The air was humid and still and the only sound the high shrill of Cicadas. A black passage lay in front of me, beckoning me to explore it. Large stone blocks lay piled up in my path. I clambered over the fallen stones, all wedged immovably on the backs of one another for god knows how long.

Whooooseeekki!!! flflflflfflflf ththttht ffff – Around the corner it screamed, faster than my eye could trace it. There were more though the darkness prevented me from seeing how many. I continued, and as I encroached I caught sight of the next bat as it shot out overhead from its resting place. Around the corner the passage this time was blocked, a window streaming in light was not wide enough to fit through and climb out of. On the other side was another courtyard also subsumed by the jungle. I backtracked. The others, close by, had explored other rooms, passages and potential routes through the jungle temple. Regrouping we moved on following the path with the most light.

Beng Mealea lies more than 60km from the rest of the Angkor Temples and has been left as it was found. The jungle has taken over; its roots entrenched in the matrix and foundations of the stone slabs. Light shafts filter through the trees. Few travelers find their way here due to its remoteness and the fact that it was only cleared of mines two years ago. For these reasons Rich, Berna, Debbie and I, not yet done with temples after 3 days in Angkor, set out with the spirit of Tintin. We sat and ate lunch on the temples highest point near the collapsed central tower overlooking the surrounds and spared a thought for what the rest of the world might be doing right now.

The temples of Angkor, built between 800AD-1300AD, rate amongst my highlights of all Asia. The high point of the Khmers architectural exploits is Angkor Wat, the largest religious building ever conceived. The approach into Angkor Wat along the bridge and across its massive moat gives you plenty of time to soak in its size and grandeur. We returned to Angkor Wat 3 times in 3 days, viewing it among the myriads of other tourists, again at first light, and again at sunset on day 3. With each viewing the light changed, my experience of it differed and its awe became more impressed on me. Intricate Bas Relief’s, hundreds of meters long adorn the walls telling of religious stories and the culture’s histories. Today Cambodia is predominantly Buddhist; however the temples of Angkor are more influenced by Hinduism, recalling these myths and worshipping the Gods Vishnu, Shiva, Brahma and their female deities.

Our modes of transport differed on each day. Day 1 we cycled from Siam Reap town to no fewer than 4 major temples covering maybe 30km. The gateways into the ancient city of Angkor Thom are watched over by massive carved faces sitting a top the tunnels. Cycling through and beneath these massive heads was a magical feeling, and the prize on the other side was just as good. The temple of Bayon is a close second place to Angkor Wat and was a favorite of the four of us. We returned here twice, once in the blackness of the morning to experience it as the light came up. Bayon, inside the ancient city wall of Angkor Thom, stands with its many giant carved faces looking out. These faces give the Temple a unique character among the dozens of temples of Angkor. We cycled past the walls of the Leper Kings and elephant carvings, and spent time in the afternoon at Ta Prohm and Preah Kahn.

Outside every temple are hordes food and drink vendors and even more children selling postcards and bracelets. They see you coming and start running, first to get to you has first dibs on trying to sell to you. The kids are cute, and smart too. A conversation might go something like this:

Child: Where you from?
Me: New Zealand
Child: I’m from Wellington
Me: laughs
Child: If I tell you how many people in New Zealand you buy from me?
Me: I do not want to buy anything
Child: Buy a bracelet for your girlfriend
Me: I don’t have a girlfriend
Child: You don’t have a girlfriend because you don’t have one of these! If you buy my bracelets you will get a girlfriend…

This emotive selling coming from a little 5 year old girl!

Day 2 and the modus operandi was a tuktuk, a very slow tuktuk, that we took to sites a little further a field. After an Angkor Wat sunrise we chugged to Bantei Srey, one of the most ornate temples of Angkor whose sandstone composition had some pastel tones. Tourist buses had descended upon it so we had returned another day for a fuller appreciation. The Roulos group is the earliest cluster of Temples some distance to the east of Siam Reap. By this stage under the suns heat we were getting a little Wated out and not so easily impressed. Call us spoilt. The ruins weren’t in as good condition (being older) but were interesting stylistically as precursors to the great later Wats. They also boasted intricate Sanskrit engravings on their doors telling a history of the people and their King, the first God-king of the Khmer. On the drivers recommendation we finished our day at sunset at the Beyer Temple. This really was a sight – tourists crammed a top the temple like a gannet colony pointing their cameras at the sinking golden disc. I preferred my photos of them.
Seeking something different the four of us took motorbike guides out to Kbal Spean, to see the riverbed carvings. Our city bikes bucked on the back roads like untamed broncos. We skirted around holes in the dirt roads, some filled with water, others heavy with sand. Kbal Spean is an idyllic spot, adorned with carving worn by the rivers flow. Sadly, as a symptom of its beauty and remoteness, a carving was hacked and stolen only last year, the latest theft in the Angkor area. The area leads down to a waterfall where I took the opportunity after lunch to have a kip after consecutive 4:30am rises.
Returning after sunset we got another sight of Siam Reaps big bats gliding over the roads in dim light.

***

With Berna, Rich and Debbie, I left Angkor after 4 days of wonder. The road out to the Thai border was the worst I’ve ever taken. I’d been a little sick the night before and now on the little bus we were thrown around like a washing machine. I said my sad goodbyes to Berna and Debbie at the border, Debs whom I have been traveling with for about 2 months now. (Ill be sure to read wonderful life

Things have gone a little awry in recent days. I lost my visa card which has been a real hassle and I’m now a bit stranded on Ko Chang island until I get my replacement. I’ve had to extend my India departure (again) till the 12th. Since I’m feeling a bit disconnected I’d love to hear the odd yarn about what’s been going on in Aotearoa (or London).

Hanging over the head of Phnom Penh is an all too recent history of genocide, violence, and unrest. My first impressions were that the capital was poorer than those of the other countries I have so far visited – ‘dancing’ roads are in disrepair, there is much more begging, and many buildings off the main boulevards are derelict. It is difficult to put your finger on but I would say there is less hope in some of the eyes of the people. Oddly though there is a distinguishable class of wealth too, one that flaunts 4 wheel drives on the roads amongst the cyclos, and who live in newly constructed French style villas.

I try to blog uncensored, though I did consider excluding the events of my first morning in Phnom Penh. And had the morning and the afternoon been flipped around I think my choice would’ve been different. And before it sounds like I’m making excuses, if I was honest, which I’m trying to be, I probably am.

Our car pulled up and a soldier opened my door and escorted Richard and I inside and to a table. There we were cordially welcomed and given menus. As open and inviting as it seemed, my unease increased as I perused the items. Richard and I settled on the AK47 and M16 machine gun, and were shown by two soldiers to our firing range. What was a pacifist like me doing here?

It might disappoint some of you when I say that I did not feel powerful holding and firing these weapons of war. But that is not to say I didn’t feel the absolute power and force that these guns unleashed when I hit the trigger. That ridiculous power I will not forget. A soldier stood behind me to press my shoulder into the butt, a defense against the recoil. The firearm boomed, spent cartridges flashed out the side, and the gunpowder stung into my eyes. And when the soldier switched my Ak47 to rapid fire it took some focus to direct this untamed beast. When I retrieved my paper target I saw just how pathetic my control of these weapons was. I am blown away that these weapons can be legally sold in the US now the morotorium on them has been allowed to expire.

The Killing Fields at Choeung Ok are a grisly reminder of the genodide under Pol Pots Khymer Rouge regime from 1975-78. From this extermination camp 8985 people were exhumed in 1980. A large Stupa stands as a memorial to those who were bludgeoned to death (to avoid wasting precious bullets.) Disturbingly though this Stupa holds shelves of skulls of the deceased, ascending all the way up to the roof. Cabinet doors are open – you could pick up a skull – and the place felt to me more like a nightmare museum exhibit. In the grounds of the killing fields are dirt paths that lead you between exhumed graves. But to the careful eye embedded in these paths lie fragments of bone, tooth and cloth pertruding from the dirt. Once I realised this I saw bone fragments everywhere, I was treading on shallow graves! My feelings here are difficult to describe – the feeling of death hangs quietly over the place and the silence echos the hollowness in my stomache. This silence is only broken by the sounds of beggar kids running around and into the grave pits. It is difficult to know how the Cambodian Authorities feel about the site – a lack of information, the openness and lack of protection of the grave sites, the open display of skulls, and beggars around the site suggest to me more a tourism opportunity more than a properly funded memorial. Or perhaps I have culturally mistranslated.

Tuol Slang Museum, known as S-21, was converted by Pol Pot’s security forces from a high school to a centre of detention and torture. Almost two million people died in Cambodia between 1975-79 in this brutal, radical revolution, where the ideological clock was turned back to year zero and Cambodia was transformed into a Maoist, peasant dominated, agrarian cooperative. At S-21 17000 men women and children, of all classes and backgrounds were taken to be interogated and inevitably executed. The brutality they suffered is well documented here particularly in the photographic records kept by the Khymer Rouge. The empty cells still scream of death, instruments of torture are displayed, death is unsanitised by the authorities (unlike as it would in the West).

The rest of my time in Phnom Penh was much more sunny. We moved guesthouses to be by the lake, a real retreat. In the morning of day 2 we checked out Wat Phnom, the highest point in the city (but not much more than a bump) that embodies the story of Penh, a Cambodian lady who discovered here 4 Buddha statues washed up by the Mekong. The site is in need of some TLC. There is more begging here including child beggars who are pimped out to bring back money.

The main event that day was kickboxing at the Old Stadium between fighters from Laos and Cambodia. We sat amongst the locals on concrete terraces in anticipation. When the main fights eventually began a power outage sent the stadium into darkness. When the event did get going again we watched the most action packed fighting I have seen – plenty of knockdowns, including in one bout a flourish of kicks and a punch for a 20 second KO.

Per chance we met back up with some ‘old friends’ from Laos and Vietnam at the lake and the night moved nicely, ticking on past midnight to my birthday. At the Phnom Penh casino we frittered away some Reil on the roulettes, which was in fact only a few dollars US. And the night was capped off in fine style when we bowled up at the fine Phnom Penh hotel at 3:30am looking for birthday cake. We didn’t get cake, but we did find ice-cream (and a Mekong river hot chocolate). Girls and guys (you know who you are) thanks for the moment

Appropriately (being my birthday) Phnom Penh decided to have a massive party and the whole town came to the river to watch dragonboat racing, and revel in the festival atmosphere. The Water Festival here runs for 3 days and day one was capped of with fireworks that bellowed across the water.

I visited the Royal Palace the next morning which houses the Silver Pagoda. The floors in the Pagoda are laid in solid silver, each tile weighing 1kg. I’d have to say the upkeep of Bangkok’s Royal Palace is better, but this national treasure is still worth a look and though a little worn in places, still drips with grandeur.

I have aluded to the begging and condtions of some of Phnom Penhs poorest. Making a meaningful difference here is a difficult thing and throwing money at every beggar is not an answer – you give to one and you will be descended on, it encourages a dependance on begging and is particulalry fruitless if the childer beggar isn’t the recipient. The group of us set out through the back of the capital to the Lighthouse Orphanage, run by a Cambodian man who sold up his lot 2 years ago for this cause. The kids saw us coming from down the dirt drive, knew we were here to play with them, and ran and climbed excitedly into the tuktuk. For the afternoon we played football, frisbie, all sorts of games that I was led through; there was dancing and the girls put on a graceful show of traditional dance for us. They loved posing with us in photos and seeing themselves in the little LCD screens. But most of all they enjoyed the love – being picked up, spun around and hugged. When it was time to leave we all had kids hanging off us imploring us to play a little longer. “Tomorrow? Tommorrow?” But for tomorrow we already had bus tickets to Siam Reap. Of course we left monetary donations also –matching the not insignificant amount I spent on bullets at the firing range was the least I could do.

By the time our bus dropped us off in Phnom Penh at their guesthouse I had already jumped through more rings than a circus lion. But I give myself high marks and think I played the game quite well. From HCMC our bus pulled up for a normal break on the Vietnam side of the border. Oddly the bus drove away and after 30 minutes I thought this was an unusually long stop given that I knew the border was only 30-40 minutes away. A ‘guide’ stayed with us passengers so I confronted him with what was going on. The story went that the bus driver had gone for ‘electrical repairs to the air conditioning’. Right… So why didn’t he do this after dropping us at the border? I had a few straight up words of advice for him – Tell us before the bus drives off so ALL valuables can be taken off, and to call the driver on his mobile. Apparently the driver had hung up on our frazzled guide – There was advice given that he should call the bus company, and failing that, get on a motorbike and find the bus! I had begun checking what I had with me and thinking about my claims process. After two hours the bus arrived back. The air conditioning wasn’t fixed, but we did get to the Vietnamese / Cambodian border.

There were a number of little scams here that I fended off. The first one was some guys asking for money to get your visa stamped. A group of Vietnamese fell for that one, I just queued and waited. The second, more confrontational, was when I walked across the border to where our bags were taken by the bus. Three men demanded US$1 for us to take our bags back. Ivan had tipped me off on this stunt when I was in Vietnam and I was determined not to bow to this extortion. Basically, backed up by a few other guys, I just took my bag, looked straight at them and told them NO. They let go and we went through. Everyone else on our bus (going through at different times) coughed up. Next scam, some guys on the Cambodian side asking for money for Arrivals cards. I found the window and got my own one. I bought some chips at a shop to chow on and, paying in US dollars I was given Riel change. The lady tried to diddle me with the exchange rate but I’d already read up on $ were worth.

We arrived after nightfall on the doorstep of a guesthouse. Let me paint the whole picture as I unraveled it. The bus disappeared for ‘repairs’ in order to delay the trip till after daylight when it was unlikely we would take to the town ourselves. That would explain why the ‘guide’ on the bus was having a laugh with the driver when we got back on, even thought he was supposedly hung up on. It would also explain why the connecting bus was still waiting for us at the border even though we were more than 2 hours behind schedule. It’s all about the commission they get at the other end for sending guests to their guesthouse. Punks. At least I negotiated only US$3 for the tickets. Asia is proving a perfect training ground for India.