Siem Reap Beckons Us Again

If anyone out there can resist the charm of Siem Reap (the quaint little town, home to the archeological wonder Angkor Wat and warm Khmer hospitality) then, seriously, that person is a stone---passive, cold, and boring.

Look for the Visa Sign

Hypocrisy aside, the decision to reunite with Siem Reap was born out of necessity. There were no buses plying the Bangkok–Ho Chi Minh City route, and with our coffers draining by the minute (thanks to Bangkok’s irresistible street food, Thai noodles, and fresh fruit juices) flying was out of the question. So despite travel book warnings about the bus scams on Khao San Road, we went inside the most legitimate-looking “travel agency” and bought tickets to Siem Reap for the following day.

We used the same agency we booked the floating market tour with. Pardon me, I forgot the name. But it’s along Rambutiri Street hidden behind street food stalls and has a “We accept Visa and Mastercard” sign on the door. And surprisingly, they do accept credit cards with a non-negotiable 4% charge. Most travel agencies along Khao San, at least the shady ones, don’t have those signs, so that put our hopes up that this one was legitimate.

The Pick-up Guy

Our Siem Reap–bound bus was scheduled to leave at 8:30 a.m. and we were supposed to be picked up at 8:00 from our hotel. By 7:30, Pinky and I were already geared up and waiting at the very entrance of the hotel’s café. We’ve learned our lesson in Siem Reap the other time. And the day before, a couple missed their bus because they were too busy sipping their coffee and reading their Lonely Planet guide so they didn’t hear the pick-up guy scream “Siem Reap”, which actually sounded more like a choppy “sya reh”. Bless him.

The thing with these pick-up guys is that they don’t have the names of their passengers so they scream the destination’s name and everybody scramble towards them with their backpacks and all only to be told his only picking one guy and he has to look at all the tickets first to see if he picks the right one. So everybody goes back to their seats, until another pick-up guy comes and does the same ritual all over again.

Our man came 15 minutes late, which made me a little bit jittery. He beckoned us to follow him, so we walked and walked and walked along Khao San Road. Then he stopped in front of what looked like a government building and instructed us “to wait here and don’t go anywhere.” Pinky and I were thinking, Oh no, not another scam! Anyway, like kindergarten kids, we stood there, not moving an inch (he told us not to go anywhere, didn’t he?). A long fifteen minutes later, he was back with a bunch of Japanese kids who started fussing about their visas and passports and what-have-yous. The man disappeared again. Ten minutes later, he was back with an Italian guy and two British blokes. The group was complete. We were all instructed to get on the “bus” (or van), which was way more comfortable and spacious than the ones in Cambodia.

And off we go. As we bid Bangkok good-bye, we said hello to this Italian guy who regaled everyone who cared to listen with tales of how he found true love in a young Thai bar girl and how he met her parents and how he wants to marry her . . . *rolls eyes*

Unlimited Toilet Breaks, Anyone?

Long bus trips are not for the weak bladdered (forgive my English) unless you’re in Thailand. Also, if you can’t live a minute without munching on something, take a bus in Thailand. They stop at a gasoline station/toilet/convenience store in the pre-text of refueling when in fact, they just want you to buy goodies from the store. And they make sure you do, because you are not allowed to stay in the van while they are “refueling”. Some business network there.

The amazing news is they don’t stop once or twice or thrice. They stop four times, just to make sure you shelled some Baht in the course of the trip. Of course, this is just my theory. Don’t quote me.

The Border Crossing

When the toilet breaks had all been used up, the driver dropped us off a restaurant where we’re supposed to relax and get some lunch---and he wasn’t kidding. The lunch break took more than an hour so we were left with no choice but to order food despite being properly stuffed already right to our esophagus. Now there was a problem with ordering food because in Thailand, most establishments only accept Baht. But Pinky and I only had a few Baht bills and coins left and a few hundred-dollar bills between us. So we pretended we were not really starving and ordered a drink and a meal for the two of us.

After what seemed like ages in that resto, we were ushered to another van to take us to the border, which was only 10 minutes away. The immigration at the Thai side was fast and efficient, but it was a different story on the Poipet (Cambodia aside) where we all had to form four snail-moving lines inside a small airless room. I was wondering why it took forever for the line to move until I realized some locals were cutting the line and shoving bundles of passports to the immigration officials. God only knows what was going on there. As Pinky and I waited for our turn, a very nice Japanese guy chatted with us and asked where we came from. When we said Philippines, he said, “Oh, I lived in the Philippines for 3 months. I was in Cebu.” Small world. We also live in Cebu. The guy had nice things to say about the Filipinos’ hospitality and friendliness and ability to speak very good English. But later, when I asked him if he wants to come back, he said he might but he got turned off by some staff from the Department of Foreign Affairs asking him to give them bribes so they can extend his visa. He said the Philippines is a very good country and would have been more developed if not for the corrupt officials. It’s quite shocking to hear this out of a foreigner’s mouth.  Sad to say but I have to agree with him.

A day in the life of a border.

We’re Home

After surviving the border crossing, we hopped on another bus to take us to the bus terminal to get on another bus again. I couldn’t even count how many buses we’ve been in since the beginning of the trip.

The bus came with a tour guide who spoke very confusing English in a weird American-British-Khmer accent. Whenever he spoke, I couldn’t resist laughing and had to pretend something got caught in my throat. At least I was discreet. One Aussie guy at the back was just killing himself with laughter every time the tour guide spoke.

Anyway, the bus started moving towards our final destination for that leg of the journey---sweet Siem Reap. But before we finally set foot on the promised land, of course we had to stop for dinner break. Now I know why Westerners say, the Orientals love their food.

The bus stopped and as we alighted we were greeted by smiling school girls who showered us with sugar-coated hellos and asked for our names, shook our hands, and tied home-made straw bracelets on our wrists. When I said I don’t need it. The little girl with the puppy eyes said, “It’s free. It’s free.” So how can I resist a freebie? After the bracelet was already fastened securely, she then said, “Can I have a Thai coin?” Oh dear, o dear.

After the encounter with the girls and the sumptuous feast of fried rice with “pock”, we continued towards Siem Reap, settled in our hotel, showered, watched TV to our heart’s delight, used the wi-fi, until our weary bodies couldn’t take it anymore and we floated to Dreamland.

Now the original plan was to stay in Siem Reap for the night and head off to Saigon the next day. But on the second day, and the third, and the fourth, and the fifth we were still in Siem Reap. These photos will tell you why.

The Mekong River bank where Pinky and I spent most of our lazy afternoons.

Inside a Buddhist temple compound. 

Ready to raid the Angkor Night Market!

Pinky perfecting her haggling skills at the Old Market.

The famous Pub Street. Angie Jolie used to come here, the locals say.

Ah, what better way to spend money!

On the fifth day, however, we felt it was time to go. When staying in a place for a long time, one starts to take in what’s happening around them. I was beginning to feel melodramatic about almost everything I see. I felt for the tuktuk and moto drivers who never seem to get any passengers, and I kept thinking, How is he going to feed his family?  I felt for the petite waiter in that Asian Restaurant who wore a very tight-fitting shirt and a pair of shoes which looked too big for his size, an unwavering smile plastered on his face to lure customers in, and I kept thinking, Does he ever go to school? I felt for that lady shopkeeper at the night market who gave me all the attention in the world and was willing to give me almost 100% discount on the Cambodian earrings and almost cried when I turned to leave, pleading me to buy the earrings because I was her first customer, and I kept thinking, Does she earn something every day? And I felt for our tuktuk driver friend Ara, who nonchalantly told us he stopped school because he never passed exams and that he had to work to support his parents and siblings who live in a rural town, and I kept thinking, Why is he so kind and caring and happy when life has not been very good to him?

It was time to leave Siem Reap. 

Detour: Bustling Bangkok

The true essence and excitement of backpacking is in the not knowing where to go next and, well, border crossings! In the original plan, Thailand was not part of the itinerary because (1) it is too big to see in less than a week, and (2) it is too beautiful to see in a rush. But since pictures of Pinky and I cruising Halong Bay was already fading, we succumbed to our fate and made the detour to Thailand. We booked the night bus to Khao San Road in Bangkok (750 Baht or 25 USD). We were debating whether or not to go to Phuket but our wallets made the painful decision for us. So no Phuket this time.

The journey from Vientiane to Bangkok was surprisingly uneventful---save for a handful of backpacking couples who couldn't wait to get into their hotel rooms, you know what I mean. We were picked in our hotel at the time promised and, with a load of other travellers, transported to the border, Nong Khai, over the Friendship Bridge. I must say, it's the most hassle-free border we've ever crossed. After finishing with immigration formalities, we were ushered to a double-decker VIP bus, and were on our way, stopping once for free Thai fried rice dinner at a roadside resto. Pinky and I couldn't be more grateful because finally, after days and days of travelling, we felt like we were home. 

Thailand's well-developed roads made the journey more comfortable and faster. In 10 hours we arrived at Khao San Road and checked in at the Green Guest House at Rambutrri Street. Not necessarily a bang for the buck though. For 13 USD, we got a basic twin fan room with shared bathroom. In Cambodia, you would already get an AC room with fridge and TV for that price. But well, Bangkok is Bangkok. 

Khao San Road is the equivalent of Saigon's Pham Ngu Lao. Backpackers from all over the world converge in the area like a swarm of bees looking for honey. It's a bustling street that never sleeps and never runs out of exciting things to offer. The area is lined with backpacking hostels with live music at night. Just around the corner is the market where you can find everything that your heart desires: street food, beer, clothing, jewelry, and you can have fake IDs and certificates made! Bored in Bangkok? I don't think that happens. 

Bangkok's backpackers' district. 

Khao San Road during the day.

Khao San Road at night.

Be certified and licensed in 5 minutes.

After exploring the area in and around Khao San Road, Pinky and I decided to book a half-day tour to the floating villages/markets for our second day. If you've never seen river traffic, then it's the place to go. It's a different experience but well worth the 250 Baht or 8 USD we paid for.

So that was the end of our brief Bangkok jaunt---after all, it was just a detour. Next, off to Siem Reap (again) via Poipet. 

Life Is Beautiful in Laos

As I was reading through my posts, I realized I barely had positive things to say about our experience in Laos. I flinched upon realizing I had one visitor from Laos and a certain guilt is eating me because, really, Laos is a beautiful place and the people the friendliest and most hospitable I’ve ever met.

Here are some of the things I love about Laos:

Sleeper buses: The best Southeast Asia has to offer. They’re big, fast, and super comfy. Pure air-conditioned luxury, with a toilet and a double bed complete with a thin mattress, pillows, and blankets. However, if you’re travelling alone, it would be a good idea to book for two spaces, because the beds are so narrow---unless of course you want to get a little bit cozy with a stranger on a 10-hour trip. Oh, and did I say there’s free dinner, bottled water, and wet tissues onboard? Can’t get any better.

Sabaidee: The Laotians spread their sabaidees, their version of aloha, as if it’s the end of the world. All you do is so much smile or glance at them, and you’ll be treated to a genuine sabaidee and a casual but warm conversation about anything under the sun. We had one about Charice Pempengko, the Filipina singing sensation who made it to the American music scene. It’s heartwarming to know that our fellow Southeast Asians also talk about her with pride. Though, I must admit it took me quite a while to realize what the Laotian was talking about. Quite embarrassing.

The Park: The park plays a big role in the pastimes of Laotians and of tired tourists. It’s a good way to unwind and go people watching. Children and adults frolicking in the sand. Hawkers offering all kinds of gastronomic delights. Monks strolling along the banks of the Mekong. Young lovers whispering sweet nothings to each other. Tourists catching a glimpse of the magnificent sunset. And Pinky and I shopping at the night street market! Life is beautiful in Laos.

Luang Prabang: Although we didn’t have the luxury of time and money to visit the most romantic place in the world, I would still list Luang Prabang as one of my Laotian favorites. As most backpackers say, you’ve never been to Laos until you’ve seen Luang Prabang. I’ve not been there yet, so I will just quote here what Lonely Planet has to say about this UNESCO World Heritage site:

“There are places that linger in the imagination long after you visit them; Mekong-bordered Luang Prabang, with its Unesco-protected peninsula of gleaming wat and crumbling French villas, is such a place. Timeless, and reinvigorated by a new airport, this once-inaccessible Shangri-la is an absolute must for its Buddhist architecture, the tangerine stream of monks taking alms at 6 a.m., and its vast array of shopping and cuisine. In short, Luang Prabang is a sensual cocktail with a heavy measure of history to match.”

Another reason for me to go back to this one heaven of a place. :)   

A sneak peek of Luang Prabang (photo courtesy of http://www.trekearth.com):

The Truth about Laos - Part 2

There are times when we are overflowing with enthusiasm for life that we bite off more than we can chew and we become too overwhelmed that our world comes to a standstill. Sorry, I’m throwing riddles into the air again. Well, I have not been able to update this blog because my world had temporarily slowed down and I poured all my energy into an opportunity that came too unexpectedly but is too good to pass up. But I am not going to talk about that. I don’t want to keep you hanging in suspense so I will continue the story about Laos . . .

The Land of No Return

In the movies, we know it’s about time for dead people to cross over to the other world when a light suddenly appears on the horizon, and the dead suddenly find themselves floating towards the light to be transported to the Land of No Return. In our case, this was the light: 

A flicker of hope from the Cambodia-Laos border.

And the Land of No Return was Laos.

A Near-death Experience

While the rest of the scammed crew were sailing their way to the 4,000 Islands in Laos, seven of us—Pinky and I, Mr. Valiums 1 and 2, the Swedish girls, and Mr. Pot—were left to our fate of going on a “special trip” to Pakse aboard the “VIP” bus.

We were treading a dubious territory as the road to Pakse was so dark, you couldn’t even see your hands when you put it in front of your face. The occasional flashes of light coming from passing ten-wheelers and 4WDs were not a relief even, as we were thinking bandits would suddenly jump off the vehicles and kidnap or, worse, slaughter us. But well, there was no reason for them to do so because we were all penniless. In fact, Mr. Valium 1 had to borrow money from the tour guide to pay for his visa and from the driver, for his fare. So no, they wouldn’t think of kidnapping a bunch of ill-fated travelers, whose only possession was their passports and ratty rug sacks. Therefore, a massacre was out of the picture. Whew!

If we were to die at that time, it would be because of cold and hunger. Being the “smart” travelers that we were, we of course decided to test our cold endurance by choosing the coldest time of the year to travel to a country that borders China, which was enjoying the chill of winter. And because the climate has been messed up with this global warming phenomenon, the cool season becomes the cold season, and the cold season becomes the freezing season. So yeah, we were shivering and freezing our a***s off the whole time despite wrapping ourselves with everything that’s in our bags.

The hunger was another thing. We didn’t anticipate that it was going to be a fasting trip---no food, no water, no nothing. Thank god, Mr. Pot still had a few sticks of dope left which he desperately burned, fogging the “VIP” bus with the scent of sweet Mary Jane. And with teeth clacking, the rest of us desperately sniffed the second-hand smoke like hyenas scrambling for the last meat on a carcass. Ah, not a very good imagery, but I can’t think of a better one. The fake satiety that pot gives saved us from devouring each other. (This is the second time I’m thinking of cannibalism. Gives me the creeps.)

Bored to Death

Finally, after three hours of sniffing pot and saying the novena, we were welcomed by the same cold air, bright red lights, and fully-booked hotels---Pakse. For 30 minutes, we circled around the town to look for a suitable (read: cheap) place to stay for the night in vain, until our gurgling tummies and desolate spirits screamed at us to bite the bait of an expensive hotel at USD27 a night.

Our not-so-backpackish room.

The not-so-backpakish lobby.

Luxury at its best. Cold and hot water, a bath tub, cable TV, phone, wifi, aircon. They say, after a near-death experience one experiences a lightness, a comfort that’s almost too good to be true. Unfortunately, ours came with a price. The "lightness" had something to do with our pockets.

Really, there’s nothing I can say about Pakse, because there’s nothing to do there. And when I say nothing, I mean nada. And all you see is nothing, or an occasional sighting of monks and cars, or a handful of lost-looking tourists like us.

Hellooooo, anybody home?

 At last, some signs of life!

The dilemma of crossing the street without traffic.

The Death Sentence

We wanted to get out of Pakse fast, so the first thing we did the next morning was check out tourist agencies for the next bus to Vietnam. After all, the original plan was just to transit through Laos to get to Hanoi and see the beautiful Halong Bay.

Who would ever expect that a smiling tourist agent would give us the death sentence so early in the morning: “Sorry, no buses to Vietnam until a week after the Chinese New Year. They’re all fully booked.”

No way, who would believe such a crap? So we tried another one, who said the same thing in a different, more insulting version: “You are stuck in Laos.” (Or maybe that was my mind speaking.)

Panic mode. We needed a second opinion so we booked the sleeper bus to the capital, Vientiane. Maybe they would have a lifeline for us there.

We were wrong. 

The posh sleeper bus to Vientiane, with real beds and beddings. 

But it wasn’t our ticket out of Laos.

We Accept Our Fate

So we were really stuck in Laos. It was not bad, though, as we were able to see the beautiful sunsets, meet charming people, visit exotic temples, lie on the grass in the park, and eat  . . . grass. I’ll let the photos speak for themselves. 

The real deal.

The Laos people are the friendliest you'll ever meet. 

They never run out of "sabai-dees" (hellos).

Pha That Luang, the national symbol of Vientiane.

One of the temples in the area.

Another one. If you crave for temple overload, Laos is the place to be. 

We spent most of our time in the park. 

Can somebody please tell me how to go about this?

This is the food that got Pinky swearing she’ll never eat Laos food again, ever!

So that was that. We enjoyed Laos, if anybody cares to ask. But still the truth was there dangling before our eyes, like a pendulum: we were stuck in Laos. 

The Truth about Laos

Cut the Chase

The real adventure began at 5:00 a.m. in Siem Reap, Cambodia. It was starting to get quieter save for the boisterous laughter of a couple of other backpackers who boozed the night away at the sidewalk to save money on a night’s accommodation. The chill of the dawn creeping through my bones was enough to keep me alert, as I awaited Pinky’s signal to get up and go.

Five ten, she was still shaking her head. Five thirty, nothing. Five forty-five, still no sign of the bus that was supposed to pick us up from the hotel. Five fifty, I got jittery and requested the lady at the reception to call the bus company for us, who nonchalantly shrugged my request off because we didn’t book the bus from the hotel. And for the second time since I came to Siem Reap, I wanted to rip someone’s face off. She might have read what’s going through my mind or maybe I had voiced my morbid thoughts (I just can’t remember) because when I glowered at her, she right away fidgeted with the phone and with a faltering voice said, “The tuktuk will be here in five minutes.”

True to her word, the tuktuk came in exactly five minutes, the driver insisting he came on time but we were not there. It made sense because at the time he was supposed to pick us up, we were putting on invisibility cloaks, so that might have been the reason he didn’t see us. Funny these tuktuk drivers, aren’t they? And to complete the comedy, he took us on a free fifteen-minute tour of Siem Reap, chasing for the bus that was supposed to have left thirty minutes ago.

The People You Meet in Purgatory

After a few dizzying minutes, we were deposited in a bus—suspiciously parked in a deserted clearing—full of sleepy and smelly backpackers and a whole clan of mosquitoes. I took my rightful place at the back and sat next to a British guy who seemed to have developed a hatred for mozzies as he barely nodded to acknowledge me and turned to resume his massacre of the poor creatures, giggling like a girl when he would squash one and wiping the blood on the curtain and seat cover. That was, of course, before he started snoring away and conveniently used my shoulder as a pillow.

Pinky, the luckier one, sat next to an unusually generous and obviously drugged American guy who kept on offering packs and packs of Valium to the people on the bus, for free. At one point the bus had to stop at the side of a market so he could pee in front of a whole community of scandalized locals.

On the seat opposite Pinky’s sat a serious-looking Australian guy who had seen better days in the military. He was engrossed in a book about the Vietnam war, only looking up when he needed to light a stick of pot, which he also kept offering to the passengers, for free.  

In front of Mr. Pot sat a French couple who spoke very little English and smiled their way into the trip as their form of communication. Mr. French Guy, however, did a great job of pushing Mr. Valium’s mate’s head off the lap of a poor Khmer guy who had to endure most of the trip cradling the head of Mr. Valium 2.

Occupying the front seats were three Spanish youngsters, two guys and a girl, who slept the whole trip away. And two Swedish girls clad in all black and wore gaudy eye make-up, who kept to themselves and never stopped munching on something.

On the wheel was a sane-looking honking-happy driver who insisted we speak to him in English because he’s Malaysian, and who, despite desperate requests from the passengers, refused to turn the air-conditioning on until one could see steam coming out of our bodies.

If you’ve never been to a purgatory of some sort, get into a bus like we had. You never know if it takes you to heaven or to hell until you reach your pit stop.

A taste of purgatory. Don't let looks deceive you.

Is It Heaven Yet?

Three hours into the trip, the English-speaking Malaysian driver ordered us to vacate our seats and get off the bus as he was busy hauling out our backpacks and dropping them on the dirt road.

“Going to Laos, get on the van. Cambodia only, catch the bus.”

We didn’t have time to protest (as we were promised a big and beautiful VIP bus when we booked the trip) because we were busy cramming ourselves, all 14 backpackers, into a mini-van, stepping on the backpacks and someone’s foot. When we were all in, stuffed like sardines, three Cambodians (two males and a female) who didn’t speak a single word of English, joined us on the excruciating journey to God knows where.

The second leg of the journey began in stunned silence until the vehicle started to reek of marijuana and people suddenly turned into a giggling and chattering bunch. At that point, we still didn’t know where we were or where they were taking us. But with the cloud of pot smoke hovering over us, it didn’t matter. We were starting to enjoy the ride.

Mr. Valium had to pee again, so the van screeched to a halt in a secluded place near the river which blew fresh air that brought us back into our senses. And we started complaining again.

Second pee stop.

The view from the pee stop.

As the effects of pot wore off, people started to scream for food, which took the driver about an hour to decipher. And just at the moment we decided to turn into cannibals, he finally took the cue and stopped at a restaurant in the middle of nowhere. Who knows what they served there? I could have eaten snake stew, but didn’t care. It was better than chewing my tongue off.

The view was so appetizing I couldn't stop stuffing food into my mouth.

Shall We Cross Over?

At the end of the long stretch of dusty road was the Cambodia-Laos border. Or so we thought. Our “VIP” bus, as they call it, took us to Strung Treng town, where we waited for almost an hour for something to happen. There were lots of phone calls made, some arguments between the tour operators. Then we were pushed into the minivan again, and off we went—to the border that looked like a residential compound. Apparently, it was not yet the border; the driver took us to his house for a reason that’s still a mystery to us until now. For a second I thought they were going to slaughter us and make us into Laos sausages to be smuggled into the border. Then we wouldn’t need passports and cross the border with ease.

Anyway, we finally got to the border. Did all the immigration procedures. Paid USD2 on the Cambodian side and another USD2 on the Laos side—the first time we ever paid fees on the border.

Just as we thought the nightmare was over and we’re finally in heaven, we were in for another surprise in the form of another “VIP” bus:

We paid USD36 for this. Do you think we've been scammed?

As much as it hurts to admit it, we obviously fell victims to a scam. And all we could do was laugh at our misfortune. To top it off, the “tour guide” had the guts to present us two options since it was getting dark (we were still going to Pakse, about 3 hours from the border): to spend the night in a town near the border or pay extra for a private bus to take us to Pakse. I told him we’d stay if they pay for our hotel, which gained nods of approval from the other passengers. But then they didn’t say a thing when the driver finally insisted we pay USD5 more for a special trip (as spending the night in that eerie town was out of the question). So we allowed ourselves to get ripped off. I stopped struggling. 


I choose my battles, especially if I’m the only one fighting it.

To be continued . . .

The Road to Grandeur Is Not Straight

Free Concert, Anyone?

For a backpacker on a very tight budget, the only means by which one can marvel at the magnificence of Angkor Wat is to endure a six-hour long ride from Phnom Penh (or from anywhere else in Cambodia) to Siem Reap aboard a moving one-instrument, one-rhythm, one-tone orchestra courtesy of a Cambodian public bus with its ever-honking-happy driver. When he sees a cow crossing the road miles ahead, he honks. When he sees, a vendor peacefully selling fruit on the sidewalk, he honks. When he sees the outline of a motorcycle coming from the opposite direction, he honks. When he senses a chicken crossing his path, he honks. When he sees nothing on the road, he honks! When one seems to have finally fallen asleep after a sleepless night chasing mosquitoes in the hotel room, he honks! WHAT’S WITH THE GODDAMN HONKING!

The only respite to the honking torture was a thirty-minute lunch break in a bus terminal restaurant whose only English-speaking staff knew two words—“yes” and “dollar”—and with the alertness of a military trainee came to the table with the bill just as Pinky and I swallowed our last morsel of rice. And with a silly grin on her face said, “Yes, dollar?” And then we’re back to the honking.

Never Trust a Smiling Face

At the Siem Reap terminal, the honking finally ended to be replaced by the constant buzzing of tuktuk drivers who were either trying to rip us off or really rip us off. As we have booked our hotel two days before and as we received confirmation of our reservation and our pick-up at the bus terminal, Pinky and I stood there inhaling dust and fumes waiting for nothing. It was a blessing though that a smiling guy from the bus operator offered to drop confused-looking tourists to the center of the town—quite conveniently in front of a hotel operated by the same company. How about that? When Pinky and I said we already booked a hotel (and showed them the name), the “guide” told us—with a big smile on his face— that it’s a bit far and politely offered to take us there. How can one resist such an offer? Four dollars poorer later, we were standing in front of the hotel we booked—Jasmine Guest House (avoid if you can).

When we finally managed to drag our bags to the reception on the second floor, the grumpy-looking guy at the counter asked if we had a reservation. Since we weren’t able to print the confirmation, I took the time and effort to show it to him on my laptop, which took ages to open, and which made him look even grumpier. He then flicked at some papers on the counter and said they didn’t receive the booking. At that point, I was ready to rip his grumpy face off, when he offered to give us two single rooms instead of the twin room we initially booked—of course, for a few dollars more—saying twin rooms were fully booked. For lack of other options, we agreed. Before he gave us our keys, he shoved a notebook on the table and ordered us to fill out a form with our names, nationality, passport number, and occupation—to which I wrote “editor” since I would have to explain “physiotherapist.” His face beamed upon seeing the “E” word, which turned Grumpy into Smiley. Guess who’s afraid of a bad review? You wait and see, Grumpy.

Soothing Siem Reap

A walk to the city center—a short walk as we came to know—did the trick of clearing my mind which was about to burst with annoyance and frustration. Siem Reap turned out to be a quaint town with charming people (save for Grumpy and the ones who tried to rip us off). Its tree-lined streets are pretty clean, and the air fresh. There’s a quiet park along the river where you can enjoy the sunset when you’re done watching a group of oldies practising tai chi. In fact, I had pictured myself living there. I’ll rent a nice little apartment and a bicycle. I’ll buy cheap furniture from the local market and fix myself a cozy place in town. I’ll learn the language and their ways and maybe eat the local delicacy.

Maybe not.

Amazing Angkor Wat




About 5.5 kilometers from Siem Reap lies a poem that no words can truly capture. So I’m not going to waste my words.

The camera doesn’t even do justice to the sheer beauty and magnificence of Angkor Wat, but it would be selfish of us not to share some of the photos we took. Behold, one of the wonders of the world!

Angkor Wat, the world’s largest religious building and the only one dedicated to both Hinduism and Buddhism, was built in 1912 by King Suryavarman II as his state temple and capital city. It is now the national symbol of Cambodia.

Trivia:

A protest broke out when a Thai celebrity claimed Angkor Wat belong to Thailand.

Jacklyn Kennedy came all the way to Cambodia to “fulfill her life-long dream of seeing Angkor Wat.”