Siem Reap

Siem Reap

Mar 18 08

As the double decker sized bus that had transported me and twenty four other mostly European visitors in air conditioned comfort from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap approached the town centre a friendly (but entrepreneurial, I would realize later) Khmere wandered through the bus advising us to make our way directly to the office at the front of the bus when it arrived. From there we would be transported by local tuk tuk, free of charge to the destination, guest house or hotel that we had booked or desired.
On the face of it excellent service from the bus company. However my selected guest house was written off by the friendly Khmere in one short sentence that showered it with despise and disregard. With a smile this young entrepenuer suggested he could take me to a much more conveniently located guest house (that no doubt paid him a handsome commission to bring punters in) that had rooms from 7USD/night, had free internet and beer was 50 cents a glass. What he didn't tell me was that he and his little team of tuk tuk drivers brought almost every one of their bus passengers to this location (probably with a similar disparaging story around punters previously selected accommodation).....so...all the 7USD rooms were taken, there was always a queue for the internet seats, and the bargain beer flow always ended early to mid evening when the one barrel that was consigned to the loss leader deal ran dry. I would find all of this out later. What I discovered immediately I had signed up for a 10USD/night room was that he was more tacky than bubble gum. No matter what I said, he was convinced that I needed him the next day to take me to the temple region. In fact he would stay with me the whole day and, I was informed, for the following two days as well for a very reasonable 30USD. The more I listened the deeper it got.. you couldn't do the temples without a driver as the temples were too far apart to walk between them. In the end I had to be abrupt and tell the guy to go. He still had the gaul to look me in the eye and ask me how I would see the temples then. I will sort that out I told him. Not your worry.
The irony of this little episode was that I saw the same guy a couple of days later at the guest house delivering another barrow load of innocent beer thirsty tourists..He had the front to ask me how I got to see the temples. His offended retort to my answer was that I didn't support him. I raised my voice although I felt like raising my hand. At the conclusion of my tirade I pointed at him then made the sign of zipping lips and pointed to the exit. He didn't leave the guest house but he left me alone.
So how did I see the temples? Well the upside of the entrepenuerial Khmere's (EK) tactics were that there were no shortage of people with similar interests at my guest house. Within minutes of despatching EK on the day of my arrival I was making friends with Raffael and Corinne. Swiss, enthusiastic and adventurous. They had managed to do a tuk tuk deal for half the amount that EK had offered me. After a little further negotiation the next day was to be temple day for the three of us. The first of three temple days for R and C but my only temple day unless I was more excited by these buildings than I have ever been in the past.
We were on our way with our friendly but surprised tuk tuk driver by 8.15 and at the temple grounds admission gate by about 8.45. Personal photo endorsed tickets seemed an odd overkill but that’s what we got!! It must have been shortly after 9 that we were parked outside the outer wall of the famous Angkor Wat Temple. The whole township of Angkor Wat is massive and incredibly impressive. It evoked a glorious mental time warp within me and I found myself transporting the stone carved, mostly female figures from the walls into the reality of my new existence to produce a theatre of beautiful people adorned in period robes going about both business and pleasure amongst the courtyards, chapels, pools and other life exciting stylish stone structures with the grace, charm and poise of an age lost to time and the ironic march of ‘progress’.
I had the clear impression that both Corinne and Rafael were smitten in a similar way as conversation gave way to important and sometimes urgent investigation of passages, rooms and chambers whilst our imagination painted those theatrical scenes of the beautiful, mostly female for me, people cavorting their business in this exotic, romantic and historic environment.
The heat was on… March is into the hot season here in Cambodia and by 11am were drowned in perspiration and needing to keep a constant intake of liquid as part of our activities.
The tuk tuk transported us to other temple sites with 10 minute hops between each. Sadly some of the historic sites had been badly damaged by the idiotic rampage of 'military' forces during the Khmere Rouge era. However there were restoration and recovery activities underway at some of the more dilapidated and mutilated examples.
The après midi session was highlighted by temple specimens that were being incongruously invaded by trees and tendron like roots. Although these living sprawls added a new and surreal dimension to the remains they were in fact destructions pole faced ally. Plant life would inevitably have a shorter life than the structures and would decay in time to create gangrenous holes of imploding stone. The authorities appeared rattled by this relatively recent and newly evident problem. For the visitor it encourages a litany of index finger clicking and wishes of longer battery life and larger memory cards.
4pm heralded the tuk tuk charge back to town and celebratory beers in the late afternoon sun on the patio front of one of the many restaurant bars in the cozy little centre of Siem Reap. Beer sipped between indulgent, WoW like, recollections of a days exploration richer in new experiences than one might taste in months or even years of our other life (chasing ever increasing profits in the capitalist world).
Siem Reap and it’s cozy little centre became the centre of my increasingly easily adapted universe for a couple of days. It was hot but relaxed and occasionally wifi compliant. The oozing cushty feel persuaded me to stay one extra day longer than the original plan. Something that I failed to tell Mother Hen back at Phnom Penh mission control who deemed it violation enough to unleash the wrath of her clawing cynicism upon me when I reappeared for my final few nights in Phnom Penh. Sakeet, you are unique!

Other Lives

13 Mar 08

Other Lives
My ten day stay at a small guest house in Phnom Penh, produced some remarkable people learnings.
There are men here that appear to be my age or a little older that I find it impossible to have conversation with. To say that they are opinionated is an understatement. Their bristly behaviour spikes their body language. As a result caution is the newcomers leaning even before any words are spoken.
For these bristly warriors learning something useful or new would be an admission of inferiority that, apparently, must be avoided more avidly than an Iraqi bullet. The chosen method of defense against such discreditation is to adopt a bodily pose at the table that arted conversationalists would recognize as the Maori grizzle. Table time is spent thrusting their view and way onto others. Loud, bold declarations of how it is and how it must be done and the ridicule of even considering anything different. Later I came to understand that there is a simple descriptive term for these people that is appropriation personified. Blowhard! Attempts at introductory conversation on my part were mistaken for an invitation for full psycho-analytical assessment. My newfound shrink saw his opportunity to rise into a command and control position and launched himself into a half hour description of some ‘problem’ I was alleged to have developed (?) and how I must deal with it. At one point fairly early in the onslaught I turned to see if I was mistaken and he was talking to someone standing behind me. To be fair he gave me a choice on means of resolution. One option I was offered was to take a Khmere girlfriend. Now why would I want to do that? I smiled and nodded all the way through.
Self righteous. Deaf. Conceited. Pompous. Brash. Plus his mother countries presidents sirname rhymes with 'Shush!', surprise surprise!!. Occasionally he would stop and ask me what I thought so I just repeated what he had just said. He’d laugh and say..you see we doooo think the same way. If I'd needed to find a character that emissed every Northern Europeans idea of that great nations generic character I could not have stumbled upon a more appropriate individual. Or was it less a matter of stumbling and more a matter of luck that previous individuals that I had met from that great nation had been more of a gentle breeze than a ‘blowhard’. Anyhow as it was I didn't need to find a character that emissed every Northern Europeans idea and image of that great nations generic character (who does?) so I was not unduly disappointed when he ordered himself another whisky and ice with the declaration that it would be his last before retiring for the night.
There is also an Englishman that bravely and regularly visits the table. In many ways he reminds me of a diminished Peter Cook. His ability to describe situations with enough sarcasm to raise a smile but not the hackles is well refined. He is a pleasure to listen to. He is a schoolteacher and his tales of classroom episodes in which he imitates the Khmere students and their overwhelming affection for UK ‘boy band’ music and their equally strong disaffection for the sun would make good material for a late night celebrity interview. In these little tales he is referred to as ‘Char’ (a seemingly affectionate abbreviation of teacher) by the Khmere students. He is my hero of the table. He does speak back, in an unfaltering matter of fact confident manner to the blowhards.
The mainstay of the table however is a lady. She is not English, she tells me, because she is from Guernsey. Time for everyone and only good words to say about them. One of the most relaxed members of the fairer sex that I have encountered. So relaxed that nothing needed to be done until it is time to panic. Unfortunately her original flight back home was missed because of a motorbike accident and a short stay a local hospital. As the end of March, the end of her extended visa period, approached I heard the words ‘I am beginning to panic now. I haven’t booked a flight home yet’!
I have wrestled with myself here. I was ill with chronic stomach pains and diahorrea for 3 days almost immediately I arrived in Phnom Penh. Making my way on the 2nd day from the guest house to a pharmacy a couple of streets away was a challenging task that will be etched in my memory for a very long time, because, quite simply, of the drama and desperacy of the situation. I must have looked like a windblown sheet of the previous Tuesdays Cambodia Daily. I certainly felt like one. Dehydrated, unshaven, listless and emaciated. I had lost my appetite about five days previous and clearly left myself bug prone. The pharmacy prescribed two boxes of pills and some rehydration drink. The climb up four flights of stairs on the return to my room left me in a bundle of litsless flesh and bone on the landing with hardly the strength to get my key in the door. However twenty fours of pills and pints of rehydration drink later, toilet visits had extended to six hourly and I had the beginnings of an appetite again.
I have found Phnom Penh a pleasant city to relax in. I have a nice room and some entertainment close by. The guest house staff are friendly and the food is good. I can sit and read or eat, or walk out to nearby entertainment.
With recovery and rehab rest nailed, I booked a bus trip to Siam Reap. 6hrs bus ride to the north to take in some of the incredible historic temples built around 1000AD.
The night before the trip I innocently sat in a bar for a brief beer before a planned dinner at a new location a couple of doors on from the bar. A fortuitous beer stop! Without it I doubt that I would ever have met ‘the demonstrator’. A UK guy around my young age also sat at the bar. After some minutes of niceties we touched on the subject of profession. Manufacturing is my stock response to the ‘what do you do?’ question. When I returned the question it was met with the alacrity of an excited teenager. I have the best job in the world came his boysterious reply; I am a professional demonstrator. Immediately I conjured up a picture of an all weather, grim faced, fist waving, placard touting, yomper inclined toward occasional bold verbal announcements in support of his current cause. This week ban vivisection, next week ban the bomb. No cause dismissed.
Further description of his tasks in this role took me into the realms of knife sales. He demonstrated how useful they were, what a good deal was on offer and, usually, people bought them. He gave me an example of the introductory crowd grabbing jibber and any shred of mendacity or prevarication that had crept into my mind was dispelled immediately. That was his profession! He was going to UK in a couple of days and would be picking up some demonstrator work in Tesco’s, Margate. A likeable, likely lad.