(Daniel) Early this morning, Nii and I prepared the vehicle for the expected searches and general ransacking by Vietnamese and or Cambodian officials.  The preparations entailed removing any rubbish and foodstuff that the officials may complain about, making the vehicle look neat and organised, and locking all compartments incase a full search left rear doors etc open to thieves whilst other areas of the vehicle were being searched. 

We drove to the checkpoint, where a huge cue of trucks waited for processing, presumably having stayed overnight.  I bypassed the trucks driving around them on the wrong side of the road, as my experiences in the middle east have taught me.  At the front gate, the officials showed us through to a small building.  Inside, a highly decorated officer carefully inspected the documents, then nodded for us to leave.  I asked him to complete the papers, but he told me in French that I could complete them at the checkpost, this turned out to be correct.

A short way further down the road, at the Vietnamese border, I got my first taste of the problem looming.  We stopped up against the barrier keeping us from the Vietnamese roads.  An official in a Khaki military uniform walked over.  He looked confusedly at the Wolf, exclaiming in poor English that we could freely enter Vietnam, but the vehicle could not.  I had faced similar claims before and won, assuming immediately the confident and persistant attitude that had steered me through the previous situations.  Here I was simply ignored, this was someone else’s decision to make.

We walked past the guard to the checkpost behind, but no-one else spoke English.  At the larger office building, the situation was the same.  We found a senior officer, but he told me the party line, that we would not be able to enter Vietnam unless we had a letter from his government.  I tried hard to keep up the front that they had made a mistake, still believing this myself, although doubt had started to creep into my mind.  The officer would not accept our assurances about the carnet.  In the end we turned back to the Cambodian side, hoping for some help from them regarding carnets and our rights.  Back in the office, the once stern guards took on a helpful friendly attitude.  They told us to leave the vehicle with them, while we cross into Vietnam to try and get help from the authorities.

We locked the truck fully, Nii and I crossed through Vietnams border and immigration procedures on foot.  At the other side, we took a couple of motorcycle taxis to the nearest town.  Our drivers stopping at an internet café.  I was keen to check my facts, as well as those of the home team.  The information available online was still the same, you could apply for a carnet, other expeditions had done it before, (provided they had left hand drive vehicles), the officials had surely made a mistake.  Just as I began closing windows to log off and leave the café.  I spotted a list of South East Asian countries and their vehicle requirements for visitors.  It clearly stated that Vietnams borders were closed to foreign vehicles.  The list was shown on a private site, but it was enough to remind me of Vietnams ever changing policies on border control.  At the same time the sudden realisation that I could no longer get a direct ship from Vietnam, nor had I made any arrangements for shipping from another country. 

Time to make a decision.  Vietnam looked like a dead horse, I wasn’t going to get in easily, and even if I did, imagine the hassle of getting out again?!  Thailand?  Well they are by far the most developed country, but Bangkok is not a major port, and relies on small liners to deliver freight to Hong Kong or Singapore.  It would take too long, and what about the price?  Cambodia then, I had noticed that Sihanoukville was a port town, surely I could return there and pick up a boat leaving soon.  Time to move.

Getting Back into Cambodia from No-mans land was a pain, we had to beg the officials to fill out all that paperwork again, while we waited, for free.  I had to buy a new visa for $35, and both Nii and I had to pass back through immigration.  As I drove along the same roads towards Sihanoukville I calculated the days that we had to sort this mess out.  It didn’t look good, Nick Amy and Oli were due to arrive on the 14th of August, the shipping would take around 1 week to arrange, then two to three weeks to arrive in LA.  Leaving me with a wait in LA or Thailand already  this is now disaster control for the schedule.

I suddenly realised that Nick, Amy and Oli’s tickets would probably be fixed, what if the shipping would delay my arrival in the States too?  I called Nick on Nii’s mobile.  (Nick) “Hello, I can’t talk is it important?”  The line was bad, and it took me a second to realise what he said.  “Put it this way, I can’t get into Vietnam, the shipping is probably going to be severely delayed, and if your unlucky, your tickets might be useless.  Is that important enough for you?!”   It turned out, that Nick was in the Hospital, getting several of his vaccination injections for the trip.  He had a needle hanging out of his arm at just the time I hit him with the various bombs just mentioned. 

When we arrived in Sihanoukville, I drove straight to the port.  There were plenty of shipping agents in town, I stopped outside the first one.  He could not handle such a shipment.  The others that I stopped at all said the same.  In the end I found an office for the Mearsk Shipping Line.  The two men inside were thoroughly unhelpful, they tried phoning someone, but in the end gave up, they told me that the shipping would take at least five weeks, and that I would have to deal with another office to handle it.  The frustration was boiling my blood, all I could think of was the monumental efforts of the Home Team to date, and the possibility that they could be waiting around in the States for the whole of their allotted time, only to get a quick drive before heading back to the UK.

Just then, as my manners were starting to slip, a man poked his head around the door. In a thick French accent, he asked, “Is that your Land Rover outside? If so, can I help you in some way?” 

“Only if you have something to with shipping.” I said putting on a smile.

“No, but you should not ship from here my friend.  I have a Land Rover too, just around the corner, I drove here in 1996, and never left!”  A brief flash of the story leading me up to never leaving this place glazed my eyes.   There and then I decided to trust this man’s judgement, tomorrow I would drive to Bangkok.  After introductions, (His name was Michael, and he had indeed lived here for twelve years.)   We went with our new friend and his wife, a Cambodian lady who spoke only French and her native tongue, to a small French restaurant.   Michael picked up his Landie on the way, proudly parking it close to ours on the main street.  It turned out that he was actually employed as the head of operations for Sihanoukville Airport and had been on a number of Expeditions before settling down here.   He regaled us with tales of his previous vehicles never leaving the shipyard, and misadventures at the hands of border officials.  Sadly he never travelled to Vietnam, and couldn’t tell us more about their policies.

We took some photos of the vehicles together, thanked the man for his advice and company, then checked in to a small hotel down the road.  The morning would bring another big day, we would have to cross the four rivers and ferries of Koh Kong province, returning to the Thai border.  I was relying on my two passport technique to get me through the new Thai 3 entry rule, a multitude of potential problems to face.  I didn’t sleep well, to pass the time, I watched the movie, Patton.   A mocking lesson in humility and patience emerging from it’s story line.         

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