Confessions of a Dangerous Blogger:

If today had to be named, I declare it be named Temple Day. It was also the climax and highlight of the trip. For today I visited the temple on every flag, beer and postcard you can get in this country, Angkor Wat. I’m not a temple guy. I may have said this before, talk of temples tends to make me want to sleep. However these are no ordinary temples. These are glorious, awe-inspiring feats of ancient brilliance. Massive slabs of rock, adorned in beautiful carvings, slotted together to create a harmonious whole, guarded by fierce stone statues and surrounded by dense tropical jungle. Oh these are no ordinary temples at all!

The main attraction is of course Angkor Wat, but there are many other temples in the surrounding tracts of jungle. There are varied and interesting structures all over the area, taking from me a good deal of sweat and sunburn to get to. I rode a mountain bike all the way, some 20 km in total. Not really that much, but when you add in the super humid heat and stopping every once in a while to point the camera… uh wait, unzip the bag, take the camera out, wait for it to load, aim, shoot, put the camera back in the bag, etc, well it’s a long day. The camera worked overtime, taking some great shots which have undoubtably been taken again and again before from the exact same position. I just needed my very own copy.

The impressive thing about Angkor Wat wasn’t just the detailed carvings on all the walls and the cool symmetrical tilings going all the way around, or even the mythology depicted everywhere in fine artistic detail. No, what blows you away is the grandeur of it. It’s an enormous building, one can only imagine how it must’ve looked a few hundreds of years ago. Massive amounts of stone, transported from 15km away, work which must’ve taken years and years to do. And the moat, wow! It was so huge, just massive. I have no idea how they made it, no idea at all. Brilliant. I was just in awe.

After spending a few hours climbing up and down the stairs, in and out of off all the little rooms inside and taking pictures from every conceivable angle, I got back on my bike and pedaled over to the Bayon temple. This was a great one too, much smaller, but the design of it was remarkable. There was a working well inside, little light shafts, libraries, statues. It was the most beautiful to look at and was definitely great to photo. I was standing up on top of it and I thought to myself, I don’t know how they did it, but well done to you sirs, well done.

Much of my appreciation for the day’s outing comes on reflection though. At the time I was so hot and the sunscreen I had applied was running down my face in little beads of milky sweat. It got in my eyes and stung, then later my nose started to burn because the sunscreen wouldn’t stick. Then I’d ride and get hotter, all the while having vendors and little kids shouting from every which way.

“Mister you want pineapple, mango, coconut $1 ok 75 cents. Mister cold drink for you would you like to buy something, sir, sir give me money sir. Sir I’m hungry, you want postcard…?”

So you are kind of overwhelmed by it all, navigating the sea of tourists, with their guides, talking in a bunch of different languages to their constituents, while they all take their photos and shuffle on. Now that I’m no longer there, I can contemplate the temples and the environs in a purer sense. Reflection to pause and silently marvel. And then you know that you have witnessed something truly wonderful.

Now, on to the most meaningful temple. This was the tree temple, as I call it, but known here as Ta Prom. Biting through the temple’s walls and floors are huge trees, which obviously had a grudge against the makers because they seriously took over. It’s like a freeze from a movie where the trees start walking around on their roots crushing stuff.

See, some of the temples were left alone for a long while such that the jungle started to move back in. It really makes you have a great deal of respect for nature. Sure, we were here looking at man-made structures, but seeing those trees come in and rip through the walls, massive trees which must have taken half a century to grow, I felt the power of nature and it’s ability to throw man’s work out at the drop of a hat. Given a couple of hundred years, or so.

I finally headed back around dark time, after failing to capture the magnificent sunset. I was there and I saw the sun set, but the cloud cover prevented the full glory from being shown. Yet, even without the sky playing it’s part, there was nothing about this temple region which wasn’t amazing. Every photo just takes you back in time a thousand years, everything there was a testament to the genius of man. In this time of fools, where people too happily kill for their gods, it’s so nice to see the beauty that comes from belief too.

So now I have to ask myself, having come to the pinnacle of my journey, what now? I have seen everything I wanted to see. Perhaps I didn’t do everything I wanted to do, for there is still a lot I didn’t explore in Phnom Penh. But after the highlight, everything just pales. Maybe it’s just time to go home.

Popularity: 2% [?]

A traveller I met recently described her trip to Laos. She said that it was like Cambodia but without all the people asking you for money. I must admit, it does wear on you here. It’s not just the beggars, though there are plenty of those. It’s the fact that in every transaction you make, someone is trying to rip you off. Let’s take my motorbike for example. I rented one in Phnom Penh at a rate of $6 per day. This was done through my guesthouse, which called a guy from a motorbike rental place. At the time, I could tell that $6 was a little high. After all, $6 was 240 baht and that was almost the same as the Chopper I like to rent in Thailand. But having little inclination to haggle over the price, nor go out and walk around looking for a place, I took it for 2 days. Today, when I returned it to the motorbike rental shop, they told me that if I rented it again I might be able to pay less. This was, of course, if I came alone. “How much per day?” I asked the man. $3 he said coyly.

Now, which one is mine again..?

Whenever you go somewhere, you can guarantee that someone will be running a few steps in front, trying to get a commission on the room, bike, tour, meal. However, commission is a little misleading as it’s a direct ‘foreigner referral surcharge’ straight from your pocket into the referrer. This could be a guy you have never met floating around outside the hotel, or it could be the guy who drove you to your guesthouse. In any case, they make money off you any way they can. When you first arrive, it’s easy to mistake it for friendliness. My guesthouse staff were very friendly to me, but knowing that they were making money surreptitiously through my motorbike rental helped to lose any goodwill I had for them. They would’ve made that money in the tips I was going to give them, but as they didn’t really help me out in any way, no tips for them.

Am I wrong to be worrying about $3 here or there. Let me put this in perspective, though this notion of monetary perspective is almost impossible to see clearly. Cambodian boys and girls who work in bars, cafes or restaurants, commonly receive $50-60 each month. Factory workers might receive a higher pay of $80 or even up to $150 with overtime. Taking this back to an average wage per day, we’re talking between $2 at the lower end and $5 at the high end. So it’s easy to see that for an average Cambodian, a few dollars is quite a big deal. That part of perspective is the easy part.

Mister, photo 1000 riel. I gave them 500 each.

The other side is that there are two currencies and two prices for most things. The local currency, Cambodian riel and U.S. dollars, which are taken everywhere in place of riel at a rate of 4000 riel to 1 dollar. Typically, a tout with something to sell will ask for a dollar the first time. When I was on the bus to Siem Reap today, we made a pit stop and the usual group of local kids descended upon me to sell me pineapple and mangoes. At first they asked for a dollar, then dropped to 1500 riel. What is confusing is understanding just how much this is for a local. In Korea, it was easy. 1000 won was like a dollar. 1000 won bought you a dollar’s worth of goods, be they melons, water or train tickets. At first impression, I’d like to think that Cambodian riel is similar, 1000 riel is like a dollar for them. However this means that their daily salary is still only between 8000 and 20000 riel, something like $8 and $20 for us Westerners back home for an 8 hour work day. Still not enough. I’d like to visit a shop somewhere with standardized prices and see just how much a local might pay, yet everywhere I go is either on the tourist route (thus the prices are inflated) or subject to instant price inflation. It’s almost impossible to tell for sure.

I’m not a scrooge. Far from it. I’ll happily pay more for good service, when someone makes an effort. What I don’t want to pay for is nothing. Bad service, beggars, cheats, don’t deserve a reward. Last night is an example. A couple of kids came up to me. One, probably around 12, was carrying a baby, possibly his younger brother. Another kid was asking me for money, he was around 6 or 7. I said no. He kept asking. Then I noticed he had a water bottle. I asked him how much for the water. In Korea, I pay 50 cents, in Cambodia, 1000 riel is a good price, or 25 cents. The kid asked for a dollar. I told him ok, give me the water. He did and I gave him a dollar. It looked like he had just won the lottery. A few seconds later and he was gone, running up the street yelling to his friends. I’m not changing the world here, but if a kid is selling me something, rather than just asking for money, well that’s pointing a kid in the right direction. I didn’t drink the water, mind you. It was dirty, and while it wasn’t opened, the top of the bottle looked a little worse for wear. God knows how long he had been holding it.

Before this little transaction, as I was sitting in the restaurant I noticed a peculiar statment on the menu. It read: “If you would like to buy your waitress a drink, add $1 to the price of the drink. The dollar goes to the waitress, as staff are paid only $55 per month.” I thought, why don’t you bloody pay them higher yourself! Yet one friendly girl told me (after I’d bought a number of drinks and kept persisting in my questioning) that she had saved up nearly $1200 after 2 years of work. As I listened, I tried to put my $2000 monthly salary in Korea as far from my mind as possible. Here was me just 2 months ago thinking that $2000 really wasn’t that much money.

Siem Reap. Home of Angkor Wat, and adjacent to the huge Tonle Sap lake, and now proud host of yours truly. I travelled up here because to be honest, I was just not enjoying Phnom Penh that much. It was just a city. Granted, I didn’t explore it as much as I could’ve, but all the stories (3 seperate stories in one day) of bag snatching and hold ups got me kinda spooked. I might possibly go back and rent a scooter for a day or two before I head back to Thailand, to visit some of the other landmarks. Then again, saying the word Thailand in my head makes me just want to go back there to the land of smiles. Beyond that, I’m finally turning my mind toward home. In fact, Siem Reap was the farthest part of my planned tour, so now that I’m here I suppose it’s almost time to turn around and head back.

The damned thing is, I really don’t feel like I’m truly travelling. I am seeing a different country, but everything feels so packaged. Granted, I’m nowhere near those Korean tourists who arrive by the busload into their A/C hotel rooms, take a guided tour of everything, eat some Korean food, then fly back to Seoul. Yet, I am only a step away as I am one member of the horde of backpackers, walking our way between guesthouses, sleeping in our fan rooms, eating our western food and seeing all the major landmarks. Another tourist, looking for his internet cafe of a night to blog about this crazy country and it’s dusty one-laned roads. It’s really not enough that people say “wow Cambodia, that’s real travelling”, because once you’re here experiencing it, it’s really not that far removed. Little challenge is required of the tourist who goes where all the other tourists go. For us, the path is paved with millions of footsteps before us, modern conveniences and groovy bars. For locals, the path is paved with dollar bills.

Cafe culture in Siem Reap

As I travelled on the bus, through the countryside on my way here, I longed to just get out and step away from the road. I wanted to go into one of those homes on stilts, see their house, eat their food, play with their kids. The only way I could possibly do this is to hire a motorbike and possibly take a guide with me, and just travel through the countryside. It sounded like a plan. It could be a plan for this trip, or for another trip to come, but if I have learnt anything this time around, it’s that to really travel and see something worthwhile, you have to step outside of your comfort zone.

This particular traffic jam was anything but comfortable

Popularity: 2% [?]

It takes some balls to cross the street in Phnom Penh. Double that for riding on a moto taxi. Quadruple for getting a bike and riding on these streets yourself. As it happens, I do have the balls. Now, I’m not a superstitious man by any analysis, but you can bet I’ll be praying, mumbling ancient verses and doing pagan witch-dances around my bike before getting on.

See, the Cambodian attitude to the roads is quite simple. Roads are for going places. All else is an impediment to be swerved, honked at or just damn right pushed through. These impediments may be pedestrians, traffic lights, signs of any kind, or as is often the case, oncoming traffic.

Direction is so relative. People drive on the right side of the road here, more so out of habit than anything else. Sometimes, well it’s just easier to drive on the left, or the wrong way up a one-way street. Of course it may be a problem if someone is there, but most problems of this nature can be remedied by a few beeps of the horn. Don’t stop though, never stop.

So yes, I have nerves of steel to be riding around in this mayhem, but also a lot of valuable experience handling a bike in peak hour Seoul traffic. I started to get my direction today, just after getting myself lost. Somehow I found the Museum, despite the fact that I wasn’t really looking for it. Yes, my sense of direction is THAT GOOD!

Before I talk about the museum, let me recall last night, as I arrived in Phnom Penh for the first time. Once the bus had reached a relatively populated area of the city, I got off and told a moto taxi driver to take me to Lucky Guesthouse.

“Do you know where it is?”
“Yes, Lucky.”
“Yeah near Independence Monument. Lucky Guesthouse.”

After stopping for directions a couple of times, my driver found the place and it turned out the old English guy in Sihanoukville that I had spoken with over coffee was right. Relatively cheap and clean. I dropped my stuff and immediately headed out. The friendly staff of my guesthouse (everyone is friendly actually, but these guys more so) told me there was a market. A few moto guys were hanging around as they do and probably under their influence, the staff recommended I didn’t walk to the market for food. So I walked to the market. Not really because I knew they were all working to help each other out, but for the simple fact that I had been sitting on a bus for 5 hours and besides, I could see the damn market not 200 meters off.

A 75 cent Chinese street vendor dinner later, and I was ready to see… Well actually, what was there to see? As though reading my mind, a moto taxi driver came along. Bless these chaps, sometimes they’re annoying, but they sure are convenient. I like to imagine them as my own private Papparazzi, hanging around my hotel for a glimpse of the long-nosed guy with fresh dollar bills, who will pay double the going rate without so much a blink of big round eyes. Instead of the flash of cameras, there’s the clinking of keys and motor scooters coming to life. I also like to imagine them as my own private bike gang, with me as their leader. But enough of my moto-related rantings, let’s talk about some serious stuff.

The Museum. Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum is a former school-turned-prison, used by the Khmer Rouge to hold, interrogate and torture an estimated 17,000 prisoners between 1975 and 1979. Pictures line the walls of the rooms. Prison cells remain, as do some of the torture devices used. Men, women and children were held here, often former Khmer Rouge members who were accused of betrayal. It is a grim spectacle to witness, especially when you look at the photo of the survivors. It is seven men.

I rented a guide with a few other tourists and he provided an informative commentary on the prison and the political situation at the time. I can summarize. Whatever you can think of as the worst thing that a human can inflict on another human, double it and then add some. Then you’d be in the ballpark.

Perhaps I am not that squeamish, or perhaps the concept of death is a constant threat to me as I drive on these roads that I have become desensitized. In any case, I finished the museum with all it’s horror and decided that what I really needed was lemon tart.

There is a part of me that wishes I was more shocked by it all. We were standing around, talking about millions of people dying, having their heads smashed in because bullets were too expensive, and it just washed over me like any other statistic. I feel that my lack of emotion is evidence of the general state of apathy that has come over our society. We don’t feel shock because we are exposed to horror stories like this every day.

Then again, maybe I just really wanted lemon tart.

Popularity: 2% [?]

The annoying thing about starting your Cambodian travels in Sihanoukville is that you have to hear everyone’s damn stories about Angkor Wat. Let me explain and then you’ll understand that I have high hopes for the city of Siem Reap where the famous temple is located. Two seperate guys, two virtually identical stories. The tales both went like this: “I was in Siem Reap and I met this girl. It was so strange because I have a girlfriend back home and have never cheated, but there was something special about this girl. We had so much in common it was spooky.” The romantic in me thinks maybe the place and it’s ancient runes spark in their visitors a new flame of love. The cynic in me thinks maybe there is an international cartel of girls making men fall in love with them (through drugs) then selling their body parts to China. You choose what you want to believe.

Everyone is also going on and on about Phnom Penh too. The Killing Fields, the Museum, the markets and the nightlife. I am really tired of just hearing about this stuff, so today after sleeping in and missing my snorkelling trip I decided that I’m going to visit the market and then get on a bus to Phnom Penh today. And that I did. Through some infant instinct, the little girl below said “goodbye” to me. I had that leaving look all over me, I guess.

The up side of hearing everyone’s stories of course is that I have been given innumerable accounts of where to stay/what to do by various travellers, so at least I’ll have a fair grip on all that. And when I get to Siem Reap, I’ll keep my eyes peeled for love, whilst keeping a fair grip on my various body parts.

Popularity: 2% [?]

This came quite soon after SR#1. In my spate of hippie-ness, I started to chill out and as a result, get into long conversations with the local moto guys. I was seen having these meandering conversations with them, talking about life, where I’d like to go (in life or on his moto I know noto), how long we’d been talking, ladies, etc.

I started to understand these guys, and more importantly started to treat them with respect. These guys ride around all day and all night, being friendly and working hard to make a living. Maybe each guy will only ride a few people each day, but that’s his job. Some of them are married and have kids, some came down from Phnom Pehn to pursue their dreams. But pretty much all of these guys are kind, nice and do their best to please the hordes of tourists. Their English is great, despite having little or no formal training. I was riding on the back of one guy and he asked me if I could teach him some polite words to say to foreigners. “Sure!” I said and proceeded to give him some tips in being formal but cool. Then I thought, what a nice guy. He’s just driving a bike, but he wants to practice his skills so one day he can drive a real taxi. I looked and noticed he was wearing a collared shirt and was more professional and conversational than any taxi driver I had had before.

Since then, I’ve been making friends with these guys all over the place. I walked past a group of them who were celebrating the Kmer New Year and then they made me come and drink beer with them, after which they all embraced me (I checked my wallet afterward, don’t worry.. all there). It was nice. I chose the one who didn’t finish his beer to drive me, though.

So it’s been really cool to discover another side of this place. I always say that the charm of a new place is its people. Cambodians have proven to be kind, hospitable, good-natured and very generous. In a restaurant, you may only be paying 1 or 2 dollars for your food, but the plate which comes will be a huge serving, be it a huge pile of mashed potato or a massive potato (chips) salad and resembled more of a mountains, given all the garnishings.

Back to the moto guys. Before this realization, my regular conversation with an MG would have been something like:
“Hey mister, you wanna [_________]?”
[________] = go somewhere/smoke something/meet lady
“No.”
Can be replaced with ok/yes/alright fine I need a ride!

But now, it’s all different. Now my conversation goes something like:
“Hey mister, you wanna go somewhere?”
“Sure, where shall we go.”
“Up to you, I can do go anywhere.”
“Anywhere, really? You must know a lot of places. Where’s a good place?”
“You like lady?”
“Ladies are great. I love ladies. Long hair, yeah, awesome.”
“Ok sir I’ll take you to ladies.”
“We’re going to hunt for ladies on your bike? That’s a great idea!”

And so that’s how I found myself sitting in a room with mirrors and an interior design job straight from 80′s Russia. Some girl was talking in my ear about sitting with her. My taxi driver was smiling and drinking a beer. I asked him why I felt like I was being hunted. It sure was an adventure, but I wanted him to get rid of this lady talking in my ear. His meager efforts were unsuccessful as were my shoves. Then they gave me a book to read, but it was more of a book with photos of girls. As such there was no real story to be had, only that I supposed they were now asking me which picture I liked. I asked if I could read it again because I didn’t get it the first time, but the book had gone. I suppose you only got one chance. I told my taxi driver to finish his beer, this wasn’t fun.

On the way back, I realized we were next to the sea port. There were little shanty houses on our left, pink lights in the verandah and rooms open, matresses seen inside. Girls were sitting around in huddles outside. They called to me and I waved back, but I couldn’t really make out if their faces were happy or not. It reminded me of a camp site, back in Australia, small campside lights illuminating part of the face, sitting around in the dark, telling stories. Here, though this must be the end of the line for a lot of these girls. So many of them calling me to join them. I think the moto guy had misunderstood my enthusiasm for ladies. Or maybe I had misunderstood the question. Either way, I hadn’t come here for this.

I told my driver to go to the guesthouse. We turned around and as we did, a girl came running over to us. She spoke English and asked me to take her. I said we were just looking here, and we were going. She offered to come with me for $20. I asked her how much of that money she gets. $10 for her and $10 for mamasan. “But first two months, all for mama to pay my debt.” I told her sorry and then went back toward her little hut. I couldn’t see her anymore in the dank pink light. I tapped my driver on the shoulder we left the little houses and all the little girls in them behind.

I will stay in this town for another night, work on my tan and then tomorrow leave for Phnom Penh and later, Siem Reap with it’s famous temple.

Popularity: 2% [?]

I had just finished my workout in Pierre’s gym and decided to grab a bite to eat afterward in the little restaurant next door. It is owned by a Cambodian family and when I went in there, a few of the kids were sitting around watching TV. As I waited for my order, I realized that so far, in my travels through this country, I had pretty much put all of my tourist money into foreign hands. On my first night I had gone to an Australian bar and had dinner, then gone to the beach and spent more in a foreign-owned bar. I had spent one night in a Cambodian guesthouse, but due to the problems with that place as I have previously recalled, I moved to the foreign-owned dormitory called Utopia. Now granted, that place was free, but then where did I eat breakfast and sit around sipping cocktails of an evening?

If Cambodia is going to get off it’s feet, it needs the local businesses to be strong. It needs it’s local people to reap the rewards of the large crowd of tourists who come here. As it is, these tourists spend a large portion of their money giving it back to the expats who live and run their businesses here. We, as tourists, are guests in this country, enjoying the natural environs, the beautiful beaches and the hospitality of the locals. It may be argued that foreign businesses provide jobs to locals, which they do indeed. However, those are jobs that would be there anyway, due to the number of tourists who come here.

Anyway, I realized that I should be spending my money in locally owned places, to help them out. So I moved to a new guesthouse, started dining in local restaurants and more importantly, started to be nicer to those motorbike taxis. Last night, when I ate in a restaurant owned and run by a Cambodian lady and her two daughters, the food tasted better somehow, knowing that the money was helping their family. It sounds really Miss-Universe-Pageantish, but it’s been a definite change of perspective for me.

Popularity: 2% [?]