Happy and content with the suggestion, we booked our tickets and were told that we would be picked up from our hotel at 7.15 a.m. sharp the next morning. The 8-hour bus journey would see us in Bangkok at around 4 p.m. the same day. Or so we thought.

I guess we should have known straight away that this was not going to happen when our bellboy failed to give us our early morning wakeup call. We scurried to the front of the hotel with – supposedly – only minutes to spare before being picked up. We joined another group of tourists there and stood waiting and waiting as a multitude of nice-looking buses passed us by.

After about 25 minutes (not bad for Cambodia, really), a minibus with only two seats arrived and crammed our group of 11 travelers and their luggage inside. We were assured that this was only a minor discomfort as the main bus terminal was just a short distance away. Luckily, this proved to be true.

The "main bus terminal" turned out to be another travel agency, however, where we joined yet more passengers waiting for the VIP bus.

With no services provided whatsoever, i.e. no coffee, water, seating or shade, the group soon grew restless as we helplessly watched more very nice VIP buses passing us by.

We were assured that there had only been a small problem with the air-conditioning on our bus and were comforted that the bus would arrive within 5 to 10 minutes.

After living in this part of the world for a while, I had come to know that "5 to 10 minutes" was comparable to the time it would take to cross the whole of Australia from coast to coast.

Eventually, about another hour or so as the searing Cambodian sun was about to see our tempers flare, a rickety old bus with no air conditioning pulled up. As the group of 34 travelers looked warily at each other, we were informed that this was indeed our bus and that we could start loading our luggage into the passenger compartment as there were no under-carriage luggage compartments.

Well, I traveled light. Just one small bag, unlike the majority of the other passengers who seemed to carry their entire households with them. All available floor space was soon taken up by backpacks, suitcases and – I am sure – the odd chicken in a cage until the only access to the seats was over the top of everything.

Even after all 34 passengers had clambered on, we noticed to our dismay that there was still luggage left outside. This posed no problem for our intrepid host, however, and the remaining luggage was simply piled onto the first seated passengers. Still more luggage was piled into the door stairwell ensuring that in the event of an accident all of us would die. At least we were on our way.

As the overloaded bus groaned, we slowly moved off. The first 20 kilometres or so were fine, although the sealed road was riddled with potholes. The bus wavered around the phalanxes of locals using the road as we left Siem Reap behind.

The next 150 kilometres were a jaw-and-body-breaking ride over rutted and potholed roads. It would’ve been tolerable, but the dust was something else. There always is one or two idiots who seem to think that having their windows open is a good way to let the dust out. It’s actually quite the opposite, and soon we felt like we were braving a Sahara sandstorm.

Our first pit stop saw everyone clambering out over the luggage to stretch our cramped-up legs and wash down the dust that had accumulated in the back of our throats. Water $1, Coke $1, beer $1.50, bananas $1. I was pretty sure that the roadside vendor’s vocabulary didn’t consist of any word in their own currency until I approached the nearby toilet custodian who uttered, "toilet 500 riel". Alright, that wasn’t a large sum of money, but entering a toilet that was so filthy that it made the previous night’s beers and food wanting to leave the same way it went in was a bit much.

Back over the luggage onto the bus, we resumed our jittering journey. About 50 kilometres from the border and already running 2 to 3 hours late, our entrepreneurial bus driver decided it was time for another pit stop to help us getting rid of more of our unwanted dollars to purchase water $1, Coke $1, beer $1.50 and bananas $1. No friendly toilet custodian this time. No smiling "toilet 500 riel."

We finally arrived at the Thai border only to be told that we had to change the bus for the remaining 1.5 kilometers to Thai immigration. Out we clambered. The luggage was unloaded through each and every available orifice of our "VIP" bus and reloaded onto the next tattered vehicle. At least the border was very close now.

Departing enchanting Cambodia with sighs of relief, we entered the clean, shiny, fan-cooled Thai immigration building and were greeted by cheerful staff. A grateful smile crept back onto my face and I joked with my fellow travelers that the worst was over. Not so lucky!

Arriving at the bus terminal on the Thai side, we were greeted by a beautiful, new, double-storey VIP bus. A sight for sorry eyes! Unfortunately, this bus was already fully occupied, but we were assured that another one would arrive within an hour. In the meantime, it was suggested, we should sit down, enjoy an ice-cold beer (or 2 or 3) and relax.

The sight of the VIP bus led us into a false sense of security as we were drinking much more of the amber liquid than our bladders would be able to hold for a prolonged time. But what the heck, our bus would have an on-board toilet, we thought as we kept drinking.

An hour passed and indeed a bus arrived. Not a new, shiny double-storey model, but at least it appeared to have a toilet, air-conditioning and under-carriage luggage compartments.

Loaded on, we took off only to be astonished when the driver pulled into a roadside restaurant only 5 minutes into our journey. "Everyone off, time to eat," he ordered us.

It was no use to complain. In Thailand, you just go with the flow. When the driver was greeted warmly by the restaurant staff, it became obvious to us that this was a family concern and that we were supposed to shore up their meager income. Nothing new. Another hour passed as we consumed more of the amber liquid to fortify us for the remaining journey.

With everyone seated back, the driver took off only to pull into the petrol station next door. I am not a rocket scientist, but I thought the bus could have been refueled while we were gorging ourselves in the driver’s family restaurant.

Another 30 minutes passed and we were endowed with a new driver as the previous one leisurely strolled off into the tropical sunset. The new man behind the wheel assured us that is was "nonstop to Bangkok" from now on. To our horror he also announced, "sorry, toilet not work". We looked at each other with growing concern for our bursting bladders as we took off into the direction of clearly signposted Buri Ram.

After a couple of stops and some accompanying head scratching, the driver took a left in the general direction of Bangkok. Well, sort of.

Having driven coaches myself some time back, I am aware of what in Australia is commonly referred to as a "crash box". Push in the clutch, shift the gear to neutral, pick your revs, push in the clutch, slide gear to drive. Unfortunately, this knowledge obviously had not been graced on our driver as we would endure the nerve-wrecking grinding of transmission wheels on the gears for the next five hours as the driver struggled with the concept of forward motion.

It also soon became apparent that the toilet was not the only fixture not working on the bus. No air conditioning, and 30-odd passengers started to sweat profusely. As no windows could be opened in order to keep the dust out, we were soon suffocating while having to become used to each other’s body odour.

Tempers started to rise as it became apparent that the driver had no idea where he was going. More stops. More scratching of the head. When he finally found the main freeway, he decided to take a shortcut and turned onto some one-lane country highway. Small,  ramshackle villages swooshed by and disappeared again into the darkness of the night.

After what seemed to be an eternity, the driver finally found his way back onto the freeway, although now we were heading back again in the direction of Poi Pet on the Cambodian border. Another stop on the side of the road saw the by now highly irate passengers reach boiling point. As some of us lit up cigarettes to calm the anxiety, they were sternly admonished by the driver that there was to be no smoking on the bus. The passengers’ united response was, "shut up and drive!"

Having accomplished a U-turn, the driver decided that we had to be punished for our insolence and disrespect of his authority so drove the remaining part of the journey at the snail’s pace of 70 kilometers per hour. With cars, trucks and other VIP buses whizzing past us, we finally limped into Bangkok some 15 hours after our departure from Siem Reap.

On arriving at our destination, the driver for reasons that remained unclear to stop on an obscure, narrow road and ordered us all to disembark. With the only access to the luggage compartments being roadside, we were forced to dodge cars while struggling to collect our belongings. Bags in hand and lit-up cigarettes in our mouths, we were besieged by a mob of taxi drivers.

On choosing a taxi, we loaded our bags and drove off only to get 50 metres down the road to hear that familiar sentence, "how much you pay me?". We informed the taxioso that we would pay him what was on the meter.

"Meter not work," he informed us. At this stage, with us nearly beaten, harsh words were exchanged and we got out of the taxi to hail another one. This time success! The meter worked, to our amazement.

Once back at my apartment, I showered to wash off the grime and my travel companions and I knocked back a few stiff drinks and had a good laugh. Always maintain a sense of humor at all cost!