Phnom Penh

Flew into Pochentong Airport on a Shanghai Airways 737. I was the only non-asian on board. The plane actually docked with one of those extendable passenger ramps. I’ve always been unceremoniously deposited on the tarmac, made to walk past the jet’s exhaust plume, across the blistering runway to the terminal. The airport is small so it was a short walk to the immigration counters. I had to first purchase a visa. The visa counter was twenty people long. What I mean is, it is a counter at which twenty visa agents sit in a row. There was no line as I was the only one needing to purchase a visa from the flight. The first agent in the row wanted me to produce the two passport photos that are still required. I was expecting this but the photos were in my bags, which were rotating through the baggage claim area. I told the agent this. He replied two dollars for photos. I presented the two dollars, half expecting him to take out a polaroid and shoot my picture. But he shook his head and gestured to the next agent in line. I presented the two dollars to this agent who shook her head and gave me a form to fill out. Simple enough, had a box where you attach the passport photos... I fill it out and give it back, she shakes her head and points me down the line, I give it to the next one. She looks it over, and says,”cashier”, waving me down the line. I offer my twenty-two dollars to each agent left, each motioning me down the line. I get to the end and this agent motions me to wait. Each agent checks my form, some actually stamp it with a date or something. Finally it gets to the last agent. I give her the money. No one took my photo.
Then quickly through immigration, grab my bags, through customs, and outside. Not many people about. They have added a food court and nice fountain to the airport since last I was here. A moto dop wants to take me and my bags to town for $3. I know what that would be like; he would precariously balance my large bag in front of him, I would cling to his back with my computer in my backpack and my camera ‘round my shoulder, as he weaves through the congested and murderous traffic, the dust clinging to my sweat covered body. So I opted to take an air-conditioned taxi for the set rate of $7 to the FCC.
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