The night bus from Sihanoukville to Phnom Penh was on time and comfortable.
The only worry was the window to our left which had 29 feet of cracks in it.
Normally, I joke about these things. This is absolutely true.
Even the normally stoical Khmers were worried. A series of passengers poked at it to test for imminent failure. The matronly lady who had the misfortune to be allocated a seat next to it made no bones about her dissatisfaction. It looked like the bus had been involved in a riot at some time in the recent past and the window had been attacked by a stave wielding mob. Virak Buntham Express Travel Ltd had done the next best thing to replacing it.
They had put 29 feet of duct tape over the cracks.
But the glass just bowed and flexed like a wobble board at the slightest provocation. Would it survive another bone jarring journey on Cambodia's black top or would it shatter, raining passengers and by standers alike, with a hail of deadly glass splinters?
We slept in seats over the back axle. It was a rough ride. I wouldn't say I was actually bounced out of my couchette but the Khmer chap sleeping next to me clearly thought I was trying to get intimately acquainted and so constructed an elaborate defensive rampart from his carry on luggage.
The matron shuttled back and forth to report on the deteriorating state of the window. The attendant followed her dutifully but it was clear from the outset that, even if he had cared, there was very little he could have done, other than applying more tape. And that wasn't an option unless the bus stopped on the unlit highway, deep in the hinterlands, with ferocious water buffalo circling in wait.
The journey continued. The suspense built. The window survived every successive jolt and crash as the bus driver took pot holes, speed bumps and even kerbs at full tilt. Cambodia's answer to Keanu Reeves, never let the bus drop below 55kmph. Had there been an unfinished over pass, he would surely have jumped it, if only to show that the duct tape would hold.
We disembarked at Phnom Penh, leaving Keanu to steer the good ship Buntham to the safety of Ho Chi Minh City, a further 10 hours away.
If the window didn't fall out by then, it never will.
The only worry was the window to our left which had 29 feet of cracks in it.
Normally, I joke about these things. This is absolutely true.
Even the normally stoical Khmers were worried. A series of passengers poked at it to test for imminent failure. The matronly lady who had the misfortune to be allocated a seat next to it made no bones about her dissatisfaction. It looked like the bus had been involved in a riot at some time in the recent past and the window had been attacked by a stave wielding mob. Virak Buntham Express Travel Ltd had done the next best thing to replacing it.
They had put 29 feet of duct tape over the cracks.
But the glass just bowed and flexed like a wobble board at the slightest provocation. Would it survive another bone jarring journey on Cambodia's black top or would it shatter, raining passengers and by standers alike, with a hail of deadly glass splinters?
We slept in seats over the back axle. It was a rough ride. I wouldn't say I was actually bounced out of my couchette but the Khmer chap sleeping next to me clearly thought I was trying to get intimately acquainted and so constructed an elaborate defensive rampart from his carry on luggage.
The matron shuttled back and forth to report on the deteriorating state of the window. The attendant followed her dutifully but it was clear from the outset that, even if he had cared, there was very little he could have done, other than applying more tape. And that wasn't an option unless the bus stopped on the unlit highway, deep in the hinterlands, with ferocious water buffalo circling in wait.
The journey continued. The suspense built. The window survived every successive jolt and crash as the bus driver took pot holes, speed bumps and even kerbs at full tilt. Cambodia's answer to Keanu Reeves, never let the bus drop below 55kmph. Had there been an unfinished over pass, he would surely have jumped it, if only to show that the duct tape would hold.
We disembarked at Phnom Penh, leaving Keanu to steer the good ship Buntham to the safety of Ho Chi Minh City, a further 10 hours away.
If the window didn't fall out by then, it never will.
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