Cambodia as a Traveler: Footloose and on the Move

Here's the latest scoop: These are my finals days in Hanoi, Vietnam. China is up next. My batteries recharged after nearly a month in this city, I'm armed with a Chinese visa, a care package of random nick-knacks sent by my room mates back in Corvallis, and an eagerness to get back into the adventure. Good thing, too, as the budget is fast-approaching the yellow zone and it's time to shoestring it.

This episode is a long one. Altered a bit from the preview, it leaves Kampot for the next round.


Toward the end of April, and having established my intention to return to Kampot, I missioned north toward Battambang (some 300 km away). Delays are a way of life in Cambodia and I found myself back at Phnom Phen's familiar Okay Guesthouse for the night. I was told the dorms were full but insisted on seeing them anyway. Only one of four beds looked occupied and the enterprising employee said "sometimes people put their bags away during the day." Yeah, sometimes they do, but not three travelers who also leave their beds untouched. Refusing to consider an overpriced and unnecessary single room, I slept in the dorm for $2 per night. My only company was a mild-mannered guy from Philly and a couple of mosquitoes.

Waking up way too early, I caught the bus north to Battambang. I had heard Battambang is a good place to settle in for the long haul. I understand why. Though it is Cambodia's second-largest city, it's a lot like a big, sleepy village. Read: not much going on. I ate a cookie at a frumpy little bakery and it was bland. I drank some coffee that couldn't hold its own against my place in Kampot. I meandered through the market, accompanied by the familiar fragrance of dead and dying dinner animals. I had an advanced lesson in the virtue of patience as I spent several fruitless hours attempting to post photos to my online facebook identity. But there is always a silver lining. I met and enjoyed several lively hours of conversation with an inspirational woman who has dedicated her life to travel and helping others through health care management. She visited Angkor Wat in 1993, shortly after the Khmer Rouge had been (mostly) flushed from the area. She also ventured into Russia in 1982 as a young woman and against her mother's will "just to see what was over there." (See, Mom, I'm not the only one with what you might call a reckless sense of adventure!) Her account of the temples untouched by tourism whetted my appetite to see what all the fuss was about.

The next morning, I boarded a 20-foot boat just wide enough to cram in two long rows of passengers bound for Siem Reap. The journey was long and the benches hard. Snaking our way up a narrow river we were flanked on both sides by trash-strewn banks and villagers carrying out their daily toil. Not exactly a glimpse into pristine village life. I felt more a voyeur than I would have liked and it was disheartening to see what had become of a once vibrant, healthy river. On the up side, we all had a good laugh as the boat ran aground twice in low water.

At lunch, I hopped aboard the floating snack shop cum restaurant and cheerfully chirped out greetings in my rudimentary Khmer. Pointing to a pot, I asked how much a bowl of its contents might cost a hungry wayfarer. The answer was cheaper than the stale packaged chips offered as an alternative. Soon I was looking down at a steaming bowl of dark green leaves and some sort of meat with scales. While I can only venture to guess what animal it may have been (maybe snake?), I can definitively say it was the worst meal I've had in southeast Asia, and there have been some bad ones. It tasted acidic and sour with a foul aftertaste. Some insects share this characteristic in order to fend off predators. They might have made a preferable substitute but I ate this soup anyway. Visiting the toilet before departure, I stood staring through the hole in the boards at the murky waters below. Up to that point, I had chosen to ignore the obvious fact that the soup water I had just consumed was the same as the sewer water I had just polluted. I am happy to have a strong stomach and a healthy immune system.

Arriving in Siem Reap, I found myself accommodation for $1 per night in an attic dorm. My shower facility doubled as the bar toilet, but I shared this humble abode with several friendly young women. I knew I would enjoy my time in Siem Reap. Two of these women, Erin and Zennor, invited me to join them and their British friend, Susie, in wandering the temples the next day. Briefly considering my options, I agreed and we all went out for drinks. Thus began a cycle of socializing and archaeological exploration that gained momentum and intensity over the next four days.

On the Temples of Angkor:

1) I rode a bicycle to and around the grounds each of my three days ($2/day = total freedom)
2) The ruins were always fascinating, every nook and cranny offered something to ponder
3) I wore a two-dollar straw fedora

While the above three were constant, my three days at Angkor varied in company, the time of day, and the weather. Joining Erin, Zennor, and Susie (from my guesthouse), my first visit began in the mid-morning heat. The sun was relentless as we wandered the sites the girls had missed on their previous visit. Taking this as my temple preview, I enjoyed the company as we meandered through the Jungle Temple Ta Prohm, stared back at the faces of Bayon, posed among armies of asura demons, and fed fruit to monkeys.

The second day, I was rousted at 4:30am after an hour's slumber (a consequence of Siem Reap's exquisite night scene). Together with a vivacious young blond Brit named Zoe and a quiet, easy-going Irish guy I made the pilgrimage to witness the Angkor Wat Sunrise. Determined to catch this reportedly breathtaking experience, our winded and bleary-eyed crew pedaled fast against a brightening sky. We arrived when it was still fairly dark, drank coffee for a short while, and then it was light. Not exactly the stunning sunrise we had imagined, but a rewarding experience nonetheless. We then went our separate ways and I made an extensive tour of near-deserted grounds around Angkor Wat.

The third day was tops. Zoe and I teamed up again for a pedal around the small circuit. After a full day of templing under grey clouds, we were rewarded a brief window of blue sky toward sunset. The ancient stones and twisted trees of Ta Prohm were splashed with gold as the day's final light fought through encroaching storm clouds. We could have pedaled back to the shelter of Siem Reap but opted instead to catch the faces of Bayon before they were veiled by night. The black clouds overhead, ripped through by thunder, unleashed rain so heavy our voices were drowned by the sound alone. We stopped at Baphuon with hardly a soul in sight. Lying with our backs against the warm, 1000-year-old stonework and our faces to the fresh tropical rain, we agreed there is no better way to experience such a mystical place. Drenched to the core, we laughed at the crowds who had fled the temple grounds at the first signs of the coming storm. Undeniably, this was my best experience in Siem Reap. Bicycling back to the city in the dark rainy night, however, was a terrifying adventure but we made it.

On the Siem Reap social scene: the best travel exercise is dancing. Siem Reap is a strange city with some dark underpinnings. However, it boasts a great nightlife concentrated along the appropriately named Bar Street. Two pinnacles of nighttime revelry are the Temple Club and the Angkor What? Bar. Between these two establishments, I burned through several nights' witching hours and loads of calories.

On the expiry date of my visa, I pulled away from Siem Reap fully satisfied with my visit. I had experienced the temples across a full spectrum of conditions. I had also formed a number of strong traveler relationships, a few of which would resurface down the road.

Returning to Phnom Phen, I immediately set about extending my visa. Unfortunately, the process provides the corrupt Cambodian immigration office the opportunity for unarguable extortion. While the first visa costs $20, the one-month renewal is $45. You'd think a government would be delighted to keep western wallets within its borders as long as possible. No doubt they are, they just take their cut first. Unlike the legitimately-priced visa the space marked "fee" on my extension was left blank. To the angry protests of the immigration clerk, I filled it in with "$45," said "you have a lovely country," and walked out.

Free time in Phnom Phen: A friend from Corvallis connected me to an Australian named Emma who was working with the NGO, AusAide. She had been in Phnom Phen for over a month and had established herself well. Stepping into Emma's extensive social circle, I was allowed a glimpse into the lives of Phnom Phen's western residents. (I also learned that these residents are predominately women, a fact that makes for lively and enjoyable dinners). With this group, I attended a traditional Khmer "circus" performance at the Chenla cultural arts theater. The highlight of the show, which also featured contortionists, jugglers, and magic, was the colorful storytelling dance. Here's a quick rundown:

The Monkey King (wearing a sparkly white outfit) commands his monkey army (donning blue and gold) to build a stone bridge across an ocean. No sooner do they commission the bridge does the Mermaid Queen (also sparkly white) send her mermaids (red and gold) to dismantle it. Monkey King does some aerial acrobatics, catches on to the Mermaid's mischief, and sends his army in to clean house. Everyone dances, some lobsters show up, and the Monkey King and Mermaid Queen fall in love after some aspara-style contortionist acts. Everyone is happy and I'm sure a few months later the place is swarming with mermonkeys. The end.

I also had the pleasure of running into two good men from Siem Reap. Nick of Yorkshire, built like a brick house and sporting wild curly blonde hair, had ceaseless energy and a youthful smile. Leigh, a high school physics teacher from Wales, captured attention like the best of teachers with his eloquent delivery of quirky anecdotes paired with thoughtful conversation. I had the pleasure of guiding these two around the city with which I'd become comfortably familiar. We toured markets, climbed tall buildings, ate fast food, and talked about man stuff.

The formation of the Brotherhood of Cheap Watches: Leigh and I had each been searching for our perfect watch. At the central market--Phnom Phen's knockoff watch megamall--our respective quests came to an end. Leigh found his nostalgic black-banded Casio digital of his youth. I found the bold, white-banded Casio that fit my criteria for functional fashion. Nick just jumped on the bandwagon with the purchase of a flashy off-brand loaded with bells and whistles. Over our rooftop fast food lunch, we assigned superpowers to each watch like schoolboys at recess. Leigh had the brilliant idea to synchronize our timepieces so that each hourly beep would remind us of that day and each other. Leigh's watch failed within a month and Nick's was stolen by a prostitute. Mine, even after an accidental dip in Ha Long Bay, beeps on to this day.

That evening was a unique one. The Brotherhood took to the town looking for trouble. We found it when I sparked up conversation with Jessica and her three Australian travel mates at a local hot spot. The group of us stormed tuk-tuks, dance floors, and the streets with riotous laughter and merrymaking. The shenanigans didn't stop till the next morning at the Australians' posh hotel, where Nick and I enjoyed a fine buffet breakfast on the house.

I parted ways with the guys and set coordinates for Kampot. Eager to return to that quiet little city, I was looking forward to settling in to one place for a while. Several months on the travel road with the essentials crammed into a backpack and one begins to miss the simplicity of having books on a bookshelf, clothing on a different shelf, and toiletries in the bathroom.

Up Next: Cambodia as a Local, prefaced with a tropical island getaway.