This is the second entry out of my journeys through south-east asia. For more writing find my blog. For 14 weeks its just me and my girlfriend traveling for the sake of it. Cambodial, Laos Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Vietnam. We are balling on a budget and connecting the dots however we can. This is a vagabonds travel journal.
HOLIDAY IN CAMBODIA
Beautiful, inspiring, hectic, overwhelming, and generally fascinating, Cambodia is at times depressing, but always moving. It’s the forgotten gem of Southeast Asia- the proverbial phoenix rising from the ashes of the Pol Pot’s rule. Never have I seen people of such resiliency or a culture of such warmth. Bright smiles exist in impossible contrast to the bleak history that has plagued Cambodia. The engaging nature of the Khmer people can be exhausting- no one passes without a smile and a committed attempt a bridging the language barrier, but their extroverted nature is coupled with an easy going mindset that never gets old. From the big cities, to the quiet beach towns and everywhere in between, the signature of Cambodians is their amicable curiosity.
Kep is a sleepy little beach town that was all but abandoned when the Khmer rouge burnt it to the ground in the 1970's. Only now is it reappearing on the map as a Cambodian travel destination. Without a sizable airport, or even a paved access road, Kep has remained lower profile than the coastal towns in neighboring Thailand. Though lack luster in comparison to the Aegean Sea, the water in Kep was still inviting and the Cambodian coast still offered secluded crowd-less beaches. Rabbit Island had warm water and cold drinks, and there was just enough breeze to keep the hammocks rocking. It was as relaxing as it was gorgeous. The bungalows were cheap and the crab traps were always full by dinner.
In Kep the small town vibe was ever-present. Life functioned on a first name basis and the economy worked on the honor system. It was not only an isolated community but also a social one. Town outings in a sling were laughable.
Curious glances followed my every move and I had the same interaction everywhere I went. It felt as though I couldn’t go fifty feet without falling into the same conversation. Concern would resonate from the face of a passing elderly woman or young group of Cambodian kids. They would study my sling from a distance but eventually interest would outweigh their wariness.
“How hurt arm? On Moto?”
I noted the universal assumption that hurt tourists were immediately presumed to have been in a motorcycle accident; it made me laugh every time.
“Not a moto… I fell skiing.”
A look of deep puzzlement always followed.
“Skiing?” The one word question would echo though a gathering crowd.
“Yeah, skiing, you know, like on snow. S-N-O-W… It’s white, very cold… It’s in the mountains.”
Occasionally someone would know exactly what I meant but more often than not my answer fell on blank stares. A Cambodian group huddle would follow, and the charades game would begin.
After a brief council meeting bewilderment would give way to uproarious laughter, “Ahhh…SNOW!” To reaffirm their deduction the new spokesman of the group would exclaim his conclusion from behind charade game snow (vertically gyrating spirit fingers).
“hahaha… yeah, snow.” I would say.
“No snow in Cambodi.” They’d retort.
“No; too hot here… I was at home.”
Nodding acknowledgements were accompanied with a sigh of relief that Cambodian’s were not to blame.
“Ski?”
Worm turn hips and fanciful poll plants always seemed to confirm that they had worked it out. More laughter more questions.
After having this conversation a few times my reputation preceded me. By the time I left Kep I was a stranger to no one.
The World through a window
The model Cambodian experience is well observed and absorbed from the window seat of an overcrowded thirty year old bus. It’s not for the weary traveler or the faint of heart, but it offers a window into authentic Cambodian life. Roads are few and far between in Cambodia and in following the bus routes you are following the blood line of the country side. The more established bus-stops are economies unto themselves and they explode into life with the every arrival. Jonestown awakens and young soft-spoken Khmer girls become boisterous smooth talking saleswomen. They flood out of the fruit-stands and bakeries ready to sell you three pineapples, two pastries, and your own shirt. Other so called bus-stops are seemingly arbitrary locations at which the bus driver inexplicably knew to slow down. Sometimes passengers were going home to, or visiting from, what seemed like the middle of nowhere. How the driver knew where and when to stop was often beyond me.
The trip that takes all day would have taken less than 4 hours if the Khmer rouge hadn’t left the country’s infrastructure in such tatters; in pathetic consolation to that fact, ten hours looking out the window of a Cambodian bus will bring you to a lot of calming conclusions. That the land is as resplendent as it is unchanging; that the people here are as resourceful as they are resilient; and that Celine Dion’s heart really will go on…and on… and on… Cambodian bus rides offer an opportunity to connect with locals, and allow a glimpse into the untouched corners of a country misunderstood by the western world. It’s not comfortable travel, but it is certainly memorable.
(Insert wedding story)
Angkor
At 4:50 our alarm sounded. We shuffled through dark halls, lumbered out of our guest house, and collapsed into the tuk-tuk waiting outside. Humming across town my posture hung as heavy as my eyes, but we zipped down sleepy streets and quietly drove into the dark Cambodian dawn. Leaving town, trees lined the street and guided the way. They held back the moonlight and cast heavy shadows over an empty road. The morning offered a window of relief from the searing Cambodian heat; appreciating the rarity of the moment I pulled Brittany close and listened to the earliest stirs of a quiet jungle.
Rounding a corner our peaceful morning collided with a hopeless crowd. Hundreds of people massed at the steps of a dark, chain locked building; parents cradled fussy babies, and forlorn families flooded the sidewalk waiting on doors that would not open. Brittany tried to raise question with our driver but his Khmer spoken one word answer provided no clues. Driving on, our tuk-tuk met others and our procession continued. Behind us the crowd shrank into the shadows, and their murmurs soaked into the darkness. On we went with unanswered questions and lingering concern.
. . .
As we approached Ankor the traffic began to build. Our sunrise idea was not a unique one and we were one among the masses now. Ahead of us, flickering tail lights dotted the road for as far I could see. There was nothing but trees and tuk-tuks. Then suddenly the ground fell away and a white shimmer reflected up through a gap in the trees. It pulled my attention into the depths of a starry void. At the bottom, the surface of a dark channel held the re-creation of the starry sky over-head. It shined in the last moments of a brilliantly clear night, but its lustrous glow was only one source of the moat’s brilliance. At more than 26,000 feet in perimeter, its size was all I could think about.
Angkor was the reason we had come to Siem Reap; it was the reason we had come to Cambodia. Now, driving one length of the complex’s moat, anticipation was at a tipping point. We arrived at the central gopura just as the last stars sank from view; we jumped from the tuk-tuk and shuffled down to water’s edge, and as the earliest hints of daybreak sprayed the horizon, Angkor’s enormous silhouette took shape against a gray sky.
The temple was just as I hoped it would be; the dawn photo opportunity was not. Outside of the U.S. the beauty of Angkor is not a secret, nor is the beauty of its photographic sunrise. Each morning thousands of tourists from every corner of the world flock to Angkor Wat to watch the sun rise over the world’s largest religious monument. On any given day two thousand photo snapping tourists can be expected at water’s edge trying to take the exact same photo that is already on every post cards that the Cambodian children relentlessly try to sell you. That morning I missed the sun rise, or at least I missed the cliché sunrise photograph that I had planned on taking. I got tired of wrestling the crowd, tired of fighting to carve out a few square inches to stand in. Instead, I just wandered off. Leaving Brittany to tangle with the mob, I simply gave in and let curiosity guide me. What I found was what I pretty much already knew: Tourists are like moths to a flame. They are so busy trying to make sure they don’t miss what everyone else sees that they end up missing everything.
That morning my wandering took me into the depths of the Angkor complex, and at 6:00 AM I found myself completely alone in the heart of Cambodia’s crown gem. I took it in, wrestling free, in absolute solitude.
When rejoining Brittany, I found her with Ethan and Kasandra (a Canadian couple we had met the night before). Travel savvy and endlessly witty, we liked them as much as we enjoyed listening to them bicker. Ethan arrived with a plan on how to stay ahead of the crowds as well as answers about the sullen crowd we’d seen that morning. Ethan explained that they were patients waiting on an emergency clinic to admit them. (A recent outbreak of Dengue Fever was wreaking havoc.) I slowed to a crawl reflecting on the morbid fact that those men, women, and children now faced the bleak inevitabilities of basic healthcare in an impoverished nation. Mournful, and silent, Brittany and I walked on following our new guides. We followed them through Angkor Wat and the remnants of what was once a prominent empire.
. . .
The magnificence of Siem Reap is rooted in its grand scale, but it shines in its ethereal detail. Ornate engravings cover every visible inch of every hand carved stone. Walking in and amongst the temples is overpowering- as much so as any experience I have ever had. I wrote off that solitary morning wandering around Angkor Wat as being the pinnacle Cambodian experience but Siem Reap has an uncanny ability to out-do itself. Every temple offers something new, something different, something better, and in the days that followed Brittany and I, time and time again, found ourselves alone wandering the raw purity that exists only in the un-restored temples of lesser prominence. Millions of construction hours went into every stone mammoth. Trying to take in multiple temples a day feels almost disrespectful and yet I cannot name structures I've ever respected more. Angkor Thom, Bayon, Prea Ko, the Rolous Group, Preah Khan, Banteay Kdei, Pre Rup, Ta Prohm… The list is endless; the temples unbelievable. Words fail; the photos are a start.
(For Photos see blog)
