The Good, the Bad, and the Depressing

"This way Sir!  This way lady!"

We can hear the eager shouts of the touts before our feet have even landed on firm ground.  Stepping out of the bus, the cries become even louder.

"This way!  This way!  You must purchase Cambodian visa right now!  No leaving this compound!  You must purchase visa first!"

We shake our heads, quite literally pushing our way through a crowd of men dressed in clean white attire.  They aren't letting us go without a struggle, and continue to paw and pull at us, proclaiming, "I am from Cambodia!  I just want to help you get a visa!  I would never scam you."

Nice try.  This whole operation is a scam.  Jordan and I stick to our guns, and push onwards until we break free of the smothering group.

Shackled up in a guesthouse near the Cambodia border, we marvel at the extent to which people will go to make a quick buck.  It doesn't seem to bother these people, who try and swindle tourists out of every last dime they possess.

For those who have never been to Southeast Asia, the border crossings are a feat to be survived.  They are notorious for scammers and swindlers, all who are intent on obtaining visas (that are either fake or grossly over-priced) for unsuspecting tourists.

Thanks to our new-found French friend, we manage to make it across the border unscathed.  After an interesting taxi ride to Siem Reap, we find ourselves eager to explore what this new country has to offer.

Upon first glance, Cambodia seems to be even poorer than Thailand.  There is less of the beautiful lush grass, and more dusty dirt patches.  Hordes of children mob sweat-soaked tourists, begging for money.  They are tenacious, pushing at the waists of the foreigners, refusing to let them pass until the harassed individual is literally forced to dart away.  Little girls carry around swaddled babies, imploring female visitors to buy them milk and food. Horrifyingly enough, many of these week-old infants are rented from their mothers, to be used as sympathy tools by the beggars.

Siem Reap is a happening little city, with noisy night markets and a beautifully lit river side.  Tourists are welcomed into the city centre known as "Pub Street" where an endless variety of restaurants and bars make their home.  Our dreams each night are a whirl of chaotic activity, filled with a sea of faces that all appear the same.  These faces open their mouths to call out endless streams of the same phrase; "You want tuktuk sir? Hey lady where you go? Tukuk?  Tuktuk... tuktuk...tuktuk..."

Every morning we wake to find that these are not manifestations of our imagination, because exactly four steps from our guesthouse we've already fended off three tuktuk drivers.  Some days, I long for a t-shirt that proclaims, "Don't ask!"

We decide to take in some of the national history, and after a blistering six kilometre walk along the dusty streets, we arrive at the Cambodian War Museum. Rusted shells of once-impressive tanks flank gravel pathways, while rows upon rows of various guns sit upon open shelves.  A Russian helicopter occupies a corner of the plot, its rotor blades stretching into the surrounding foliage.  Close by, a Mig-15 Fighter Jet sits quietly, perhaps yearning for the days in which it raced with astounding speed through the clouds.  Fourteen tanks, eighty-nine guns, and five hundred grenades later, we decide to hail one of the ever-persistent tuktuks back to our guesthouse.

We spend the next three days exploring Angkor Wat, the largest complex of Hindu temples in the world.  Constructed in the 1100's, the temples are enchanting sights to behold.  We rent bicycles for $1.00 a day, and spend our time leisurely exploring all that this World Heritage Sight has to offer.

Stone pillars rise grandly into the sky, their age evident by the blackened portions of decaying rock.  Spires loom proudly above the teeming crowds of tourists, reaching in vain for the overcast skies.  As we explore the vast ruins, we are constantly in awe of the mystery that shrouds these temples.  My favourite sight, Bayon Temple, is as da Vinci was to art: Genius. Magnificent. Wondrous. Inspiring.

We almost find ourselves becoming twisted and lost within the intricate layout of Bayon Temple.  Enclosed courtyards flanked by pillars give way to shrouded side-rooms, while crumbling stairs plummet steeply into secret alcoves.  We find a deserted and hard-to-reach courtyard, and allow ourselves a moment to bask in the sheer weight of this incredible place.  Moss climbs over a set of crumbling stairs, reclaiming man's triumphs back into the earth.  We settled upon these stones, our eyes greedily absorbing every detail in the works around us.  The air is thick; heavy with the history that lives within each of these stones.  I fall silent, and swear that I can feel the breath of this place - ancient but alive.

Occasionally, we catch a glimpse of orange through the winding corridors.  Monks still frequent these passages, and clothed in their sunset coloured robes, they meditate and pray over wands of flickering incense.  Angkor Wat, which is known as "The City of Temples," is the only major historical sight in the world that has been in constant use throughout it's existence.

Soon it is time to say goodbye to Siem Reap and the glorious temples that surround it.  We are about to embark on what is quite possibly the worst bus ride of our lives.  Our assigned seats are at the very rear of the bus, and we soon discover that there is a continual blast of hot air that billows from behind our seats.  It's strong enough that the pitiful excuse for air-conditioning never quite reaches us, and we are reduced to panting like caged animals.   Lucky us, we also happen to be sitting right on top of the engine, which effectively turns the floor under our feet into what feels like a lava bed.  After 25 minutes on the road, our pants are drenched to the point where I can wring buckets of sweat from them.  The heat is so intense that Jordan begins to feel nauseous, and has to excuse himself for fear that he might make a mess.  At one point, I reach under the seat and pull out the occupying pastries.  Where I once thought that bread can't melt, I am now a believer.  What little edible portions of the rolls remain are covered in what I can only describe as "bread sweat."  Mmmm.  Yummy.

300km and 7 hours later, we are almost at the capital city of Phnom Penh.  The road has been decidedly unpredictable, with the main "highway" boasting paved stretches one moment, and giving way to rutted farm roads the next.  As we near our destination, I start to become excited, and I'm pleased that I've managed to maintain a (relatively) good mood throughout this torturous ride.  My resolve is soon tested again however, as the route takes a turn from "bad" to "disastrous."  Where there once was a semblance of a road, there is now nothing but a 20km stretch of pockmarked earth.  The "road" is a series of potholes, many so deep that I strain to see their bottoms.  At the back of the bus, we are being thrown around mercilessly, and clouds of choking dust are occasionally blowing into the bus with desert-storm force.

Retching the dust from our lungs, we finally arrive in Phnom Penh, and eagerly board a tuktuk, aiming for a section of the city that houses many hostels.  After a blissfully cold shower, we fall between the sheets, praying for tuktuk-free dreams.

Over the next several days we visit some of the grimmer attractions that the capital city has to offer.  Before going any further, I should mention that Cambodia was ruled by a communist party known as the "Khmer Rouge" from 1975 to 1979.  Their leader, Pol Pot, was attempting to enforce the policy of social engineering, which ultimately resulted in genocide.

Our first stop is what is known as "The Killing Fields."  This is one of the many sites throughout Cambodia that served as a mass execution ground for prisoners taken by the Khmer Rouge.  Giant holes freckle the earth around the sight - evidence of the graves that served as the final resting place for heaps of bodies that were coldly tossed within.  Prominent amongst the sights is a huge tree, upon which members of the Khmer Rouge army used to hang loud speakers.  These speakers would play classical music, in hopes of blocking out the sounds of moans and screams from the dying.  The last noises that these innocent people would ever hear were the eerie strains of a Cambodian melody.  In the middle of the field sits a small temple.  Rows upon rows of human skulls are stacked within a glass case that occupies its centre.

As if we hadn't yet experienced enough depression, Jordan and I decided to visit the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum.  This is where Pol Pot held his innocent victims until they were ordered to be taken to the Killing Fields.  Once a beautiful high school, Tuol Sleng now served as a foreboding prison.  Classrooms were transformed into tiny jail cells, and wooden poles that had once served as exercise devices were used as instruments of torture.  Drops of blood still stain the floors of many of the cells, and razor wire ensnares the balcony railings - a deterrent against suicide.  As we wander through the four buildings that make up the complex, we can't even imagine the hardships of the 5000 prisoners that were held captive here.  Thousands of photographs line the walls, all taken by the Khmer Rogue.  The victims face the camera, and their hands are bound behind their backs.  As we stare into the faces of those who are now gone, we glimpse a range of emotions.  One expression shows defiance in the form of a smile, while sadness brims behind the eyes of another.  Mothers pictured with their infant children stare stonily into the lens, while others look towards their captors - utterly defeated.

One can only spend so much time at this place before feeling completely drained and overwhelmed.  It is with heavy hearts that we silently shuffle out of the gates.  Few words are spoken during the long walk back to our guesthouse.

Made ever grateful for our freedom through the prison visit, we have spent the last little while planning our next set of adventures.  As of this morning, our plane tickets are booked, and we will be flying into China in one week, and Nepal in two weeks!  Mt. Huashan and Mt. Everest await!

Cambodia Fact of the Day:
Even today there are thousands of active land mines that litter the Cambodian countryside.  Each year, farmers and children lose limbs or their lives due to these mines.