I’m writing this while offline, so I don’t remember exactly what I had said the plan would be in my last post, but I know that the plan changed a little.

Yesterday morning we woke up early and finished packing. Miraculously, by 10:30am, all of the boxes and suitcases were down in the lobby, and we turned over the key to Yonna’s apartment.

I know she was sad to be moving out. She had only been living in this particular place for a few months, but this move marked the end of her residence in Ho Chi Minh City. In the course of the last few years, rents in District 1 have tripled (at least). Her previous apartment was around US$350/month, but the owner had sold the building in October and given her less than two-weeks notice that she needed to move (she was actually in the US when she found out). Luckily she found this latest apartment right around the corner, but the rent was already US$600/month and it was the cheapest she could find.

It’s not just the rising cost of living. The traffic has become a real problem. We often would take a taxi just to go to the center of District 1 (about 0.6 miles). While these trips were pretty zippy in the evening, during the day we would sometimes find ourselves crawling along more slowly than we could go on foot. Of course, there was air conditioning inside the taxi. There is a subway system due to be built, but it seems unlikely it will be finished by 2013 (even with construction crews working around the clock as they often do here). It’s difficult to imagine the sort of gridlock this city will see in the next three years.

So, with the apartment vacated, and all of our belongings stacked in the lobby, we were left to deal with Yonna’s expired visa. She needed to leave Vietnam and then re-enter. As a Japanese citizen, she is granted a two-week tourist visa at no charge any time she enters. After talking to some other Japanese expats in Saigon, she learned that the quickest way to accomplish this is to take a bus to Moc Bai, then cross into Cambodia. She was told that there was a casino there, just inside the Cambodian border, where you can stay on the cheap and do a little gambling, with meals included. Since we had already booked flights from Hanoi to Luang Prabang, Laos, before my own visa expired, I should have no trouble getting back into Vietnam from Cambodia. And according to her sources, a Cambodian entry visa is only about US$25.

But at the bus station, when Yonna explained to an agent what we had in mind, some guy standing nearby told her that the casino had been torn down a year ago and they wouldn’t let an American through at all. I was too tired from moving boxes around to care. I just wanted to sit on the bus and watch the scenery go by.

We picked up some food and water for the 3-hour drive and climbed aboard. The bus was mostly empty as it left the bus station. But it filled up very quickly as we stopped at two large markets on the way out of Saigon. It wasn’t just passengers we were taking on, it was bags and boxes of goods being transported to the market in Moc Bai. Sometimes the back door of the bus would open as we moved, and a courier would jump on board just long enough to hand a small parcel to the bus conductor, then jump back off.

The route was mostly the same as the one I’d taken to the Cao Dai temple, so I didn’t take any photos along the way. Sometime around 3pm we passed Moc Bai and went on about 10km to the bus terminal, where everyone bundled off the bus. As soon as my foot hit the gravel a throng of men wearing motor-scooter helmets surrounded us, offering to drive us the remaining kilometer to the border crossing. I suppose I could have handled all of this on my own, but it was so great having Yonna there to negotiate the transportation. She chose two likely guys with new-looking scooters, and told them they would get no more than 5,000 VND (which I’ve learned is the most common way of writing Vietnamese Dong) apiece for driving us. As there really were no other options for getting to the crossing, besides on foot, they really had all the power. But, they agreed, and we climbed on the backs of their scooters.

The trip was very short, but as we approached the imposing-looking set of official buildings, my nerves started to jangle. As we came to the small guard booth into the compound, the drivers shut off their engines and we continued on foot, with them pushing their bikes. Our passports were checked, and we were waved on to the a large building about 500 feet further along the widening road.

I should point out that this border crossing is in the middle of nowhere. I imagine that if you saw this area from the sky, it would look like a dumbbell, with the Vietnam customs compound on one end, a long two lane road through the “no-man’s-land,” and then the Cambodian customs compound on the other end.

We entered the central building and I worked up the nerve to turn back and snap one photo of the entrance to Vietnam, which now seemed so safe and secure to me. (I’m a bit nervous about taking pictures in highly controlled areas, ever since having a bad experience — involving a sub-machine gun and my film being exposed — in the Milan airport when I was 13.)

We presented our passports to a guy standing behind what looked to me like a coffeeshop counter. I would have thought he was a bartender. It turns out that he was a kind of information counter clerk. Yonna talked to him for what seemed like hours (since I had no idea what they were discussing and all of my greatest fears involve being thrown into some secret prison in a communist country). Finally she told me that as soon as she spoke Vietnamese to him he’d become quite friendly, and told her that there were indeed a number of casinos across the border, and we wouldn’t even need Cambodian visas if we just wanted to go to gamble.

We passed through passport control with no problem and left the building. There were our motor-scooter escorts, waiting to take us through the no-man’s land and to the Cambodian passport control. We wanted to pay them and let them go, but they insisted on following us (along with a small group of people who seemed to think we were going to start handing out money, apparently). So we made our way to the last checkpoint before entering the zone between countries.

Off in the distance was the Cambodian compound, looking very elaborate and traditional in comparison to the stark strength displayed by the Vietnamese architecture (not pictured yet). I wasn’t fooled though. I knew that the moment I handed my passport over I would be whisked away to some dank holding cell, and then on to Room 101.

We continued, followed by the scooter drivers, et al, jostling for a chance to make a quick buck, and telling Yonna who we should talk to to get a visa. Luckily, the signs were also in English, and “Passport Control” was clearly marked, even though it was in the opposite direction of the place the mob was telling us to go.

Inside the Cambodian building was a large group of men and women in military dress uniforms, all sitting around tables as if they were in a cafeteria. We were approached by a woman who looked like she ran a female soldiers’ dormitory, both matronly and commanding at the same time. She asked if we were here for the casino, and directed us to a small shuttle bus parked outside. I pulled two 20,000 VND notes from my wallet to pay our drivers off, but the majorette took one of the bills out of my hand and pushed it back into my wallet, indicating that I was offering too much. Yonna went out and handed them the remaining 20,000 bill, and they immediately started complaining and yelling. She gave them another, and we walked off towards the shuttle bus, which was painted with the words “Las Vegas Casino” on the side in a stylish script.

The driver started off, but asked for our passports. I was more than a little nervous about handing them over, now that I was inside Cambodia, but I didn’t see any option. He pulled up to a booth and handed our passports to a guy inside who handed him two slips of paper. These were our receipts for our passports, redeemable when we left Cambodia. This made me unhappy.

We drove on for probably less than a kilometer and reached a strip of casinos, with more under construction. There was really nothing else in this area. No town, no shops, just a few apartments (probably for the workers and officials), a handful of food stands in the dirt along the road, and the casinos.

The Las Vegas casino wasn’t much too look at from the outside.

Inside was a foyer with a metal detector and armed guard. They asked Yonna to leave her camera with them, as photography was prohibited inside the casino. Yonna argued with them in English, and was allowed to put her camera in her backpack and carry it in (she is very good at getting her way). I prayed that my camera wouldn’t set off the metal detector. But since they sent us through wearing our backpacks (mine contained all sorts of items, including my laptop) we both set off the detector, and they didn’t seem to care.

Inside was the weirdest spectacle I’ve seen since my arrival. A sad-looking casino by all accounts, with a massive bar lined with American booze, but no patrons. Behind the semi-circular bar was a stage with a small band and women singing to nobody in particular. In all, the floor was the size of an ice rink, and with about the same ambience. I was the only Westerner in the place, and was keenly aware of this. There were perhaps 200-300 people gambling inside, but the over-all feeling was still one of a party that had been elaborately planned, but to which only a few invitees showed up.

We checked the room rates: $60/night for a double. Yonna asked to see the room, so we were taken up by a guest-relations agent. He explained that the owner was Korean, while the other casinos were Chinese and Vietnamese owned. The rooms were decent looking. Nothing too fancy, but quite comfortable. Nicer than a Holiday Inn, not quite as nice as a Hyatt. Yonna asked to see the spa, and then the restaurant, and then we decided that the price didn’t make sense. She had been told that some of these casinos offered rooms for about $10.

We walked outside to see if perhaps we could do better at another casino. I wasn’t sure that we were allowed to leave the casino at all, considering that we had no passports, no visas, and the papers we needed to reclaim our passports had the Las Vegas Casino name printed on them. But I’ve learned to trust Yonna in these matters, so went along with her. Outside was a road leading into Cambodia, lined on one side with little food stands. We walked over to get some lunch, while a new casino was being built in the background.

The food arrived, and it was quite tastey. I didn’t even mind that the grilled chickens still had their heads attached, and one of them had an egg sticking out of it (which Yonna seemed to consider some sort of bonus).

As we ate, a small herd of cattle wandered along the road, and it began to look like a rain.

When the rain started, the proprietor moved our table under the canopy and we continued to eat and drink coconut juice as we waited.

I felt so much more at ease there, under the cover of the road-side cantina. I felt safe and hidden away from government officials. But the rain passed and we decided to head back to Vietnam and spend the night in an inexpensive hotel inside the border.

It was already dark, approaching 7:00pm by the time we walked back to the casino and flagged down a shuttle for a ride back to the border. Contrary to my fears, our passports were returned to us as soon as we arrived, and we didn’t even have to go through passport control (which means I didn’t get a Cambodia stamp in my passport). Again we were confronted by scooter drivers offering to take us on, but we ignored them and kept walking into the no-man’s land. We stopped halfway between Cambodia and Vietnam to take some pictures and reflect on the oddity of boundries. Yonna pointed out that Japan, as an island, has no borders, so border crossings are always very interesting to her.

Eventually we moved on, and came to the Vitenam customs building once again.

We made it through with no trouble, and were soon back in Vietnam, but many kilometers from the bus station, in the dark. There were still a few scooter drivers there, hanging around outside the barricade but we weren’t sure what we wanted to do. Yonna talked to the last official, sitting in a chair outside the guard post. He indicated that there was a hotel right there, behind the small row of shops that was the only building outside the compound.

We walked around behind the shops, and sure enough there was a small, squat building that was clearly a hotel. I was a bit relieved about not having to ride pillion on a scooter in the dark. Yonna went in alone to ask rates, having learned our lesson about me showing my Western face before prices had been negotiated. They quoted 150,000 VDN (just under $10) for a double room. I joined them as the young man showed Yonna the room.

It was pretty bleak, filthy really. The bathroom hadn’t been cleaned. There was half-used soap in the soapdish, no toilet paper, no towels. Only one of the beds had a sheet on it. No blanket. I’m pretty sure the sheets hadn’t been changed since the last person slept in the bed. There were dead insects all around the perimeter of the walls. But we were both exhausted, so willing to overlook everything for a chance to sleep.

The kid gave us a key and took my passport, bringing in a blanket (with cartoon rabbits on it) and promising to bring towels shortly. We rested for an hour or so, with no sign of towels. Since we hadn’t packed our toothbrushes, we decided to head back to the customs building, where we’d seen toothbrushes for sale (10 for US$1.30). But the same guard wouldn’t let me back in because I didn’t have my passport. So we went back inside to find someone in the hotel to talk to about our needs.

Oddly, there wasn’t anyone in the hotel. There really wasn’t even a desk.

Yonna found some peope sitting outside and asked about getting our towels. An older man, who was a guard for the building, came back inside with us and knocked on the door across the hall from our room. The young kid appeared at the door, no shirt, looking like he’d been asleep. Yonna talked to him about towels again, this time there was obvious annoyance in her voice. The older guard wandered into our room and looked at our stuff layed out on the bed (we had taken a lot of things out of our backpacks while trying to assess what we had with us). He smiled at me, as if to say, “this is a pretty crazy hotel, huh?”

After arguing for a few minutes, Yonna explained that we weren’t actually in a hotel, we were in some sort of guest house with no maid service. The kid wasn’t an employee, he just lived there (good thing he had my passport). He was giving her a hard time about expecting things like towels and blankets. At one point, as she told him she had no intention of paying for such lousy service, he asked “who are you, my mother?”

That’s when I lost my cool. I told Yonna I wanted him to give me my passport back, and we would leave. She got it for me, and I went off on a profanity-filled rant about about the filthy conditions of this place. We packed our bags and we walked out.

By now it was after 10pm. There were no guys with motor scooters waiting to drive us some place. The shops were closed. The border was closed. We were 10km from Moc Bai and the nearest hotel. I looked down the long, straight road into town and wondered how safe it would be to walk. It was basically a deserted stretch of road until the town, which made me more nervous. But I was feeling too indignant to give up and go back to sleep in scum-city.

The old guard had followed us out and was talking to Yonna as we walked. Then he broke off and entered a building. She told me has was going to drive us to Moc Bai. I was so relieved. The idea of climbing into a car and being delivered to the doorstep of a hotel sounded so wonderful. But he reappeared with a small motor-scooter than looked like it was left over from the war.

He insisted that we all climb on. I could barely get any seat under me, but I was determined to go ahead with the adventure. Unfortunately, his scooter wasn’t up to the challenge, and I don’t think Yonna was either. We gave up and went back to the weird guest house, were Yonna intended to get them to call a taxi for us from Moc Bai. But when she knocked on the kid’s door and told him what she wanted, he just muttered something and tried to close the door on her. But he was dealing with Yonna, who simply pushed the door back open as he was trying to close it (he was a small guy, and she had him out-matched for size and strength). I just stood there looking like I was ready to rip off any limb necessary to prove my point. The guard was still with us, and kept smiling at me. The kid looked really put out, but eventually said that we could have the room if I gave him my passport. I refused. Yonna explained that I would not give him my passport since this was not a hotel, and did not trust him, but that she trusted him and would give him her passport. She said “I trust you, and I know that you will do the right thing.”

He gave us back the key to the room and we went inside to sleep as best as we could.

The next morning I was up just after 7am, and ready to get out of there. The kid knocked on the door and handed me a ratty old towel from some Japanese hotel. I took it, but I had already “showered.” I was so happy to leave that place.

We grabbed rides on scooters back to the bus station.

We missed the first bus back to Ho Chi Minh at 8:00am. (Well, we didn’t miss it. Yonna went to get some food and I didn’t notice that the bus had pulled up. By the time she came back and asked why I wasn’t on the bus, it was completely packed, standing-room-only. My bad.) An hour later we were back on the road on the next crowded bus.

Three hours later we were back in Saigon. Then we just needed to ship all of the remaining boxes, sneak some of our luggage (that we didn’t need until we got to Tokyo) into the luggage room at the Park Hyatt, find a place to shower, and catch our flight to Hanoi. All that will be covered in the next post. (Oh, I finished writing this post from Yonna’s place in Hanoi…)