Lipstick, Eyeliner and a Hint of Khmer Rouge

Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Once known as the "Pearl of Asia", Phnom Penh was considered one of the loveliest of French-built cities in Indochina. That was back in the 1920s though, when women were "dames" and men still spouted misogynistic anachronisms, like "dames".  It may be time for a new moniker, one that is more reflective of the times. Nowadays, perhaps something along the lines of "Zirconium of Middlingville" might be more apropos.

It's not that there is anything inherently wrong with Phnom Pehn, its just that it doesn't really have that much going for it either. I trekked around most of the city and can say with absolute certainty that the addition of one more shop selling  mobile phone cards, various auto parts, rows of soap and imported Chinese candy--the very same thing available at 763 shops across the city--may very well tip the tide in favor of supply over demand. Much more Friedman than Keynes if you ask me, but sans the strong-arm dictator to keep people in line. But I'm no economic theorist, so perhaps there is some grand design that eludes me. I bought some soap.

At one point I crossed an imaginary boundary and was in a different city. It was still Phnom Pehn but the zirconium had been spit-polished to a sparkly shine. A narrow corridor in the northern section of town is home to upscale hotels, posh restaurants and the grounds of the Royal Palace, containing a few really nice temples and some beautiful gardens. Walk a block out of the corridor and you're right back in the ring, paying city prices for a mirthless open-air garage sale.

Lets move onto something a bit more cheery, shall we? Genocide. It was all the rage back in Cambodia in the late 70s. Most of you have probably heard of Pol Pot, a dastardly fellow with big teeth and a fat bottom lip who executed approximately 1.6 million of his own countrymen. Pol Pot was the leader of the Cambodian Communist movement known colloquially as the Khmer Rouge, which, despite the evincing name, had nothing to do with powdering one's face. Mr. Pot and friends thought it would be a real hoot to revert to an agrarian society post-haste, so they evacuated the city centers, abolished money, religion, foreign languages and good cheer, and sent everyone to the countryside to farm rice. Lots of rice.

Phnom Pehn is home to the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, a one-time High School that was converted into a prison and torture facility, temporarily housing thousands of unfortunate souls until they were sent to Choeung Ek, the infamous Killing Fields. I visited both Tuol Sleng and Choeung Ek to get a deeper understanding of the conflict and its aftermath. Though important memorials both, they seemed to be lacking in both real gravitas or enlightening information. One sign in Choeung Ek declared the Pol Pot regime to "be the most worst even than the atrocities of Hitler" in their depravity. Having previously visited the concentration camps in Poland, all I can state is that the death toll during the Cambodian atrocity was not nearly as high nor was as coldly "production-oriented" in its methods. Tough call, comparing genocides. I'll leave that one for the historians. Undoubtedly some people reading this will find my glib attitude towards genocide rather distasteful, which is why I propose we round all of those people up and bludgeon them to death with this.

Angkor Hot

Temples of Angkor, Cambodia. I got up before dawn and cycled the 7km to the gate entrance, hoping to beat the crowds when I arrived, a smidgen past six. Despite the early hour, it was already hot and muggy. Sweat dripped down my face in streams, pooling together at my collarbone to form a river down my chest. Ugh. Damn, it's hot out here.  

Still, I was excited to catch a silent sunrise at Angkor Wat. It would not be an exaggeration to state that I was stunned from the moment I walked through the main gate. Not by the temple, no, it was still rather dusky out---it was the hundreds of people already spread out across the expansive courtyard waiting for the sun to crest the temple's grand triple stupas. I was speechless, which may have been moot given the fact that I am traveling solo, but still. Angkor Wat had become a zoo, the lion pen at the center of the park, replete with food and drink vendors lining the entire northern wall. And, to add insult to injury, part of the main structure was obscured by scaffolding, part of a restoration project meant to keep the temples from collapsing on all of the tourists. Pish-posh, I say. 

The only saving grace to this unexpected first impression was that people seemed somewhat unfamiliar with how the sun works. Let me explain. Like many, I have observed that the sun typically rises in the east and sets in the west. Pretty simple, right? Now, on this fine morning, east happened to be behind the stupas, leaving hundreds of people waiting to take a back-lit photograph of three lumpy, dark shadows. Hmmm.

Using all the powers of deductive reasoning I've honed selling deep fryers and potato ricers  online, I went around the main entryway to see if anyone had mowed the backyard. Nope, just me and three other people. Amazing. The sun rose in its typical brilliant fashion, painting deep orange hues across the backside of the temple. I sat quietly on the lip of a boundary wall for 30 minutes and got some great shots. 


The interior of the temple, though a bit crowded, was still worth it. Detailed bas reliefs lined dozens of walls, intricate carvings grace the inside of nearly every doorway and column, stone buddas, goddesses, and naga encircle dozens of massive stupas. 

The most famous of the bas reliefs, covering three-quarters of the outer wall around the central courtyard, is known as the Ocean of Milk, but tastes a lot more like eight centuries worth of dust, lichen and bat guano when you lick it. Even licking it and then biting into a chocolate chip cookie didn't help. Blecch. 

One could spend days lost in this wonderland. I got tired after a few hours and went home to take a nap. Angkor Wat takes a lot out of you. Next, it's on to the capitol, Phnom Penh. 

The Shilling Fields

Siem Reap, Cambodia. After three days of slogging through the heat across Route 4, I elatedly, if not belatedly, arrived at my new base camp. Sitting at the foot of one of the world's greatest treasures--the wallets of foreign tourists--Siem Reap is also home to a slightly less well known archaelogical wonder: The Temples of Ankor. Welcome to the The Shilling Fields.

What a difference a day makes. After casually pedaling past laid-back villages, rice paddies and a wide assortment of extras from The Road Warrior, I was a bit taken aback by Siem Reap, a town with enough louts, touts and bumbling tourists to start its own traveling circus. Apparently realizing the draw that crumbly bits of rock has on foreigners, massive hotels have sprung up like proverbial weeds from every nook at cranny. You can't walk five feet without running into a new spa, gourmet bistro or the army of tuk-tuk drivers ready to carry the populace of Siem Reap to Vietnam for a bargain price. It felt a bit as if an exterminator had helped rid a house of an infestation by lovingly carrying the invader's insidious brood to several new areas of the home, then ladled a heaping dollop of jelly next to each clutch.

No matter, I was going to make the most of it. I purchased a three day pass to the temple complex so that I could explore at leisure. I was excited. Angkor Wat. The very name itself seemed laden with historical significance or at least dangerous electrical currents--either way, I was set. Like many, I had not realized that the temple complex was so massive, housing dozens of lesser known temples. I decided to spend my first day circling what is known as the Grand Tour, a road that carried me a full 21 kilometers around the outer temple ring. Starting out at Banteay Kdei, I was immediately set upon by an unexpectedly formidable foe--little girls who learned English from tourists.

They looked like normal little girls, with their bright smiling faces, joyful giggling and souls forged in the fiery flames of hell. As I said, normal little girls. They approached me like jackals. Jackals who learned English by watching Titanic and Terminator 2. Buy a scarf for your girlfriend? No, thanks. Then buy scarf for your mother, she loves you. No, really. I'm on a bicycle and can't carry anything. Oh, my gawd! Look see, the scarf, it's very light. No problem to carry (she drapes it over my arm). It's a good color.  I really don't need a scarf, thanks (I drape it back over her shoulder). It looks better on you, matches your eyes. (Big pout now on face) Oh, MY gawd! Nooo, not my color. Pink is my color. See? (She points out the pink in her outfit). You buy painting instead? No, no paintings. Like I said, I'm on a bike. Ohh, my gawwd! I know you are on bicycle. You are very strong (grabs my bicep). We can roll up paintings, very small. You can carry. Did you paint them? If you painted them then maybe I buy one (I say sarcastically). OhMYgawd, of course I paint them!  What, you don't believe? You paint me one right now and I'll buy it. (Smirk on face)  Ok, I did not paint (laughs). OhMyGawwd! (At this point I'm laughing out loud) You will come and look again on your way back out, yes? Maybe (I laughed, entering the gateway). Hasta la vista, Bay-Bee! (she giggled and waved)......Did I mention this girl was only seven years old?

The Temple was spectacular, as were Ta Sahm, Neak Pean, and my favorite, Preah Kahn, a tumbled wreck of partially collapsed structures that created a fun maze of broken passageways, fluttering bats, and trees growing right through the cracks of the walls, slowly destroying everything in their stretch towards the sun. I decided to save the heavy hitters--Ta Prom, Ankor Thom, and the mother of all temples, Ankor Wat--for the next day.  As for that little girl, she was waiting for me as soon as I came back out. You said maybe! 

We sparred for another ten minutes but in the end I prevailed. At least I think. I didn't walk away with any painting or scarves but she was so entertaining that I gave her a few bucks for effort. Oh....My.....Gawd.