sarah. on the run.

Cambodian Chronicles: The Final Chapter

Some years ago, my parents were given a coffee table book called "Sacred Places of Asia". Ever since I got my first glimpse of Angkor Wat in the pages of that book, I've promised myself I would see it someday.

The temples of Angkor are adjacent to a town called Siem Reap, which is where everyone hangs out in the evenings between temple visits. It's an absolutely huge tourist destination (many people fly in and out of Siem Reap's airport and never see the rest of Cambodia) and the sheer number of fancy hotels around town gives you an idea of how much money's pouring in. Obviously being a tourist must-see tends to compromise the authenticity of a place, and Siem Reap itself doesn't offer much beyond restaurants, pubs, and lots and lots of souvenir shops. But you pretty much have to stay there in order to enjoy the temples, which, if you're really serious about them, take several days to fully explore.

The scam at Angkor is that you can either buy a one-day pass for $20 or a three-day pass for $40, both of which are ridiculously expensive but the latter at least offers some sort of price deal on multiple days. The temple ruins encompass an area of land that's really quite enormous - you can't expect to just walk it. Most tourists arrange to hire a tuk-tuk driver for three days through their hotel, which is what we did too.

Our first morning we set off around 8 a.m. for Angkor Wat, the most famous of all the Angkor temples. I was actually a little disappointed that there were so many other people around at that hour, but I guess it's like of like Disneyland that way- you'll never really have it all to yourself. And except for the wide shots, they never really got in the way of good pics. And speaking of pics, the temple itself is just jaw-dropping. Unreal. Not only is it massive in scale, but covered in intricate stone carvings that blow your mind. The fact that it wasn't torn to pieces during the anti-religion years of the Khmer Rouge warms my heart, because nobody's ever going to build anything like it again. Some of the climbing involved is extremely dangerous though, and tourists have actually died here after clumsy falls. You sort of wonder why they continue to let people scramble up some of those steps, but I was thankful for the views from the top.

After Angkor Wat, our driver took us to Angkor Thom, another pretty spectacular temple featuring a ton of big stone faces. We climbed around a lot. Up next was Ta Phrom, a temple most known for going back to nature dramatically. We took way too many photos . After that... um, I don't remember. Some other lovely temples. There are honestly so many that they start to blend together after a while. It was a fun day, but it was a long day.

The next morning we were up early again to tackle the next cluster of temples, but our enthusiasm was running out much faster than on day one, and the problem was obvious: we'd seen the best temple right off the bat, and nothing else could compare to Angkor Wat, size or detail-wise. That's not to say we weren't impressed overall- every temple is really an awesome display of architecture and decoration in its own way - but I would have preferred doing our route backwards and saving Angkor Wat for the very end of our tour. That way, we'd have gone out with a bang. Instead, we were exhausted and templed-out at the end of day two and had no intention of setting our alarm for day three.

Some travelers insist Angkor Wat is overrated and can be done in one day, and then there are those who swear you could spend a week temple-trekking without ever getting bored. It just depends on your stamina and interest level. For us, one day wouldn't have been enough, two full days were plenty, and my cousin with an archeology degree would probably need seven. I do think it's hands-down one of the coolest places I've ever visited and am so glad I can now say I've actually been there.

Anyway, at the end of day two, B and I met up with our fellow Cambodian travelers Simon and Meg (who we'd bumped into earlier in the day at a temple, naturally) for dinner and drinks on Pub Street in Siem Reap. For some inexplicable reason I decided to start ordering vodka red bulls, and for some even more inexplicable reason the four of us stayed up drinking them until around 3 a.m. B and I had already decided not to exercise our third day temple pass, but our friends were still planning on using theirs. I can only imagine how crappy that next morning was. Vodka red bulls should be globally illegal. Guys, hope you enjoyed the rest of your trip! It was great fun touring with you!

Siem Reap marked the end of our time in Cambodia, and although our next official destination was Bali, Indonesia, our plane tickets called for a 24-hour layover in Bangkok first. In the interest of time, we'd reluctantly decided to cut Thailand out of our itinerary during our travel planning, so even though the layover was somewhat inconvenient, we felt like at least this way we were getting our "one night in Bangkok" after all. As a side note, my dad used to love that song so much he owned the 45. If you don't know what I'm talking about, then you're making me feel old. Go buy yourself a Shirley Temple.

The Murray Head fascination continues in my next blog entry... coming soon!

Later taters,
s

Cambodian Chronicles: Part 3

The day before we left Sihanoukville, another couple overheard me making taxi arrangements to get to Kampot, which was where they were going too, so we all decided to share the cost of a cab the following day. None of us knew much about Kampot, just that it was adjacent to Bokor National Park and supposedly very charming.

In the morning, we checked out of our room, met Simon and Meg downstairs, and the four of us piled into a very old Toyota Camry with a right-side steering wheel. Yay! A backwards car! Now, I've been both to the U.K. and Australia (and once even drove a stick-shift in Ireland which was no small feat, mind you), so I don't know why I still get so giddy in backwards cars. But I do. Simon and Meg (English) laughed at me, probably with pity.

Our "taxi" driver was a madman on the highway, which, like any unpaved Cambodian road, was really just a large stretch of muddy, potholded nonsense riddled with motorbikes and the occasional cattle herd. After studying his driving habits for a while, I noticed could barely keep his head up and appeared to be either very drunk, or very doped up, or some combination of both that made driving at or under the speed limit an impossible task. Brendan agreed with my theory and that's when I started to freak out a little. Putting a drunk madman behind the wheel of a taxicab in New York City is definitely a bad idea, but in Cambodia, it's like asking to die. Thankfully, we made it to Kampot in one piece, a little rattled but safe.

I don't know who started the rumor that Kampot was charming, but I must disagree. Granted, the intermittent rain amplified the dreariness of the place, but Kampot makes Savannakhet look pretty good. Actually, the two towns have a very similar riverside look and feel (all thanks to you, France!), but Kampot is just... oh, I don't know... a little less sparkly. Luckily, Simon and Meg were on the same page as us enthusiasm-wise, so we decided to form a pack and stick together. Later that night, our quartet found an English-themed restaurant/bar and ate and drank merrily.

The only real reason any of us came to Kampot was to explore Bokor National Park, which would hold little interest for the tourist except for the remains of an old town way up the mountain- once a holiday getaway for the French during their occupancy, but long since abandoned. Bright and early after our night of imbibing, Brendan, Meg, Simon, and I loaded ourselves into yet another rickety old Toyota Camry (driven by a sober guide this time, bless his heart), hoped for very little rain, and were off.

The first obvious problem in getting up the mountain was the actual road itself, which resembled a muddy fire road after being flattened by an avalanche of boulders. There is no way in hell that Camry should have been able to take it, but our guide had installed a diesel engine and better shocks and a bunch of other ridiculous things to allow this car to handle the trip. It was comical at first, but getting thrown every which way in the back of a small, off-roading sedan gets old pretty fast. Thankfully, the tylenol I had picked up at the pharmacy earlier that morning ended up being tylenol/codeine and knocked my ass out for most of the way, which was around three hours.

At the top of the mountain, we got a really nice view over the southeastern coast of Cambodia just before the clouds rolled in. Our guide was very knowledgeable about the handful of abandoned buildings we came across, though they've been neglected for so long the whole atmosphere has taken on a dark, creepy feel. Someone should shoot the next Blair Witch sequel up here. The thick clouds did make for some super moody pics, though. I especially like this one, which was taken on the first floor of a former casino.

After gobbling down our packed lunches and freezing to death while our guide fixed the car (which had mysteriously broken down, dun dun DUUUN!), we began our descent back into Kampot. This time, all four of us had the good sense to fall asleep immediately in order to escape the hellish reality of off-roading down the mountain. All in all it was an interesting day trip, though the time and effort it took getting there and back was more than I had expected.

Bokor having been tackled, there was no good reason to stay in Kampot besides a hotel room with HBO, which is never a good enough reason to stay anywhere. Early the next morning we loaded up on snacks and plunked ourselves onto a minibus headed back to Phnom Penh, from where we would have to catch another bus north to our actual destination, Siem Reap. By about noon we pulled back into the capital, said tentative goodbyes to Simon and Meg (who were arriving in Siem Reap a day after us and with whom we hoped to cross paths again), and boarded yet another six-hour bus to our final destination. You'd think I'd have gotten tired of all these long bus adventures by now, right? Truth is, the scenery is always worth it. Plus, I'm such a goddamn veteran that nothing fazes me anymore. Unless of course my iPod runs out of batteries. Which it did.

Cambodian Chronicles: Part 2

In Cambodia, the monsoon season doesn't officially end until November. It rained a lot in Phnom Penh, so much so that we considered skipping the southern coast of Cambodia altogether. Nothing wrong with a little rain of course, but if you've come a long way to sit on a beach, it can really put a damper on things (hardy har). In the end, we decided to take our chances and go for it.

We reached Sihanoukville about four hours later by bus. It was raining. It looked like it had been raining for a while. Possibly for months on end. But you know what? It was ok. The clouds came and went throughout the day and the changing light really made for some nice pics. Plus our $7/night guesthouse had a deck that perched right over the ocean, which was stormy and dramatic and full of life... the perfect place for a french-press and a good book!

Our room was actually on the second story of a bar that was pretty dead all day, save for a few dreadlocked derelicts rolling joints now and again. Once the sun went down, different story. I'm a little embarrassed to say that we spent our first night in Sihanoukville saddled up drinking mojitos until 4 a.m. with a group of ex-pats from Idaho. No joke.

ACTUAL EXCERPT FROM CONVERSATION WITH IDAHO EX-PAT:

Me: Can I ask you a personal question?

Him: Yeah, totally.

Me: What is the deal with your dreadlocks? I mean, why do that to your hair? What's the point?

Him: I just don't like combing my hair, man. I hate that awful feeling of the bristles going through my hair.

Me: That's seriously the reason?

Him: Yeah totally.

Me: But isn't your hair like, really really dirty from the shampoo not penetrating the dreads for the last 3 years?

Him: No, it's totally clean, I swear. I wash my hair every day. I just hate combs.

Me: Hmm, ok.

Him: Yeah, totally.

It goes without saying that I should have waved off those last few mojitos. It also goes without saying that you should never stay in a guesthouse above a rowdy bar unless you don't want to sleep for the duration of your visit.

Sihanoukville is decent-sized city, but most of the tourist accommodation is spread out along the beach a couple kilometers away. The coastal locale is great, but you're a long walk from the city center and thus pretty isolated. Plus, the sand area itself is quite narrow, and once you walk past the last of the tourist joints, the beach gets shabby fast. I can see Sihanoukville becoming a full-fledged resort town in a few years, but it's got a ways to go. We enjoyed our stay, but four days was enough.

Before I sign off, I want to give a big shout-out to Sandy and Pepper: The Wondercats. You guys were great lap sleepers and I didn't mind that you both insisted on squeezing onto mine every morning while I ate breakfast. I'm sorry that sometimes I had to stand up for a couple of minutes to go pee. I know how much you disliked that. Hope all's well at the bar. B says hi.

Affectionately,
Sarah

Cambodian Chronicles: Part 1

We originally budgeted about 3 weeks each for Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia. However, three weeks into Laos we decided to extend our time there, and because of unchangeable flight schedules, that meant one week less in Cambodia. It always sucks to shorten your stay in a country you haven't even stepped foot in yet (it could be paradise!!), but alas, this is a harsh reality of the backpacker lifestyle.

Anyway, our flight from Vientiane, the capital of Laos, arrived in Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia, in about an hour. We had a cab drop us off a few blocks from the Mekong River and checked into the Lucky Ro Hotel for $11 per night. I silently hoped the name didn't imply a post-sunset brothel (it didn't as far as I know).

However, the brothel lifestyle is inescapable in Phnom Penh. You know all those older American/English/German men you hear about traveling to Southeast Asia to buy the company of very young women? They're all here, sitting at the table next to us, laughing loudly amongst themselves, drinking like fish, swapping girl stories, not an ounce of shame in their eyes. In fact, more than a few of the local pubs are really just hooker pick-up joints masquerading as eating/drinking establishments. It's so icky, and yet fascinating. No shame! One particular afternoon we came upon an Aussie joint called Walkabout, which featured soccer scoreboards and barstools and pool tables, you know, legitimate pub paraphernalia, so we decided to stop in for a couple beers. Five minutes into the place, we realized that all the patrons were single men and all the girls were working. Lots of weird eye contact. The whole group seemed baffled by my presence, trying to figure out why the hell I was there. Poor B was mortified and wouldn't let me take any pictures, for fear that we'd both be shot. It was probably a good call. Those chicks were scrappy, but they looked mean.

Travelers to Phnom Penh are practically obligated to visit the "Killing Fields", a site where much of the Khmer Rouge's genocidal events took place. It's the sort of thing you don't really want to do, but at the same time would feel wrong skipping altogether. We took an insanely bumpy tuk-tuk ride to get out there. The worst road I've ever been on. You have to drive so slowly over and around the muddy potholes that you'd be better off walking. The scenery along that road was pretty dismal, too. The outskirts of Phnom Penh are somehow grimmer than anything I saw in Laos.

The killing fields themselves are a series of very large holes in the ground that, unfortunately, used to contain thousands of bodies. A memorial tower stands near the entrance, filled with recovered human skulls. I felt dirty being there and a little confused. Why was I looking at a bunch of holes in the ground where tons of victims were once buried? Why was I taking pictures of dead people's skulls? It didn't make me understand the tragedy any better. Plus, we noticed (too late) that we were walking on articles of clothing and bones still partially hidden in the ground that nobody had bothered to dig up yet. It all felt a little wrong.

After the killing fields, we tuk-tuk'd back into the city to visit the Genocide Museum, a former school converted into a prison camp called S-21 by the Khmer Rouge back in the 1970s. Again, just overwhelmingly sad. I suppose it was also educational, if you can handle torture devices and makeshift cells the size of coffins.

What's interesting is how well the Khmer Rouge documented who came in and out of this place. Thousands of mug shots have been recovered and are now on display along walls in room after room after room. So many faces. A few of them are smiling. Why are they smiling? Were they forced to smile? A final act of defiance, perhaps? Nobody really knows. It's terrifying to think how recently this woman was murdered. Surviving family members or friends would only have to be a little older than me to remember the last time they saw her.

I'm making Phnom Penh sound like the worst place on Earth, aren't I? Honestly, it isn't. The city is rich with history and full of extraordinary architecture, good food, and nice people. I particularly loved the National Museum, an impressive building full of ancient relics. But the Royal Palace grounds were truly unreal! Grand and opulent. Takes your breath away.

I got myself into some trouble there, however, and I'll tell you why (for no better reason than to make myself look like an ass, you're welcome in advance). At certain tourist attractions, there's an entrance fee and then there's an extra fee for the right to take photos, which is insane. Yes, it's only a couple more bucks, but obviously every single tourist is going to want to take pictures of a huge palace made of gold . Even if you agree not to use your camera, you still have to leave it with some sketchy guy at the ticket booth. You can imagine the long, drawn-out decision-making mess of a single-file line that this creates.  "Well, should we bring the camera in, honey? I'm not really comfortable leaving it here with.. Yes, ok, we'll pay the extra money.. Oh, I don't have the right change. Honey, do you have that money leftover from lunch? Oh, you're right, it's here in my other pocket...." Why not just make the entrance price higher to include cameras and quit making the process more complicated? Being the rebel that I am, as we bought our tickets I lied and said I didn't have a camera (it was hidden in my purse), figuring nobody would be checking inside the palace grounds. I was wrong. When I was asked to produce my "camera ticket" before entering the Silver Pagoda, I feigned ignorance, was asked by some guy to "come with me, please",  and, in a state of panic and guilt, ran off and hid behind a bush, waiting for B to notice me missing and come rescue me. Not my finest moment. He didn't think so either. But it's the principle, you understand. The principle.

Oh, I almost forgot! The anti-malaria pill fiasco. Yeah, so it turns out that taking doxycycline every day for three months made my arms and legs break out in red and purple bruises. Painless, but really hideous looking. The kind of thing other people point at when you're walking down the street. The doctor who prescribed doxycycline to us back in LA never mentioned this delightful side effect because it's apparently very rare, but after a blood test at a Phnom Penh clinic (and I'm afraid of needles! hate blood tests! unfair! unfair!) I knew those pills were the culprits. For the record, they also made me nauseous and made Brendan's hair fall out. Now friends, I realize malaria will be a bitch if either of us contract it, and I sincerely hope that we don't.  BUT- I'm also a nice girl and nice girls don't like walking around with hideous looking bruises all over their bodies. Brendan is a man and men don't want to go bald. So now we're off the meds, depending solely on the DEET, and watching my bruises slowly, slowly fade away. It may take months.

After about four days in Phnom Penh, The Morans were falling apart and clearly in desperate need of some R&R, so we took an early morning bus south to the Cambodian beach resort town known as Sihanoukville. I'll tell you all about it next time.

xo