded his head, as if this was more than enough. I said thank you and was on my way. A $3 bribe? That’s third world police for you.