Bike accidents, scams and the plague.

So the last few weeks have been interesting to say the least.

I brought a bike. Decided to take her for a spin around my block, all was going well until it wasn’t. Completly sacked it. Let me set the scene. Pulled out of my apartment and headed up the street. Took a left turn and I was on my way. The wind was in my hair and I was nailing this whole driving thing. That’s when I realised I was heading the wrong way up a one way street. That's alright, road rules aren’t really a thing here so I pull over, wait for the oncoming bikes to pass then pop a u-turn. I’m taking it nice and slow like we were told in practice, and I’m about half way around when I realise I have heaps of room and give it a little more gas. The thing about my new bike is the throttle is a little strange. It goes nothing, nothing, full blast. So a little more gas is actually a lot of gas. I realise this as I am going way too fast, with nowhere to turn, I clip the curb and go flying. Wing mirror breaks, I scratch my arm, cut my leg and I can already feel the bruises forming. The only thing that hurts worse is my ego. At least three bikes to stop to ask if I’m okay, which is comforting. I quickly pick myself up (and my wing mirror) put myself back on the bike and shake back to the apartment. Thankfully Jodi is there waiting for me. I pull up, pull my wing mirror out of my pocket and I cannot contain myself. I can’t hold it in any longer; I burst out in absolute hysterical laughter. Seeing the wing mirror Jodi can only put two and two together and joins laughing at my literal pain. After taking a few deep breaths I pop my wing mirror back on, go for another spin around the block and park her up for the night. Safe in the garage is where the bike has been ever since. Will I ride it again? Of course! But when? Good question.

After the great crash of ’19 Zach and I had to do a boarder run to renew our Visa so we can get our work permits. A trip to the boarder of Cambodia was what was called for, so that’s what we planned. First step, we were up at 6am, for the three hour bus ride to Cambodia. The bus itself was hot and loud and the potholes put the Christchurch roads to shame. After a horrible journey we get off the bus and make the short journey to the Vietnamese boarder. As soon as we stepped into the building three official looking guys come up to us.

“You go to Cambodia to come back to Vietnam?”

“Yeah, that’s right”

“Okay okay you come with us... $55USD”

We think this over, $30USD for a Cambodian visa, $20USD for the Vietnamese visa, which sounded right.

“Passports, passports”

So we give them our passports and our $55USD, he takes us past the line, right pass the officials and through the other side. At the Cambodian border, with our passports still in their hands they ask for 200,000 VND.

“What’s this for?” I ask

“Cambodian stamps”

Instantly Zach and I looked at each other and we knew this wasn’t right. However with them having our passports we weren’t really in a position to say no to them. So handing over the 200,000 we were through the Cambodian border.

Now all we have to do is get back through the Vietnamese boarder and we are good. 300 meters away from Vietnam and I could not feel further. As we step inside the Vietnamese building the men approach us again.

“$30USD”

“What the hell for?” Zach and I say in union.

“Vietnamese Visa” he replies matter of factly.

“No, we already paid you for the Cambodian and the Vietnamese visa” we replied.

“Nope, $30USD or no visa” he rebuts

Once again, they have our passports so we don’t have a leg to stand on. We have left Cambodia, we haven’t entered Vietnam, without our passports, what the hell could we do??

Begrudgingly we hand over another $30USD get our stamps and walk back to the bus. The guys who literally bled us dry at the boarder pull up behind us and this is where the level of cheek hit its point

“Coffee money?” they said.

You have to be shitting me. Zach and I literally laugh in their faces and tell them there is no way in Hot Cambodian hell we are giving them anymore money and head back to the safety that is the number 703 bus back to Ho Chi Minh. This bus is hotter and louder but it was on my favourite side of the border and that’s all that mattered.

And last but not least, I have caught the plague.

During the craft session of a K class the kids were cutting out their masks. All but two kids. One kid who has the attention span of a walnut and the one kid I would not trust with a foam finger let alone a pair of scissors. Hannibal Lecter would be more responsible with scissors than this second kid. As I’m cutting the first mask kid number two comes up and is shoving his mask in my face

“Teacher, teacher, cut”

“Yes, I will please just wait” I say

“Teacher CUT” says the kid all still while shoving a pretty shitty coloured in mask in my face

“Yes wait” I say more firmly

The kid looks at his mask, looks at me, looks back at his mask and looks at me dead in the eyes before shoving the mask back in my face.

I open my mouth to speak when the kid sees his chance.

He coughs directly into my mouth.

Moral of the story, to avoid sickness, give kids scissors, even the dull ones. What will be will be.

If you have learnt anything from this installment it should be the following

1. I’m just as bad as driving a motorbike as I am as driving a car (all three cars that I crashed and my parents insurance company can agree)

2. Cambodia sucks and I will never return.

3. Kids are walking infections.

Till next time!