Temples and Tuk Tuks

It was our longest train ride yet, from Butterworth (outside of Georgetown) to Bangkok, almost 24 hours. We had secured sleeper bunks and the train was modern so the journey was quite smooth. Lots of the usual—reading and napping.

Bangkok was beginning to feel like home at that point. How many times had we circled back here? Khao San Road was familiar to us, so much so that we really had really search over the place to find anything new and exciting. I remember that there had been a lot of rain and rats were out in the streets, sometimes washing up dead in the gutters.

Bangkok served as a brief layover on our way to Cambodia. We obtained Cambodian visas, which involved a lot more paperwork and hassle than the other countries we had visited in Southeast Asia. At this point in our travels, the whole point A to point B was becoming predictable. Shuffle the tourists between countries or cities without the tourists having much interaction with locals. We were catered to, so much so that the adventure was taken out of the process. I had pictured hitchhiking our way through places, riding with chickens and cows and whatnot, but a lot of the time were were merely herded together with other backpackers and dropped off at tourist spots in the cities. It started to feel repetitious.

Our entry to Cambodia was not without its headaches. First we were packed with a bunch of backpackers into a small van (and I'd like to note that this was totally not my preferred mode of travel, squished into a middle seat with sweaty young backpackers; my claustrophobic ways are strong in such situations). It seemed to take us forever to get out of Bangkok, the sprawling city that it is. The van driver was the worst I think I've ever encountered, heavily tapping the gas pedal in intervals, ensuring enough bursts of momentum to cause me nausea. Then there was the matter of being scammed, as Chris had come this way before, visiting Cambodia not once, but twice before, and he was on to them all, sniffing out scams left and right. My attitude was like "Fuck it, if they ask for a stamp, just pay for it." I was tired of sussing out if we were getting screwed over or not. Til this day, I'm not sure if we were scammed or not at the Cambodian border, but if we were, then so was everyone else we were with.

The strip of land between the Thai border and the Cambodian border was like some sort of no-man's-land. Lots of cement and barbed wire. It was a bit intimidating walking that stretch. The guards were a touch scary as they looked over our passports. We were entering a land haunted by the memory of the Khmer Rouge regime, one of the deadliest history has ever seen. The atrocities that were committed in this country defy comprehension. Perhaps that was on my mind as I nervously avoided eye contact.

The whole border process took several hours. Why it was such a hassle I have no idea. So many backpackers pass through this point, you'd think they'd make it more convenient. There was a lot of waiting around. Fortunately we were able to catch a bus without much fuss. This had been one of our main worries, as we had been told by guides that we should take a taxi to Siem Reap (an expensive option) or risk waiting for a bus to fill up, which could take hours. Perhaps this was another way to scam us. In truth, the buses filled up fast and before we knew it we were on our way.

Chris had inundated my thoughts with tales of dirt roads and abject poverty. I expected the worst as far as our commute to Siam Reap. However, a lot had changed since Chris' last trip to Cambodia. The dirt road was now paved and the bus was modern with movies and music videos flashing from a screen (though that in itself was not a good thing). It was obvious that tourism had made a huge impact on the economy. This could be both good and bad. Good in that we would enjoy a lot more conveniences in our travel, and bad in that a lot of the adventure was taken out of the experience.

The bus dropped us off outside of Siem Reap. From there we took a tuk tuk into the center. The sun had gone down and we were shooting along in the dark, which was quite a thrill with all the lights flashing by. Billboards abounded, along with large, upscale hotels on the outskirts of town. Somewhere in the dark we knew that Angkor Wat was looming. Just knowing it was nearby was giving me a tingly feeling. I felt like a kid on their way to Disney World—but not just yet.

Our guesthouse was more than satisfactory. Located a block away from the night market, which was part of triangle of streets which formed the downtown, it was ideal. A party atmosphere hung in the humid night air. Our guesthouse even had a nice outdoor sitting area where we could sit and enjoy drinks. But Chris and I were too tired from our long journey to venture out and instead crashed in our room.

The Guilt Factor

In the light of day, the streets of Siem Reap were crawling with tourists and beggars. Instead of being in school, kids had taken to the streets to beg. Chris had such a soft place in his heart of these children and engaged them in conversation. I was not as charmed by them. When refusing to give one little boy money he glared at me and called me a bitch. And there was a barefoot girl hanging out on a corner holding a baby in her arms. "No money," she told us. "Food for baby." And we believed her. How can one turn away from that? She said that the baby needed milk. Seemed easy enough, we would buy milk. She took us into the nearest shop to an aisle with baby formula. She asked us to buy this huge thing of baby food which cost a ridiculous amount of money. "That's not what we had in mind," we told her. "Then give me money," she said, holding her hand out. We realized that that had been her intention the whole time. How many tourists had she brought into this shop, and then cornered them, insisted that they give her money? The ladies at the shop counter looked unfazed as we left. They probably saw this a dozen times a day.

Still, the children were adorable. It wasn't their fault that their country had been through so much. Chris and I visited a children's hospital. Though we didn't get to meet any of the children, we were shown a video showcasing the plight of Cambodian children. Needless to say, it really pulled at our heartstrings. Despite the influx of tourism, Cambodia truly is a third world country where children die everyday from preventable diseases. This was an opportunity to give to the hospital with a clear conscience, away from the scams of beggars on the street.

After the children's hospital, we hired a tuk tuk to take us to the War Memorial a few miles outside of town. The cost of admittance to the museum was high at $5 per person. This is a lot of money in Cambodia, but we felt this would be an educational experience. Indeed, it was. There were no other tourists around, so we got our own guide. I don't remember his name, but he was missing an arm, so our heartstrings were plucked immediately. The museum was outdoors and featured things like tanks and helicopters and landmines. Not real landmines, but an example of what they look like. It's to be noted that Cambodia still has 8 to 10 million landmines from three decades of war. This was a sobering thought and a reminder not to be running through any fields.

Our guide had a very soft voice, but was engaging as he drew us into his stories. We weren't entirely clear about his story, how he had lost his arm. He told us that his parents, who had been villagers, had been killed by the Khmer Rouge, and he was made into a child soldier. Fighting under another regime (not the Kkmer Rouge) his arm had been damaged and amputated with a wire. It was hard to understand whose side he had been on, there were so many sides and the good and the bad were not always clear.

The tales of torture and death were a lot to take in. Chris and I walked around and touched things like Khmer Rouge scarves and helmets, wondering who had worn these and what their fates had been. Photos of victims were hung, and we tried to do them justice by absorbing them into our minds. This museum had the appropriate impact on us. Though Angkor Wat was nearby, there is so much more to Siem Reap than the temples. The horror of the Khmer Rouge and warfare infiltrated the whole country; it was only right for us to contemplate this a bit before we moved on to Disney World.

We didn’t expect to be asked for a donation at the end of the tour. We figured the entry cost would cover our guide's presentation. But here he was asking for more. Chris pulled some bhat out of his pocket and offered it, but our guide just shook his head in an offended way and said, "Too little." My heartstrings were not plucked at this; in fact I was quite agitated. "Just put it in the donation box" I told Chris, and we left. That had left a sour taste in my mouth. We were tired of being seen as walking dollar signs. Why could none of these encounters seem genuine?

Back in town, Chris and I went to find some grub. The restaurants were all outdoors, We sat on the street and ate noodles, watching the girl who had scammed us earlier use her spiel on passing tourists. Quite the little scam artist. You couldn't really blame her though. Everyone's just trying to survive in the third world.

The Land of Temples

We had bedbugs in our room. I knew this because the telltale bites were forming on my arms. We went to bed early in order to rise early to catch the sunrise at Angkor Wat. Sleep was an elusive thing as I felt bugs crawling across my face. Not ideal.

I had been waiting so long to see Angkor Wat. Back when I was a teenager, I saw these crumbling ruins surrounded by jungle in a book. At that time, Cambodia had seemed as elusive as the moon to me. I couldn't imagine that anyone could actually go there. Angkor Wat resided in my mind like a vision of Eden. I never actually thought I'd get to see it one day. But here I was, right on the threshold of something so massive and magical—I should have been beside myself with excitement. Indeed, I tried to muster it up as we waited for our tuk tuk driver at 4 o'clock in the morning. He was late and I slumped over with tiredness. When the tuk tuk driver arrived, he didn't seem like he was in good shape himself.

Sunrise at Angkor Wat (the main temple) is quite the thing. Everyone wants to capture that perfect moment. The crowds had gathered in the dark by the entrance, looking out over the giant stretch of grass towards the silhouettes of towers which were steadily emerging in the gray light. A hum of energy pervaded. Chris and I found a seat and watched as tourists around us set up their cameras. This was supposed to be the main spectacle, on par with watching The Rolling Stones take the stage at a concert. We waited and we waited, and then we waited some more. Since the sky was overcast, it was impossible to pinpoint the time of sunrise. In a slow progression, the tourists took their cameras down and dispersed. Sunrise at Angkor Wat had been anti-climatic.

But still, Angkor Wat is Angkor Wat, and it simply cannot disappoint. The temple, which is situated on a large square of land surrounded by a moat, is immense. There was no crush of tourists once we entered the temple. Chris and I lingered at leisure and snapped pictures without photobombing tourists. The ruins are quite intact, even though they date back to the 12th century. The artwork is intricate, carved into the walls. Lot of naked chicks with their boobs out. This makes sense, at it was originally a Hindu temple (and we all know how those ancient Hindus loved erotic artwork).

Coming back to our tuk tuk, we found our driver sleeping. He really didn't look well. Still, he seemed apologetic and started cycling to the next temple. It turns out that Angkor Wat is the main temple in a huge temple complex. There are so many temples that I cannot make sense of them. I'm looking at a map right now and I still can't figure out where we went. The roads between temples were long, passing through fantastically carved gates, and lined with elephants transporting tourists.

We came to another temple, this one much smaller. This one had the faces. Yes, the faces! I had seen them before and are a symbol of Bayon, another famous temple in the Angkor Wat area. Because this temple was small, we had to share our space with other tourists. These were mostly Asian, and although I risk sounding racist here, I will admit that Asians (and by this I mean, Chinese, Japanese and Korean) are my least favorite kinds of tourists. I say this because they have to take a million pictures of everything. And you can tell that the pictures aren't even going to be good. Why a husband would want to take a picture of his dower-faced wife in front of a garbage can, I will never know. So yes, they are annoying like that, taking up space. It's hard to get a good shot without an Asian in them if they are hanging about. But anyway, despite the annoyance of tourists, it was fun to ramble among the faces. The passageways through the temple were rambling enough to make you feel like you were on some kind of adventure, even if that meant waiting for a line of tourists to make their way down a ladder. Yeesh!

We visited one more temple after that, and this was the one with the giant tree roots. Ta Prohm. This was perhaps my favorite temple, as the trees had taken on a life of their own, determined to reclaim the jungle. I'm not entirely sure why the trees were so aggressive at this particular temple, but they provided great photographic opportunities (complete with Asian tourists—damn). Roots like elephant trunks draped over walls and roofs. I wonder how much longer it will be for the trees to completely take over, and for the temple to disappear into the mists of time.

Our tuk tuk driver seemed eager to get going. The whole thing felt a bit rushed for us. But we were tired so we didn't want to drag the whole experience out too much. It must have been 10:00 in the morning and we were on our way back to the hotel. On one of the back streets of Siem Reap, our driver stopped to puke. We felt bad for him. It looked like he was suffering from a massive hangover. He seemed like a nice guy though so we tipped him well. We then retreated to our room where we slept through the heat of the day (after changing rooms—no more bedbugs).

Living Large in Siem Reap

One of Chris' friends got in touch with him. John and his pregnant wife were in Siem Reap the same time we were. We agreed to meet up for a drink. Refreshed from sleep, Chris and I were ready to hit the town. Even if there wasn't much to the town, there was enough to keep us entertained for a night out. We first hit the Red Piano, a bar owned by Angelina Jolie. The drinks there were a bit more expensive than the other bars, but at least it was swanky, and lord knows it had been a long time since we had done swanky.

From there we continued to another bar where cocktails and beers were consumed. It's to be noted that I only drank beer out of necessity, as beer isn't really my thing. The cocktails in Siem Reap were fab, which meant that I was getting pretty tipsy. I felt bad that John's wife couldn't drink. She was heavily pregnant and sipped water all night. John and Chris were pounding Angkor beers and catching up. This was the second workmate of his to meet up with us on our travels. My goodness do those Brits like to travel.

Somehow we had found our way to a Ladyboy club. I'm not sure if this was intended, or if the drinks had swayed us. John wasn't feeling well. He and his wife hadn't been traveling as long, so they were still sensitive to Asian cuisine. They didn't stay long at the Ladyboy show, but Chris and I saw it through to the end. And may I say—I loved it. The owner was Australian and gay. That could have read as perverted, as these Ladyboys were on the young side, but he seemed like an alright guy. The Ladyboys really seemed to enjoy what they were doing. And they looked fabulous. Cambodians are attractive in general, with striking facial features. Their cheekbones are to die for. Most of the numbers were dance routines, but some of them were comedy. The comedy was nothing short of genius, with Ladyboys in bad wigs and intentionally bad makeup. One number was a Ladyboy with a short dress and a pantyhose with a line down the front, as if she were showing her minge (yes, I adopted that word from Chris). Lipsyncing the song from Pocahontas "Colors of the Wind" and tugging down at her dress—she reminded me of a drunk Tina Turner, and I don't know I say that, as I've never seen Tina Turner perform in such a manner. Anyway, the comedy was genius. We were in stitches. I think it was the hardest we laughed on the trip. It was a great way to end our time in Siem Reap.

The Man with a Stick

Cambodia is a small country, still it seems to take forever to get between places. Our next destination, Battambang, took an eternity to reach, but perhaps that was because of the videos being played on the bus. We were riding mostly with locals. Apparently the locals adore music videos while they travel. The music was blaring. If it had been anything remotely good I would have considered it entertainment, however it came across more like torture. Played continuously, it was on par with Chinese water torture. I can still hear it in my darkest of nightmares. The videos weren't much better with terrible soap operas being played out in cringe-worthy ways. That ride couldn't have ended soon enough.

Battambang is a large city which is less touristy than Siem Reap. There were no beggars in the streets. Instead, it seemed like the whole place was down to earth and didn’t cater too much to tourists. Chris and I loved it, as it was laid-back and we could walk the streets without being hassled. There’s some good food to be found in Battambang, from the old French bakeries to trendy cafes such as the Gecko Café, where to my delight, Mexican food was served as well as something closely resembling a frozen mojito (sans alcohol). Battambang provided some essential down time. Our hotel room was spacious and had a vague French colonial feeling to it. It was a great place to relax.

For a day we hired a tuk tuk to take us around the area. One of our destinations was the bamboo train. Our travel guide insisted that it was something not be miss. We had no idea what to expect. All kinds of images can come to mind when hearing "Bamboo Train." We were taken down a very dusty, bumpy road to the middle of nowhere. We were then taken to a lone railroad track. Our "train" was something like a wooden crate laid on top of wheel, like something children constructed. We were the only tourists. A woman and and a child hopped aboard, and then a guy started the engine and we were off. It was quite a thrill, moving so close to the ground, feeling the vibration underneath. We got up to a good speed, and at that point it felt more like a roller coaster, flying over bridges and such. Chris and I loved it.

At some point in our journey, we noticed another train coming at us. As there was only a single track, that meant we were at an impass. But no. We were instructed to step off the train. Then our conductor began to disassemble our train car. It was a swift process, taking no more than a few minutes. Once the other train passed, the car was put together and we continued on our way.

The end of the line was a village. Children surrounded us, but they weren't begging. Instead they made us jewelry out of blades of grass. They didn't ask money for them which was very refreshing. We bought a drink and sat there as a guy made friends with us. He spoke good English, telling us his story of the Khmer Rouge. He was bare-chested, sporting a long scar on his chest. Chris was intensely interested in his story, asking him all kinds of questions. So impressed Chris was that he asked to pose with him for a picture. I would like to say that this man was not telling his story to pull at our heartstrings. It seemed he genuinely wanted to share his experience.

As we drank our bottles of Fanta, the children set off makeshift petrol bombs. None of the adults seemed concerned that the children were playing with such dangerous toys.

There was no pressure to buy anything else, and soon we were back on the train heading back in the direction we had come from. There were waves all around as we pulled away. What a fantastic experience.

From the Bamboo Train we were taken to a temple in the hills, Phnom Sempeau. The day was extremely hot. We had the option to take a motorbike up to the top, but we decided to slog it. Bad idea. The climb nearly did us in. Still the views were good from the top, though the temple itself wasn't that big of a deal. The thing that stuck with me the most were the caves with the shrines. Though these were religious, they also carried the horror of the Khmer Rouge. One of the caves was called the Killing Cave, because so many bodies had been dumped there. There were paintings outside of the cave which depicted some of the horrors which had taken place there. Again, such a beautiful setting. It was hard to believe this had been such a different place just decades before.

Our tuk tuk driver earned his wages that day. He took us all around the countryside. On the way back to Battambang we came to a roundabout with a giant statue of a dark chap holding a big stick. Our driver parked the tuk tuk long enough to tell us the story about the town. The story goes that a long time ago, there was a farmhand who possessed a magic stick. With the help of his stick, he became king. Another king looked to take his place, but the guy with the stick didn't want him to get it so, according to legend, he threw it in the river. And it's never been found. The name Battambang literally means "Lost Stick."

Indeed, there was a little bit of magic to be found in Battambang. There was nothing outwardly showy about it, the way Siem Reap was, with all the wealth from tourism. Rather it was close to the real Cambodia, both rural and city. The people were genuine and some of the nicest we had encountered on our travels. Because of places like this, along with Chris, I had fallen in love with Cambodia.