Ian and I exited the Ta Prohm complex and found ourselves in
yet another busy mess of stalls and the noisy Cambodians that ran them. It’s
easy to write these experiences of as just ‘plain annoying’ as the owners of
the stalls go out of their way to invade your personal space; flashing menus
literally right in your face and repeating the same phrases over and over to
the point that they just sound like moans. The thing is, they do this to draw
you in because they have literally no other source of income. So what might be
minorly annoying to us is living hand-to-mouth for them.
As mentioned, Ian and I were swamped by people begging us to
buy our drinks from their stalls. One particular lady went out of her way to
come right up to us, leaving her stall unattended. Out of sheer reflex, we
fobbed her off with our now-routine
‘Not
now, not now. Later!’ It wasn’t until we were halfway around our lap of the
stalls that we realized that we actually were indeed thirstier than first
thought, having sweated our body weight in fluid within the past two hours. The
fact that our clothes clung to us unceremoniously was evidence of this.
Avoiding all of the other stalls, we made a beeline for the first lady we had
spoken to. I wondered if she had already written us off – I imagine that a lot
of tourists have used the ‘Later’ line on her in the past – because she was
positively STOKED to see us. Honestly, it was like we’d made her day. We’d
perused all of the other available places to purchase drinks and we’d returned
to her, just like we’d promised. I felt good about returning to her as – if
appearances were anything to go by – she was the most in need of our money.
Every other stall in the area had a canvas shade erected around it to give it
some protection from the elements. Her ‘stall’ was literally an esky filled
with rapidly-melting ice under a tree. We made our selection, made the
necessary transactions and parted ways to find Mr. Van who – as usual – had
found us long before we saw him.
Our bellies full of Coke and lukewarm water, Mr. Van now
informed us that we were in for a slightly longer drive and to settle back into
the seats. Not wanting to permanently mark the seats with my musk, I leaned
forward for as much of the trip as possible. However, after what seemed like
forever (which was in fact, most likely only five to ten minutes) I was
fighting to keep my eyes open. We had only been awake for 5 hours maximum but I
was exhausted. One look at Ian told me he was feeling the same. I fought hard
to stay awake, but soon my eyelids felt as though they had weights attached to
them and were shut without too much resistance.
We awoke pulling into a rather large car park and Mr. Van
explaining that we would be here for a while. I couldn’t even tell you where
‘here’ was. We piled out of the car and Mr. Van took off to give us some space.
The thing was, we probably could’ve used his guidance – we had no idea where we
were, we were half asleep and absolutely no idea what we were meant to be
doing. So, we ambled around the area for as long as our legs would carry us. It
was kind of cool, not knowing what we were meant to be doing. It was like we
were discovering something.
The first thing we were faced with was a large,
well-developed area full of the same stalls selling trinkets that we had come
to realize were very much commonplace. Just past that were a collection of open
areas to eat. Our appetites not yet developed, we veered away from these areas
and headed out towards a dirt path that seemed to be taking tourists towards
something interesting. By this time, exhaustion had trumped our excitement and
we were left feeling like we just needed to get this over with. Ian mentioned
to me that by this stage, everything was looking the same. By that point, I
found it hard to argue with him. By no means did we mean that each beautiful
work of stone, each building was now unimpressive to us, but we now felt like
we had been exposed to best of these and wished to retain quality over
quantity.
En route to whatever this place had developed around, we
were stopped by some young children, hawking postcards and books to tourists.
This was nothing new, but their sales pitch was.
‘Give
me one dollar!’ It was bold. Direct. Concise. There was none of this
‘I will
try my hardest to earn your money’ kind of attitude. It was more in the vein of
‘Give.’
Funnily enough, Ian and I were in no mood to oblige by this stage, and
continued past the kids. They didn’t seem to mind though and continued their
genius business strategy as we left. Further down the track were a collection
of vendors, each selling a selection of fruits and juices that looked as if
they were better off avoided.
‘Mango,
one dollar sirrrrrrrr!’ Announced one lady and to her credit, her presentation
of the mango could not be faulted. It had been skewered and hacked into an
orange spiral pinecone. However, I’m not a huge fan of mango at the best of
times, let alone when I’m exhausted and covered in my own fragrant juices. It
wasn’t long after we’d had our tickets checked by the local authorities that we
spied why Mr. Van had brought us here – another ruined temple lay ahead of us.
This one was far less impressive than any of the others we had seen prior to
this point, but we felt obliged to explore to make the most of our day trip. We
had stepped one foot inside the complex and were comforted by a wave of shade
when a Police Officer approached us. Having heard stories of corrupt Police in
Cambodia, I was instantly on-edge, wondering what ‘tax’ the man could concoct
to elicit money out of us. The truth was far more simple. He wanted to sell us
souvenirs.
Though the man’s English was desperately limited, he had no
problem in getting his message across – he flapped a badge marked ‘Police’
above an official-looking insignia pinned to his shoulder in our direction and
punctuated the gesture with the same strategy the children had displayed just
minutes before.
‘Ten
dollars. Ten dollars? Ten dollars!’ He seemed incredibly excited about the
bargain he was offering us, unfortunately we seemed less so. As politely as we
could to avoid potential jail time, we backed away offering condolences for the
income that the Police Officer would not be receiving from us. Undeterred, the
man disappeared. I like to think that the man ran off to fight crime like a Cambodian
Batman, obviously filled with a new-found sense of justice after his career in
retail had fallen through.
Various signs pointed out various landmarks, but it wasn’t
long before we’d seen all we cared to see. My stomach now told me it was ready
to be filled again and RIGHT NOW, DAMMIT so we made our way back to the open
food court and took our places at the best-looking one of the lot. With no
tact, we jabbed at the menu, ordering spring rolls and sprite – exotic, I know.
While we waited, we noticed a movie was playing on a nearby mounted flat-screen
TV. It was a Blaxploitation movie of the highest caliber and both Ian and I
were engrossed. Before long, our deep fried snacks had arrived, and we made
sure we were as efficient as possible with cramming them into our stomachs to
avoid prolonged exposure to the aforementioned movie. It seemed that simply
being near it was diminishing what precious little intelligence we clung to.
With lunch finished, we had a hard decision to make. It
seemed like we were only at the midpoint of Mr. Van’s fantastic tour of the
temple region of northern Cambodia but we were absolutely exhausted. By this
point, it was 12 o’clock. Mr. Van’s tour continued until sunset which was at
least at 6, maybe 7pm. Having already trekked for seven hours, we came to the
conclusion that we had filled our quota of temples and that to continue for
another seven would be simply foolish. As stated before, the beautiful temples
had already begun to lose their appeal, and to continue would surely continue
to do so. With that, we found Mr. Van (that’s a lie, you KNOW he found US) and
announced that we were going to have to cut the day short. We were headed home.
The journey home took around 40 minutes and gave us a
wonderful view of the countryside. With every second we remained in the
air-conditioned comfort, I began to feel better and better but I wasn’t
prepared to tell Mr. Van that I had changed my mind again, and now wished to
return to the temples. I was satisfied that I had seen what I had come to see
and remained silent as I drank in the luscious green surrounds. We passed the
‘Cambodian Land Mine Museum’ and I’m ashamed to say, I don’t think I made the
‘that looks like a BLAST’ pun. I was obviously tired. We were now far more
comfortable with the suicidal method of travel adopted by most drivers in
Cambodia though I still cringed when we came uncomfortably close to vehicles
that were going to win in a head-on contest (ie. Buses and trucks) which still
happened far more often than I would have liked. One other cool thing we passed
on the way home was neither naturally occurring or awe-inspiring architecture.
We passed a shining example of Camodian innovation – a tractor that had been
stripped back to bare essentials and morphed into a flat-bed truck of sorts. It
was a technical marvel – particularly as the front section was at a 45° angle
from not only the ground it drove over, but the tray attached to it as well.
The man driving it was surely a maverick.
We returned to our hotel and made arrangements to meet Mr.
Van one last time the next day. He was to escort us to the airport. It seemed a
fitting conclusion to our journey in Siem Reap as he had been a part of it
since we first stepped off the bus. Smiling from ear to ear as was his custom,
he bid us farewell with an enthusiastic wave and disappeared. Alone, Ian and I
now had the freedom to explore Siem Reap as we saw fit.
An hour and a half later, Ian gave me a few stern prods to
rouse me from my sweaty slumber. Napping had won out over any exploring. We
deliberated regarding the way we would spend our final few hours in Siem Reap
and were most satisfied with a dip in the hotel’s overly-chlorinated pool,
freshening up and hitting the streets to find a Mexican restaurant I had spied
earlier in the Night Market district.
Smelling delicious post showering, we ventured out to find
the restaurant. I realize I skipped describing the swim we had before cleaning
up, but how much detail do you REALLY need? Moving on.
Sunlight was fading as we made our way through the streets
that seemed to get busier as the hour grew later. It wasn’t long before we’d
way past the incredible multitude of stalls selling scarves, jewelry and
pirated everythings that we found the place we were looking for and settled
into two outdoor seats facing the street on the direction of the frankly far
too young waitress. After ordering dinner, another reality check set in. Here
we were, sipping ice-cold Coronas in Cambodia. I couldn’t help but notice that
the whole situation seemed like the set up for a bad joke:
‘Two
Australians go to a Mexican bar in Cambodia…’ I’m not ashamed to say that the
chimichangas I wolfed down was one of the most delicious things I’d consumed
within recent memory. During dinner, we were confronted by two of the coolest
kids I’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. The first was selling two books, one
regarding Pol Pot and the second describing the history of Cambodia. I was
impressed not only by the kid’s grasp of English, but the ease and confidence
he displayed when he approached us.
‘Buy
book? Buy book, come onnnn…. Buy book!’ He said with a cheeky smile. I held
pointed to the book about Pol Pot – ready to lie to the kid which I feel
slightly ashamed about.
‘No
thanks dude, I’ve read that one!’ Undeterred, the kid held out the second book
in his other hand.
‘That
no problem, this one second part!’ It was awesome. This kid had no issues lying
straight back at me, and very nearly convincingly. However, I wasn’t sure that
there WAS a sequel to Pol Pot’s life story, and if there WAS, I was sure I
would’ve heard of it prior to this encounter. We gave him some spare change due
in equal parts to his composure and to get him to leave. Next up was an
absolutely adorable young girl selling woven arm bands. Both Ian and I wanted
something small to remember the time we’d spent in Cambodia so we each fished
through her container until we found a few we liked. The girl’s pitch was
entirely dependent on pity – she had a story attached to the container of arm
bands about how she was struggling to make ends meet with her mother – but I
was won over by her beautiful smile. Her business completed with us, she ran
off into the night to pester other tourists. We collected the check and left
for home via the night markets.
On the way home, we stopped at a pharmacy. I felt a little
silly having left Australia without my hangover cures – Aspirin and Maxolon –
as well as not being prepared for a perpetual left knee niggle. I walked out
with more pills than I could’ve hoped for and the sensation that I’d just
broken the law. I hadn’t, it was just that in Australia, a bunch of the
medications that I bought would’ve required a doctor’s prescription and here
were simply available over the counter.
The day drew to a close and I grew overly excited as was my
routine. Tomorrow, we were leaving for Istanbul, Turkey. Sure, the day was
going to be lost through travel, but I didn’t much care for that. I was more
keen to see what new adventures the place would hold – especially considering
Istanbul was experiencing a period of heightened tension and civil unrest.
Riots had broken out between the civilians and police and I was keen to see how
this would affect the trip – if at all. We’d been warned about the riots prior
to leaving Australia and had been keeping tabs on it. Colleagues at work had
advised me to avoid the riots at all costs and I had quipped that I not only
intended to disregard their advice wholeheartedly, but to join the revolution
that I knew nothing about. It seemed to shut people up and that was the most
important thing. Despite excitement charging through my blood like lightning
bolts, I was soon off to sleep.
The screeching alarm next to my head pulled me kicking and
screaming from my slumber regardless of whether I was ready or not. Having
packed our things – a task which I was becoming marginally better at – we
headed downstairs to check out, but not before we stuffed our final
complimentary breakfast down our throats. Before long, breakfast was over,
check out complete and we were slowly trudging to meet Mr. Van for the last
time. As expected, he was punctual as ever and smiling broadly. If nothing
else, the man had fantastic teeth. With more effort than it should’ve taken, he
stuffed our bags into his boot and we were off to the Siem Reap International
Airport. I felt a little bad about Mr. Van packing our belongings as they were
basically 17kg weights, but I have the feeling he would’ve declined help even
if he’d been stuck underneath his own car. He went out of his way to ensure we
weren’t inconvenienced in any way. I would miss Mr. Van and I still wasn’t 100%
sure that was even his name.
En route, we saw just how much of the city we’d missed on
our brief stay and made a mental note to return in the future to complete the
adventure. Five minutes into the journey, we found our car veering off the
road, having been directed by policemen. After a quick glance down the road, I
noticed that there were policemen lining the street at regular intervals,
clearing it of all traffic.
‘What’s
going on here?’ I asked Mr. Van in a far less obnoxious tone than those words
imply.
‘It’s
to make way for the Royal Convoy.’ He replied with a grin and sure to his word,
a cavalcade of sleek, modern, black cars with royal insignias emblazoned upon
them rolled past, unhindered by traffic. Our brush with royalty complete, Mr.
Van pulled back onto the road when he was directed by the Police and we sped
off to the airport.
My heart sunk when we saw the various aeronautical themes
that advised us of our arrival to the airport – we’d be bidding farewell to Mr.
Van. Once our belongings had been dragged from the car, we hesitantly asked the
question we’d been dreading and Mr. Van had been avoiding since we met him –
‘So…
howwwwwww much? How much do we owe you, Mr. Van?’ He lowered his head, almost
embarrassed that he expected payment for his incredible work. Sheepishly
looking me in the eye, he replied slowly.
‘…One?
One thousand. One thousand US dollars.’ My heart stopped. I mean, it wasn’t as
if I could argue with the man, but I just thought that because things were so
cheap in the country that he’d be--- dammit. He was smiling. He was joking. His
smile spread to reaches I hadn’t seen it extend to before and he explained $200
US would be more than fair. However, now I felt inclined to GIVE him the
$1,000. He was such a warm, incredibly awesome guy and deserved far more than
$200, so we tipped him generously. After many handshakes, hugs and a cheeky
photo, he was gone. I hadn’t felt so alone since leaving my loved ones in
Adelaide. It was stupid, we were in no different a position than we had ever
been, but to me, it felt like I’d bid farewell to a lifelong friend. Don’t
judge me for my man-crush.
We went through the same customs rigmarole that we’d been
through a few times before and made it into the airport. Checking in proved
confusing as the flight number had been changed with no clear indication
anywhere of it happening. Looking back, it was fairly obvious – the flight time
and destination hadn’t changed – but being first time explorers, we may have
experienced a minor freak out. After making it into the departure lounge, we
almost instantly noticed the price hike. Not only were flights and Visas hard
to come by in this country, if locals were leaving they’d have to make it
through the departure lounge without spending their life savings (harder to do
than it sounds). Soon, we were a few beers deep and quite relaxed. The pain of
Mr. Van’s departure was somewhat alleviated by alcohol. An obnoxiously loud
digital bell sounded and announced that our flight was ready for boarding and
with that, we left Cambodia behind.
We landed for the second time in Vietnam, now aware of the
relaxed security restrictions in place. I walked through the metal detector
without removing any weapons of mass destruction from my person as I had been
encouraged to on our first passage through the country and was swiftly stopped
by a security officer who clearly took his job more seriously than the first
chump who’d waved us through. Left feeling stupid and with a valuable life
lesson under my belt – you CANNOT waltz through security in a new country – we
made our way to the closest café and again, stuffed our faces. We topped it all
off with nuclear-powered and supremely welcome espressos and moved to our
departure lounge. Thus ended our experiences in Vietnam. I can’t truthfully say
we were fully exposed to the country, but I almost felt like we would have been
cheating on Cambodia had we been.
It was approximately a three hour flight back into Singapore
and confusion smacked us in the face when we entered at midnight. Everything
was the same… but different somehow. The carpet had changed. The layout was
subtly – but perplexingly – warped. It wasn’t long before the stupid rubbed off
us and we realized we were simply in a different terminal than the one we had
initially landed in. With six hours to kill, we took full advantage of what all
three terminals had to offer and soaked up some light shopping, half a movie
and soaked up as much electricity for our time wasting devices as possible.
Twenty minutes prior to our flight boarding, I realized that not only was I not
ready, but we were (according to the signs) at least a 25 minute walk from our
gate. Spurred on by adrenaline and a newfound sense of purpose, Ian and I
fucking LEGGED it, making it to our gate in 18 minutes. There we sat for
another 20 minutes in our exercise and panic induced sweat – our flight having
been delayed.
Once aboard, Ian and I were separated; he sat in the seat in
front of me. Devastated, I napped for the first three hours of the flight. When
I woke, I found that the couple in the two seats to my left were not only
Australian, but annoying as all hell. I made it a point not to engage in
conversation – something harder than it sounds for me. Along the way, I jabbed
at Ian and he retaliated by reclining his seat onto my knees. Touché.
The flight went quicker than expected and before we knew it,
we were on the ground in Istanbul. Having not been in a window seat, I hadn’t
been able to observe for any signs that the city was on fire. Gathering my
things, I simply accepted that if our hotel was engulfed in civil war, I would
be throwing Molotovs with the best of them. After buying our Visa for our brief
stay in Turkey (€45 EACH!!!) we stuffed our things into the car of the most
polite taxi driver EVER! Just kidding, the guy was an asshole and he drove like
a maniac. However the scenery was lovely. We sped by the waterfront where it
seemed hundreds of container ships had moored a stone-throw off the coast. The
car turned inland and soon we were lost in the twisting tangle of backstreets –
and I mean that literally. Like our first Cambodian driver before, the Turk was
soon pulled over on the side of the road getting directions from some locals
who were none-too-happy to have been pulled out of their tiring regime of
sitting, smoking and scoffing at outsiders.
The taxi came to an abrupt, wheel-squealing halt and the
driver gruffly jabbed at the building beside us, kindly indicating that we had
arrived. After a brief exchange of unpleasantries regarding payment for the
ride, we were soon checked into our room with the owner of the hotel joining us
to personally fix the television that we hadn’t intended to use. The settings
had been fiddled with described the owner. He would not stand for it and as
such, spent the better part of an hour jabbing buttons on the remote at the
television while it refused to co-operate. It was only when we became emphatic
that we simply didn’t care about the television that the guy got the hint and
left the room. We dropped our things and completely unprepared, we headed out
into Istanbul.
BOOM! AND THAT'S PART 5 DONE! That was a long one because it was a fairly hefty break between wifi hotspots. Cheers for reading and as always, hope you enjoyed!!!
Follow the link to Part 6:
http://ponderingoblong.blogspot.com.es/2013/07/2013-world-trip-part-6.html
