REP -> BKK = STUPID

Only a damn fool would fly from Siem Reap to Bangkok.

I am a damn fool. But I've learned. Next time will be better, honest and truly. Let me tell you why it's stupid. The route it monopolized by Bangkok Airways. As such it is one of the most expensive flights, for time in air, in the world. Yay for me. Now let me go on to further explain why it's stupid, and why I almost tossed my return ticket.

There is a 25USD departure tax for flying out of the country. A bus ticket is less than this tax would have been. A return bus ticket is less. A Tuk-Tuk costs five dollars to the airport. I have paid 30USD to fly out, when I could have paid 11 for a bus ticket. This is, of course, on top of the hundreds spent on the ticket itself.

But hey, who's counting, right? I'll know better for next time.

Sure the bus is 11 hours, but it's air conditioned, and they give you food. And the seats recline. And at the boarder you're provided a taxi for connections.

My flight is only thirty five minutes in the air but you need to get to the airport early, and wait for baggage claim. All in all my total transport time from hostel to hostel will be about five hours. Less, but not three hundred dollars less, is all I'm saying.

When I meet noodle lady, and get a bowl of her delicious food, all will be good and right in the world once more. Though I'll now pine for the sausage rice that will forever be absent from my heart. Oh G5,6 on road No9 I'll miss you so.

And to make matters worse Boidna (who I am now sure is not named Boidna, but the Bo is part of it) was busy today. So he sent a replacement driver for me. No parting picture! No ability for me to tip him for a week that would have been lacking without him! I couldn't leave the tip with the hostel, or with the new driver. I was sure he'd never see it. I was quite disheartened was we drove through the streets one final time.

Yes I had saved some money by not tipping – but it was an upsetting windfall on my part.

And then into the airport. Look – Siem Reap airport is sweet. You'd not believe it. Free wifi, free internet terminals, clear, well lit, lots of neat shops, good food (though kinda pricey compared with the world outside) but if you have a beard – watch out. You will be touched. A lot!

The first touching came when I was going through security. The girl manning the x-ray asked how long I'd had it, “ohh so long, so long! Nice sir.” And then she requested to touch it. Sure, why not? Appease the security people. Every now and then I get this at airports, or in 'real life' so it's all good. But then customs control, the uniformed official there responded in much the same manner. Sure give it a tug you delightfully armed man you, and yes I do shampoo it. Conditioner too, when supplies allow.

But then I went into a shop. And there I had a third run in. The employee, absolutely drunk (wreaking of booze) came up to me. He too wanted to touch, and almost didn't ask. But then caught himself. For how drunk he must have been, he was still rather well composed. Good on him.

Questions were asked, more so than my two previous sober gropers. “I don't want to ask you personal question sir... [beat] ok – but how does you apply for a job with it?” And then we talked about teaching for some time.

Everything I said he was incredibly interested in. I wonder how his manager felt about these shenanigans, or if it's just protocol to have a few glasses of scotch (from the duty free, perhaps?) before going on shift.

When I asked if his store sold earrings he was profoundly apologetic that they did not, but “thank you so much for coming here sir. Thank you so much for looking through our shop! Sorry we do not have those. But thank you. And nice long beard sir!” I will miss him and his drunken antics. And sadly, having vowed never to fly through this airport again, I know in my heart our paths will never cross paths.

Sigh.

And then I waited for my flight to board. More reading was involved. And hoping that my Thai Visa allowed for multiple entry. Things could get very interesting if it didn't.

Well the flight went well, and as it turns out, I was allowed back into the country. So all was right and well in the world. I have a brand new purple triangular thirty day tourist visa. Which actually confuses me. Did they mess up? Or do you always get a new thirty days if you leave the country? There's no thirty days a year thing going on here? I'd like to come back to this art of the world, so I'll need to check up on visa regulations, and not just leave it to chance like I did this time.

But – back in the country I am, and I took the familiar bus back to the hostel I stayed at where I was greeted warmly, an with confusion by the staff who claimed I had made no reservation, only to then find a print out on the counter with my name on it, that they had clearly got out earlier in the day. Good times were had, and noodle lady was visited.

It was a return to the world of 7-11s and late night dvds. Rather than bed by nine or ten.

In related news I'm not sure if I love or hate 500 Days of Summer.

It's strange coming back to a place you know – and having it be so similar but different from where you were. Walking through 7-11, I saw a child and immediately tried to look away, but it was too late, eyes were locked. And then I realized that it wasn't to be a problem. This child had nothing to sell me. Then I went eating my dinner at the noodle lady table, and reflected on how nice it was to have a peaceful meal – only to have my outstretched leg run over by a scooter. How soon we forget.

Tomorrow I hope to accept that I will sweat, it will be gross, but so be it – there's so much more to this city that needs to be explored.

I'll have to set my alarm too – no work site to get me up anymore.

Cambodia Kids and Geography Skills

Have I mentioned the Geography skills of the Siem Reap children? If I have, I'm sure I didn't do it justice. These kids are fact retaining geniuses. And it's all part of their game to sell you postcards, photocopied books, or bracelets.

By this point in travelling I've gotten over my annoyance at them, and I've started to have some fun. The same type of fun that I intended to have with the gypsies in Europe if ever they came back to me once I'd made my own informative postcard for them (check my France posts for more information on this.)

The wee little darlings (back to the Cambodian Kids, not the Gypsies here) will come up to you and try to sell you things. If you don't respond they'll ask where you're from. I'd been told this was a trap, but at some point you just need to know how it plays out.

Kid: Where you from?
Mistah Bee: America
Kid: America, capital – Washington D.C., president – Barak Obama
MB: Actually I'm from Australia
Kid: Capital – [insert capital here, you know, the boring one? Starts with a C I think?], president [hell if I can remember], population [sounded right].
MB: What if I told you I was from Germany? Canada? Sweden?

And so it went on, with this child being able to tell me oh so much about oh so many places.

At the end I refused to buy from him. When he asked why, I told him – because then you won't go to school, and you'll have no life outside of selling. The more people that buy from you, the more you'll be entrapped. He'd heard all this before, of course, and changed to the “I don't have money for school” line – but this is a lie. School is free. Then he admitted that was true (this is a rookie mistake – never admit you were lying if you plan to continue) and told me that he would be going to school tomorrow, there was no school today.

I saw him the same time the next day, “Would you like to buy a postca... oh it's you?” and then he ran away.

But these kips – smart as whips, if whips are to be considered smart. And yet here he is, retaining knowledge that would win him thousands on North American game shows, but will do nothing for his life. What are his choices? To make enough money selling trinkets for his family, so he can – do what with his life?

It's a hard choice. I didn't buy into his, “you buy me food then?” line either. But if you do anything, choose this option. He will eat with you, you know your money goes to something worthwhile. Just be cautious, as he has friends around the corner that will try to come and join. “Just a dollar more, just a dollar more.” Still – it's not so bad?

It's these little street scenes that I think I'll miss most about Siem Reap. But I know that I'll be back here. And maybe sooner rather than later (though I need to know how long I need to be out of country before I can enter with another tourist visa.) There is so much more to this country that I think two weeks, three even, would be required to properly explore. Having spent my time at the temples already, Siem Reap may only be worth a couple of nights, to share the experience with whomever travels with me then.

Odds are most people won't stand for three days of temple crawling. And this will fit my finances perfectly.

I shall miss the tuk-tuk drivers yelling at me to jump in their cart, so as I can be transported far away... right as I'm sitting down in a restaurant. I mean, really people, has this ever worked? And oh how I would have liked to have been there when it did.

I'll miss the people in the markets humming and hawing over all sorts of ridiculous clothes that they'll probably never wear outside their one week abroad. Think of the people who buy kilts in Scotland and wear them while they're there – thinking it makes them blend in? How many more chances do you reckon they'll have in their life to don it again?

And I shall miss Blue Pumpkin, which waned in the final days – but was still a delight that I was glad to have come across. That an Ice cream cost more than two meals still rubbed me wrong. And I shall miss the meals.

I left the hostel but once today, and it was for the purpose of nourishment. I spent the morning into early afternoon reading – finishing The Two Towers, you'll be glad to know. And then I headed out to grab fried rice with sausage, and friend spring rolls, with a mango shake.

For mango shake, think smoothie. And the spring rolls? It wasn't that they tasted good, as much as the sauce, of which I have no clue how it was created, was amazing. And the fried rice with sausage? I have had this three or four times this week. And I will miss it sorely. It is the best fried rice I've ever had. If it were laid down beside Combo C – well... I'd have to think about it. Combo C would win my heart at first, being so long from my belly, but after a few meals of it, I would switch back to the rice with sausage. Combo C would no longer be the clear winner than it had been for the past many years.

Combo C...

This sausage is the most delicious pork I've ever had. And I've had pork in many delicious forms, I'll tell you what. To this point the best pork came in the form of a pulled pork burger created by none other than world famous (well city famous (well... house famous)) Matty P. But on the day I bit into this one dollar fifty cent meal – all that changed. It was a paradigm shift of flavour explosions. A new challenger had appeared, and from Cambodia it reigned.

With my belly full, I retired back to the hostel, where I began reading my next novel (To Sail Beyond the Sunset.) Any novel that begins with someone waking up, having found a dead body beside them is aok in my book. And being written by Heinlein, who wrote my favourite book (Starship Troopers – I make no excuses here) I was quite delighted to finally break into something else that he'd written.

At five thirty I closed the book, grabbed a balcony pack, and sat down in the hostel to watch The Killing Fields.

It seemed a good place to watch such a movie. Is it wrong that I found it somewhat boring though? Having little to do with the Khmer Rouge and more to do with an American journalist, I felt that I was missing out on some of the education I had expected from it. Was it a good movie? M'eh, it was alright.

I would have liked to know more about the Khmer Rouge rise to power, and their downfall, and the economy of a country that quite literally has no currency. What I did learn was the USA bombed Cambodia, a journalist stayed, as did his Cambodian counterpart. USA evacuated, the journalist and Cambodian stayed. They hid in the French embassy. Due to the inability to get a fake passport photo, the counterpart was sent away. The American won an award. After three minutes of seeing the Cambodian toil in the Khmer Rouge fields as a slave labourer he escapes, and is reunited with his family.

It was this toiling that I would have liked to learn more about – and what I really do think should have been the focus of the movie, more than the American writing letters, and winning prizes. But there it is, there you have it. Any movie then that showed Americas war crimes was going above and beyond for the time. So one can't complain that much.

And then I read some more, and headed to bed. My final night in the country. And my stay? Enjoyable. I really do wish I'd managed to see more of the country. But that time will come, I feel quite sure of it.

The Floating Village of Chong Khneas

A few miles outside of Siem Reap floats the Vietnamese village of Chong Khneas.

It's a short tuk-tuk ride through the more inhabited, less marketed, part of the city to the docks. On the way you'll pass house after raised house. I've often wondered why some of the houses are on stilts. I assumed that it was for when the rainy season brings the water levels up, significantly. But you soon notice that while some houses are elevated, their neighbours are not. This is reason enough to give pause.

Villagers pass through the morning motions, hanging laundry to dry, and setting out for their daily grind, whatever it may be. Dogs lay with their heads on the pavement, for reasons that are beyond me. The move not even at passing vehicles. They would appear dead, if not for the slow rhythmic movements from their breathing. And their still-three-dimensionality.

Buildings fade away, replaced by farms where men toil in the fields, often bending down behind the tall grasses for stretches of time, before returning – seemingly victorious. Then the farms give way, as waters overcome and a fishing village begins to enter into view.

It is there that the tuk-tuk will stop, and you will get out and head down to the docks.

Let us just say, that it is a good thing I have given up my penny pinching ways here in Cambodia. Were this Bangkok I may have argued, pretended to walk away, been huffy, and eventually refused to buy a ticket, were I met with the price I was met with here. But, what is an extra seven dollars, really? Here it's three days worth of meals, but honestly, what is it to me? So I handed over my ridiculous fee to hire a boat, and climbed on board, hopping from concrete dock, to floating tire, then from the front of one boat onto the next, until I had come to the brightly painted monstrosity that would be my ride for the morning.

A wooden shell, with chairs set on the floor inside. I was offered to drive for a moment, but I looked at the steering wheel, connected to ropes, which eventually connected to dragged out coat hangers, which controlled the directionality of our movement. I wondered if this was one of the tourist scams – let them drive, have it break, and then they must pay to fix it. So while I would have liked to, I stayed away. I had been warned about this village so close to the tourist centre.

Some people will tell you that you're not getting the full experience at Chong Khneas, but I think that they're just elitist snobs, and not worth paying much attention to. It would be like saying you didn't see Victoria Falls unless you saw them from Zimbabwe. True, they are lesser in Zimbabwe, but you're still seeing the same waters cascading over the same rock. You're just not being splashed.

So, while there are other floating villages with less tourists, you need only wake up earlier and beat the rush. 7:00 put me there just as the light was filling the sky, and just as the other hotel dwellers were setting up for their morning shower, still an hour from reaching this location.



We boated out of the harbour to the village's beginning. Not very clad men were fishing with nets at the water's edge. Then the floating houses came into view. From the water you can see just through their doorway, in what will turn out to be over an hour of slightly distressing voyeurism. It's said that your boat ticket price feeds into the local economy and gets distributed through the village, but...

The houses have electricity either from generators, or from lines. This electricity is used to power their tvs that the locals watch while lounging in their hammocks. Clearly life is not all that different floating on the water. Some people will be out on the edge of their dock, property, or what have you, going through the same motions as those on dry land. Still – the act of hanging clothes to dry, while precariously positioned on a foot wide plank of wood is slightly more interesting than the same actions anywhere else.

The tour continued, as we past floating pigs (“look, look,” my guide said, smacking my arm – an action that would happen far too many times, and become slightly off putting, and potentially bruising, “floating pig! Floating pig!”) His excitement was genuine, and as he pointed out every one we past, with an arm smack, I assume these are his favourite things to see on the water. A floating pig is very much what you'd expect – a pig floating on the water. Not swimming, mind you, but kept afloat in its very own floating pig pen. It will be, not long, before he's turned into some delicious floating sausage. I can say, without a doubt, that Cambodia has had the best sausage I've ever had anywhere in the world. Sorry Italy.

This very much is a floating village. Everything here floats – there is a floating Korean restaurant, a floating basketball court, floating markets, floating schools.

We headed to one of the floating markets where a little girl was paddling around in a bucket with a three foot long water snake. It is official, little Asian girls can be far more terrifying than little Caucasian girls (wearing white dresses or not.) And when they're paddling around in buckets with snakes, not talking, only staring... Well I'm glad it was dawn and not dusk. That's all I can say.

Crocodiles were being farmed on this floating market, “they make great boots, and bags! You want to buy one?” It also housed some pythons, for similar purposes, I'm sure, and had detailed explanations about the fishing industry. I bought an overpriced soda to compensate for this floating experience. And then we carried on.

The place we reached next was the only scam that I came across on this trip. The mysterious boat breakdown that doesn't get fixed until you buy something from the nearby shops never occurred, but here was most definitely a scam. Before heading to the floating school, you stop at another floating market which sells school supplies – the idea being that you buy some and give them to the teacher.

Here's the thing – I saw a bundle of twenty notebooks, and when I asked how much it was to buy them, I was told it was fifteen dollars. Fifteen dollars for twenty notebooks. I laughed, I couldn't help it. And how much for the pencils? Five dollars for ten, indeed? So I emptied out my Cambodian currency – which equated for about two dollars and fifty cents. It bought me five pens. What I want to know is how this scam works:

When the school gets the goods, do they only get what you buy them, or do they return the objects for a cut of the profits? Or is this one market getting rich off of tourists thinking they're helping a school? Because here's the thing – I could have bought those notebooks for a third of the price back home. I could have bought the pencils at a significantly reduced price, and the pens for much cheaper as well.

When I'm in South East Asia paying more for something than I would back home, I try to discover what's going on. My driver was encouraging me to, “just buy one pack of books, and twenty pencils. Would bring much joy, I think.” Yeah – no kidding. To the shop keepers that would get twenty five dollars of my money. Twenty five dollars is enough money to feed someone for a month here, if not longer. It's long enough to feed me for two weeks, eating at restaurants.

So the scam – I would really like to know what is going on. It pains me to think that the school only gets what they are given, and that this shop is making more money than anyone in this part of the world has any right to make off of such false pretenses. It's worse, I think, than the children who are rented out by orphanages here... Not as bad as the special needs babies that are rented in China though to help with begging. That's the worst I've heard about.

But I moved the ball to their court. “Ten thousand, that's all I have. What can I get for ten thousand?” I asked, holding out the bills, and then adding the words that were passed my way so often during these last few moments, “after all, it's for the children.”

But the shop keeper would not budge. I received five pens.



And then off to the floating school. There I presented my five pens to the teacher who got up to receive them, and took two pictures of the students. Some dove out of the way. And I wondered just what school must be like for these children, constantly interrupted. Still – it must become part of their concept of school, not knowing anything other.

I also did a quick glance around the room for the notebooks that where for sale at the shop. They existed nowhere. Now there will be boats of ten people each coming to this shop and then this classroom. There will be dozens of them a day. People will fall for the trap and buy the notebooks. But they were nowhere to be seen. Which makes me think, hope, that the goods are returned, profits are shared, and the same items are sold and resold constantly.

But I do not know.

If one was just to say to me, “look, we need money for the school, and here's how it works,” I'd be a lot more likely to give. But I assume this is the best method, otherwise they wouldn't do it. And like I sad – two dollars and fifty cents is quite a lot in this part of the world, so... hopefully the children see something from it, aside from five pens.



And then we made our way back, my arm stinging with reminders of how many more floating pigs we came across.

The way back would also give insight into how the village moves with the seasons. When the water level is down, houses make their way further out into the lake, and when the water is up, they come closer to shore - to avoid the rough seas that can cause havoc to their living space. On the way back four houses were being pulled by boats to a new location. And two more were on the move just past them. It makes you wonder if they keep their neighbours, or keep their plots when they move back and forth with the rains? Their life... It's different than mine.

And with that coming to an end Boidna took me back to the hostel. Ten in the morning, and my day was at an end. Internetting would occupy me until three in the afternoon when I would head out for lunch and then off to the Blue Pumpkin for some further internetting. And then back to the hostel to grab a Balcony Pack, and read some more of the Hobbit adventures.

All in all? Not a bad relaxing day.

One Last Day at the Angkor Temples

Today was my final day temple hopping. Sure there are a good two days of possible exploration left, but I'm content with what I've seen. I feel that I have a good understanding, and concept, of the temples of ancient Cambodia. I've seen a lot, I've climbed a lot, and I've explored a lot. Clearly, though, the best were saved for last.

You may ask how I woke up without an alarm clock, and let me tell you – the construction site alarm next door? Still working its magic.

Today I headed out to Kbal Spean. The journey would be over sixty kilometers, just about an hour and a half riding in the back of a tuk-tuk. And that, in itself, was part of the experience. We would leave touristy Siem Reap far behind. While there were still a number of shops set up along the road, many of them simply sold mysterious yellow fluid in glass bottles. I have come to the understanding that this is some sort of motor oil, or something to that effect. People seem to pour it into their bikes.



Gone were the miles on miles of shops, and endless sales. Instead there were farms where long horned cattle bathed in great pools to escape from the heat of the day. Thatched roofed buildings on stilts lined both sides of the roads. People ran around hanging laundry, fixing meals, or trying to track down their children, often enough running around naked.

Children here dress in one of three ways – either they wear over sized t-shirts, and pants, nothing at all, or are clad like muppets: a shirt, and nothing else. One wonders if this is due to poverty, heat, or just personal preference.

The countryside opened before me, and rolling hills filled the horizon, covered with expansive forests, crowning the lush fields reaching out towards them. And for quite some time I looked out onto these surrounds and thought, 'so this, this is Cambodia?'

Arriving at Kbal Spean Boidna stopped the tuk-tuk and pointed me off towards a trai. Being early, and quite far from the main drag, few people were out here with me. And as I walked towards the temple, I saw a sign post on the ground. 1500m.

Yes, there would be a temple, but it was not one which would simply make itself available to me. No, I would need to hike a kilometer and a half through the trails which led between trees, and up steep rocky climbs. It was a well worn trail, but not necessarily an easy one. While there was never a moment, even on the inclines, where one thought, 'well where does my foot go next?' there was still some reaching, grabbing, and dragging oneself up through the trees.

Again, it was suggested that one stay to the marked trails. The landmind museum, and signs pointing out potential danger zones as be made our way out was reason enough to take that advice seriously.

Two hundred meters before the end of the trail the rush of water can be heard through the trees, though it still can not be seen. That remaining distance is closed quickly with the end nea, and the aural stimulation invigorating. When the trail ends, you come out to a small waterfall. Exploring up the stream quickly takes you to a hand pained, “warning: no access” sign. Again, I assumed it probably best to take this advice that I should not proceed. I also wondered what of those who do not read English?

Down stream you find a small pool created from falling water, bordering some engravings lost amongst the wilderness. No formal temple exists. No rising walls. Simply a sacred area, where pictures dug into the rock leave a lasting impressing across time. A platform once made home here, but that has mostly eroded over the last one thousand years.

Following the river, you will climb down some stairs, and if you know enough to look, turn around and view Vishnu, and other figures. While most remain in tact, the face of one has been cut away, sold on the black market. Lingus are set in the stream, a blessing for fertile crops.



Continuing on, you find yourself standing in front of a waterfall, ten feet high, cascading over the rocks, joining once more with the river down below. And it is here that your journey ends. It is here that you may take your final pictures, savor your final memory, and return to the trail which led you here: at the end, there will no doubt be those offering your the chance to buy their post cards, t-shirts, bracelets, books, and cold drinks.

Enjoy this wooded escape while it lasts.

And then it was off to Beng Mealea. This would be my final temple. And while it was an actual structure, it is somewhat smaller than any of the others. While those that I had seen on previous days required me to arch my neck, and stare up and up, here you need just look forward to appreciate its beauty.

Three towers come into view as you walk the red-sanded pathway towards the temple. While it appears as any other, from a distance, you will notice immediately that it does not grow the closer you get. In fact, it seems to remain the same size, if not shrink as you draw nearer. Once inside, however, you find, for the first time, a rope keeping you away from some of the walls and the statues.

The reason is that this temple is by far the best preserved, and they would like to keep it this way. The statues have not been defaced, the engravings are all mostly compete. And because of this the beauty is beyond compare. Seeing this it's possible to gain insight on how the other temples must have appeared in their dawning days, yet it is only here that you can still have the full effect revealed to you.

I walked, I lingered, and I took numerous photos of all the different scenes carved before me. And then, with heavy heart, I walked back to the tuk-tuk.



For three days I had done little but view temple after temple, and yet I was still finding new aspects of them that impressed me, still finding all number of places I would have liked to have spent more time. And it struck me that if I was a citizen of this country, I might never leave this area, doing most of my reading, writing, and crashing in within these walls. There are some people who make these areas home. And I wonder, what do they think of their surroundings? And how do they see the tourists who pour in day after day?

As we journeyed back I passed, for a final time, East Mebon. The Desert Palace, in my mind. It has become my favourite, just looking upon it as we drove past stopped my breath. It's strange – I came here, not expecting anything – and yet I found myself quite overwhelmed. Strange, then, that the least inspiring things were those that I was told you just, 'had to do,' - see the sun rise and set at Angkor Wat. So often is the case that where you're told to go, and what you're told to do, fails to live up to the unexpected.

Back at my hostel I showered, dawning afterwards, for the first time, my Africa t-shirt. The rest of my clothes were taken to the front desk and handed in for laundry. With that integral task – my shirts all being soaked through with sweat by this point – taken care of, I headed out to town. For once I was actually seeking out the market.

My watch, last night, broke. The glass face shattered. The watch which Vlad gave me on Christmas was no more. I had duct taped the glass in place, so that I could see some of the numbers, but this was not a permanent solution. How the glass broken, I do not know. I simply picked it up, and three pieces fell.

In the market I found a shop that sold a very small, quite fantastic, alarm clock. The only problem? The lady said it cost $2.50. This I paid, not feeling the need to haggle it down any... but, if I paid that price off the bat, odds are it's a fifty cent clock at best. I can only guess at how long it will actually last.

From there I headed to dinner beside the place I'd been eating at lately. I checked the fancier places across the street, but they were five times the price, and I had no patience for that. Oh sure, maybe I wouldn't have had to pick a fly out of my curried chicken there, but without my fifty cent smoothies (orange this time) what's the point of eating at all?

With that resting soundly in my belly, I headed to Blue Pumpkin, grabbed a delicious shake in the 2nd floor lounge, and kicked back for some reading. When my eyes could barely remain open I set back, wanting only to find an ATM and stock up on some American money. The best part was when two said my pin was wrong, and wouldn't work, another said I could take out only $0.00 today, and yet another displayed my account balance but wouldn't let me access it. Was I worried? Only slightly. There were some financial tricks I could work to prevent being completely in trouble at this point, but running into a bar for a last ditch effort in their sketchy ATM provided me with my green backed prize.

I wonder how many times my card was duped today.



Well, that's all with the temples. But I still have plans, oh yes Siem Reap, I'm not done with you yet. Remember when I was grouchy on transition day (you were all warned some time ago never to take me seriously on such days) and said that 6 was far too many days to spend here? Well as it is turning out, that seems to be the perfect amount. So good for me.

Now if you'll excuse me I have to go read the stories of every Mortal Kombat character in the eight game series. Still seventy megs to upload of my Khao San Road video. I've got three fifty up already. I can hardly quit now. Go 29 kB/s go!

The Angkor Wat Sunrise

Four Thirty... This is an early time to be waking up by anyone's standards. But, my trusty GPS, working purely as an alarm clock these days, managed to get me up as always. Sadly – this would be the last time it ever roused me in the morning.

Travelling by Tuk-Tuk in the pre-dawn hours is a wonderful way to see Siem Reap. Children are already awake, wandering about, or riding on their scooters – far too many to a bike, your only hope that one of them manages to see their next birthday. Couples run together, before it becomes far too hot to even think about such an activity. People move their stalls in the direction of the nearest market. The world wakes, and all things come to life.

Except me. I was still fighting to remain conscious. In Africa this would have been just another day, but this is not Africa, and it is not any other day.



At Angkor Wat I walked, following the pilgrimage of other tourists, looking for the best spot to set up for the view. While they mostly bumbled through the dark, I was prepared with my secret weapon: my head torch! It led me down the walkway, and over to the left hand pond where I had sat to watch the sunset not that many hours earlier. I knew what rock I wanted to sit at, and while many were occupied the one I desired somehow remained free. And the one beside it. I would rest my bag there until I needed to space for my mini-tripod.

Two girls beside me were giving voice to the thoughts I would have had, had they not given voice to them, thus making me find said thoughts obnoxious, leaving me free to enjoy the experience.

“God, what are those two people doing standing there, blocking everyone's view? Could they be more annoying?”

And thus, I was not annoyed by the two people standing there.

“That guy behind us needs to stop singing!”

And thus I didn't mind the singing.

“Really? Is this all? This is the sunrise that people talk about?”

And thus I didn't mind it all that much – though, like the sunset, it is quite overrated. I still don't understand the big draw, but – hey – it's the thing to do. And you don't want to be that one person who says, oh yeah, I saw Angkor Wat – no... I didn't see the sunrise. No, the sunset neither.

Once the light was upon us, I took a quick stroll through the temple for a final time, and then headed back to the tuk-tuk and zipped off on my way.

I started at Preah Khan, which is similar to Ta Phrom – but less visited, as it wasn't featured in a major motion picture. This left it easy to explore, and nearly empty, lended towards a feeling of real exploration and discovery. For a few moments I could channel the feeling that those who came across these temples after so much time had past, must have felt. Mind you, there weren't thousands of people still worshiping here, that I needed to take them away from, but – you know. So interesting to read about how things were “discovered” even though they were never really lost.

After crawling through windows, over carvings, and through piles of rubble, I made my way back to the entrance, where – after fighting off hoards of children trying to sell me all number of things that there was just no way I was ever going to buy – we headed off to what would become my favourite place in Ancient Angkor.

Ta Som. It is not the largest, it is not the most attractive, but for reasons I can not explain, I felt a connection with it. It may have had something to do with the large tree growing over its entrance, or the fact that I was there in time to look around, experience, and leave – just before the Japanese tour bus rolled up. But if I had to pick a favourite, this would be the temple.

Where we headed next fought well for that role, but ultimately failed. There was just something about the wooded seclusion offered at Ta Som. A place to collect thoughts, and allow yourself to abandon all thought to wonder.



East Mebon. I now feel as if I fully understand how Link must have felt, after navigating the Gerudo desert and arriving at the palace there, ready to secure one of the three pendants.

The stones were brilliant reds, and burning oranges. Stairs led up to the peek, between rows of statues. And there, at the landing on top, was a room that could have housed any number of treasures. I lingered here for, perhaps a few moments longer, than I may have otherwise, trying to capture the feeling of the green capped hero as he journeyed throughout his quests. And here – with the sun burning down overhead – I felt as if I could relate that little bit more. For a moment fiction became blended, meshed, bleshed (but baby says it means more) with reality.

And then it was time to pull away. There was so much more to see. Ruins surrounded by water, and others on once great islands, not simply raised above ground over dry lake beds. For some time I explored these areas, until noon when we travelled back throgh Siem Reap.

I had lunch at my hostel, and it was suggested that I rest for a while. I was ready to keep on pressing, but Boidna seemed to think it was a more than important decision. Perhaps he was tired – having been awake long before myself. I accepted, and found myself falling fast asleep. Two hours later my alarm brought me back to life – the final cry in its own tortured existence.

We pressed on to the Eastern temples, the Roluos Group. They are not larger, more impressive, or otherwise more noteworthy than those I'd already seen. But they were different, they were unique, and the drive east of the city through the parts of Siem Reap that the Cambodians would call home, was well worth the time.



Houses were raised on stakes, and roofs were thatched. Here was a different world. Perhaps the one I had come to expect. Which is unfortunate, because when I think of how and where the Cambodians live, I will remember this area, as it is what I had expected to see; I will cast aside everything that didn't fit my mold of preconceptions, unintentional as it may be.

And once more, I gave myself over to climbing, adventuring, and exploring. Wandering up the last temple stairs I turned on my GPS to check the time, and turned it off. Just before I returned to the tuk-tuk I tried to turn it on again. With no luck. I changed batteries, tried batteries from my camera, pushed all the buttons at once in a desperate attempt for something to happen. But nothing. There was only failure. Within fifteen minutes my GPS had decided that it had had enough. That it was done.

This wouldn't be that upsetting – it took me across many places over the years, and led a good full life. But – it is my alarm clock! And now I am without one! Here in Cambodia, with a work site right next door, this shouldn't prove too much of a problem, but... I will need to find something that can rouse me in the future mornings. But where will I find such a device? And in this part of the world, how ever can I be assured that it will work longer than a week or so? Ahh – good times.

I was dropped off at the Blue Pumpkin, and walked from there to the restaurant where I'd eaten last night (only a minute or so away – G5,6 on road 9.) When I had fed on more sausage and rice, this time with a fired egg topping it off, and downed an apple smoothie, I returned to the Blue Pumpkin and headed inside.

I devoured a sunday created within a waffle bowl, with three scoops of ice cream. One each of Orange, Apple (apple ice cream! The Goonies does not lie!), and Jackfruit (surprisingly good), topped in whip cream, with chocolate sauce, and a cherry. It was extravagant, it was unnecessary, and it was delicious. Sometimes spending money just to spend money can be a wonderful thing.



And then I sat around in their lounge, reading, as the time ticked by. And how sweet it was.

Tomorrow will be my final day of temple hopping, and perhaps my camera will be thankful for it. It has been working extra hard within the Angkor Wat complex.

It comes to my attention that I have also lost my blue lather builder (Her Ironside, what's with this thingy?). So I shall create a list.

Things to buy:
1. Alarm Clock
2. Lather Builder (Hey Denetta – what's with this thingy? It's a later builder. Now shut up Booth!)
3. The worst part is that I know there is a three. I'm sure I'll remember it right when it's too late. Good times indeed.

So That's Angkor Wat? Huh...

“Yeah, waking up... probably not going to be a problem here.”

These were the words of wisdom gifted to me by my dorm room mate as I talked about my plans to go see Angkor Wat tomorrow. When I asked him why he was so sure of that, he just paused – widened his eyes – and asked, “have you not see the construction site next door?”

Seven in the morning, those men in white shirts, yellow hats, and crazy coloured silk masks covering their face get to work. At seven seventeen, when they've finally succeeded in dragging me, kicking and screaming like a new born infant, into the word of the waking, they take a break. Their break coincides with the exact amount of time it takes for me to get my shirt and pants pulled on.

Look – I'm not saying that this would make it alright, but if I was a blonde haired, blue eyed (which I am) lovely looking lady (which I'm not) I might understand their pause. But, you know, I'm me. But by all means, gentlemen, enjoy your hardy stare. It's not weird at all.

After a quick breakfast, the price for which seems to be decided at random – but there's all the juice you can drink, and that's often a winning scenario with me – I headed out to meet Boidna. I'm sure that's not how you spell his name, but it's as close to the phonetics as I could get it. Throw a dash after every two letters, and you're that much closer.



Together we rode off into the morning, I in the cushy back, and he on his scooter. The tuk-tuks here are more like dirtbike-pulled rickshaws than the well oiled machines of death that terrorize the streets of Bangkok. We headed off to the ticket booth for Angkor Wat. It was here that I learned two things – one delightful, and the other ridiculous. Delightful is that the locals here do not need to pay to access the site, or the temples. Cambodians get free tickets, much the same way that in Africa, locals receive seriously reduced rates for many attractions. Especially Victoria Falls, where it's twenty American for tourists, and only fifty cents American for those that live in country.

The ridiculous aspect, however, is that when buying your Angkor Wat ticket you have four price options. One day ticket – straight forward enough, yes? 7 day ticket – any seven days within a month. - Alright, I get it. 3 day pass. Here's where you have options. You can get a three day pass for three consecutive days, or you can get a three day pass for three days within a seven day period. Now, before you ask, yes – they are both the same price. And yes, if you get the within a seven day period pass, you can use them on three consecutive days. Pretty much the consecutive day pass is just to screw with you, to make you unsure about what it is you're actually purchasing. But no, you must get the three days within a week pass – because the other one is nonsense. You just might want a day off between temple hopping. And then, maybe you wont. And that's o.k. too!

Pass purchased, and photograph taken, I waited for the pass to be printed. Ten or so other people waited with me. One of them was handed all our passes, and left to sort it out. You know, giving my pass to a stranger doesn't seem the best of ideas, but then things are different here. Here, in South East Asian people get drunk and skip over a burning skipping rope. And when they fall and get terribly burned, well they've no one to blame but themselves. And the police just look at you and think, “well that was a stupid thing to do, wasn't it?” And that's how it should be – thank you very much.

But seriously – don't go giving my pass away.

Once it was punched, thus activating it for today, we headed off through the first gate. And right at that moment I thought, yup. Alright. This is going to be quite the experience, isn't it?

And so it was. Though I still wasn't aware just how much of one it would become. At this point I was still of the mindset, “temples? Pssh – please, I've seen temples.” Because I have.

But right then and there, I should have been aware something unique was upon me. I was distracted though, you understand, by two young women trying to claw each others faces off, for the privilege of selling me something. Or trying to anyway. They were both selling books, “Mistah, mistah, I saw you way over there!” “No you didn't! He buy from me! Come with me mistah!” And the second one was so forceful and terrifying that I couldn't not obey. So over with her I went, as a gaze of death from the first attempted to reduce us each to ash.

Ancient Angkor was the name of the book I'd been told to buy. It was a good guide to the site. Cover price? Twenty Seven dollars. No thank you, but I've played this game before. Even with it being offered at twenty, I still scoffed. Now I've heard of this book going for five bucks – and I know there's a one dollar copy of it too, but it's all photocopied. This was a legit, full colour, delightful book. I named my price at nine. Nine dollars. And I would not budge. A few minutes, and some back turning later, it was mine. I, perhaps, should have bought at ten dollars – but... For what it's worth, I made up for it by buying one dollar sodas all day, only once haggling for a better deal. There is more clawing and cat fighting involved in getting your drink business.

You know, this was one of those moments where it dawned on me that if you grow up to be a pretty Cambodian girl in this part of the country, this is perhaps the best life you could hope for. And, it does pay well. If you sell me a coke for one dollar, that's about an eighty cent profit at the low end, and that's not too bad. For a full day of driving me around, my tuk-tuk driver made only 15 dollars. And I do mean a full day – he picked me up at 8.30 and dropped me off just past 18.00. Did I feel guilty? A little. But I'm told it's good money?



So back to these girls – they are sellers because they're good at it, and they can make money, and I'm sure most tourists buy from whomever they find prettiest. Here's the thing – they've been doing this for years.

Do not, please – oh please – if you are in Angkor Wat, or really any part of the world, please do not buy anything from children. Don't do it. It's like giving them candy, but so much worse. You don't give children candy because they don't have tooth brushes, or dental care, and your small piece of candy is going to destroy their teeth. If you buy from them you may be destroying their lives.

If these kids start doing well, they will be kept as sellers. They will not go to school, they will not pass go, and they will definitely not collect two hundred dollars. Well they might collect two hundred dollars, but at what cost? This will become their life.

But if you don't buy from them, what will their life have? It's a hard question – no simple answers. But please, if you must buy, buy from the adults, yeah?

I don't care how many bracelets that adorable girl offers to sell you, while following you off the path and into the woods (by the way – please don't go off the path into the woods. Fun fact, Cambodia has a lot of land minds. Yes land minds were put in the Angkor complex. Yes they did spent four years clearing them out of the main roads – and, you know, tourists have probably found one or two as well. But no, they did not go through the highly wooded areas, and those danger keep out signs? Well – explore if you must – but...)

For what it's worth, my record is seven. Seven bracelets for one dollar have been offered to me, starting from three, all by saying nothing. You can watch the photocopied lonely planets fall from seven dollars to one dollar through the same technique. I have no new bracelets. And no new books either. It kills me that I'd already added this Ancient Angkor to my load. Now I need to read two more novels before my weight will be zero sum again. Ugh. And I can't just chuck it later, because it's a nice souvenir. Maps, pictures, explanations – everything. If you go to Angkor Wat, it comes highly recommended. The Barltrop seal of quality in publishing, it receives.

Now, first we went to Angkor Thom. My driver said, “O.K. you meet me here in three hours.” I thought, uh huh – right – see you in forty five minutes, once I blaze through this place. And then I started to approach the temple. Yes I had to press through hoards of people trying to see me “T-Shirt, special size just for you”, “fresh fruit? Pineapple, maaaaango, baaaahnaaahnaaah”, “you buy from me – cold beer sir? Cold beer?” all shrieked in that obnoxiously high pitched voice that no one seems to use for polite conversation, but is unavoidable in the commercial enterprises.

But, pass through I did – and I found myself staring at... a temple. Great, ok, there are some faces, and some carvings, and what not. So what? What's the deal?

Full of jaded prejudice I began climbing steps which have been used for the last one thousand years. So that was interesting. Still, been there, done that, wrote about it from a castle in Scotland, thank you very much.

And then I checked my watch to see how much time I'd been wandering around. Oh, and hour has it been already? How'd that happen?

The labyrinthine passages connecting rooms with halls with rooms with courtyards with libraries with halls with rooms leaves you spinning in circles, climbing stairs, and feeling a great sense of accomplishment from doing what thousands, perhaps millions, have done before you. Still – you're exploring a temple ruin, and lets face it, this is as close to being Indiana Jones as you're ever going to get. So slap on that wide brimmed hat, and set to it.

The only real shortfall about this plan is that while millions may have done it before, hundreds are doing it at the same time as you. So every hidden nook and cranny is already full with tour groups, guides, or pseudo adventurers just like you. But don't let that take anything away from it.

Time check? Oh – two hours have passed. Interesting.

With only an hour left until I was to meet my driver, I quickly headed out to view two nearby smaller temples, and walked further back to where two monks were praying near a giant Buddha. I waited for a moment, watched for two, and then turned away. All over these sites you will find large stone statues clad in yellow robes. Remember, while travelling, that this still is a holy site.

Hours after were spent running through one temple, and then the next. At no point did I feel overly rushed, but at no point did I feel that I could slow down, find an empty corner, crawl up onto a ledge, and spend twenty minutes, a half an hour, or longer, just reading quietly. This is what I had longed to do, but it was not in the cards. Anyway, I was too busy soaking my shirt through with sweat. That was an activity that I seemed quite focused on for the better part of my day.

From 10:30 to 3:00 it gets hot. Really very hot. Now, I've acclimatized to the temperature somewhat, and it's not uncomfortable, but, you do need to accept that you will sweat – a lot – and then, once having come to that understanding, you will find yourself feeling delightfully cooled as the breeze catches your, now sticking, clothing.

We came to one temple which just climbed up, and up, and up – try as I might, flipping through my book now, I just can't find the name of it. Boidna warned me that I might have trouble climbing the temple, and so perhaps we should pass by. Trouble climbing? Please sir, don't you know that I have climbed mountains, and Parisian towers, not to mention one Dune 45? Such a thing as these seventy three odd foot tall stairs will worry me not.

And they didn't. It took all of, perhaps, four minutes to go from bottom to top. And the views were lovely. Later, it was discovered, that he didn't think I wouldn't be able to do it for any apparent reason, aside from my elderly age. He assumed, you see – beard and all – that I was much older than he. When I told him that I was but twenty seven, and a good seven years younger than him he was quite shocked. It's interesting how easy it is to tell age from within your own culture, but once you start branching out, it becomes rather difficult. You're never quite sure what to look for.

Another highlight of the tour was Ta Phrom, which is better known by some for being featured in the movie Tomb Raider. I had no idea – but would later watch clips of it, and come to decide that Lara Croft blowing up all number of things, and jumping from wall to wall, is rather quite entertaining. Not entertaining enough to watch while in Cambodia – but when I return, months from now, to the – quote unquote – real world, I think I might check it out.

Ta Phrom was left, somewhat, rundown and overgrown. In a state not all the unlike when it was discovered. Or so they say. Clearly much bush has been cut away, but some strangler figs, growing through the stone, remain to illustrate what it may have been like. And for that reason, it makes for a worthwhile excursion.

The day was growing long, and the sun was ready to set. It was finally time to move to Angkor Wat.

I had no idea, honesty upfront, that Angkor Wat was but one temple out of many. No idea that viewing the complex would take the better part of three days. But that's how I travel – based on ignorance, and without research. And I quite like it, because each moment can surprise you, delight you, and make you keep looking for more. The world's a strange place, and we should strive to keep it that way.



The sun set while I viewed the three well known towers. There had been a partial solar eclipse earlier in the day, but I saw nothing save for the bright glowing sun glow ever the lesser behind a wall of cloud. But because of this cloud it was feared that sunset would be equally disappointing. This would not be the case. The sky wall full of bright reds as the orb changed to colours that would make the Japanese proud. And there, at Angkor Wat, I watched as it quietly, and slowly, slipped down beneath the trees.

Driving back to the hostel plans for the next day were arranged. I would wait out front at 5:00am. Hey, you wanna see sunrise, you gotta get up early. After all, it's the thing to do.

Back in my room, I ended up chatting with a teacher from New Zealand, touring about on his summer break. We headed out for food, and he showed me a restaurant with Asian food good enough, and at the proper price point, to rival anything I could get back in the Greater Toronto Area. This is high praise indeed. Pork, rice, and vegetables, with a side of curry, a pineapple smoothie, and a banana one to chase it with – four dollars. Can't be beat.

Feeling as if we were stuffed, but unable to resist the allure of ice cream, we headed to Blue Pumpkin. If you're in Siem Reap, and fancy a tasty treat, head here. Order your food, and wander to the second floor lounger. There, you can recline on long couches set out in the trendiest of styles, surf the internet on your iPhone, or other such gadget on their complementary wifi, and just while away.

I foresee many hours spent here in my future.

And then it was back to sleep. After all, five o'clock – that was going to be early.

Welcome to Siem Reap

Welcome to Siam Reap – you may remember it as “that place people come to buy stuff they don't need, and get drunk.” Well that does sound like South East Asia, doesn't it?

No, I'm not really that jaded. Well, not entirely. But we'll get to that. First lets look back at this morning, when the world was bright, and wondrous, and I was just headed to 7-11 to grab a breakfast consisting of a random assortment of treats from the rolls, and cakes, and sandwiches ready and waiting for my purchase. Over the past week I've eaten my way through just about every item there. And I'm not complaining. I quite like my breakfasty treats. It's nice to know that they're always there waiting for my consumption.

Then I headed back to the common room and tried to internet me some magic that would explain how to get from the hostel to the airport. Therre was a bus, of course, but I could only find the route displayed for travel between the airport and Bangkok, not the other way around. And you might think that you can get on at all the drop off spots, but this is not so. I had no real desire to walk all the way down to the end of Khoa San Road either, carrying my pack again. So I gave up.

A lovely American girl tried to help me out with some fantastic map she had purchased on the advice of her guide, but it didn't pan out into anything. It was at this point that I realized I've been quite anti-social lately.

[authors note: pardon this interjection, but it is quite possibly hotter here in Cambodia, at night, then it ever was in Bangkok. This is a terrible terrible thing. And it's winter – winter! - don't they know winter should have snow, ice, and sweaters? Even Florida seems to have gotten that message this year.]

I've not really made the effort to get to know people, or hang out with others since the end of Africa. Well since the end of GAP really, because my Livingstone and Joburg trips were quite solo too. If not for Colin, I'd have probably boarded myself off from the world, and just waited out the week.

Now, sure, I'll watch movies with people in the common room, and talk with them there – but never really attempt to connect. But I'm going to excuse this on the account that schedules didn't match up. A few people I met were only around for a night, and then others I met on my last night – so there's not much hope to hang out. So, there, I feel better. But my anti-socialness continued at the airport.

Though, at this point I was still more concerned with actually getting to the airport than the going ons that might transpire there. I gave up, checked the taxi prices on the interwebs (350 – 450 baht) and committed to that. I stood in the middle of the street for three seconds, four seconds, and was passed by about seven cabs. Finally one stopped, and jumping in it took only three requests to get him to turn on his meter.

Off we went to the airport. Well, kind-of-sort-of. First we had to deal with Bangkok local traffic. We clocked thirteen minutes of non-movement. Thirteen minutes of sitting completely still. I was becoming nervous as to how much this ride was going to end up costing. But, what choice did I have? I gave up on the bus, and made my choice.

We zipped past the Bangkok outskirts where Cape Townesque shanty towns were built of metal panels, supported by stilts on the river. It's a part of the local life that you have no real knowledge of, tucked away safe within the city streets. But this lower-class surrounding exists in all towns. Replace the rope-tied walls with crumbling concrete and government housing projects, and it's all really the same.



[authors note: seriously – it's really hot, and there's no fans, and Notorious BIG won't shut up, except when he switches out with Snoop Dee Oh double Gee. And there are bugs. The bugs. I could live with the sweat if I wasn't being bitten by invisible mosquitoes. Hurray for anti-malarials!]

O.K. so there I was headed to the airport, and then I was at the airport. But it was hard to tell, because – aside from the vast number of planes taking off and landing, and the sign that said “arrivals terminal” I couldn't quite be sure. The taxi meter only read 245B. You see why this is confusing? As it's so much less than the quoted price I'd heard thrown around. Without the stalls, it might only have been 200. Far less than two bus tickets. It makes no sense, then, for people travelling together to take the bus.

So I was in the airport, and got through security, and had my Thailand visa exit stamped (really hope I can get back into the country in a week – tee hee... seriously.) That only took fifteen minutes. What fun! And then it was off to gate D5 where I tried, oh how I tried, to stay awake and alert. But it wasn't happening. I laid down on three chairs and within a second an employee came up to me: Hey! Are you tired! ... uh, yes sir? Sorry sir? Tired are you?! You should go – go where? I'm sorry. I'll be good – to or Bangkok Air lounge.

Ohh – the lounge? Really? Why wasn't I told about this before? Awesome. That's much better than getting yelled at for sleeping where people could be sitting.

So off I trekked to the lounge where I was greeted by beautiful Thai women offering me all the juice, hot chocolate, and mini sandwiches I could desire. Had I been a platinum member they would have offered me alcohol and massages too. But, sigh, that would cost extra. It always does.

At any rate, juice of an orange colour, and hot chocolate are my favourites. It compared not, of course, to Chef's hot chocolate – but it was a passable substitute. And as for mini sandwiches? Eaten in the right quantity they can become whole sandwiches!

And there I was minding my own sandwich-face-stuffing-business when out of nowhere someone said “are you taking anti-malarial?” It was an open question, so it seemed – and after hearing some background answering I decided to join it claiming that I was on Doxy.

And this opened me to conversation, not really with he who asked the question, but with the mother/daughter team that were travelling together. One, a quite goggle search for her blog – but failing in that regards – seems to be a masseuse. But I'm telling this tale out of order. So I started talking to this duo, and it turned out they were from Portant Oregon (I've heard nothing but the best of this city. Sure I had no idea where or what it was a year ago, but lately it has been heralded as the mecca of American travel.)

We talked and chatted, and it seems that they travel differently from me. They travel at the sharp end, ladies and gentle men, and I do not begrudge them this. But I do envy it. And, you know, I've been thinking how I'd like to take my parents to see some of this fantastic world that I've visited. Perchance they'd be able to pay for me to travel at the sharp end as I show them a “whole new world,” but probably not. They're too busy in icy cold Florida. And I question their desire to travel. It seems to exist, but in such odd faded increments, where it comes and goes, and is enjoyed when it happens, then is quickly packed away like so many empty wine bottles in a basement far cleaner than it is ever made out to be.

They were doing South East Asia properly – in the same amount of time that I was doing it. Ugh. I have failed in my SEA quest, but I have gained valuable knoweldge, and I know how to do it now. Next time will be different, and overland, and cheaper, and – I'm so mad with how much better I know this area of the world now... but didn't a week ago when I confirmed flight plans. I mean, 300 for a return trip to and from Siem Reap didn't seem all that awful, until I discovered a safe, confirmed, way to do it properly for 22 bucks overland. Bah.

Daughter, you see, hosteled through Europe back in the mid nineties. This shocked me, cause I had pegged her not much older than me, but clearly she surpassed me by a decade at least. I am getting really bad at this age guessing game.

I had little time to talk about it, before they headed off for massages, and all those other oriental (are we in the orient here?) delights.

But imagine backpacking a decade and a half ago. Every moment would be a great adventure. Just finding a place to sleep for the night would have been a well-won quest. Personal contacts, books, and sheer luck would have amounted to so much. There was no internet, no hostel world, no “+'top ten things to do in' +[city name]” google search. Heck, back in 1995, discovering hollywood.com existed was a big deal to me! I wonder if it still exists? It's probably porn now.

And this was the world she explored. Where travel took courage, and commitment, and effort. Today? Anyone can do it. And everyone should. This is both good and bad. And Cambodia, Siem Reap, anyway, exemplifies this to the fullest.

Up into the air I flew, 35 minutes later, back to the ground I fell. Stupid 300 dollar round trip quick fight. Stupid Bangkok Air and their monopoly on the route. Ohh well – the lounge was good. And the people there, a delight, which may have broke me from my anti-social trends.

Once through Cambodian customs, having bought my brand new visa, I was ready to meet meet my tuk-tuk driver from the hostel. He was not there. I booked a taxi easy enough, and was soon enough on the road to the place I would call home for the next six nghts. Six nights? Really? Four nights – tops... let that be a lesson to the rest of you.

As I drove to my hostel I was quickly overcome with the feeling that i was “someplace else” now. The palm trees around small shacks, and many many people on bicycles made me aware that I was in another part of the world, and not the same part that housed Bangkok. This was far different. And it had a culture all its own.

But then I reached Siem Reap, and my hostel, and everything started to fade. After checking in, and being given a key that I needed to keep in a special socket by the door, to make th aircon run, I headed out to explore the town.

And within three minutes I was assaulted by “hey mister”s and other such come ons to buy things, or receive massages, or put my feet in a pool of fish that seemed more than willing to eat my dead supposedly dead skin. Even with the enticement of free beer during this 2 dollar, twenty minute, experience I stayed away. No fish shall ever taste my man flesh!

Stepping outside your hostel or hotel doors subjects you to the world that is now Siem Reap. It's a world of commercialism, and a culture devoted to seeing you stuff you just don't need. Here's the thing though, it's probably good for them.

Yeah – for me – who wants to see these people are they may have been seen back in 1995, I am missing out on something. Back when Siem Reap used to be a town in its own right, rather than the stepping stone to Angkor Watt. But would I have even come here otherwise? And could these people afford to live if not for the tourist dollars flowing in daily? So – yes – for me, these markets and tacky and touristy, but they are crucial to the survival of those that live here.

The thing that does upset me though is the number of Aussies, and Americans (because they may not travel the rest of the word, but they're out in S.E.A. in force) that will go home and talk about how amazing this part of the world is, based on how cheaply they got drunk (why I think Spain is seen so glowingly) and how many great deals they got at the market. These people will competently miss the poverty, real life, and urroundings of those whom they interacted with here.

But hey, I'm old and cranky, and in need of some transition day sleep. So who am I to talk? We'll see how I feel in the morning. But as for right now? I don't know – these tourists... they need some perspectve.

Well – 8:30, when I meet my tuk-tuk driver who will rake me around Angkor Wat for the day, isn't getting further away. So – to bed with me.