We dropped into Siem Riep around 9pm on Jan 2nd. Looking out the window we see… almost nothing. A dim light or two outside the runway. This is not Bangkok anymore, and then fat drops splat and streak down the port windows. What? Rain in January? Not in the plan; and even worse, we have no place to stay, smack in the middle of high tourist season.
We herd into line for our entry visas in a stark-room, buzzing bright with flourescent tubes, and a gang of moths and more sinister looking insects swirling about. Militarily duded-out Cambodians slowly (and quite inefficiently) gather passports, pics, and a little info to process the masses from the plane. All in all, it only takes 20 minutes to get through, and then on and outside into the buzz saw of cabbies and random hotel touts. At least we know we have some place to stay, however sketchy it might be.
We sign up for the most official taxi service we can find, with a driver who ended up being our guide for the next couple days. Funny how that works. Anyway, his English was good, as he was an aspiring “official” tour guide. In his unofficial role, he could drive us around and point us in the right direction.
After a couple of close calls, we find a place with a reputable facade and two rooms, and damn the people working there are nice. So gracious… shy smiles all around, just itching to help out. Throw in the hands-together Buddha pose, and little bow, and you feel a tad uncomfortable.
After a quick wash-up, we head into Siem Riep for a beer. Since they don’t really do street names in Siem Riep, the main entertainment drag has become known as “Bar” street. True to its appellation, it is indeed filled with bars—plus the omnipresent internet joints and massage parlors. That, and a gang of moto and tuk-tuk drivers, are ready to pounce at the slightest movement. “Need tuk-tuk?! Where you go?! Take you! Want massage? Weed? Have the good skunk… girls?! I take you there!” (Note to self: when starting an inside sales outsourcing company, do it in Cambodia. They are RELENTLESS. Make Glengarry Glen Ross look like a slacker.)
But, we fend them off, if only for the moment to sit at one of the many new tourist spots in Siem Reap. Not exactly authentic Cambodian fare, but good enough to tide us over until the massage. Could not resist that, the place being next door and employing a gaggle of young Cambodian babes who pounce on anyone daring to get within 10 yards of their spot… “Massage!? Very, very good! Yes?!” For $5? Of course, yes.
The Cambodian massage turns out to be similar to Thai, if not quite so vigorous. I didn’t even have to cry uncle this time, though it helps that its only 90 pounds walking on your back.
That reminds me, Cambodians are the smallest people I’ve ever seen. Shorter than Thais for sure and smaller, and that’s saying something. We ran into a Scottish guy who said that the extreme short stature in much of the population stemmed from a generation starved through the Khmer Rouge period. Not sure I believe that (starvation can make one generation short for sure, but can that shortness be passed on?) but that’s at least one explanation.
Anyway, back to the main event... Angkor Wat, the mother of all temples, one of the seven wonders of the world, the pride of Cambodia (it’s on their flag). It is impressive, a full day of impressive, massive smiling Buddha faces looming, looking from all angles. Novellas in bas relief, massive, wild jungle enveloping crumbling walls and tilting archways (Tomb Raider, y'all). You can almost feel the demons and ghosts from 1000 years back, waiting around the corner… AHHHH!!
Oh, it’s just another 10-year-old demon-book seller trying to work me on a second copy of Lonely Planet. “Why you not buy from me?” (Guilt) “Maybe you buy a different book?” (Cross-selling) and on and on. The kids are cute, but they just don’t stop—one of the realities I guess of a dirt-poor country.
Back in the day (800 to 1200AD) it was one of the richest countries in the world, and Khmer kings ruled over most of Southeast Asia. You can see it at Angkor through its sheer size and depth of detail; it took a mint back then to get it done.
After a long decline it has been since then, through the darkest days of the Khmer Rouge killing fields to now when the country is finally on a slight upswing. Still a long way to go, though.
To see a little more of how the people really live, we head out to Kompong Phlukk, a small village set in a flooded forest beside Tonle Sap, one of the biggest lakes in the world. To get there takes a punishing hour in a taxi along what amounts to a dike, swamps of rice on the left and right. When the road ends (where it ends depends on the season) we switch to a typically appointed Cambodian long-tail (boards for benches, mid-70's unmuffled-car engine attached to 8-foot shaft/prop, leaks galore) and start struggling through a shallow canal no more than 10-feet wide in spots. The engine screams as we scrape along the bottom, occasionally aided by a crewman who jumps into the brown stew to steer us straight. We pass through a number of bamboo gates, used to trap fish in small sections of the canal so they can be easily nabbed with throw nets. After 15 minutes we get to slightly deeper water, deep enough to get up a head of steam and plow on. The canal widens a bit, and we can see water all around, trees and shrubs somehow sticking with it. It’s a lot like the swamps of Louisiana—what looks like a normal forest, only under 6 feet of water—until we steam around the next corner and the village pulls into view.
Like the book says, its straight out of the movies (Apocalypse Now comes to mind, only minus all the guns and gore). The whole village is set on stilts 10-plus-feet high—a crazy array of bamboo huts, some out on their own but most along a “main street,” which during this time of year (dry season) is an actual street. We slowly pulled around the back of the village, past dugout canoes, an array of larger long tail fishing boats, and floating pig pens.
We slid up to a dock, and walked the narrow plank past a pen full of junior alligators (to be sold in the market), and onto Main Street…
Up next: “Snake, it’s what’s for dinner.”
ps. As I finish this installment, a rat runs down the side wall and under the desk at which I sit. Heard they’re good eating as well, at least the country variety…