One evening Bev reported herself satisfied she had removed a number of chrysalises from caterpillar or some other awful beastie from the loo wall. The offending small lumps had returned in the morning and we were amused to finally identify them as gecko poo.

I have read some of the history of Cambodia over the recent years.  Mr Pol Pot was a fairly difficult personality by all accounts.  One of the continuing problems here is the millions of anti-personnel mines sown by the Khmer Rouge and the Americans which have still not been cleared.  At the entrance to each Angkor temple a band of a dozen or so men played to raise money for civilian victims of the mines.  Each musician was missing a limb or in some cases two, some were blinded and had facial injuries.   They sat and played jolly upbeat music and occasionally sang.  I estimate that thousands of tourists pass them each day but I witnessed very few moved to donate even a small amount. When a small donation was received it was greeted by an extra load bang on the drum and a large cheerful grin.  Mine victims are also evident in the cities, they generally are selling books whilst meandering through the tourists supported by a crutch.  The courage of these people who are not begging but making the best they can of their lives is sad but also a reminder of how lucky we are.

There are numerous opportunities to people watch. The tourists come from all over the world and are of all ages. The older Japanese groups are fun, some are very elderly and each tour group is dressed in matching tee shirts of lime green, canary yellow or bright red. They stick together in a solid phalanx and woe betide anyone who breaks their ranks. They chatterer continuously, photograph everything and proceed at a fast clip that denies their years.

The groups of aged Americans do not require coloured shirts since they generally tower above the locals and their voices keep them in touch. They also take photos of everything.

Groups of French, Eastern Europeans, Spanish and Italians are also here on package holidays. They all have tour guides explaining the history and significance of every detail in loud voices presumably just to upset Bev.  We who have researched the history and significance before the visit have to move on just to hear ourselves complain. But much of my enjoyment is the antics of our fellow travellers.

Phnom Penh is great.  Wide roads and pavements are the norm.  Trouble is that every inch of pavement is taken up by parked vehicles or stalls selling all that a Cambodian could wish for. So we walk on the road which is a heaving mass of cars, trucks and motorcycles. It is amazing that at busy road junctions you step out into teeming traffic, look neither to right or left and stroll to the other side.  You are in no danger if you hold your nerve and line. Hesitate or stop and the traffic which has already committed to missing you is totally confused.

Bev and I have been fascinated in Laos and Cambodia by guys playing the same message over and over again delivered by a monotonous voice over a loudspeaker and selling eggs from a bicycle and cart.  In some cities it has been a woman’s voice, in others, a man’s. Having breakfast one morning, we noticed that a local boy at the adjoining table went into the street and bought two of these eggs. From him I learned that cart driver sold two types of egg the first was a normal hardboiled egg the second choice was a little more expensive as the egg contained a small chick. He considered the chick egg to be a delicacy and offered me a taste, I apologetically refused as I had eaten!!

Smoking has not been banned in Laos or Cambodia. No dire warnings on cigarette packets and ash trays on most tables in cafes and restaurants. I am sure my smoking friends would appreciate this democracy in a communist/socialist part of world. Most establishments have high ceilings, fans and the front door is open so no probs.         

I really looking forward to waking up and saying “Good morning Vi-et-nam”

Back to Bev  

[Hello to everyone at Aylesbury Vale Golf Club – welcome aboard, Sandra and Guy, it was lovely to hear from you!]

28^th January – Although we have not been able to spot the source of the red dots that appeared last night alongside the usual mosquito bites, we think it may have been tiny ants. We’ve spotted these on the spare bed in the room and they were probably on the one we slept in as well. Still, we thought it safer just to mention this to Don, one of the owners. He had his manager check the room after we moved our bags out and, to our relief, he confirmed our opinion that this was not down to bed bugs. I do keep checking sheets and mattresses for signs before we unpack at each new room.

Just beside Coasters was an English chap, Kerry, running a little ‘power snorkelling’ business and we decided to end our stay in Sihanoukville by having a go at this. It consisted of a battery-run floating compressor that allowed one or two snorkelers to breathe air off a line down to a depth of three metres. We had to go into the sea at our rocky beach and it was a very choppy sea indeed. Soon we were being bounced off the rocks as we struggled to gain enough depth to start swimming. When Alan and I tried to breathe in at the same time, the unit was not powerful enough to provide air – and this was early days, before I started sucking in air like a jet engine! It’s quite distressing to be pulling on the regulator and having nothing come through. The obvious solution was to swap to snorkel, but the sea was so rough, the waves kept breaking over the top and the combination of waves, rocks, and very poor visibility were enough for me to call time on my participation.

So I swam, choked and staggered my way to shore under the curious gaze of a dozen breakfasting tourists while Alan and Kerry carried on. When Alan came back he said I made the right decision – the viz was so bad he didn’t see anything interesting and the unit was not even providing just him with enough air at times. A shame, because it is a clever little concept. Alan reckons the gear just needs adjusting a bit.

After lunch Mr Windy (tuk-tuk driver, postman, police liaison and visa organiser) took us to the bus station and we found our seats in a very comfortable and roomy bus. The journey to Phnom Penh took just four hours with no stops. We had to endure the usual music on the DVD player, then the latest James Bond film. Thankfully the film, dubbed in Khmer and subtitled in Spanish for some reason, was played at a very low volume. This allowed me to enjoy views of the passing mango plantations – and a lovely range of hills, giving the lie to my earlier statement that all of Cambodia appears to be flat.

Our arrival in Phnom Penh was met by the usual throng of tuk-tuk drivers. The trick is to have the name of a hotel or guesthouse at the ready, otherwise they will try to take you to one that pays them commission – this can be good or bad, but it’s easier just not to get into the discussion. Thankfully Kerry had recommended the Fancy Guesthouse, not one we would have chosen by its name, but it turned out to be quiet, with spacious rooms and, above all, scrupulously clean. This is a real relief after our beach bum existence in Sihanoukville and Koh Ta Kiev. I think the Minister of Finance agreed that the $25 dollar per night price tag for this level of luxury is worth it as we are both a bit battered by the insect bites and sand everywhere that comes from living in wooden bungalows on the beach.

Two of four brothers run the guesthouse and are unfailingly cheerful and helpful. They are called Mr Phannak and Mr Phannat. Their oldest brother, Mr Phanna, will take us on a tour tomorrow. Their youngest brother, Mr Phanneat, is currently caring for their father in hospital. Confused? You want to try detecting the difference when these names are spoken! They were children during the Khmer Rouge reign and recall their school teacher being killed and having to dig ditches or tend water buffalo all day long with only a little rice to eat.

29^th January – Today marked three months travelling. We had the day to ourselves to explore the sights of Phnom Penh, so we walked to the National Museum. This building is beautiful, built in the Khmer style and painted dark red with highlights of a complimentary dull pink colour, it really floated my boat. There is an internal courtyard with fish ponds and lush planting. The contents were a little disappointing, mainly parts of statues and artefacts gathered from various archaeological sites, which, to be honest, one can have enough of as they all start to look the same after a while. Apart from that, there were little bits of information on the Khmer history, but nothing beyond what we had already picked up at Angkor.

After the museum we visited the neighbouring Royal Palace and Silver Pagoda, so named because the floor is covered with silver tiles. The Royal Palace is in fact a complex of buildings serving various purposes, for example, there is one dedicated to getting on board an elephants. Sadly the only palace building open to tourists on our particular day was the throne room. Granted, this was spectacular, with gold everywhere, but we were disappointed to have so little access. Perhaps King Norodom Sihamoni was in residence.

The Silver Pagoda was very impressive and housed a lovely emerald-coloured baccarat glass Buddha, which would look very nice on a side table back in our living room in Stewkley. Outside the pagoda were lots of lovely plants and topiary, and a statue of the King.

Having done our bit of culture for the day, we headed for the market to buy me a replacement umbrella. The one we bought in Kratje went AWOL during the torrential rain day in Sihanoukville. Umbrella 2 is purple with a ring of brightly-coloured flowers. Oh dear, reminds me of that poem about getting old and wearing purple!

There are lots of restaurants of all colours and continents in Phnom Penh, so I chose Mexican for tonight. All I can say is, if you are ever in this city, do not go to ‘Cantina’. I have had much better Mexican meals out of cardboard boxes from Tesco and that is no word of a lie. My burrito was lacking in spices, floating in a colourless liquid and so unsatisfying that I found myself longing for a good old British kebab on the way home ;O)

30^th January – We had debated about visiting the killing fields and the S21 prison long before coming here, but decided that in some way it is a form of remembrance, so we went. We were driven by Mr Phanna, whose English was not good otherwise it would have been fascinating to talk to him about the Pol Pot days. He was able to tell us about digging irrigation ditches all day long.

The killing fields, as they have become known, lie just 15 kilometres south west of Phnom Penh. A former Chinese cemetery, it was used by the Khmer Rouge for the quick disposal of people who posed any threat to their regime. This included high-ranking officials from the deposed regime, intellectuals, teachers, doctors, artists, and many, many more. There is evidence that a tree, still standing, was used by the soldiers to beat babies heads against – they killed many women and children there, not wanting to leave any family alive who might later seek revenge.

It was a sobering visit. In the centre of the plot there now stands a memorial to the dead. It is a glass and concrete tower containing layer upon layer of wooden platforms on which are laid the bones of those that have been exhumed so far. These amount to just under 9,000 and it is suspected that there are many more still to be found. It really puts the scale of this genocide into perspective when you think that there were 343 such sites across the country and that this happened during a period of under four years.

Apart from the memorial, the site has been left as it was after the bodies were exhumed. It is just like a field filled with shallow bomb craters, which were of course the mass graves. I did not feel moved to take any photos apart from one of the memorial itself and that from a distance.

Next was the former secondary school made prison, S21. The terrible thing about this is that the building is much the way any school would have looked in the ‘70s, even in Britain, therefore you can imagine the kids running around and chairs scraping back as the bell rings. The Khmer Rouge took all of this away from a whole generation of children and as a result of their actions and the struggle to recover from them, many people who should now be in the most productive years of their lives are left with very little education, doing menial jobs. Mr Phanna, our taxi driver, is a case in point.

Some of the rooms, the individual cells, have been left with the iron bed and shackles used to restrain the prisoners, none of whom had committed any offence except for working hard and being successful. Stories of the period say that some people were even arrested just for wearing glasses and ‘looking intellectual’. The rooms have been left mostly untouched, the yellow and white chequered tiles filthy and the walls marked. The only addition in each individual cell is a large canvass with a mercifully blurred photo of each of the 14 occupants as they were found by the liberators after the Khmer Rouge had fled. Some of them had been tortured so brutally, they were barely recognisable as human beings. The photos were just clear enough to show the dark gleam of blood under some of the beds, stark against the same tiles we were now standing on.

Other rooms had been roughly divided into tiny cells, just big enough for a person to stretch out on the floor. Some of these had no daylight and there was just an old ammunition box to use as a toilet. Several floors of the buildings have been converted into a photographic memorial of all the people who died in this terrible place. That was just too much to bear, some of them were just children.

A stark reminder of how any ideology, taken too far, can create harm beyond imagination. Again I did not feel moved to take many photos, just a couple to show the outside of one of the prison blocks.

We spent our evening by the river, watching the sun setting. This is the place where the locals hang out and it is great fun to watch the families and to realise they are just like us – they make silly noises at babies! We also watched a group of young kids dancing, possibly one of the many projects that are run by good people out here to try and keep them off the streets and out of trouble.

31^st January – Today is to be an admin day preparing for our departure tomorrow and doing little else. Tomorrow we will board a boat to cross the border into Vietnam, taking two days to reach Ho Chi Minh City, the former Saigon. Mr Phannak assures us we will have booked seats on the boat each day and that there will only be 25 people on board. Hopefully not like the overcrowded experience coming down into Laos, then! We are looking forward to forming once more a little ‘commune’ of people like we did before, it’s just nice to get to know people in a little more depth than just a hello, where are you from.

It may take us a few days to settle in Vietnam, so don’t worry if you don’t hear from us for a while.

Photos

24^th January – Were rounded up with the 3-island snorkel trip gang at 9am. By tagging along we would eventually get to our destination. As we were just ‘in transit’, we didn’t wear our swimming costumes for snorkelling, but we got our day clothes (shorts and t-shirts) wet getting into the boat from the beach, so Alan went for a snorkel at our first stop. The second snorkel stop, at Bamboo Island, was also the lunch stop, so we got off, had a snorkel, and then a very good lunch of barbecued fish and salad prepared and served up by all the boat crews working together – another example of the great community spirit that exists in this country.

The Irishman and Englishman who own Coasters, our base on the mainland, used to have a resort on Bamboo Island. Don, the Irishman, told us that they used to expend a lot of energy keeping the beach there clean. One day the army, who already occupied the island, came along with diggers and knocked most of the bungalows down and threw Coasters out. Now there is just a very run-down restaurant and a few bungalows and no one looks after the beach, so it is very dirty. So what did that action achieve, one wonders?

After lunch our boatman took Alan and I across to Koh Ta Kiev, which is not on the snorkelling circuit, or indeed on many people’s travel itineraries. These boatmen are so skilled, when they are leaving or arriving at a beach, they stand up so that they have clear all round vision. They operate the throttle via a long piece of string in one hand and the tiller with their foot. Once under way they can sit down and the tiller is then at the right height to be operated by hand.

We landed on a lovely clean beach with just five spacious bungalows and a large, airy restaurant. Just one other bungalow was occupied, by a German lad and his girlfriend, who we hardly saw at all as they went sunbathing at the other end of the beach. Behind the beach was pure jungle. Our bungalow had a grass roof, a veranda with a shady sleeping platform (these are used a lot over here by local people for rests during the day), an armchair, and a hammock. The bedroom was big enough for two large double beds and, although the bathroom had no hot water, it more than made up for this with the unique showering arrangement – a massive earthen pot (big enough for an adult to climb into) filled to the brim with water and a little plastic saucepan for transferring it on to the head and body. The loo actually flushed, but there was no sign of toilet paper or the usual little bin for putting it in.

Once settled in, I went down to the restaurant to ask about the loo paper situation and was greeted by two very smiley, but very no-English-speaking Cambodian ladies. Eventually, having exhausted all of the spoken word options available to me, I resorted to charades – I’ll leave this to your imagination. This resulted in all three of us collapsing in laughter and I decided at that point not to pursue the matter any further. Using explicit body language and stepping to one side to indicate that we were now moving on from that (thanks, Mervyn L, for teaching me this technique at Fraser’s XXth birthday party!), I next attempted to order two watermelon shakes. The ladies understood ‘watermelon shake’ because this was on the menu. But not in the store cupboard - they had just enough English to enlighten me that this was something to do with a boat not turning up.

Resorting to the menu for help once more, I then said could we have instead an iced coffee and an iced tea. This seemed to work and the two ladies disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later one reappeared to say, “Sarreeee, no coffee”. This really flummoxed me until the other lady emerged with a mango in one hand and a pineapple in the other. I used my brightest, cheeriest expression and various noises and gestures to indicate that one mango shake and one pineapple shake would be perfect.

After a period of time that I passed very pleasantly admiring the view (which compares favourably with the Whitsundays but without the hotels and tourists), local reinforcements appeared in the form of a young man who indicated towards the kitchen and asked if I wanted two shakes. I looked inside to see that the mango had been shaken, but the pineapple remained unstirred. One of the ladies picked it up and pointed it at the blender. I nodded enthusiastically, as I really didn’t care by this stage what we drank as long as it was long and cold and not too offensive. Having left the culinary section to get on with it, I returned to my vigil looking across the sea at other tropical islands, but the local reinforcements wanted to practise his English on me and I picked up something about swimming. Either he was an instructor and very good at swimming, or he was not. I really couldn’t work out which and I was reduced to my shrugging, whimpering, face-pulling alter ego, the one that emerges under these conditions.

Finally a tray made it from the kitchen carrying two mango and pineapple shakes and a pot of hot tea. Given the circumstances I felt like a winner and marched triumphantly back to our bungalow with the spoils.

Later a little red boat with lovely curves arrived on the beach and decanted the man in charge, a Frenchman who said his nickname was ‘Fan-fan’ (sounds like ‘fohng fohng’) but avoided any further explanation, so I apologise to our French friends if this is offensive – certainly some local fishermen laughed later on when I said “Goodnight, Fan-fan”. Anyway, Fan-fan had been on a shopping trip to the mainland, about an hour and a half’s journey away, to buy provisions. The car they use there had broken down and he had been delayed and he apologised for not being there when we arrived, for the lack of coffee, etc. He assured us that there was now coffee and lots of ice and watermelon and stuff.

‘Our’ beach was perfectly orientated to take advantage of the sunset and the sun obligingly sank below the sea directly opposite ‘my’ hammock, so that I didn’t even have to move to take the photos (sorry, more sunset photos!).

That evening we enjoyed a very good meal in the restaurant, watching the fishing boats at work just yards offshore. Not sure what they were catching in such shallow water, but later they worked their way out into deeper water and, next morning, there was no sign of them at all. We will never forget sitting there enjoying our meal in such a lovely setting, watching the manoeuvring of the boats and listening to the fishermen laughing and joking as they worked. Inspired by the sight, we asked Fan-fan to have a fish and seafood platter with salad prepared for our dinner next evening. He seemed pleased that we had thought of this and we were pleased to leave this in his hands – any man who serves Bonne Maman jam at breakfast can certainly be trusted around any food.

25^th January – We were up and out before 7:00am and into one of the kayaks provided for use by guests. Unfortunately there was just one paddle, so we had to take turns, but this worked out well. As we paddled along the coast towards a rocky promontory, we noticed a tented village, which was clearly occupied by some sort of military. There were some men on morning parade and I was glad to be doing what we were doing instead of standing to attention being shouted at. [Yaz – hope all goes well at Harrogate. Remember, when they shout at you, it’s not personal!]

The snorkelling was not very good as the sea is still just rough enough to stir up the sand. But it was a good inaugural outing for my waterproof-to-10-metres camera (apart from Jennifer’s fish tank!) and we enjoyed the paddling and came back for a dousing down and some breakfast. We were going to settle back to read our books for a while in the restaurant, but a man in uniform with ‘Navy’ on one of the badges appeared, ordered a can of beer and sauntered across to join us at our table without so much as by your leave. He was clearly already drunk, so we excused ourselves and left the scene.

We then walked across the island to another lovely little bay with an old wooden jetty. On the path through the jungle we encountered some industrial-size black ants, which seem to operate alone. Also millions of small ants streaming across fallen branches or other flat surfaces that serve as ant motorways. They swarm in both directions using no lane discipline, but surviving just the same. Very much like the driving in India and Nepal. Sat on the rocks to read for a while, then sauntered back for a cold drink and a sandwich. We noticed that the military people (probably navy lads on some sort of training course, given the badge on our early morning drunk) were now swimming out around some flags that we had seen during our paddling and avoided as we thought they marked fishing nets.  

Spent the afternoon swimming and reading, then sat through yet another sunset (yawn!). I felt quite guilty, as one of the ladies that makes up the little extended family here had spent all day on her hunkers weeding tough grass out of the sand with her bare hands, then sweeping the sand to remove all the little bits of pine needle and cones so that we don’t hurt our delicate little feet. She has five children ranging from around 16 years down to two. The middle three helped her from time to time, but the woman did the much greater part of the work on her own.

Later we enjoyed the most beautiful meal consisting of prawns, squid, a mixed seafood salad and a big chunk of some firm-fleshed fish which Fan-fan told us the name of and I have forgotten. Each dish was cooked in a different way, the fish with a green pepper and spring onion marinade that was gorgeous.

After dinner Alan started playing pool with some of the older children. They were soon surrounded by young men who clearly wanted to join in, so Alan, who is much more fluent than I in communicating through simple words and gestures, instigated a game of killer pool. Most of the players caught on very quickly and a tense game eventually came down to just Alan and one of the local lads. Now Alan, being a cunning old dog, had fooled the others all through the game by attempting to pot his own ball (but of course missing). Now it was just him and this other lad, who not only missed a good opportunity to kill Alan’s ball, but left his own in a really pot-able position. I knew, and Alan later confirmed, that Alan deliberately missed the shot and left the lad with an easy pot, so that the locals had a home-grown champion. I was proud of him. I would have potted the guy’s ball and done several victory laps around the table before signing a few autographs!

But I had been otherwise occupied all evening. You see, the three youngest kids were just so beautiful and so cute, I ended up playing chase with them. The restaurant was ideal for this as it was a massive area with very little furniture and only a few well-positioned pot plants in it. (Next day I got a photo of the hard-working woman and her five lovely children, but I will never forget those little faces. I can well understand how celebrities fall in love with these South East Asian kids and buy one or two to take home to Florida.) I ended up very hot and sweaty and I’m sure I didn’t win.

26^th January – We awoke to a lovely flat-calm sea and set off on foot to the other end of the beach where another rocky outcrop promised some good snorkelling. This time we were not disappointed and the highlight was a pair of cuttlefish that Alan spotted. I took quite a few photos of these and other fish and, apart from one or two, have uploaded these totally un-doctored. I believe my little Olympus Tough has been a terrific investment, how many other cameras could offer this freedom? It isn’t very hot on zoom, but then you wouldn’t buy a washing machine and expect it to do the dishes.

Koh Ta Kiev is off the main tourist track, so we were a very tiny bit (but not very) concerned that the boatman would not come back for us – we would be catching a returning snorkelling boat. We kept an eye on the snorkelling boats over on Bamboo Island through the binoculars, but none of them seemed to be peeling off to come and get us. A boat did turn up direct from the mainland and decanted two very loud, very large Finnish guys and one very small local girl. Talk about time to leave?! Our paradise island had been invaded. Eventually our little boat came over from Bamboo Island, picked us up, then went back to collect the snorkelers. What we didn’t realise was that there was a snorkelling stop on the way back, however, we had a lovely chat with a young South African couple who had stayed on Bamboo for a couple of nights and who were on holiday from a year’s teaching contract in South Korea. [Gareth – I mentioned you to them, they say the Government there is still dead keen on getting English language teachers into all levels of education.]

After what seemed like a very long time sitting on a very hot boat, we arrived back at Sihanoukville to find that we have been moved to a bungalow further up the hill behind the restaurant, with a great view of the sea.

27^th January – Our better view comes at a cost – maybe because we are closer to the trees at the top of the hill, we have a lot more mosquitoes and assorted insects, so we both woke up covered in red dots. Tonight I will set alight to every mosquito coil in the box!

We got our visas for Vietnam – it’s really handy, the embassy is here in Sihanoukville. We just gave the forms, the money and our passports in at reception and they had all the paperwork back to us in about an hour. We also booked our bus for tomorrow to go to Phnom Penh, which will be our last stop in Cambodia and our base while we visit the notorious S21 prison where Pol Pot’s cohorts tortured and killed thousands of innocent fellow countrymen and women.

Photos

21^st January – The rainy afternoon yesterday was clearly just a rehearsal for today. During the night we heard the drum of it on our bungalow roof and it was still there as heavy as ever in the morning. We were supposed to be visiting an island called Koh Takiev to see the bungalows there and maybe book up, but all the boats were staying tied fast in the bay.

Extreme weather seems to bring out that happy early-siege mentality and we were part of a jolly little throng that assembled in the restaurant, just drinking tea and coffee and chatting away with the rain occasionally blowing in, making us inch our chairs back, but staying as close as possible to the sea. Alan and I, determined to keep up with my swimming training programme, eventually decided we would just go for it – how much more wet could the rain make us, even though it was so heavy it was flattening the sea? So we set off down the beach in our swimming cossies, much to the amusement of more sensible folk (or wimps, depending on your standpoint). The sea was lovely and warm, but also highly polluted due to the run-off from the dirt road that leads to Serendipity Beach and other less pleasant sources. My mouth was so firmly closed during the whole process that my nose and chin almost disappeared inside to join my lips.

Straight to the shower, liberal dousing of cuts and grazes with antibacterial spray, and we were back in the restaurant for a long, lazy lunch. After that, what’s a girl to do? Well, having firmly rebuffed all the ladies who wander along the beach doing mobile manicures, pedicures, and massage, I went and sought out one of them out to give my toe- and fingernails some much-needed attention.

In the late afternoon the clouds started clearing and the sun came out, allowing us to have a lovely stroll along the beach to watch the sunset. After dark the teams of hawkers selling jewellery and sunglasses are joined by an elite team selling fireworks. These are long sticks that shoot out little sparks of fire that explode after a certain distance. We’d seen these mini shooting stars from our, more sedate end of the beach and wondered what they were. The sticks come in 60 or 100 lengths. Oh, yeah, said I. Alan had to prove me wrong, so he bought a 60 and got 59 out of it. Not bad! The very poor photo in the gallery is of Alan and his firework.

22^nd January – We decided to abandon the one-day trip to the island to check accommodation and just went ahead and booked for tomorrow, two nights. All the reports of the place have been good and the peace and quiet will be welcome after the boom, boom music that goes on half the night further down the beach.

The sun is shining today, but the sea is quite rough and I cut short my swimming training because it was just too tough coping with remembering to breathe in when my head was above the water, then being hit by a wall of the stuff anyway. We wanted to go to the post office, so hired a tuk-tuk driver who is called Mr Windy, but this dubious moniker did not put us off, as he does all the to-ing and fro-ing with post for the guesthouse. The post office was a bizarre experience. It is a big building quite isolated from the main town. When we went in, the four or five positions were unoccupied, in fact it seemed like the whole building had been evacuated. Eventually a door opened, revealing a family sitting around on the floor preparing vegetables. The middle-aged man came out to us and dealt with our business, but only after Alan had to borrow $5 from the tuk-tuk driver because the post office did not have change of a $50 note!

Back to home territory to check out a nearby English-managed beauty salon for me to get my legs waxed. The English lady was very helpful – she said the only place she would trust is the five-star hotel up the road where they charge an unbelievably high price for this service. She also advised me not to look any further for waxing as the ladies who do it here are not properly trained and I would end up getting burnt in more ways than one. That was all I needed to convince me to go back to the faithful Bic razor!

Decided not to extend ourselves too much today (just for a change!) and sat looking at the sea. [No, Cynthia, Alan is not wearing a skirt in the photos, it’s a SARONG, darling!] As if wearing a skirt was not bad enough, Alan decided to have a manicure and pedicure, too. It’s great having this done – it’s only $5, it helps support women who are working, not begging, and they are fun to chat to, such happy people. I’ve now sworn allegiance to one of them and will only go to her. Helps me rebuff the hundreds of others and not feel like a complete cad.

In the evening, team Maloney suffered a bit of a set-back. We’ve managed to lose Alan’s credit card and driving licence. We have just been using my debit and credit cards in Cambodia, so we don’t know exactly when they went missing, although it was definitely since arriving in Sihanoukville. We are so careful with our money belts, we just can’t work it out. Our backpacks, packed and ready to go into storage during our intended stay on Koh Takiev, were emptied out and everything was sifted through, even washbags and other impossible places. Eventually we agreed that there was nothing more we could do for the night, so we went to bed.

At around 11:30pm we were disturbed by drilling and hammering from nearby – it was much worse than the distant music. Alan eventually got up and dressed and went out to investigate. Turns out that the noise was coming from the little shack where our guesthouse internet services are provided. Alan reported back that one bloke was drilling holes in the floor while about six or seven others stood around watching. Anyway, they promised that they would finish in ten minutes and were as good as their word.

They may as well have continued. Alan was only back in bed about five minutes when we wondered if we had checked such and such thoroughly. On went the light, up we got and both rucksacks and our daysacks were emptied out once more in the hunt for the missing cards.  Once again our search was unfruitful and we got back into bed, to spend an almost sleepless night.

23^rd January – This morning we were up bright and early and, yes, we checked the bags one more time! Then we could spoke to the day manager, Ravoot, about our dilemma – clearly we could not just push off to an island with this on our minds. In that lovely casual way they have here, he said that taking the boat to the island tomorrow instead of today would be no problem. But he did say we might have trouble engaging with the police as today is Saturday. He then shouted across to another man, our tuk-tuk driver from yesterday, Mr Windy, who happened to be standing nearby and I wondered if Ravoot was arranging for him to take us to the police station to take our chances with the reduced weekend service.

But no. Turns out that the adaptable Mr Windy not only provides a postal service, he also acts as Man Friday to eejits who lose their credit cards. He explained that there was no point going to the police station on a Saturday, but that he knows the police chief, so he can take the form directly to him at home to receive the necessary signature and stamp. To prove the point, he produced a crime report form and guided Alan through its completion – we could not say the cards had been ‘lost’, they had to be ‘stolen’. We went along with this and with the $10 for the police to sign and stamp the report. Mr Windy then produced an inkpad and made Alan add a thumbprint below his signature.

Before you start sending little bundles of money through the post marked ‘Alan and Bev, Cambodia’, please be reassured that we are fine. I have another credit card and a debit card, our passports are safe, we are safe – so once we have had one more sleep and got over the indignity of becoming a tourist statistic, we will be our cheerful selves once more. What am I saying, I’m already planning what to have for lunch!

The afternoon was spent in the usual frenetic round of reading and strolling on the beach. At one stage Alan wandered off alone. When he came back, his shorts were soaking. Turns out he’d helped a boatman land a boat full of tourists – the boat was bucking and rearing on the choppy surf and the tiny Cambodian was having trouble pulling it in far enough to ground the front end in shallow enough water to allow the passengers to wade ashore. So Alan helped man the anchor chain. Later in the afternoon, when I wanted to do a fast walk and Alan wanted to stroll, I went on ahead, planning to turn at a far point and meet Alan on the way back. When we met up, I was about to berate him for walking such a short distance, then I noticed that his shorts were once more soaking wet. He had helped two more boats land on his way along the beach. I’m going to start hiring him out.

 We watched the sunset again (yawn!), went back to pack once again for the island and hopefully nothing will stop us getting there tomorrow. Mind you, I don’t know how the boatman is going to get us launched with Alan on board instead of helping!

Off for supper now – don’t worry if you don’t hear from us for a couple of days, we are going to an island that is less developed and lacks all the mod cons of the mainland. I’m looking forward to trying out my camera under water for the first time (if you don’t count Jennifer’s fish tank) and hope to share some nice photos of sea monsters with you soon.

Photos

Our final day in Siem Reap started badly, but just got better and better. We had met two lovely Alaskan ladies, Sally and Connie, on the rock 'n' roll coach trip from Kratje. Since then, we have bumped into each other at various temples and locations. The last time we saw them was at the hospital concert and we were sad to have missed them at the end to say farewell. By wonderful coincidence we were walking down the street killing time before lunch and lo and behold, there were Sally and Connie sitting in a restaurant with their Alaskan friend, Jim! We spent a lovely hour or so just chatting and Jim proved to be a very interesting man who is doing work with an organisation that intalls water purification systems in remote villages.

We are happy we met this little gang of Alaskans and, if you are reading this, Sally and Connie, we hope we bump into you sometime again in life. If we decide to do that tour of Alaska, you will be our first port of call! Likewise, our home in England will always be open to you (when we get back there!).

20th January - The night bus to Sihanoukville was pleasantly surprising, quite luxurious and clean. Only thing is - don't ask for a seat near the front on these overnight trips, as the driver and all his little helpers spend most of the night chattering away in loud voices!

We have been reminded of our Britishness. We plan a trip to the seaside, the first in months, and what does it do? Yup, it rains! Probably only the second time we have seen rain on our travels so far. It had rained overnight during the journey. Thankfully it had eased off when we arrived at the bus station, so we were able to move to our accommodation in relative comfort. This time we are back in a little bungalow arrangement, but worlds apart from the gap-floored, cold-water-showered bunglaow on Don Det. Also, this one is right next to the beach, with a lovely restaurant just six metres or so from the sea.

Despite being tired from the overnight journey, the call of the sea was so strong, we were in it within a few minutes of checking in. This is time for me to get my water confidence back before we progress on to diving. Alan has been teaching me to put my face in the water whilst swimming - I am working on mastering this for the breaststroke so that I can progess to the crawl. This would be a big step for me in life!

Then we strolled up the beach to find lunch. The whole beachfront is packed with restaurants, bars and nightclubs. This is definitely Clacton on Cambodia. Thankfully we are at the quieter, therefore more expensive, end of the beach (the Minister of Finance gave his gracious approval to spend $20 a night on accommodation), away from most of the noise at night. During lunch we saw the rain moving like a wall across the bay and soon it was bucketing down in Hollywood proportions. The poor cafe staff were running about in the rain gathering cushions as fast as they could.

When the rain eased to a fine drizzle, we strolled back to our bungalow and succumbed to the lack of sleep for a few hours. The evening was fine and we sat by the edge of the sea enjoying our food and looking at the lights and fireworks further down the beach. Early to bed and a good night's sleep was had by all.

21st January - Our plans to go on a boat to a quiet island have been snookered by further heavy rain. Guess what - we don't care! We are happily engaged in blogging and reading and occasionally chatting to other people as we sit in what has become 'our' little table. From time to time a fine spray of rain blows in, but we are just wearing shorts and t-shirts, so we don't care about that, either.

Will get back to you with further weather reports later - if I'm not too busy

Photos - Sally, Jim and Connie, the elephant statue in Siem Reap, and first day in Sihanoukville

18^th January – Our final day of temple touring. Our first visit of the morning was to Prasat Kravan, which consisted mainly of a simple row of five prasats. Inside a couple of these were amazingly well-preserved bas-relief figures in the brickwork. It was a good start to the day, a simple site to awaken the senses and stir up the brain cells.

The second, Banteay Kdei, was a lot more complicated. It was very like Preah Khan in its overall cruciform layout and with a series of parallel corridors running north to south and east to west, with a main central corridor interrupted by little hallways. Several libraries were on the flanks and as usual there were some additional buildings that served various functions, including a ‘Hall of the Dancers’, which was liberally-decorated with ‘apsara’, the celestial dancers released at the churning of the sea of milk, which is a sort of beginning of time – but you can Google this if you want to read up on it, I don’t want to become Professor Bev, Purveyor of Fine Myths and Legends.

The third site we visited, Srah Srang, was not a temple at all, but a reservoir created by one of the Khmer kings. We topped off the morning with the jewel in the crown, Ta Prohm. This temple was made famous by Hollywood when it chose the site as a main location for its ‘Lara Croft – Tomb Raider’ film. Despite the vast number of tourists, probably attracted there for this reason, it is certainly the most atmospheric of all the temples, having been left to the mercy of the jungle for many years. In some cases the trees that caused the heave of great walls and the tilting of large buildings as they grew have now become the sole means of support for the very structures they took to the edge of collapse. A very complicated restoration process is under way right across the vast area of the temple complex, but one of the greatest challenges will be to decide how to deal with this conundrum.

For us, however, the visit to this temple was made very special by the recent comment sent by my brother, Colin, who informed us there was a dinosaur image in one of the temples. We did a little bit of internet research that narrowed the search to Ta Prohm, and we managed to get a rough handle on where it was in the site. All of this prior preparation was to no avail when we arrived and found that, due to the restoration work, tourists were being directed away from the route we had planned to follow! Determined, we just looked at every single corner we could access, as we knew from online photos roughly what the situation was and what the panel looked like where the little chappie was hiding. We stumbled upon the image completely by accident, using this method. There he was, a perfect little stegosaurus in a circular medallion (there are several photos in the gallery). I was very surprised not to see a hoard of tourists around it -  it seems to be a well-kept secret and none of our guide books refers to it.

The internet suggests various explanations, including that the film crew working on ‘Lara Croft’ inserted it as a joke. But Alan and I reason that these early inhabitants must have dug up the dinosaur bones and based the image on these. Please do send your comments if you can shed any light on this story. [Colin – thank you for throwing in this little challenge. We were like two kids trying to spot it. And I saw it first!]

We finished off our time in and around the kingdom of Angkor with a visit to Angkor Thom, a vast city built around the 12^th century and housing a million people within its walls. In front of the ruins of the King’s Palace is a wide terrace, around two and a half metres high, decorated on its sides mainly with elephants and lion-like mythical beasts. This area is also the location of the Palace of the Leper King, a maze-like construction that has already undergone extensive restoration. The walls are decorated to a height of around five metres with all sorts of deities and their concubines.

You could spend a whole day in Angkor Thom and not see everything, so we didn’t even try. We picked off the main sites of interest and saved the Bayon temple for the grand finale. We were not disappointed. Although many parts were sectioned off for restoration, we still had access to some amazing structures. This temple is characterised by the massive brick bas-relief faces that decorate four sides of each prasat. The architectural blurb gave three possible identities for these characters, so the jury is still out on that one.

Having decided to give up the planned rest day in between days two and three of our temple visits, we were totally worn out by the time we got back to faithful Sarin and his tuk-tuk. The heat, the distances walked, and the number of steps climbed have all taken their toll.

This was our last night in Siem Reap and we celebrated with a night out watching apsara dancing and having a buffet meal along with hundreds of other tourists. The dancing was extremely elegant, slow and controlled with those lovely hand gestures that are impossible for us to do. I would have loved to have shown you some photographs, but the Minister of Spare Camera Batteries failed in his duties due to a negligent change of trousers and has offered his resignation, which I am still considering.

19^th January – The day started badly when the wash basin fell off the wall and smashed whilst Alan was having a shower (these wetrooms are not spacious). It had fallen off before, but Alan had managed to catch it on that occasion, then he reported it to the young lad who was on duty at the time, who promised to get a plumber in the next day. Instead we found the basin simply re-hung on the wall with no connection to the drain! Every time we ran the water it just poured straight through the plughole on to the floor and I had to plug the drain with toilet paper to block the stench emanating from it. So when the other young lad who runs the hotel started intimating that we might have to pay for the basin when we were checking out, I did one of my verbal explosion things, including pointing out that Alan had sustained a cut to his foot (but I do wish I had put a bigger plaster on it, as suddenly the one in place looked very small). Alan suggested I go order our breakfast and the second young lad rang the first young lad who thankfully was honest enough to say that we had reported it. Which begs the question – if it had smashed the first time it fell off instead of Alan catching it, would they have asked us to pay then? These are the sort of issues that can arise when two cultures are so very different in some respects.

We’re off to the seaside tonight. We catch the night bus to Sihanoukville at 8:00pm and will arrive at around 4:00am, which will mean finding a local cafe that’s open, or a park bench or anywhere we can wait until, in my role as Hotel Manager, I can start my tour of guesthouses. I can’t wait to get there; it will be our first bit of ocean since the start of our travels. A long day to kill in Siem Reap, so we think we might have a long lunch, then a foot massage. Sorry if your day is more stressful than this and I hope this finds you all well and enjoying kinder weather.

Photos.

16^th January – A rest day from temples. Mostly this is about allowing time for what has just been seen to sink in before moving on to the next thing. After breakfast we set off on foot to walk along the river to the National Museum. I recall saying, on arrival in Cambodia, that it seems much poorer than Laos. Well, the little huts we saw on the drive down here did seem smaller and less prosperous than those in Laos, however, I now wish to qualify my statement. Siem Reap has all the trappings of a town that is adapting to western consumerism and doing very well out of the tourist trade. Many people come here on package holidays and the town is full of large groups of Americans and Japanese. There are also backpackers, but these tend to be European or Australian with a few young Japanese thrown in. Also lots of Israeli young people, as travelling is the thing to do on completion of national service.

Anyway, back to Siem Reap. It is full of luxury hotels, the streets are kept very clean, and all kinds of restaurants and shops are here. It is possible to find cheap and adequate guesthouse accommodation (we are paying $9 a night for our room), but food is noticeably more expensive than in other places we have been so far. The wide verges of the main roads leading out to Angkor and the temples are constantly being swept of leaves by teams of women with twig brooms.

The museum is housed in a magnificent building, a complete contrast to the Lao National Museum we visited in Vientiane. The white walls contrast with turquoise blue-tiled pools and lush planting that can be glimpsed from walkways and windows throughout the museum. A curved ramp leads to the upper floor, where visitors watch an introductory video explaining where everything is. The exhibits are presented in modern but sympathetic settings, with excellent lighting and good explanatory notes and videos. We learned a lot about the ancient kings who were responsible for building the wonderful temples of the Khmer dynasty and about the symbolism present in their statues and artworks. The sophistication of their infrastructure was also revealed, with explanations about the reservoirs and linking waterways, many of which still exist, and the building of hospitals by one of the 15^th century kings. The design of the wats also included libraries.

We would thoroughly recommend anyone visiting the Angkor temples to visit the museum first. You will get much more out of your trip. Thankfully we had not yet done the ‘biggies’ – Angkor Wat and the temples in and around the ancient city of Angkor Thom.

On the way home we solved something that has been puzzling us for several days. Throughout South East Asia, many people make a meagre living from selling various foods from handcarts. Some of these are sophisticated, with integral barbecues and other catering facilities, but we had spotted one particular type that was just a flat tray with what looked like little dark pebbles laid out in the sun. As we turned into our road, suddenly there was one of these carts and, lo and behold, these are not pebbles, but little freshwater shellfish shaped like clams. Well, Alan just had to try one, never mind they’ve been sitting out in the sun. It turns out they have been cooked in lots of chilli and seasoning and Alan said it was quite nice! I took his word for it. Amazing, we have seen little kids outside schools buying bags of these things. In fact, I have not seen a child during our travels who has been clutching a bag of sweets. They all have bags of fruit or nuts – or shellfish!

In the evening we went to a very unusual music recital. It was held in the teaching auditorium of a children’s hospital and performed by leading paediatrician and accomplished cellist, Beat Richner. In fact, this description does not even come close to the essence of this Swiss doctor. He came out to Cambodia as a Red Cross doctor in the early 70s, then had to withdraw as war took hold, first with the American bombing, then the Khmer Rouge genocide.

When he returned, only 80 of the 500+ Cambodian doctors had survived these events. The Khmer Rouge had ruined the country’s infrastructure, deliberately destroying any buildings associated with learning. Hospitals were included in the list of targets. Beat Richner decided that, in spite of the corruption that was rife, he would set out to find the money to build a children’s hospital in Phnom Penh. Soon this was overwhelmed and Beat was exercised about the many children still dying because they were not within easy reach of this hospital. Today, thanks to him, there are four children’s hospitals spread across Cambodia. Around 20% of the money to build these, and now to run them, comes from the Swiss and Cambodian governments. The remaining 80% is from private donations, prompted by the sheer hard work and determination of one man.

By putting on free cello performances each Saturday night at the hospital, he attracts in tourists like us, who then watch a film about the history of each hospital and how the system now works. At the end he makes a plea for blood donations from the young people in the audience (tuberculosis is rife and transfusions are needed to save lives) and for money from the older people. All of the above was achieved with a dry and self-effacing humour that only served to highlight what a remarkable man he is. I make no apology for giving him so much space in this blog and if you ever visit Siem Reap, please check out www.beatocello.com.

17^th January – Our first temple of the day was Neak Pean, consisting mainly of a single prasat (conical tower) in the centre of a lake. This was a very tranquil setting, just the sort of place for quiet contemplation. Or not. Just as we emerged in the clearing, we were almost mown down by a tide of Japanese tourists. At the first notable feature in the wall surrounding the lake they were buzzing around snapping away like mad with their Nikons. When they chattered off to the next bit of sculpture we had some relative peace to look at things in our own time. We were amazed that, before we were even half way around the lake, the group was exiting towards the carpark. Mind you, if simply bagging photos is your preference, these ancient monuments can be done and dusted in no time!

Preah Khan was our second stop (within three kilometres of Neak Pean) and this was to be our favourite of the morning. It is a vast cruciform structure (much in ruins, of course) with central corridors running north to south and east to west. These linked a series of small hallways, each with very individual doorframes and lintels. The sense of perspective from looking down through one of these long corridors just cannot be reproduced in a photograph, but I have tried. All of these temples are set amongst trees and in some cases these have grown to become part of the buildings themselves.

Baksei Chamkrong, bless it, could well have been our favourite for a while, had we seen it first. I’m afraid with the other sites to compete with, it warrants little description. Sorry!

Phnom Bakheng is normally visited at sunset as it is set on a hill, but we had been told that it is a complete circus, with elephant rides to the top where all sorts of wares are laid out on the stones and scores of children try to sell books. So we made this our last visit of the morning. Like many of the temples, it is undergoing extensive restoration, so the photos feature big green covers and scaffolding and may end up on the cutting room floor. This temple was remarkable for having incredibly scary steps. It also demonstrated another type of tourism, this time perpetrated by three Germans. They overtook us like an Olympic walking race, heads down, talking non-stop all the time. On reaching the temple, the steps were surmounted swiftly and the prasat circumnavigated efficiently. We had just made our plan for what to see and which way to go up when they passed us on their return journey, still talking and just getting the job done.

After a quick bit of lunch, we descended upon the great Angkor Wat itself. We had been advised that the best time to go is lunchtime, when all the tourist coaches head back to Siem Reap for lunch at the hotels. This was good advice indeed and we were able to enjoy this magnificent temple in relative peace. It is approached via a long causeway across a lake and the pointed central prasat is clearly visible, with layers of lesser prasats and other buildings in front. Sadly for us, but happily for future generations, Angkor Wat is also currently undergoing a massive restoration project, mainly aided by the German government, it would appear.

The buildings are enclosed by a perimeter gallery where bas-reliefs of ancient battles and mythological creatures adorn around 700 metres of wall to a height of two metres. There is an inner network of corridors and halls, which in turn enclose the central prasat that is still a place of worship, housing a fairly large but relatively unimpressive Buddha. Steep wooden steps covering the really steep original steps allow access to the top, from which there are wonderful views of the lake and surrounding countryside. [William – no aircraft, just a lousy tethered balloon, but took a photo of it anyway!]

We were very relieved to get back to our room for a cooling shower and a rest before going out for a bite to eat. We’ve decided to get on with our third and final day of visits tomorrow – Colin, we will look for your dinosaur then!

Photos

Ivan – just a quick response to your recent comment. Yes, we drink bottled water all the time. In Nepal we refilled our bottles with filtered boiled water in the mountains, but heard tales of people still getting stomach upsets from this. Many of the locals drink bottled water, too, as the tap water is not drinkable. I was the one eating the salad! We have been taking ice in drinks and eating salad and fruit for some time now. I think this part of the world is trying to boost tourism and they realise that people going home with sad tales of sickness does not do the cause any good. Touch wood!

15^th January – We were picked up by Sarin, our stand-in-for-Tel who is off on other business. First stop was the incredibly efficient ticket bureau. Some of the guide books are out of date – ours still told us to take passport photos for attaching to our temple visit pass. Instead we were ushered straight to a free booth where we were told to stand on a mark to have our photo taken and seconds later we had our three-day passes complete with photograph. All for $40 each. This entitles us to three days of visits, which can be taken any time during the next seven-day period.

There are so many temples to see in this area that those who have been before advised us to split our days, which is exactly what we intend to do. Today we saw three of the most far-flung temples we want to visit, and two more that are sort of ‘within the circuit’.

Angkor was the centre of a Khmer empire that flourished in Indochina during the period from the 9^th to the 13^th century. During that time they built many temples with the distinctive conical towers (‘prasats’) made world-famous by Angkor Wat itself. These prasats are supposed to represent the mythical mountain, Meru. There is a lot more symbolism to do with the architecture, but I won’t bang on about it here! The prasats themselves were used to house the images of deities, including those of the powerful Khmer kings after their death. It is thought that some sights were also used for burning bodies.

Preah Koh, the first temple we visited, was quite small but had some well-preserved features, including the moulded stucco that used to cover most of the bricks used to construct the prasats. Next was the impressive Bakong, with its surrounding moat. This, and other temples of a similar age, use a stone called ‘laterite’ for the workaday elements of the building, such as walls and foundations. Main structures are of thin bricks and would have been covered in stucco originally, but mostly the bricks are exposed and crumbling away despite extensive restoration ongoing. Red sandstone is the material used for door lintels, window frames, and statues, much of it intricately carved.

The sophistication of these people is exemplified in the water systems they set up to feed the cities and settlements that grew up, and in the use of clever architectural tricks such as making staircases narrower as they go higher to create an illusion of greater height.

Banteay Srei was our next stop, and quite a long drive away. We were more than happy to sit back in our tuk-tuk with the wind cooling us down and lovely views and local life to look at. You may think we would be getting sick of pointy temples by now, but the magnificence of the buildings and their beautiful settings kept our enthusiasm going. Final stop was Pre Rup, which seemed to excel in being very large, with many prasats. At this one the normally steep and high steps became almost unscalable towards the top – it is disconcerting, having climbed them, to turn back and not see any steps, just a gaping chasm. The steps only became visible when one was standing almost vertically above the drop.

All of that took over seven hours, so we were glad to call it a day and return to base. Tomorrow will be one of our rest days, but we may venture to the National Museum, which looks immense, very modern, and quite different to that of Laos in Vientiane.

Photos

Follow-up to last Laos blog -

At the end of my last blog in Laos, I promised to let you know how the barbecue went. Roughly as follows: a charcoal bucket is set into a hole in the middle of the low table (diners kneel, recline, or otherwise cope with being on cushions on the ground). Into the bucket is set a metal dome with integral moat that is filled with a clear broth, made from onions and then seasoned, as I understood it. Diners are supplied with big bowls of raw vegetables and thin glass noodles, which they add to the broth. Thin strips of raw meat are cooked on the dome. We were given beef, probably because Mr Aek wanted to spoil us, but unfortunately it seemed to turn out tough no matter how short or long a time we cooked it. But the vegetables cooked in the broth were wonderful. The final ingredient was a spicy peanut sauce, which was added to the vegetables and meat in each diner’s bowl.

I think we all concluded that it was very hard work, but the vegetables made it worthwhile. Bending forward constantly attending the meat whilst in a kneeling position is not easy on backs that are no longer in the full flush of youth! There are some photos of the event in the gallery that go with the first Cambodia blog below. By the way, the photos from the last blog have now been uploaded as I am back on wi-fi for now.

11^th January – A boat picked us up from River Garden at around 8am to take us to the bus for the border crossing with Cambodia. We are both a little tired of the primitive living conditions and are looking forward to having a flush loo once more. The ‘bus station’ was just a hard packed beach surrounded by the usual motley settlement of shacks selling unhealthy snacks or the healthy option, which includes the  spicy soups and noodles the locals eat for breakfast. Our boatman had not only shown amazing skill in finding a beaching spot amongst what seemed like an impenetrable wall of boats, he now demonstrated that wonderful kindness and understanding that we have seen flashes of throughout our travels in Laos. He saw us wandering around looking bewildered (mind you, we were not the only ones) and fetched us back to the ‘assembly point’ (easily missed as it was just one man, a desk and a chair in one of the restaurants), set out two chairs nearby, and pointed us out to the man in charge. I would like to think he said, “Look after these two venerable gentlefolk”, but in reality he probably said, “We’ve got a right pair here, make sure they get on the first bus out of here”.

The man in charge of buses delivered and we were loaded into one of two minibuses full of fellow travellers, which then laboured up the hill from the beach and took us the few miles to the border. Here we saw the much-publicised corruption in action. We should have just paid the $28 each for a visa. But we were charged $1 each for the Laos exit stamp. Then we hoisted on our rucksacks, ducked under a barrier and walked about 200 yards down the road to a Cambodian health check for swine flu, where we paid a further $1 each. I’ll bet the guy who came up with that one got promotion. Next the border post proper, where we got to fill out more paperwork and pay for our visas. Oh, and yes - $1 more each for...well, I don’t know what for, but one French guy made us smile when he said, “you just have to look on it as their tea fund”.

Eventually we got on a big bus for the journey to Kratje, some five hours distant. During the journey we saw three instances of the again much-publicised scams aimed at tourists. Two Australian chaps travelling with bikes had bought their tickets in Pakse in Laos and paid right through to Siem Reap. They were told that their tickets were not valid. They eventually were allowed on the bus, but I don’t know what became of them later.  Three German girls who had bought their tickets in Pakse also were told that these would not take them direct to their destination and that they would have to spend two days at a stopover, waiting for the next connecting bus.

The one that gives me most pleasure to report involves one young lady who took on the system and (I hope) won. She was part of a group of seven who were supposed to be dropped off at a connecting bus for Banlung. The agent was trying to sell them some cock and bull story about the bridge being broken between here and there, and that it would take two days to fix so they would have to stay for two days somewhere else (does this sound familiar?) or buy another ticket to an alternative destination. The young lady I speak of was incandescent and it was clear she would not accept this. At one of our stops, she got off the bus for an angry smoke and got in conversation with some other travellers who were waiting there. On getting back on the bus, she faced up to the agent and told him that the girl she had just been speaking to had only that hour arrived from Banlung, so clearly the story about the bridge was wrong. The agent blustered and blamed his office and said he cannot do anything. Long story short, the girl would not give up and eventually she wore him down. Mr Agent got on the phone to the office and after some time we stopped in a village where a minibus was waiting to take the seven to their chosen destination. I hope they got there safely – I think these folks do not like to have to back down, especially when it is a girl taking on a man.

We were glad to end the long day at Kratje, a singularly unattractive town on the Mekong where visitors like us only stop over to see the river dolphins and little else. Breaking our own rule, we even allowed ourselves to be picked up by a young man touting a hotel, but it turned out to be great value and quite clean. Imagine our surprise, on arriving in reception, to be greeted by Tiger Woods! The poor chap is clearly trying to avoid all the unwelcome attention he has had recently, so we didn’t say anything to challenge his cover story that he is a tuk-tuk driver. Tiger, who wanted to be known as Ben, explained that he could take us to see the dolphins, then some rapids, then a temple on a hill. That seemed to tick all our boxes, so we agreed to meet up at 8am next morning.

That evening we went out to find something to eat. I was depressed at the restaurants and food on offer (my appetite is back with a vengeance) – a poor selection of Asian dishes and some western food. We had vegetarian burgers that lined the tummy, but did little for the soul. Still, having a hot shower and a bed soft enough to sleep on is more than compensation.

The most striking thing about Cambodia so far is the clothing worn by most women. These appear to be scaled-up versions of children’s flannelette pyjamas! I was hoping to get a surreptitious photo of this, but Alan in his straightforward way eventually asked a lady if he could have his photo taken with her.

12^th January – Ben turned up with his tuk-tuk, but this was quite different to any we had seen before. It was a little trailer-for-two that hooked on to the back of his motorcycle. And it was really comfy. If it had done more than 30 miles an hour, we might have hired him for the rest of our travels in Cambodia! We pootled off through the countryside, noting that the wooden huts on stilts that are home for many people in this part of the world are smaller and more run-down-looking than those in Laos or Thailand.

Eventually we arrived at the boat that would take us out on the Mekong to see the Irrawaddy dolphins, an endangered species that seems to favour this particular spot on the river. Soon we were blessed with our first sighting, a pod of three or four. Trouble is, they come up and do just a couple of loops on the surface before disappearing again, and so many of my photos were of ripples on the water. You will be pleased to hear I have deleted these from the gallery! We got one or two really good views of these beautiful creatures – no photo could do them justice. They are pale grey with short noses and quite small. Well worth the trip to Kratje just to see them. Sadly we had to come back to shore and leave them to the other boatloads of tourists.

Next stop was a long bamboo bridge over some rapids that were not very impressive at this time of year. What was impressive was the fact that this bridge gets dismantled at the start of each rainy season. It was quite frightening to think what this river must look like in full flood – Ben pointed out the islands that would disappear, leaving just an unbroken expanse of water to the far shore. At the end of the bridge was a lady collecting that magic, door-opening fee of $1 each (I will be speaking a lot in US dollars, it is the main currency for tourists in Cambodia and is issued at the ATMs). This lady was wearing the ubiquitous jim-jams with the little babyish pictures on (honestly, they all have little whimsical pussycat pictures and teddy bears, I kid you not!) and Alan, bless his little heart and brass neck, asked her if he could have his photo taken with her. She agreed amidst much giggling and I have my evidence – see photos!

Last stop of the morning was a temple on a hill out in the countryside where we climbed 364 steps to enjoy beautiful views and wonderful peace, that rare commodity in populated areas. This temple’s inner walls, like many others we have seen, were covered in depictions of ‘heaven’ and ‘hell’. The latter have surprised us as we didn’t realise that Buddhism had a concept of hell, but rather different leagues to which one gets promoted or demoted on reincarnation. These images are extremely graphic and violent. It was good to be able to ask Ben about these later. He confirmed that Buddhism does indeed teach the concept of judgement and hell and that the images we saw were people receiving punishments that befitted their earthly crimes, such as people having their tongues ripped out for telling lies, or adulterers being chased up trees by spear-thrusting devils...nasty stuff!

Ben dropped us back in town in time for lunch. We found a prime spot overlooking the market square and had lunch while watching the world go by. During this period of quiet contemplation we witnessed a little scene that could provide a lesson for many young travellers. Or just be amusing to those not involved. A young girl with blond hair and fair skin, clearly western, walked through the market wearing quite short shorts and a skimpy top – nothing too shocking, really. On her first pass, she was being followed by a bunch of Cambodian youths all giggling and pointing and nudging each other. On her way back, she walked past two older women and an older man. They started an angry and animated conversation, pointing after her and even shouting to their friends to look at this. Not everyone paid any attention and Alan suggested the old dears should get out more, but maybe it would be nicer if the young lady had been polite enough to observe their customs (I can’t believe she was unaware, all the guidebooks have warnings). The younger generation may just find it amusing or ignore it, but the older people were clearly very offended and angry. Alan and I are careful not to even hold hands in public, as any public display of affection is regarded as wrong. Sometimes, just for badness, we have a quick hand hold when we know that no one is watching. Little amuses the innocent...

After lunch we walked through the market to buy some equipment to try and keep me cool – a hair-grabber thingy to keep my hair up off my neck and an umbrella, which is so good for providing shade without making the head hot in the way that a hat does. Back at the hotel, we met a Northern Irishman called Mark Hagan, originally from Larne but now living in Ashby-de-la-Zouch in the Midlands. He and his wife seemed really lovely and it would have been interesting to talk to them for longer, however, they were just moving on.

In the evening we went to the same restaurant as last night, it being the best of a bad bunch. We had been warned off Cambodian food, someone said it was not good. But we decided to order some local dishes, beef Lok Lak for me and fish Amok for Alan. Mine was delicious, served with rice and salad and with meat cooked in lemon juice and garlic. Alan’s was like a mild curry, which was lovely, too. Just proves you have to try these things for yourself.

13^th January – Ben turned up at 7:00am to see us off. He had booked our arrangements for us, including a two-phase bus journey and a pick-up by his friend, Tel, in Siem Reap. He managed to get us front seats on both buses, the little star. (With hindsight, I think he was an angel who just looked a bit like Tiger Woods.) So we sat back to admire the scenery, which was very flat indeed and has been since we entered Cambodia. As we drove out of Kratje, we solved a mystery that has been puzzling us since India – who makes those mechanical horse sort of farm implements we have seen? There was a poster that revealed, at last in Roman characters, that it is a collaboration between Kubota and Tra Chang. (Photo of poster in gallery.)

The bus change went very well, but what Ben could not have foreseen or controlled was the fact that the second bus driver abhorred quiet contemplation and insisted on inflicting loud eastern-style music on his passengers. Alan responded by burying his head in his book, I got out my Santander earplugs (remember these, Suzie B?).

Lunch was a further form of torture. Our driver and his surly crew of one did not explain any of the stops to us foreigners, they simply got off. So we never knew if it was a pick-up, a toilet break, or a food break. On this occasion we made quizzical eating gestures to someone who nodded. So we got off and went into one of these plastic, dirty canteens where we had to go and point at what we wanted. I’m sure it must be a game with them, but the girl behind the counter, in response to my pointing, waved her spoon at every pot behind the glass servery except for the one I wanted. In the end I gave up and just nodded. Sadly I had timed my nod just as her spoon passed over the vat containing boiled pig fat and hard-boiled eggs. I didn’t know it was this at the time and thought I had chanced on a nice vegetable curry. It was only the first mouthful that revealed the awful taste and texture, making me realise my mistake. I decided not to make a fuss and just ate the egg and some rice. Alan had some greenery and rice.

The lunch experience soon paled into insignificance when we got back on the bus and the driver decided we should all watch some Cambodian film where the kids had annoying, squeaky little voices and everyone suffered some tragedy or other, so they kept screaming and crying. I am so glad the wind didn’t change during that trip, my face is bad enough when I’m not mentally torturing someone to death.

But it wasn’t all bad, there was some interesting stuff, too. Like the miles and miles of rubber plantations we passed. We saw the Khmer Latex Company in the midst, which explained the big lorries with sacks and sacks full of stuff that didn’t look like anything we had seen before. There also seemed to be large flat areas for drying out the resin – I’ve totally forgotten all my first year geography, so anyone who wants to comment on the lifecycle of rubber, please feel free to comment!

Tel was there exactly as Ben promised he would be. A couple of Alaskan ladies who were on the same bus asked if they could follow us with their tuk-tuk driver as they were unsure what was happening. So we ended up looking at accommodation together and got lucky at the second attempt, where there were two rooms available with everything we were looking for. We are, of course, all in town to visit the temples and old city around Angkor, so we have arranged to meet Tel tomorrow night to make a plan for the visits. People we have met advise us to take a rest day between each ‘visit day’ – there are many temples to see as well as an old city, all of which take at least three days to appreciate.

Siem Reap, although touristy with a capital T, is a relief after the discomfort of the Four Thousand Islands (the hard bed, no flushing loos, dust, mosquitoes). It has wall to wall restaurants of all sorts, especially Spanish tapas bars and French restaurants as well as Khmer, Cambodian barbecue, etc. Before dinner we had a drink in a little bar where we met four young Australian guys who are here on a building contract. They were great company and have thoroughly recommended their native state of Victoria.

14^th January – We both agree that I am a little over-solicitous when it comes to Alan’s health and safety. I am constantly warning him about loose kerbstones or dragging him to the side when he is wandering up the middle of the road as traffic bears down on him from both directions. I have been trying very hard to correct this fault in myself so, this morning at breakfast, it was only a matter of time before Alan would stand on the dead cockroach that I had been walking around all morning. Sure enough, Alan went back to the room for something and, on his return, he stepped on the wretched thing. When he reached the table I just said, “Alan, you have a cockroach stuck to your foot”. He jumped and I laughed. Maybe I’m getting better?

But while I have my eyes on the ground looking for pitfalls, Alan looks around and sees some pretty cool stuff. He went for one of his ‘wee danders’ while I wrote up the blog and uploaded photos. He came back with reports of the many little streets and restaurants we had missed because we arrived in town quite late yesterday. Tempted away from blogging by the promise of lunch, I was very happy to go along with Alan’s suggestion of a particular restaurant he had found. He had even identified an item on a menu that he thought I would like. His choice of a little vegetarian Khmer restaurant turned out to be a real find. The salad he had chosen for me was indeed perfect, one of those memorable meals simply because it was different to anything I had eaten before. Difficult to say why, as all the ingredients seemed familiar, but I think it was down to the dressing.

This evening we will meet with Tel to plan our Angkor visits, then it will be off to bed early for a very early start.

Photos