Sorry about the radio silence, but the last few days have been physically exhausting–touring the Angkor temples. (The temple complex is generically called Angkor Wat, after the largest temples, but technically there are 38-odd temples in the area.) I’ve now taken over 200 photos, but since I haven’t been able to connect up my laptop or digital camera, and have been too exhausted to update the website anyway, you’re going to have to wait for a few more days–probably until I make it to Phnom Penh, the capital.

Cambodia is much hotter than Thailand, or else more humid, or *something*–I’ve successfully adjusted to Thai temperatures (mostly) but am really struggling here–sweating like a pig and worrying a lot about heatstroke. (Fortunately I almost dehydrated on Day 6 of AIDS Lifecycle–so I’m familiar with the symptoms.) The sun is much more intense here than in Thailand–really too hot to be out around midday, even though my pocket thermometer thinks it’s only 85-90 degrees. So we are touring the temples from 8am-11am each day, going back to the hotel from 11-3, then coming back to the temples in late afternoon.

I’ve also been suffering from acute culture shock, and a certain degree of pure frustration. Cambodians react to a solo Western traveler about the same way that male Caltech students behave around single women: latch on, hang on, and use every emotionally manipulative trick in the book to make sure that *they* are the ones who wind up with you. The good news is that once they’ve already got you, they’re generally quite friendly and helpful, i.e. you can basically trust anyone you’re already employing. Otherwise, assume anyone being friendly/helpful is setting you up for emotional blackmail. On the other hand, vendors generally set their prices fairly, and are fairly easy to spot when they don’t. so it’s almost the exact opposite of Thailand, where people are generally warm, friendly, and helpful, but in business dealings will happily overcharge you by vast sums without your knowing.

Anyway, having discarded the nice clueless-farang-please-help-me persona that worked in Thailand, and reverted to the suspicious Caltech-female (“Hi!” “Whaddya want from me?”) persona, I’m doing much better. It’s not a better or worse way of dealing with people, exactly–it’s just different. I think one of the hardest parts of traveling is that in every area, the cultural pitfalls/expectations are different–so the first few days in a new culture are sheer hell as your danger signals go crazy and you run into the unexpected.

It’s been particularly tough for me because I’m getting the worst of all worlds–I’m a Western traveler (therefore a good “mark”), but also an Asian female, therefore quiet/submissive/a good target for bullying–which is to say that beggars, moto drivers, etc. are two or three times more aggressive towards me than, say, the German guy I’m touring the temples with. Cambodia is also heavily male-dominated–waiters won’t speak to me, for example; if a man’s at the table, they ask him for my order, and so on. (I’m not sure if that’s related to being Asian–they do seem to notice/talk to Caucasian women. I wonder if they think I’m a prostitute, now that I think of it. They certainly present him with the bill.)

Anyway, whatever the reason, I’m getting pretty frustrated with the whole thing–if this keeps up, I swear I’m going to kick one of these fuckers in the balls. I’m getting very tired of being “leaned on” continuously by guys who expect me to cave in because I’m Asian and female. For Christmas, all I want is a T-shirt reading “WESTERN FEMINIST BITCH”.

(No, that is *not* a chip on my shoulder. It’s a fucking BRICK, and I’m about to brain you with it. Sweet and pretty Japanese tourist lady turns into Ramba. Thank goodness I had eight years in mathematics–not to mention self-defense–to toughen up for it. Good gods.)

At any rate, having re-set my expectations, I’m doing a good bit better than I was two days ago. I have a guide, and am touring the ruins with three German tourists–our guide speaks very good english and I’ve asked him to take me to some of the rural weaving villages after the ruins tour. (No, we’re not going into the forest looking at dyeplants and such–Siem Reap area was heavily landmined, and although temples and villages are safe, you don’t want to be in the outback.) I’ve learned how to deal with the amputee beggars and the kids that mob every vehicle wanting to sell you postcards, T-shirts, etc.–they’re largely harmless (not pickpockets), and actually very cute (I took a photo of Frank, the German guy, getting mobbed by some). As long as you don’t get into conversations with any vendors, you’ll be fine.

Now, about the ruins…

The Angkor Wat region contains some really amazing temples–Angkor Wat itself is absolutely stunning, about 1.3 kilometers on a side, with a giant moat around the entire complex. (We are not talking a little moat, as is common for European castles. When I first saw the Angkor moat, I thought it was a lake (!). It’s HUGE.) The complex itself is enormous, with five levels (I think), almost every square inch of which is covered with elaborate (and beautiful) stone carvings, from the Angkar sigil (repeated on every door and window) to bas-reliefs of various historical and mythological events (almost the entire outside wall), and apsaras (divine maidens) everywhere.

It’s impossible to convey it in words–there isn’t any modern work the SIZE of Angkor, let alone with the beautiful stonework. If you took the Pentagon (please! 😉 ), transformed it into an elaborately architected cathedral, and then covered every inch (and I really do mean every inch) in gorgeous stonecarvings, you might come close, but I still don’t think it would capture the sight. It’s beautiful.

And it’s only one of the many temples in the area–not even the central one. Almost all the temples are similarly impressive, in one way or another–the Bayon has 54 towers, each with 4 giant stone faces carved into it (each head maybe 2-3 meters across), the “Jungle Temple” is filled with giant trees growing out of the ruins, and the other temple we visited this morning (I forget the name; it was a tribute to the king’s teacher) sported what our guide described as a “swimming pool”.

Okay, it’s a swimming pool. It’s just about the size of, oh, four or five football fields….500 meters by 300 meters, the size of a small lake. About ten feet deep originally. Dug out by HAND, about 800 years ago. Ye gods.

*That* is the scale of Angkor.

I’m running out of time, as I have to get lunch before going back to the temples this afternoon–I’ll try to write a little more about the experience of touring the ruins tonight, but not sure if I’ll get to it; the heat is exhausting and I’m also enjoying hanging out with my fellow tourists, so there isn’t much time in the evenings. Tonight we may go to Le Bayon, one of the best restaurants in Siem Reap, per my guide.

I’ll probably hang around in Siem Reap for a day or two after I’m done touring, both to write stuff up and to take a day “off” from traveling. Phnom Penh has better connectivity, but I really need a break.

Tien

…and welcome to the Third World.

Yesterday I made the border crossing at Poipet, then took the bus to Siem Reap. It’s about 325 miles total, 14 hours with a two-hour stop at the border. The Thai side (250 miles) took 4 hours. Covering the 75 miles in Cambodia, well, that took 8 hours. Roads in Cambodia, well…but I’m getting ahead of myself.

I should start by explaining that I got massively overcharged for the trip. I paid 1200 baht ($30) at a travel agent on Sukumvit Road, near where I was staying. The other ten passengers paid anywhere from 150 baht to, well, 1200. I’ve pretty much given up on being angry about people trying to rip me off; it’s nothing personal, just a fact of life. If you stop being paranoid for one instant, it happens. So why be upset about it; it’s going to happen, you just can’t do anything about it. (See previous commentary about “normalcy”.) Fortunately, it’s not generally for a large sum, by Western standards.

(What annoys me far more than the money, I think, is the idea of being treated “unfairly”. The Western idea that all people should be treated equally is the real issue–after all, all tourist areas massively overcharge tourists; it’s just comforting to know that everyone else is in the same boat as you are.)

At any rate, after four uneventful hours on the Thai side, we reached the border town of Poipet.

Poipet: dusty, unmechanized, full of boxes and crates being moved across the border. almost all carts are human-powered–imagine a pony-cart with a crossbar nailed across the hitches, and a man standing inside the “traces”, pushing the cart along. Women and girls ride in the carts sometimes, hair and mouths covered against the dust, protecting themselves from the sun with umbrellas as their “driver” plods along.

More often, the carts are filled with boxes, since it’s a border town; in fact, I saw one impressively massive cart being hauled by a team of five men. Amazing sight: about 300 boxes about the size of an orange crate, rising up like a giant mushroom from this little cart, with the men pulling and straining inside the “harness”. Much to my surprise, they were actually able to move it; I even took a few photos.

Poipet is a pretty rough town; my guess is that it’s a major clearinghouse for smuggling, among other things. At any rate, there is a great deal of poverty and a fairly aggressive set of locals: on the Thai side, it’s beggars, and on the Cambodian side, it’s thieves. Ten seconds after our group arrived at the rest stop and sat down, the inevitable swarm of vendors appeared, and a slew of child-beggars. One of them, a little boy of about six or seven, just wouldn’t go away–he circled the group for thirty minutes, watching us like hawks, constantly moving into our field of view, hand outstretched. If any of us moved our hands towards our pockets, he was there instantly. Looking at him, I decided not to take any more photos; I didn’t want to call any more atention to my digital camera than I already had.

Which was a pity, as the crossover arch to Cambodia was quite beautiful. It had the triple towers of Angkor Wat rising up out of the arch–every Cambodian government has flown Angkor Wat on their flag, even the Khmer Rouge, which says something about the magnificent architecture. (The Khmer Rouge, in fact, actually called themselves “the Angkar” for most of their reign.) And Poipet itself has many sights worth snapping: for example, I really wish I’d gotten a photo of the guy who rode by on a motorcycle, two live chickens dangling by their feet from the handlebars. (Insert mandatory rubber-chicken joke here. 😉 They really do look like rubber chickens, hanging like that–I thought they were dead, until I saw one blink.)

At any rate, hiding the digital turned out to be a good idea, because the Cambodian side is populated by some very bold thieves. (See previous comments about “rough town”.) Five minutes into Cambodia, they struck our group–we were sitting in the pickup-taxi, a German woman had her backpack next to her, and in an instant when she wasn’t looking, a passing Cambodian reached in, lightning-quick, and got his hand inside the back pocket of her backpack. She yelped and told the driver to stop, but he was already sauntering off, and vanished behind a crate. Just that fast, with all of us there in the taxi.

(Fortunately she didn’t lose anything–she wasn’t keeping any valuables in outside pockets. Neither am I; my pack and daypack are locked with little combination locks that I bought before leaving. I felt really stupidly paranoid in Thailand, traveling like that; I don’t now. I’m also very glad I had my pants made with pockets that zip shut; near the Thai border, we met a man who had had his wallet stolen one minute (literally!) into Cambodia, and was returning to Bangkok to get his traveler’s checks reissued.)

Anyway, after the border crossing, we got on the main highway to Siem Reap. 4 hours got us 250 miles into Thailand; it took 8 hours to travel 75 miles in Cambodia. Welcome to the Third World.

Cambodia is indeed very poor. In Thailand, the poor live in corrugated tin shacks; in Cambodia, corrugated tin means wealth. Most people live in wooden huts/houses raised up off the ground on stilts; the poor live in thatched huts, with thin bamboo-lath frames holding the thatched walls together. They look like they might fall down at any moment. Pigs, dogs, and chickens run around with sporadically naked kids; people travel by foot or bicycle, or sometimes by pony-cart (I saw two on the way).

Roads in Cambodia also come in many varieties, most of them poor. The road we were on is one of the main highways, and is in substantially better shape than most because of the tourist trade: the Thai underwrote most of the paved sections. Nonetheless we averaged under 10 miles an hour for the trip, which tells you something about the other portions.

A brief category of Cambodian roads:

Paved roads. These come in anything from smooth, paved road (a godsend for the 10% of the mileage it covers) to heavily potholed (marginally more common), to this stuff that I swear looked *exactly* like someone had tried to duplicate a washboardy, potholed dirt road in asphalt. I’m not sure who came up with the idea, but it’s, um, memorable. Just like the same version in dirt, only much bumpier. (Fortunately there wasn’t much of it–presumably the paver came to his/her senses eventually and left for a career in modern sculpture.)

Between paved roads and dirt roads is this very special stuff: sharp, ridgy rocks about the size of half-bricks (but more like shattered brick, all edges and bumps) packed into the roadbed. The ride makes cobblestones look smooth, but at least those sections aren’t full of potholes–you can drive through them without breaking an axle or ripping the bottom off your vehicle.

And then there are the dirt roads. Ah, the dirt roads. SOME of them are flat and beautiful; you can travel almost as fast as on a smooth paved road, which is to say thirty to forty miles an hour. And then it gets worse. In the midlevel, there are the ones that look like choppy ocean waves–more a series of potholes punctuated by ridges (the ridges are just to allow more and better potholes 😉 ) than a road. And then there are the bad sections–with “potholes” big enough to swallow an elephant (or a minivan) whole–I honestly wondered if they weren’t landmine craters, but they’re not deep enough, only about a foot deep despite their impressive size. Still plenty big enough to break an axle, or strand a vehicle, and there are LOTS of them.

Driving along these roads is quite simple. You drive along whatever section of road (right, left, center, shoulder) you can negotiate; if you meet another vehicle, the bigger one gets the right of way. Fortunately, you’re not really going to damage anyone else’s vehicle, at least on the worst sections: neither of you can travel faster than a few miles an hour, so you’ll see the other vehicle in plenty of time. It’s *much* more likely that you’ll break an axle.

At any rate, it took about 9 hours of slow, bone-jarring crawl over one of the best roads in Cambodia, to get to Siem Reap. (If I sound like I’m obsessing over road surfaces…well…I had a LOT of time to think about them. and they are, um, highly memorable. I don’t think my back and neck will forget them anytime soon. 😉 )

We did stop twice along the way; the first for a rest stop, where we got mobbed by a swarm of child beggars/vendors. “Sir, give me pen!” “Madam, give me five baht to pay school!” “How old are you?” “What’s your name?” I was accosted by one fifteen-year-old girl (who looked more like eight or ten); she said she had five brothers and sisters *(5,6,7,8, and 10), and wanted a pen. I gave her one, since I had it handy; then she demanded five baht “for school”. She eventually wore me down–I gave her ten baht. Then she demanded $1, or $5–at which point I put my foot down. I felt bad for her, but money wouldn’t have been helpful; I doubt that either the pen or the money were actually going towards school. (With three brothers at home, there’s no way she was going to school–Cambodians, like most Asians, educate boys first. Welcome to the world of male privilege.)

On the other hand, for ten baht and a pen I got the full gamut of beggars’ tactics in Cambodia; which includes remarkable persistence (ten minutes after I fled into conversation with another group she was still outside calling “Madame Tien! Madame Tien!” trying to get my attention) and a wide array of conversational tricks. I don’t think I’ve encountered such shameless manipulativeness and persistence since, hmm, well, never mind.

Anyway, the stop was only supposed to be for ten minutes but stretched to half an hour; almost unbearable, as we couldn’t step outside without being swarmed by begging children, and they were all around the windows, reaching in to try to grab our attention. The only “safe” place was in the very center of the minivan (and you can bet I was watching my bags the entire time). I felt rather like I’d stepped into Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds”–seriously under siege.

Still, there was lots of beautiful scenery, lots of surprisingly friendly people waving to us from the road, and lots of children splashing joyfully in the muddy ponds. Not to mention fishermen pulling nets from the shallow ponds by the road, and some very nicely muscled guys out bathing in the ponds (in sarongs, alas 😉 ).

Our second stop, which was much less trying, was at a Cambodian gas station. This is not your shiny clean petrol station with nice clean pumps and a convenient ATM/credit card device on the island; this is a little shack by the side of the road (tin roof; thatched sides, remarkably flammable) stacked with all sorts of makeshift/scavenged containers–everything from plastic jugs to glass soda bottles–full of gasoline. (As an aside, I now know that gasoline is yellow in color, about the same shade as urine left to ferment for three weeks. Sixteen years’ driving and I never actually *saw* gasoline, since it was always pumped into the tank: weird, huh? (If you want to know about the fermented urine part, let’s just say that some of the old-time natural dye recipes are a bit odd…leave it there, and we’ll all be much happier. 😉 ))

Anyway, with Cambodian gas stations, you pull over to the side of the road, buy the appropriate size container, and pour it into your tank with your handy gas funnel. Not smoking while doing this is a nice idea, but (apparently) strictly optional. (!)

At any rate, it’s getting late, and I need to be back at the hotel in fifteen minutes. I’m going to the best restaurant in Siem Reap (at least per the tour guide), which charges $11/head for dinner plus a performance of Cambodian dance. That’s still outrageous by local standards–you can get a room for $4 or less, for example–but sounds pretty good to me. After yesterday’s incredible ride and today’s trying events (more on that later), I could use something easy/fun. Let’s just say, I am now assuming that any Cambodian being nice to you has his/her eyes firmly fixed on your wallet. *sigh*

Tien