Wednesday 25th January 2012. Arrival

Almost exactly 48 hours after leaving my home in North Yorkshire, with protests from my daughter still ringing in my ears (“You said you wouldn’t go abroad without us again!” But what choice did I have?) , I finally arrived in Phnom Penh in Cambodia. The trip should have actually taken around 24 hours in total, but thanks to a delay to the second leg of my journey (Abu Dhabi to Bangkok) and the vagaries of the UAE’s banking and legal systems, I ended up spending a day in the UAE. Most of this day was spent in the custody of various police departments in various police stations, caged police vans and grimy holding rooms in Abu Dhabi and Dubai watching bored police officers and administrators typing up reports. It was highly dispiriting and frustrating, but, with the help of some wonderful people, I was able to get out of the situation relatively quickly and resume my journey after a night (well, six hours) in a Dubai hotel. I only slept about four or five of those after deciding to look for some food and drink to settle my nerves and my hungry stomach (the food in police stations is not the best, shall we say).

In the bar (called Harry’s Place or something) I eat and drink my food while listening to the cheesy synthesised strains of the house band, consisting of one man on guitar and two Asian lady singers. They are accompanied by a lone dancer - a wiry Western man in his late 50s or early 60s gyrates and twists to the beat directly in front of the stage. After eating I get talking to a very interesting American fellow who is apparently on his way to Afghanistan. He is bearded and long-haired, but insists that he is in the US military – a particular Task Force, he called it – and has a love of British TV programmes and speaks in reverent terms of the drinking prowess of the SAS. I relieve him of a couple of full-strength Marlboros (oof, they give me a hit, alright) before he heas off to his room to get some kip before his 3am start.

It’s done now, and I’ve got a new experience to add to my “tales for the grandchildren” back-catalogue. At a wise old age I can offer a small child a gold-wrapped caramel sweet along with advice on avoiding countries in the Middle East with backward and archaic justice systems.

The last leg of my journey is in an ATP propeller plane between Bangkok and Phnom Penh. It is just a short, 80-minute hop which feels like nothing after the previous two six-hour flights. The leg room on the little plane is better than it has been on the wide-bodied monsters (Airbus A330 and Boeing 777) I’ve been on, but then there is no personal entertainment system to pass the time watching. I eat a passable meal of fish and rice (I think I’ll be eating a lot of that in the next few months) and drink a couple of small glasses of red wine then play a few levels of Angry Birds on my tablet, and before long we are descending into PP.

Phnom Penh International Airport is the smallest I’ve seen in a capital city, smaller still than Doha’s old one.  The walk from the aircraft to the immigration hall is all of 200 yards, if that. The visa process is about as relaxed and painless as it can be, with a month-long visa costing me US$ 25 and a passport photo. This visa can be extended indefinitely, apparently. After having my photo and fingerprints taken electronically at the passport desk, I stride about another twenty yards and immediately see my checked suitcase idling by on the baggage carousel. I grab it and heave it onto a trolley, make my way through customs and out into the Cambodian evening. It is pleasantly warm and I hear the familiar sound of cicadas as I approach the waiting throng to see if anyone is holding a card bearing my name.

I spot my hosts quickly; a Welsh man in his mid-60s from my company and another, younger man from our company’s Korean client. The Korean chap is holding a sign with my name on it (spelled incorrectly, but it matters not) and they both smile and nod as they realise I am the man they are waiting for. I shake hands with both before being relieved of my trolley and led a short distance along a path and to the car park where a Cambodian man jumps out of a Lexus 4x4 and proceeds to load my luggage into the car.

We all jump in and are soon speeding down the main airport road towards the city centre. I don’t remember much about the journey – I am in a bit of a daze, to be honest, and you never see much of a place in the dark other than street lights and car headlights – but I remember talking to my new acquaintances about my trip and what lay in store for me. I am staying in a hotel the first night and will be moved to my serviced apartment in the morning, they tell me. I just want a bed and a good night’s sleep. I am delighted to hear that the working hours are going to be civilised here – 8am to 6pm with a 90 minute lunch break - and also that the accommodation is virtually next door to the site office where I will be based.

Why can’t all jobs be like this?

The ride to the hotel doesn't take very long, and after checking in, the Korean chap bids us goodnight and said he’d pick us up in the morning. My company colleague is staying at the same hotel as he is just visiting for a couple of weeks, and he suggests that we have a drink and a chat before turning in for the night. It is only around 10.30pm, and I have woken up a bit, so after depositing my bags in my first floor room with the help of the porter, I meet up with DJ (me company man) in the bar just off the main lobby.  We drink a local draught beer, which is pleasant enough, and eat roasted cashew nuts while we talk about the job I am going to be working on. From the sounds of things there are some interesting challenges ahead, with a very demanding client. My colleague tells me he thinks I will enjoy working in Cambodia. He himself lives in Vietnam, and says that Cambodia is much more pleasant in terms of weather and local friendliness.

With beers finished and time moving on, we decide it is time to get some sleep. DJ tells me breakfast is a buffet affair, served in the restaurant at the other side of the lobby, and says he will be in there at about 7.30am. I go up to my room, strip off my travel-weary clothing and flop gratefully into the big, soft bed. It doesn't take long to get to sleep.