We had heard and read lots of rumors and anecdotes and heresay about crossing from Laos into Cambodia in the 4000 Islands. The post is closed, no it’s open again; you need a visa beforehand, no you can get them on site; it costs more; it’s better to get a packaged transport deal; and so on. Most of us had gotten visas already to be on the safe side, but Team England were granted them on arrival for only a few dollars more than we had paid. We did have to pay “fees,” which I would have translated as “bribes,” on both the Laos and Cambodia side, including one dollar to have our temperature taken. We were also overcharged some for the minibus to our stop for the night, but with such a closed market there wasn’t much we could do about it. I’d call the whole experience smooth with only the standard level of corruption.
Because of what time we crossed the border and the possible bus routes, we could only get as far as a town called Stung Treng. Stung Treng is a shithole. This is not an opinion but a Factual Statement of Truth. Stung Treng, out of all the towns I’ve ever stayed in for the entirety of my existence, is most deserved of the term “shithole.” Maybe I’ve been on bus rides that have passed through poorer towns, but none could match the dirty trashpiles that are the main sights of Stung Treng. Seriously, the dictionary definition of “shithole” goes
1. a rundown, unattractive place
2. Stung Treng, Cambodia
It’s single redeeming quality is that buses leave it for other places. I cannot stress this enough: DO NOT go to Stung Treng.
To get to Siem Reap we had to change buses at a random rest stop. We had our first encounter here with a common phenomenon in the tourist parts of Cambodia: merchant girls. We were swarmed immediately stepping off the bus by dozens of pre-teen girls selling bags of various fruit in this case. It’s hard to capture their unique speech cadence in writing, but that won’t stop me from trying and failing.
Merchant Girl 1: I remember youuuuu. You remember meeeee?
MG2: You buy from meeeee?
MG3: You want some fruuuuit?
Me: Uh….
MG4: Where you frooooom?
MG1: You have girlfrieeeeend?
MG3: You so handsommme.
MG2: You buy from meeeee!
MG4: You like spideeeer?
Me: I don’t want any…Wait, what?
MG2: I have mangooooo!
MG1: Why you no have girlfrieeeeend?
MG4: You no buy from me I give spideeeer.
Me: What’s this business about…Oh, hey, there’s a giant spider on me now.
MG2: I have pineappllllle!
After many minutes of being remembered and remembering, being interrogated about my lack of a girlfriend, and having enormous spiders tossed on my shirt, I discovered that the threshold of the rest stop’s restaurant created some sort of magical force field the creatures couldn’t cross. Like vampires over running water, or mimes in that box. I eventually caved while we were boarding the new bus and bought some pineapple from a particularly cheeky girl. I guess I’m a softie for high pressure sales tactics wrapped in adolescence. That, and I found out that not participating in spider assaults makes me more likely to buy something from you.
Ira on the Road 
Hi-larious! Do they carry spiders around in their pockets or what? You should do a recap of all the overbearing “merchant girl” equivalents in each country.
They keep them somewhere.