With my sights set firmly on Siem Reap I cycled steadily towards that goal on a road that grew worryingly more and more busy as I went. The almost-full-day of riding it took to get there was another that would have been classified as 'unremarkable', 'uneventful' and 'nothing to write a blog post about', were it not for one interesting meeting with an impressive young chap named Chanun.

Heart

1

Comment

0

Link

Log in to comment or reply

I'd stopped for a break in what I thought was an empty field and had been halfway through enjoying what may have been a mandarin (or could also have been a clementine, satsuma or tangerine, I've never felt confident telling one from another) when a sprightly young boy came bounding towards me from behind some trees. He was dressed in a faded pink shirt and looked to be a young country boy of about twelve, and yet he spoke to me in relatively excellent English, which rather took me by surprise. So we were able to have rather a full conversation, which was nice.

Heart

2

Comment

0

Link

Log in to comment or reply

"How old are you?" I asked, impressed by the boy and wondering how he spoke such good English.

"Thirty-four" he said. This seemed absurd, naturally, but I suddenly had the idea that perhaps he was one of those people that had a rare genetic disorder or something, that made their bodies never grow out of being a child, even though they themselves were fully adult. I expressed this in my most articulate way:

"No you're not, how old are you really?"

"Fifteen." This still seemed too old, but maybe he was one of those kids that are very short for their age, and try to make up for this by learning English really good.

"Very well, my boy."

"Do you have a camera?" Chanun asked.

"Yes, can I take a photo of you?" I asked, and then I pulled out my camera and took the photo that you see above, and showed it to Chanun, who nodded approvingly.

"I don't have a camera," Chanun said, looking sad, "I'd really like a camera. I wish I had a camera. I'd really like one."

"Alright kid, I know I just gave you a mandarin, but I'm not that nice."

We talked for a bit longer, during which time I established that Chanun goes to school on a Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, and when he grows up he'd like to be a student. Okay, his English wasn't that good.

"Goodbye Chanun."

"Goodbye. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too."

"Goodbye. Nice to meet you."

"Yes, goodbye."

"Goodbye. Nice to meet you."

"Yes, yes, Nice to meet you too."

"Goodbye. Nice to meet you again."

And then I left Chanun, cameraless in his field.

Arriving in Siem Reap was a special kind of hell that doesn't bear talking about. But I eventually made my way through the masses of traffic on the main road and was spat out somewhere near the centre. My only remaining task then was to find myself a guesthouse. Now Siem Reap, existing essentially as the gateway to the world famous Angkor Wat, is not a place that is short on guesthouses. My assumption then, that I could just turn up and find somewhere easily, was a fair one, if not entirely an accurate one. I'd made it to Siem Reap around four in the afternoon, but everywhere I went was either fully booked or only had expensive air-conditioned rooms left available. I cycled all over town looking, and there were guesthouses on every street, but everywhere was the same story. Only expensive rooms left. Incidentally I use the word 'expensive', in this instance quite wrongly, because they were only fifteen dollars, but in a country where five-star hotels could be had for seven bucks, I wasn't prepared to fork out that much, and my search continued.

I thought I was in luck when one of the many tuk-tuk drivers gave me a tip-off that a place called 'Garden Village' had cheap rooms, and he even phoned them to check there were some available. I headed off in the direction he told me, but was confused by a sign for the 'Secret Garden' guesthouse and, because my brain had only been capable of remembering one word, thought this was the place. It wasn't the place, they only had rooms for fifteen dollars, but the very friendly receptionist girl told me about a cheap guesthouse and she racked her brains trying to remember what it was called and finally she remembered just as I was about to leave. "Garden Village" she proclaimed.

So now I had two people advising me of this place and I was sure this meant I was destined to sleep in the Garden Village. It took me a while to locate it but locate it I eventually did. It was overcrowded with falang, a real backpacker hangout. I asked about a room. They didn't have any. But they had one bed left in the dorm for $3.50. The price was good, but I'm certainly no fan of sleeping in dorms. But maybe there wouldn't be any snorers, so I asked to take a look. The dorm was huge and packed to the rafters with beds. 28 beds, in fact. The odds on there not being a snorer among them seemed small, and I decided to continue my search for a cheap guesthouse.

But for a long time my search proved fruitless. I'd cycled all over the place now, in horrible traffic, getting hot and bothered, without success, and now, worst of all, it was getting dark. I couldn't be cycling about in the dark. I decided I just had to take the next place, whatever the price. I came to another guesthouse. "How much?" "Fifteen dollars." "Ahh it's too much!" I couldn't do it, I saw another place across the street, asked how much, prepared myself for the same response. "Six dollars" was the reply. I was finally saved.

The guesthouse wasn't ideal, being on quite a noisy street, but it was going to have to do as my base in Siem Reap because there was no way I was going to look for anywhere else. I went out to have a look around town that evening, and the next day I did very little, as I needed a full day to recover from the ordeal of my guesthouse search before visiting Angkor Wat. As for Siem Reap, well, it's pretty much what you would expect of a town designed to entertain foreigners. Restaurants that serve food the locals never eat and tour agencies on every corner, and white faces everywhere. I took a walk under the neon lights of 'pub street' and saw nothing but tourists eating and drinking, and I wondered if they really felt like they were in Cambodia. I walked a little further, and chose to eat my rice and eggs in a smaller place where I spoke with the woman running it. I asked her if she liked all these tourists, if she liked 'pub street' and all the things the tourists bring. Her reaction suggested that she did not and I wondered why she'd opened a business here that catered to tourists. "What else is there?" she said.