AsiaLIFE

According to chapter 1, article 4 of Cambodian traffic law (the un-official translation): “all vehicles, which are moving along the roads, MUST have drivers”. According to chapter 9, article 1, all drivers of vehicles must have valid driving licences. And so, in what looks like a thinly disguised attempt by AsiaLIFE to transform me, yet again, into their local chauffeur, I go on the hunt for a Khmer driving licence.

My first stop is a popular driving school.

Question: “Do I need a driving licence to drive in Cambodia?”

Answer: “Yes”

Question: “But I can drive a moto without one?”

Answer: “Yes”

Question: “So I don’t need a Khmer licence to drive a moto?”

Answer: “Yes.”

Questions: “But I need a licence to drive here?”

Answer: “Yes”

Try making sense of that. Finally the woman behind the counter asks to have a look at my current licence and tells me that to change my licence into a Khmer one, I need three passport photos, a colour copy of my licence, as well as copies of my passport and visa. Plus US$40 – the processing fee. The word ‘change’ worries me – I don’t want to change my good, trustworthy, uncorrupted Finnish license to a Khmer one (which I am not sure shares those admirable attributes), I simply want an additional Khmer licence. Yes, the woman says. “Yes, no problem”.

Not convinced, I call up the Ministry of Transportation. They advise me to go to their office near the water park on the way to the airport. Completely devoid of signs, the place is a mission to find, but I’m finally pointed down a dirt path towards a few old low-rise buildings. As I get off the moto a sea of men come at me shouting ‘Licence? Licence?’. Oddly enough it seems I’m not the first barang to make the trek down to this office. I nod for yes, but am uncomfortable with simply handing my existing licence over to one of these ragged-looking men – the situation rather reminds of stories about dim-witted tourists handing everything over as soon as they step off the plane in a foreign country to some guy who claims he will help them through customs, they of course, never see their documents again. Deciding not to be a stupid tourist, I hold on to my card and head for the entrance.

Inside, there is a woman preparing lunch among empty office desks, filing cabinets and dust. She points me to the room next door where a well-dressed woman asks me to take a seat whilst chattering away on her pink mobile phone. ‘Can I help you?’ she gesticulates. ‘I want a Khmer licence’ I declare. She doesn’t understand. Good start. Eventually she takes a look at my Finnish licence, then looks at me, stops for a moment to consider, and says it - “US$35”. That’s less than at the driving school, but as it is Cambodia I feel the need to haggle – “Can it be less?”; she looks at me with such confusion that it becomes brilliantly clear to me that it cannot be less, but that it probably could be more if I don’t shut it.

I give them my photos and copies, sign a paper or two, give them my address, and some 20 minutes later it’s done. Quick and easy. I will now have my very own Khmer licence – in four weeks time. “Maybe it can be faster...?” I suggest. Again, the woman looks at me like I’m an idiot and shakes her head - of course it can’t be faster. At least not without another US$20 I suspect.

One month later I make the trek back to the office. The same sea of men engulf me and I start to wonder what it is they really are offering – would it have been cheaper to go through them? Maybe faster? Why are they here, right in front of the office? Who are they? Alas I will never know. As I, receipt in hand, step in to the office and claim my brand new Khmer driving licence. The traffic law states all moving vehicles must have drivers – I wonder if there is an article according to which all drivers must have vehicles? At least now I can legally drive one.