For better or worse, we had an eight hour bus ride to Siem Reap this past
weekend with the other 9 members in our program. The love-hate relationship I
hold for my fellow program-mates vacillates wildly and frequently.
Though to be honest, it’s more of a like-hate relationship. Even then, I’m
still not sure whether the like end of the spectrum is merely a result of the
unceasingly optimistic attitude that’s important to have when living/traveling
in a developing country. But at the end of this week, we probably won’t see the
majority of these people again for the rest of our lives, so it doesn’t really
matter. Anyways, we took an 8 hour bus ride in one of those 10-12 person vans,
and it was, shall we say, rugged. It was pretty surprising that the highway
linking the two major cities in Cambodia was 60-70 percent dirt road. Honestly,
I was just happy (and also amazed) we didn’t get a flat tire; I think they must
have magic rubber in this country. What a handful of our group do not seem to
realize, still, is that complaining doesn’t a) quicken the uncomfortable
experience or b) lessen the uncomfortable experience in any way. At one point
our van ran out of air conditioning coolant and was only blowing air
essentially and the backseat just turned into a chorus of complaining b******.
For one, why the f*** did you think it was a good idea to bring denim to the
equator? Secondly, talking about the pool of sweat your a** is sitting in isn’t
going to make said pool of sweat disappear. Thirdly, using such explicit
language doesn’t invoke empathy from your fellow passengers. Honestly, the
temperature of the van was HOT, but I was sort of expecting HOT when I decided
to come to Southeast Asia, so I was fine. Then again, the only materials I brought
with me to SE Asia was nylon and linen. There’s three types or maybe “styles”
of hiking clothing here. There’s the “traditional,” which isn’t really
traditional, style of Cambodia clothing which is really light, pajamy style of
cotton with elephant or other patterns on it. Unfortunately, this style makes
you look a bit too much like a dirty hippie/backpacker and reminds me too much
of Bonnaroo. Then there is the “normal” or modern western style of say jean
shorts and a t-shirt. Except we all know that ends up in a pool of sweaty a**.
Then, there is choice number three, you may get a few chortles in the
beginning, but after a couple hours when you’re the only one feeling fine,
looking like Dora the Explorer and Indiana Jones doesn’t seem that stupid after
all (Libby & I). I keep thinking this is a good segue into the personality
summary of our group, but there’s more I’d like to recap of the weekend, so I’ll
get to it shortly!
Back to Siem Reap: I can’t help but thinking the only reason Siem Reap, a
town of one million, exists is because it is the gateway to Angkor Wat and the
surrounding temples. Also, I can’t blame them for creating an entire
city/economy around this 7th wonder of the world. Angkor Wat is
amazing/breathtaking/brilliant; everyone who can go should go. That being said,
it’s a bit of a bummer that the city you have to stay in is just one giant
tourist trap. I do think I want to go back before I leave Southeast Asia, but
it’s tough; there’s no great way to do Angkor Wat. There will probably always
be hordes of tourists (and for good reason), so there’s no real rustic or
authentic way to do it. I thought maybe hiking the 17 mile loop of all the
temples would be a great way to see the sites, but after experiencing the heat
& humidity, there’s no way in hell; not to mention the many warnings we
heard of leftover landmines in the jungles. It might be a different story in December, but
we’ll see. Either way, it’s one of the
seven wonders of the world, and after seeing this as my first wonder of the world,
it’s my new mission to see all seven. Anyways, besides the actual temples, Siem Reap
had the “night market” and “pub street.” Night market was just the usual
shmorgishbord of designer knockoff’s, grubby hippie ware, ect. ect. ect. There were some decent things inside the maze,
and Libby got to work on her negotiating skills (1/3rd original
price), but we still have some ways to go, I think 1/4th to 1/5th
would probably constitute a “good deal.” Pub Street, the Cambodian version of
Bourbon or Beale was pretty fun, though most everyone was fixed on the World
Cup games which come on at 11 pm and 3 am here (big bummer). We got a taste of
traditional Khmer dancing at one of the restaurants on this street, and though
some of the reviews questioned its authenticity, we realized that a vast
majority of Cambodia’s culture was obliterated with the Khmer Rouge. So we were
happy with their effort (it was free, so there was no suckering going on). The tour
guide we had for Angkor Wat (yes, touristy, though pretty knowledgeable so a
visit with a tour guide and without would probably be the ideal) had very
personal stories about the Khmer Rouge. Both his grandfather and his uncle were
killed by the Khmer Rouge. Three million out of a country of six million were
killed by the Khmer Rouge, and when you think that anyone who was educated was targeted
and all of the libraries burned, a shocking amount of their cultural heritage
was destroyed in those 4 years. Y’all can probably read a book on it if you’re
truly interested (Libby just finished First
They Killed My Father), but the Khmer Rouge truly were a testament to the
brutality of human nature and the sort of psychotic rabbit’s hole our nature
can go down. Hrur’s (pronounced very similar to whore, ha) grandfather was
killed by a bamboo stick, where he was tied to a tree, had his throat partially
cut and bled out over the course of six hours. There were countless other
instances of much worse methods involving water (couple of weeks), acid,
scorpions, sun, ect. Families ripped apart, forced marriages & children of
Pol Pot ect. Bullets were only available if you could pay for your death, and
some people chose to eat a poisonous fruit that induced a death involving blood
coming out of the capillaries of their skin, which I’m sure hurt really,
really, badly. Anyways, it was sort of unsettling hearing these stories while
exploring such a wonder but it was unique to be able to hear such a close-hand
account.
Off of the depressing tangent and back to Pub Street. It could probably
be summed up best by one of the bar’s slogans- The Angkor What- “promoting
irresponsible drinking since 1998.” A little tidbit of our group, there’s 10 of
us, 1 very strange looking 40 year old man (who’s actually growing on me a lot),
a very interesting and well-traveled 50 year old woman (mom of the group shall
we say?) and 6 other girls ranging from 18-24. Needless to say, these girls
loved getting Angkor What wasted, making out with what at that wasted moment in
time seemed like exotic looking Australians, Europeans, South Americans (mainly
Losers Back Home (LBH)) all while absolutely sweating their a***# off (if you
can’t tell, it’s becoming a major theme of southeast Asia) and then puking in
various parts of the bar and street. All in good fun though, so much to write
& so little time. At least I’m away from the incessant-ironical turned
unbearable- “are we there yets” from the bumpy bus ride home, so I should be
able to expound more about the interesting personalities in the coming days.
Till Next time
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