Malaysia & Borneo: Part One

Kuala Lumpur

We were both excited about arriving in Kuala Lumpur, for the first time since Chiang Mai or even Hong Kong we were going to be somewhere developed, somewhere with decent infrastructure, somewhere with money. All these things, and more meant we could get a little bit of home, away from home.

Departing Kuala Lumpur airport we boarded a bus that worked and was on time. We used trains and the monorail, again these worked, were clean, efficient and even air conditioned. We walked down streets which had pavements for pedestrians and roads for vehicles, vehicles that were recognisable as cars and buses not tuk-tuks or songthaews or any other type of motorbike-trailer hybrid. Traffic lights changed red and cars stopped. As we continued our journey to the hostel we read street signs in an alphabet we could understand, some were even in English. I could go on, the point is Kuala Lumpur was a modern city and as such should have made us feel at home. For me, however there was something missing.

I enjoyed every monorail, train and bus journey I made, in terms of comfort, convenience and in most cases even price Kuala Lumpur trumped everywhere we’ve been. Walking the well signposted streets made navigating the city a breeze. Exploring the endless, towering malls, looking at clothes, watches, shoes made by designers whose names I can’t pronounce, taking in the futuristic architecture, wandering the winding market streets, breathing in the aromas of street foods from every corner of the globe. Seeing so many cultures all bundled together, there is a lot to say for Kuala Lumpur but still I felt like something was missing.

The city centres around Taman Negara, a 130 million year old rainforest which is home to loads of animal species, including a very rare breed of monkey. There is a sky canopy that takes you through the middle of the forest and high up in the trees. On one side you can see the tips of the buildings and on the other natures own skyscrapers. The duet of cars and people vs wildlife, birds, monkeys, insects is something of a surreal experience, I thought I had landed myself in a game of Jamanji.  This was further heightened by the fact we were the only people in the rainforest, we didn’t see a soul, all the seating areas were covered in leaves, the kiosk at the entrance to the bridge was empty. The place looked like it had been abandoned. We started to wonder whether we should actually be here and thought about making our way back into the urban jungle, humidity and mosquitoes soon made this decision very easy.

The three main cultures in Kuala Lumpur are, Malayan, Indian and Chinese which puts you in good stead for finding some decent grub. From hawker stalls to food halls you are never far from food. My brother had been quite vocal in the fact that I needed to try Roti Canai so I made it my mission to find some. It wasn’t long before we walked past a bustling Indian joint whose menu boasted every type of Roti, including the prestigious Canai.

We ordered two and waited like kids at Christmas, they arrived and we were right to be excited. Two large Roti, a traditional Indian bread which closely resembles layers of puff pastry but with a more pancake type texture arrived. Next came the Canai, a chickpea dahl and a dark curry sauce which in this case was similar to a Madras. There was so much sauce and bread that we were both stuffed, I  paid the bill of £0.50 and from that moment on knew I’d found something good. Tom, my brother also informed me that they sell a sweet version, stuffed with banana, Nutella or both without the curry sides. In fact Roti (insert side name here) comes in so many forms it would be impossible to get bored and with them being so cheap it would be impossible to go hungry. These would quickly become a staple of our trip through Malaysia.

For a spot of culture we visited the Batu caves, seconds after leaving our hostel the skies opened and we got drenched. We sat waiting for the train which ran a very generous service of one train an hour, naturally we had just missed one so stood at the station while the weather did all it could to make the experience as uncomfortable as possible. The rains cleared but the muggy, humidity lingered, as the temperatures rose the water began to evaporate from my clothes. I was literally steaming.

The Batu caves, for all the epic statues of Hanuman and Lord Murugan, brightly coloured staircases, clans of monkeys and of course the caves is a total anti-climax. It looks so impressive and grand on the outside but inside it is dirty and uncared for. Broken plastic chairs, litter and excrement make it neither a sight of natural or manmade beauty, we spent a total of 15 minutes there, 10 of those were spent climbing up and back down the stairs.

Having shopped and eaten our way around Kuala Lumpur we were looking at our options, the humidity here is on par with Bangkok so a sea breeze was a priority. We had two options, follow the majority of tourists along the West coast working our way up to Langkawi or the East cost to the Perhentian islands. Our only issue was that we were going to Langkawi in the middle of May via a flight from Singapore, this narrowed our decision down to taking on the East coast. That was until I spoke to Tom who urged us to visit Borneo. He tempted me with his photos of places like Mabul island, turquoise waters, swimming with turtles, staying in accommodation set on stilts over the water. It looked out of this world and I wanted to see it with my own eyes.

We quickly dismissed the rest of Peninsula Malaysia and took the cheapest flight to Malaysian Borneo. We landed in a small town called Sandakan and if there ever was a place to destroy an image and give a worst first impression it was Sandakan.

Sandakan

Sandakan is like Harwich, or any other port town, unless you are looking to buy or sell fish there isn’t much here for you. It was all the worst parts of all the countries we’d been to- humid, poor travel connections, no beaches and not much of a town either. We were however in a good enough location to get ourselves to Mabul island and so started looking at how to get there and where to stay. (Perhaps) stupidly we didn’t do this before leaving Kuala Lumpur and given the short notice we of course had no success in finding a place to stay, Mabul is geared up for the diving crowd and as I don’t have a PADI and so wouldn’t be diving my accommodation costs were £20+ more expensive than those who would be. Besides this, most places required booking up to 3 months in advance, this shattered our hopes of getting there. We had ended up in a shit hole and had no idea what to do or where to go.

We used up a day trying to get a good deal to head out of Sandakan and go to either the Proboscis monkey, Sun bear or Orang-utan sanctuaries as these are sold as the main attractions of Sandakan. The only catch is they are only accessible by taxi and are, in the case of the monkeys more than two hours drive. The best deal we could get would see us almost £100 out of pocket which is more than two days of our budget. I’d like to see the Proboscis monkeys but didn’t fancy sleeping on the streets and not eating for two days. We managed, after more than two hours of asking about, to find a bus that takes you to the Orang-utan sanctuary for a much more reasonable £2 so that’s what we did.

We timed it perfectly to witness feeding time which was an amazing experience, it was the first time I’d seen these playful creatures outside of a glass cage. They had a gigantic expanse of forest to roam and as we walked around we could hear them calling out to each other, their bark echoed all around us which was awesome and terrifying in equal measures. We later went to the Orang-utan nursery where we sat for almost an hour watching the young ones who were going through the rehabilitation process, it was entertaining to say the least. It was fast approaching 4pm which meant the park was closing and the last bus to city was planning to depart.

When we got outside we discovered that the bear sanctuary was on the otherside of the road, it too was shutting its doors and we kicked ourselves for not getting here sooner. 4pm came and went as did 4.30pm but still no bus, then like sharks to blood, moths to the flame, taxi drivers started gathering around the small group of tourists waiting for the imaginary bus. We held them off for a while longer but we soon realised our fate and nervously asked a price. Despite our situation the driver was fair and we filled the car up and headed back to the town.

That evening we put in some serious hours to work out a plan of action as our Malaysia/Borneo experience was quickly turning into a series of closed doors and wasted days. That’s when I stumbled across a photo of a group of people having a beer sat on a decking above the clouds. The photo fascinated and excited me, I was desperate to find this place. My research uncovered Mount Kinabalu, the tallest mountain in South East Asia standing at 4,095.02m. I learnt that you can climb the mountain with little experience, all you’d need is a level of fitness, determination and some cold weather gear.

I hunted for prices and received quotes which were perhaps reasonable but still out of our budget. Then I found Jungle Jacks. The reviews were 5 star across the board and his prices were a fraction of what other places were quoting, better still he offered a one day climb. The only way I could contact Jack was via Facebook, so I sent him a message with my dates and asked if he had any availability. We made our way to Kota Kinabalu, the nearest place we could fly to from Sandakan where we became sitting ducks.

Kota Kinabalu

KK had a bit more going on that Sandakan, aside from things like a cinema and a slightly more vibrant town centre there were a series of paradise style islands only 20 minutes boat ride away. Our hostel was in a decent location and so as far as holding pens go this one wasn’t too bad. I kept pushing for a reply from Jack but remained in the dark. Online views about Jungle Jacks had one common theme, his booking methods are archaic but take a leap of faith and you won’t regret it.

That night Hatty spoke to her dad who pointed out how close we were to the Philippines, he had first come here in the 70’s as a VSO and had made many return visits, I had had countless conversations with him about it and never spoken to someone who expressed such a passion and love for a place. Hatty herself had been about seven years ago and we had vowed that one day we would go, it seems stupid that we had wanted to go but now we were only a few hours away hadn’t considered it. It was a proper case of having our blinkers on.

Rob had planted a seed so just out of curiosity we looked up flights and to our amazement found they were affordable. Rob had friends who own a holiday resort in Camiguin, an island off of Cebu so everything looked like it was fitting into place. My wanderlust levels went off the scale, I hadn’t been this excited about seeing somewhere since before we left England. We knew we could get to Cebu and from there we had two options, fly to Camiguin or travel by bus, boat and jeepny. The flight (one a day departing at 6.10am) with Cebu Pacific was a fairly new and the only flight to Camiguin, the 50 minute flight came in at £100pp return. The overland option had a lot of steps, timetables for which matched up in such a way that it would take almost an entire day to complete. We worked out the price and it came in only slightly under the flights.

Although the flights were expensive it made the most sense and so we got in contact with Robs friends, Phil and Sue and secured a place to stay then proceeded to book the flights. Just as I was entering the payment details the Cebu Pacific website crashed, when I reloaded it to flights had doubled in price. There was no way we could afford that so we killed that idea and went to bed.

The following morning I checked the website in the hope, by some miracle that the glitch had cleared and the original price had returned, to our utter surprise the price had dropped to £70pp, the website worked and we were going to the Philippines. It was a morning of good luck as Jungle Jack replied and said I could climb the following morning as long as I could get to him by this afternoon. We checked out and jumped on the first bus to the mountain, day 100 was shaping up to be a fine day.

Mount Kinabalu

The two hour journey to Jack’s was breathtakingly beautiful, we left the towns and began climbing through the mountains it was seriously epic and knowing that in less than 24 hours I’d hopefully be at the top of one of them was making me very excited.

Jungle Jacks is a set of containers turned into dorms set on a stunning piece of land facing Mount Kinabalu. Between us and it was an expanse of jungle and offered views like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The air was fresh and cool and with nothing but nature around us I instantly fell in love with the place.

Things only got better when we found out that our accommodation cost included all our meals, which were provided by near by restaurants. Jack would ask, do you fancy Malay or Indian then drive us all to foodie hotspots in the surrounding area. There were nine even of us staying at Jacks, me and Hatty, two Norwegians, a German, a Canadian chap, a Czech couple and a Dutch girl. The set-up at Jacks and the fact everyone went out to dinner together made for a really sociable time.

Meal times were insane, our first lunch saw us working our way through at least ten different dishes, BBQ pork, fish stew, noodles, grilled vegetables, the food just kept on coming. I hadn’t eaten so well all trip. Dinner that first night was the same story, grilled ostrich, fish steaks, chicken curries, “magic” mushrooms, Jack wouldn’t let anyone go hungry and just kept on ordering dish after dish.

That evening people found out that I was doing the one day climb and told me I was mad, everyone else at the table was doing the two day climb, Teneka the Dutch girl had just come down from the two day climb, her face painted a picture of how challenging the climb was, she put the fear of god into me and that night I went to bed feeling very nervous.

At 6am I woke up and stocked up on breakfast, prepared a pack lunch and sat outside looking up at the mountain. My mood yo-yo’d from excitement to complete fear, my stomach was churning and I really started to understand what I was doing. I think I should disclose that I had never climbed a mountain before, I had never experienced altitude. I had been snowboarding a few times but taking the ski-lift to the top is hardly the same thing… I believed myself to be in an ok physical condition, despite having done little more than drink beer and lay on a beach for the last three and bit months.

Despite these factors I have two personality traits which I hoped would help me more than any amount of experience or fitness level ever could. I am stubborn and determined, a little self destructive and a little bit stupid. These traits seemed perfect for taking on a physically and mentally enduring challenge without any real preparation.

I was doing the climb with the Czechs who do Climbathons (that’s where you run up and down the mountain). I’ll put this into perspective, most people take 2 to 3 days to complete the climb, the record time for the Kinabalu Climbathon is under 2.5 hours. To reach the 4,095m peak you have to trek 9km and the same to get back to base camp, 18km of mismatched stairs and slopes, the final few km are scaled using a rope and a lot of upper body strength.

I stayed with the Czechs for the first three km which we smashed in under one hour, my breathing was heavy and my legs began to throb as they filled with blood. Over the next km I started to fall behind them and by body remembered what exercise felt like, it wasted no time in reminding me that it didn’t like endurance activities. Fast twitch, explosive, weightlifting style exercise are fun, I could spend all day everyday in a gym lifting weights but put me on a treadmill and I’d wish you dead.

My mind started to plant seeds of doubt, I was telling myself to give up, to turn around my legs agreed but still I pushed on. At the five km point I stopped to look around, we were high above the clouds and visability was low, I was drained and couldn’t see the point in this. I sat on the ground with my head in my hands, I was dizzy, I was arguing with myself. I set myself a goal- reach that rock and then take a rest, the distances between these goals got smaller and by steps smaller still.

When I reached the 6km mark I was barely able to place the heel of one foot further than the toes of the other. My thighs, calves and glutes were shaking as the lactic acid pumped around them, my eyes began to close for extended periods and my breathing was shallow. The 6km mark is where the two day climbers stop, they have dinner, sleep and then continue in the morning. I didn’t have the same luck, in order to be allowed to reach the top I needed to be there by 1pm to ensure I would be down before the park closes at 5pm. I was on target but with my speed rapidly dropping I could afford to stop. The Czechs had made such good time they had stopped off for breakfast, I met them outside the restaurant, they were fresh faced and full of energy, I was on my hands and knees with a look that said “kill me” written across my face.

We marched on and before the 7km checkpoint they were nothing by a tiny dot to me. I was stopping every 10m by this point and had started to become delirious, I had long since moved on from thoughts of self-doubt, instead I had nursery rhymes going around and around in my head. Each time I picked myself up off the ground I was full of determination and vigour, I was a war machine and nothing was going to stop me from reaching the top, I charged on, I felt like Terminator, I used everything in me to get moving, I was like a freight train ploughing along at high speed. At least that’s how I felt, the reality was that I could only muster a handful of baby steps before I had to slump on the ground, I actually started to nod off at one point and regularly dreamt about having the ability to fly. My brain was fuzzy, I felt as if I hadn’t slept for a week, every stone looked like a boulder, every boulder like a mountain. I hated being here and hated even more than I would have to go back down at some point.

We reached the 8km checkpoint and I thought I could see the peak, I turned up a gear and got a real move on, I was smashing 100m at a time, I picked up my pace, almost reaching a slow jog. I grabbed the rope and pulled my lagging body up the mountain, for all I know I was dragging my legs as I could no longer feel them. Every 100m I reached a new state of euphoria, I was having an out of body experience and was screaming at my pathetic body to keep working. Whenever I stopped I crashed out big time, I hadn’t had a thought in about an hour and the only thing I wanted to do was cry but I couldn’t even the muster the energy to do that.

I reached what I thought was the base of the summit and sat for a moment, ate a chocolate bar and drank some water. I calmed myself and reflected on what I had achieved. I took a deep breath and prepared for the final stint of this hellish experience. The fog cleared and I learnt the hard way that I was nowhere near the top.

The final 500m climb to the top was the most challenging thing I have done in my life, every step took ten times longer than the previous one, as I reached the final 100m I could hear the Czech couple cheering me on, I am now thankful for their encouragement but at the time it was seriously degrading. I literally dragged myself on my hands and knees to the top and slumped myself against the sign at the top. I was too fucked to take it all in, I went into auto pilot and took some photos then just sat there looking completely lost. I am being 100% honest when I say I don’t remember taking the photos.

I had a total of 15 minutes at the top before I had to start the arduous descent. I felt sick as the reality dawned on me that I had another 9km of rocks and stairs to navigate. Being so high was also taking its toll, my head was pounding, my calves were so tight I was walking with straight legs which almost instantly caused my knees to turn to dust.

Within the first km of the descent I had alrady fallen over, I slid down a portion of the mountain on my hands, the cuts gave me an endorphin rush which woke me up nicely but the fall seriously knocked my confidence. The Czechs vanished and I hobbled down the mountain at a snails pace.

I bumped into the Canadian and German at the 6km checkpoint but we didn’t exchange many words. My body language told them everything they needed to know.

As each km passed I began to curse the mountain, first in my head but later out loud, I kept saying “how the fuck am I still above the clouds” over and over. I cursed stairs, rocks, mud, trees, roots, clouds and people. At the 5km checkpoint I slipped on some wet rocks and missed a row of steps which didn’t do my ankle any favours. I hated this experience and wasn’t prepared to let it put me in a hospital, I took each step with more caution than humanly possible, gripping onto anything I could, lifting one foot shyly off the ground and placing it forward such a minute amount I barely moved at all.

I had moments of overriding determination where I pushed passed all fatigue and flew down large sections of the mountain, I picked up pace and moved into a jog and at some points even a run. I utilised these bursts of energy but they ran out I was more sluggish than before. With 2km left I had only one thing on my mind, reaching the 1km mark and downing the bottle of water I had stashed on the way up. I felt every single step of those 1,000m but every time I fell down I jumped back up knowing I was closer to the water and even closer to the end.

I caught site of the 1km mark and carried on to the spot where my water was, only to discover that it had been stolen. My world had been shattered, it was like watching everything you own, everything you love bursting into flames in front of you, I was mad, upset, confused but more determined than ever. I gave up caring that my knees were bust, my ankle was useless, my brain was fried I just marched on at a slow but aggressive pace. It took me almost an hour to do the last km but as I climbed the final step I forgot about it all. In total, from bottom to top and back down it took me 9.5 hours. As ungraceful as my climb was I still did it and in a bloody good time. The Czechs (taking out their breakfast pit stop and the hour at the top) completed it in around 7 hours, considering they do this for fun and on a fairly regular basis I felt proud of my achievement. A lot of the 2 day climbers I had spoken to took 8 hours to reach the 6km checkpoint and a further 8 hours to reach the top and get back down. I was drained both physically and mentally, I had nothing positive to say but I knew in my heart that when my body calmed down I would look back on the experience with positivity and pride.

That night I didn’t go for dinner instead I propped myself up in the shower then collapsed in my bed. Jack bought me back a doggy bag of Malayan delights which I wolfed down then returned back to my slumber. In the morning I woke up sore and tight, my knees were jarred and I had developed a hobble, I felt hungover, my throat was bone dry, my face and neck were sunburnt and had about as much energy as a sloth on sleeping meds.

Jack loaded me (and Hatty) into his car and drove us to the hot springs, I alternated between the piping hot baths and icy mountain water baths which cured my aching body, reenergised my mind and set me right for the rest of the day. After the baths we went for lunch and Jack ordered me a plate of BBQ’d pork chops which were out of this world, my muscles were bathed and my stomach was full and I was quickly on track for being myself again.

When we got back to Jungle Jacks all of the two day climbers that I’d met the other night had returned. They all turned in to get some kip then as night fell we jumped in the car and went out for a curry. As was routine Jack just kept ordering things, plates of roti, curries, rice, noodles, more roti more curry it just kept coming. We ate like champions and all shared our experiences of the climb. Everyone decided what I had achieved was heroic and despite me telling them how challenging I found it they wouldn’t hear it. We left the restaurant and went back to JJ’s where we sank some beers and carried on our conversations until one by one we dropped off.

The following day we travelled back to Kota Kinabalu and went our separate ways, some back home others to new lands and new experiences. Our time at Jungle Jacks was the friendliest, most social, enjoyable, peaceful, happy time of the trip. We landed a great bunch of people to spend those few days with and Jack’s hospitality is superior to any 5 star £200 a night resort. Not including my climbing and park entrance fees I paid £4 a night (including meals) to stay at Jacks, Hatty paid £10 as a non-climber. We had a decent bed, woke up each morning to the beautiful sight of the mountain and the sound of the jungle, we ate and drank until we couldn’t move and were entertained by Jack and 8 adorable puppies. If you ever find yourself wanting to Climb Mount Kinabalu, do it with Jungle Jack.

We had five days to kill in KK until our flight to the Philippines and so made the most of good weather by visiting some of the near by islands. We sunbathed, snorkelled and trekked over Sapi and Manukan island, ate fresh fish and even saw two wild Monitor Lizards, one in the water and one around the back of the restaurant. In the evenings we went to the cinema where we watched the latest Avengers movie and Fast & Furious 7 (these were the only two options). We exhausted KK for all its entertainment and as our final day approached there was only one thing on my mind. Where to watch the Mayweather vs Pacquiao fight. I searched online for places that might be showing it but my results yielding one answer- the chief of Malaysian TV didn’t realise the fight was happening and so it wont be shown anywhere in the country. I kicked myself, if we only booked the flights a day earlier I would be in Pacquiao’s homeland and would be guaranteed a memorial screening of the fight. I’m by no means a big boxing fan but I enjoy watching the occasional match and this was clearly one not to be missed. I went to bed a little disheartened.

The following morning we went to make ourselves some breakfast and was greeted by a bizarre scene. Normally the common room was empty, silent but this morning it was full of people and the telly was on really high. It sounded like wrestling commentary but as the clogs turned in my head I realised it was boxing, not any boxing it was the fight. I took my toast up the stairs and into the common room where I was met by more than 20 Filipinos all drinking beer, eating nuts, crab and kinilaw (a dish of raw fish marinated in vinegar, chili, onion and garlic- not dissimilar from rollmops).

It wasn’t long before they asked me to join them, offering me beers, food and cigarettes. I declined the latter but worked my way through the other two. We “cheersed” each other, a lot and as the main event of the evening (afternoon local time) began the atmosphere in the room went wild. The men were all Filipino, here in KK for a three year construction job, every ten or so minutes more bodies piled into the room and the beers kept flowing.

The fight finished and I was feeling pretty pissed, with only a few hours until my flight Hatty planted me in Burger King, filled me with grease, stodge and water. We grabbed our bags, I had my photo taken about fifty times, high fived everyone ten times then ran for the bus.

We return to Malaysian Borneo in about ten days but before that I’m off to Camiguin in the Philippines, white sandy beaches, crystal clear waters, delicious food and I’m sure Pinoy hospitality.

As always thanks for reading.  

The Kingdom of Wonder aka Cambodia

Phnom Penh

When crossing the border from Vietnam into Cambodia you need to purchase a visa, to acquire this you have a few options. Option A purchase an online “E-Visa” for the sum of $30 plus an $8 processing fee. It’s perhaps the most convenient way to secure a visa but is not accepted at all border crossings. Option B is to do a “visa on arrival”, this costs $30 and may also incur additional “processing fees” depending on the level of corruption from the man behind the desk. This also requires you to find the correct desk and walk yourself from the exit point in Vietnam to the entrance of Cambodia, around 2km or $5 in a tuk-tuk. Option C is the one we went for, upon arriving on the bus the conductor comes round, collects your passport, $30 for the visa and $5 for his trouble. He then fills out your arrivals card, takes you passport to be stamped when you leave Vietnam, sorts your visa when you enter Cambodia and then returns your passport to you. All you do is get off the bus, walk through the building and back on the bus.

There was a group of six travellers who believed this was daylight robbery and that the whole thing should only cost $20 and so refused to hand over their passports and did not pay the $5 either. The conductor, in broken English, tried to explain that the visa cost had recently risen to $30. I knew this to be true as I had done my homework but they were not convinced.

When we arrived at the departure point of Vietnam those who had handed their passports over left the bus, walked through the building, collected their passport and returned to the bus. The small group who had not had to instead decipher a very chaotic “queue”, get repeatedly turned away at the desk for being in the wrong line before eventually being able to be handed the departure form, fill it out, re-join the queue and then get it stamped.

Once back on the bus the conductor, another man (better English) and a lady (even better English) explained to the group that if they wished to sort out their own visa on arrival they would have to make their way to the Cambodia side now as the process would take some twenty minutes and the bus is not permitted to wait. For those of us who had handed our passports over and paid the $5 we had no such concern, our forms were filled out and our passports were all ready on their way to the Cambodia side ready for us to collect, visas included.

The group believed the conductors statement about them only having twenty minutes was a tactic to make them pay up. They reaffirmed each other that the bus had no choice other than to wait for them. They refused to make their own way to the Cambodia side and instead sat firmly in their seats. The bus pulled away, the twenty minute countdown had begun.

We trundled along at a snails pace pulling into the Cambodia entrance about ten or maybe fifteen minutes later, everyone got off the bus, those who were sorted simply repeated the earlier process, walk through the building and back onto the bus. Those who had not ran for their lives and set about fixing their own visa.

I’ll never know what happened to them because as soon as everyone who had paid their $5 to the conductor was on board the bus fired up its engines and wasted no time in setting off. Not only would they have been met by a visa cost of $30, not $20 they may have had to pay additional “tourist charges”. With their luggage travelling to Phnom Penh, more than three hours drive from the border the cost of a tuk-tuk would be astronomical, especially given their circumstances, there is also a ferry crossing and the issue of finding where the bus company is based so you can collect your luggage. But as bad as all this is for them I don’t feel sorry for them, they were honestly given so many warnings but continued to believe they knew best, they were rude and aggressive to the conductor who as far as I’m concerned did a solid job with our visas.

I don’t agree with corruption, and some of the stories of what people get faced with at the border crossings are pretty disgraceful but in our case the guy was simply being paid for his time, as a result the whole process runs very smoothly and efficiently and really what is $5 to someone who has been able to give up their job and travel across the world?

For us “Option C” people the 7 hour journey was a breeze, there was some splendid scenery outside set to the soundtrack of a slightly less splendid Cambodian comedy DVD and before we knew it we were in Phnom Penh.

Arriving at our hostel, the Blue Dog it was time for our dose of bad luck. After stepping over piles of slumped out, half-baked teenagers some of whom were mid-way through being tattooed we got shown to our room. I use the term room very loosely, there was a chipboard panel separating us from the common room, there were two windows which were missing their glass panels, only one of which was actually on the outside of the building and a small fan which was about as effective as a radiator at cooling you down. But with little more than a few nights here and a budget to stick to we convinced ourselves it could be worse and wasted no time in getting out into the city.

Phnom Penh is a spacious city, it’s the largest city in Cambodia and setting out without any clear direction is not advisable. We had asked for a map from the hostel, we were given one but it was for Siem Reap, which although is in the correct country it is over 300km away. We kindly returned this map and went in search of a tourist information place, we found one but the only city map they had was in Japanese. The information man very vaguely circled where we were and we set off to get some exploring done. The circle was inevitably very wrong but what the map did teach us was that the majority of things were located along the river front. We grabbed a tuk-tuk and headed for the centre, our driver was a young guy called “John”, he was really funny and on our drive into the centre we both warmed to him. As a rule all tuk-tuk drivers have laminated A3 size posters behind their seat which they pull out at the end of the journey. The posters display all the touristy places they drive to and offer to be your driver if you wish to visit these places. The rule here is simply if you like the guy and the price isn’t ridiculous then go for it. We arranged to go to both the Killing Fields and the S21 prison with John tomorrow morning.

We got dropped off at the night market which mainly sold Western style clothing, big name brands at very low prices. I purchased a pair of Timberland shorts for $3, I also picked out an Abercrombie & Fitch shirt ($2.50) but the guy wouldn’t let me try it on because I was too sweaty so it went back on the peg- story of my life right there.

We left the market and moved to a bar which Hatty had suggested she liked the look of. Once inside neither of us could have looked more out of place. We were wearing the universal traveller get-up, flip flops, shorts and a t-shirt that by all accounts and purposes should have been burnt a long time ago. I had a less than tidy beard and the less said about the mop of hair on my head the better. The other men were all dressed impeccably with their fitted shirts and designer stubble whilst the women were dolled to the nines, elegant evening dresses, flawless makeup and hair straight off a TV commercial. But having been on the road for over three months now we were used to looking a bit weathered, nobody inside cared much either as they sat around drinking champagne from their ice buckets. We ordered our drinks, a Coke and a beer Cambodia and then headed upstairs to the pool table, the reason Hatty had been drawn in.

A little while later the waitress, a stunning Asian girl who was beautifully dressed tottered up the stairs and bought our drinks over. We continued playing pool in our usual appalling fashion, singing along to the soft rock classics and generally mucking about. We finished the game and went over to grab a drink when we realised that the waitress had been sitting upstairs with us the whole time. No sooner had the balls gone in the pocket had she jumped up and wiggled over to the table and reset the table for us. We felt very awkward but seeing as she had gone to such effort we decided to play again. Realising she was going to sit there and watch us until it was time to spring into action again I asked for another drink not because I wanted one but it would give the poor girl something to do and make the whole experience a lot less creepy.

Looking over the balcony and actually taking in the environment below it quickly became apparent that the waitresses weren’t just there to fetch you drinks. The whole “sexpat” or “sex tourist” thing is fairly prominent in South East Asia, from the purpose built “Patpong” area of Bangkok to the “Heartbreaker” bars of Saigon there were times when you knew what you were going to find but here just looked like a normal bar so the whole situation knocked us both back.

Our waitress bought up our drinks, assisted by another waitress, her low slung top designed to draw your eyes towards her large, inflated breasts but my eyes were drawn to her hands and 5 o’clock shadow. The evening was set to get weirder.

We wrapped up another game, the table was reset and Widow Twankey departed to, I assume search for more profitable clientele downstairs. We played the third game as fast as we could, found a seat and finished our drinks, paid the bill so as to allow the waitress to make up for lost time and got ourselves out of there.

Back on the streets we were greeted by ominous clouds and the imminent chance of rain, we grabbed a tuk-tuk and set off for the room. The skies opened seconds after we pulled away and the driver got absolutely drenched.

By now the downstairs bar was in full swing, “free shots and laughing gas for everyone”, read the board behind the bar. Having felt underdressed in the previous bar quite the opposite could be said for here. I don’t have any issue with people enjoying themselves, letting their hair down and chucking back a few drinks but I am almost a decade too old for this party. Opting not to play the creepy Uncle role we headed upstairs and into our den. The party downstairs paired insignificant to the one nature was putting on outside. The rumbling bass of the thunder and flashing lightning acted as our evening entertainment.

The next morning we met John and made our way to the Killing Fields, much like my experience of the War Museum in Vietnam this was a truly moving experience. From 1975-1979, Pol Pot the leader of the Communist Khmer Rouge regime set about creating what he believed to be the master race, or the  "purification of the populace". Pol Pot set about creating his master race following Agrarian Socialist ideals. He believed that the most important thing was to concentrate on control, ownership and utilisation of land. The basic principle was that everyone would move from the cities to the countryside, begin farming and thus allow Cambodia to have an extensive amount of produce which they could trade with other countries. Unbeknown to those working the land the trading of goods wasn’t so much for money to improve Cambodia but for weapons.

Through heavy propaganda he convinced those who worked the land, mostly peasants that this change was for them, that the city people had had it too good for too long and now was their time. Pol Pot, formally a teacher, decided that anyone who didn’t work the land was against him, against the Khmer Rouge. His army set about rounding up anyone and everyone that he viewed to be against him. This extended to those with an “education”, “soft hands” or who “wore glasses”. His logic for deciding who should be arrested could be narrowed down to anyone who might have the ability to work out that he was a tyrannical dictator.

Once under arrest people were heavily tortured and questioned about their fictitious involvement with other countries or organisations which were ultimately against Pol Pot. The prisoners were forced to admit to their involvement by signing a scripted confession. There was no reality in what they were saying.

Upon their pleading guilty they remained in prison until such a time when they were taken to one of the many sites, now known as the Killing Fields. Here they were once again imprisoned alongside others who had been deemed to be against the regime and those people who had fallen short of expectation in the work camps.

One by one the prisoners were killed by the peasants who had now built up Pol Pots army. To save on expenses such as bullets, Pol Pot armed his forces with weapons such as spades, cart axels and hoes which they used to bludgeon the prisoners to death. Mass graves were dug, filled with bodies, covered with DDT to mask the smell and ensure everyone died then a new grave dug and the process was repeated. For any soldier not willing to do his duty of murdering innocent men and women their fate was death. The most popular way for this to be carried out was for them to be beheaded, cutting the neck with a serrated palm frond.

Perhaps the worst of all the crimes was those carried out on the children and babies of the prisoners. Pol Pot believed that, although they were incapable of physically being against him they did offer the risk of one day seeking revenge and so to were sentenced to death.

One of the hardest parts of the Killing Fields to visit is what is known as the Killing Tree, where soldiers would take the babies, grab them by their ankles and then swing their heads against the trunk of the tree often in the sight of their mothers.

In total, through murder, starvation and disease Pol Pot was responsible for wiping out twenty five percent of the population of Cambodia in under four years.

Somehow the whole thing went unmissed by the rest of the world, with the exception of Sweden, who had a large number of Khmer Rouge sympathises. In fact, Swedish officials visited Cambodia, the work camps and even the prisons and blindly refused to believe anything other than good was taking place. They were instrumental in silencing any doubts the rest of the world had, with the exception of Vietnam but they were hardly going to have any influence on powers such as the US.

I could go on and in much gorier detail but I think you get the point and significance of this site.

As you walk around the Killing Fields you listen to an audio guide, it explores the atrocities which took place here, it informs you of the severity of devastation but never glorifies it for shock value. There are key points around the fields, where the guide includes recordings of survivors of the camps. It uses music and other sounds to paint a very realistic picture of the scenes which took place here but the overriding message is that we must never forget what happened, not just for the memories of those who were killed but so that the world can learn from these events and one day prevent such horrific cases of genocide from ever happening again.

The mass graves have mostly been cleared and all the bones and skulls are on display in a 17 storey monument near the entrance of the site, but due to the high number of people that were killed here some bones and fragments of cloth remain in the ground, every year during the rainy season new bits surface and as we walked around we could clearly see small bones on the paths. It’s a very open reminder of the reality of what happened here.

We both came away stunned by what we had seen and heard, we sat in silence on the journey back into the city and tried to process some of the inhumanity of which we had just learnt. Perhaps optimistically we then visited the S21 prison, which was the site where prisoners were taken to before being moved to the killing fields. The killing fields themselves were set up because they ran out of room to bury people at S21. We only managed about half of the prison grounds as it was too overwhelming, so close to a visit to the killing fields.

We left and headed to the city centre where we were both emotionally drained, the rest of the day was pretty much a write off, we found a bar and watched the Malaysian Grand Prix while our brains digested everything we had seen.

That night Hatty got really ill, lets just say “both ends” and leave it there. So the following morning we took it easy, after spending most of the day in Joma, a café which we first found back in Laos we then decided to go the mall to watch a film. We had some time to kill before it started to ended up in one of the many Karaoke booths, an hour and a lot of Bonnie Tyler later we found our seats and watched the latest Neil Blomkamp film, Chappie. “In the near future, a mechanized police force patrols the streets and deals with lawbreakers -- but now, the people are fighting back. When one police droid is stolen and given new programming, he acquires the ability to feel and think for himself. While the robot, dubbed "Chappie" puzzles out human behaviour, the authorities begin to see him as a danger to mankind and order; they will stop at nothing to ensure that Chappie is the last of his kind.” Chappie was both thought provoking and brilliantly funny, a totally entertaining watch and way better than the synopsis leads you to believe.

Sun, Sea & Sickness (Otres)

We travel to Sihanoukville in the South West and immediately leave the tired, over partied streets and head 15 minutes downhill to Otres, a 3km or so stretch of beach. It is divided into Otres One, Otres Two and Otres Village, tonight we are staying at Papa Pippos on One. Our bungalow is a wooden shack right on the beach front, mere footsteps from the water’s edge. Papa Pippos is Italian run and as so has a truly magnificent menu, from fresh pizza and calzone to homemade ravioli and Italian ice cream. The sun is shining, my shoes are off, the sand between my toes and a pizza in my belly I couldn’t be happier.

 As evening draws in I enter myself into the “Trivia Tuesday” pub quiz, general knowledge is not a strong point so I’m playing for the booby prize. As the quiz begins it is revealed that the winning team of each round will receive a round of beers and the same for the highest scoring team with the least members. As a team of one I was confident, sure enough despite getting a shockingly low score over comes my first free beer of the night. The following three rounds didn’t yield such results thanks to the protest of another team contesting that, as Hatty was next to me we were in fact a team of two. However, my good fortune returned as the final scores were tallied up. For the winning team, of eight people a bottle of house wine was awarded. For the losing team, a wad of free beer tokens for Blame Canada, a near by bar. That “losing” team was of course was me and the tokens totalled seven. Eight free beers for losing a free quiz, I am living on the beach, I have unlimited access to pizza and can spend my days in a hammock. Was I falling in love with Otres, I think so.   

We had planned to stay on Otres for about five or six days then move onto some of the surrounding islands but we didn’t leave for two weeks. Those few weeks were a rollercoaster which have left me in two minds about how I view my time on Otres. I’ll start with the good.

Otres is a place that I had only dreamed of, firstly there was the view. Crystal blue, calm, warm waters- no jagged rocks or spiky sea urchins. Pristine, white sandy beaches- seriously, for two weeks I only walked on sand. In the distance other similar islands all reachable by a short boat ride. Unforgettable sunrises every morning and even better sunsets in the evening.

Next there were the people, likeminded, friendly, happy, welcoming. Everyone was super laid back and up for a good time but without the need to get fucked up.

Then there was the food and the bars, some of my favourite food of the whole trip was eaten here, fish Amok, grilled lemon and pepper shrimps, mango and papaya salad, Khmer “volcano” curries my list goes on. All washed down with ice cold, tangy lime shakes, mojitos and ginger tea. Almost every bar played decent music, some even had live music nights. Otres had the perfect mix of chilled out sleepiness and nightlife. I was seriously considering extending my visa and making more of a base out of Otres.

But then there’s the not so good. On our second night in Otres Hatty’s upset stomach returned and she had one hell of a night on the toilet with the bin between her legs. This wasn’t to be worst of it though, for as she was midway through a “poonado” episode the bathroom got a visit from some long tailed guests. Very few people like inexpediently seeing rats run past their feet, least not when you’re in such a vulnerable state as she was. Credit to her she didn’t actually freak out but did request my assistance. Our relationship reached a new level that night, as she sat emptying herself out into the toilet and bin I stood in the doorway brushing rats away from her with a broom.

We informed the staff, who came in, didn’t see any so told us they (the rats) wouldn’t be back. Back in the bathroom in the early hours of the morning one ran along a ledge at the top of the wall, another across the floor. In the light of day we told the manager who was a bit more understanding than the person last night, she said they would set traps, lay glue boards and do whatever they could. We were both tired from being up all night so had a real lazy day on the beach, in the evening we watched some live music and then went back to the bungalow. That night was less eventful, Hatty was still not feeling right and had developed a bit of anxiety about staying in the room- understandably bought on by her being sick and our new guests. Aside from regular toilet visits on her part and broom wielding on my part the night didn’t bring anymore surprises. I was feeling reassured that whatever had been put in place to get rid of the rodents had worked, my concern now was on getting Hatty back to full health.

We went to the local shop, I bought a hammock and we took a long walk along the beach. Papa Pippos was the last accommodation on Otres One and from there the beach is practically empty for over a kilometre, we set up camp and had an awesome day out on our own stretch of paradise. Later that day we went to Blame Canada and started using up some of my free tokens. Blame Canada was a cool bar, a little hipster but played wicked music, had easily the best view of the sunset on Otres One, a free pool table and a hammock in the sea. As I sat back in my chair, cold beer in hand and sun setting in front of me I felt completely at peace, Bon Iver’s “For Emma, Forever Ago” album was being played in its entirety and perfectly suited my mood.

I was getting a little peckish so suggested we grab a menu and eat here, but as the night drew in Hatty’s anxiety level rose dramatically. She was like a completely different person, she had true fear in her eyes. Her responses were nonsensical and her moods disorientating. At that particular moment I had no idea how to deal with her, I can’t express how content I felt there but there was no ignoring how seriously Hatty needed to get away. There was a part of me that wanted to be selfish and make us stay there but it quickly became apparent that she was not mucking about. The anxiety that had consumed her was making her shake, dry wretch, cry. I’d never seen anyone like this before, least not someone who means so much to me. I didn’t want to take her back to the room as I believed this to be base cause of the problem, I suggested we take a walk along the beach but she then changed her mind again and insisted staying here and getting some food.

There was no way she was going to stay and eat and there was even less chance of it actually being an enjoyable experience. We left and walked along the beach and as we got closer to the bungalow she deteriorated further, being sick and crying uncontrollably. She kept apologising, like I was angry with her. That couldn’t have been further from the truth, I was nothing but concerned, at most I was just confused. We got into the room and I sat her on the bed, tied the bathroom door wide open and put a film on the laptop then went outside. I knew having the bathroom door open would be a horrible experience for her but she needed to understand that whatever is, or isn’t in there isn’t that bad. I had offered to check us out and find a new place to stay on multiple occasions but she didn’t want to do that so I was running out of ideas.

As I sat on the patio outside I could hear her sobbing uncontrollably inside but had nothing constructive to say to calm her down, instead I spent the next few hours researching anxiety online and tips on how to help someone who suffers with it. Everything started to fall into place, I had previously thought anxiety to be the same as nervousness, but nervousness is just one of the symptoms of anxiety. Hatty explains the sensation to being similar to drowning, she has a rational thought telling her to swim but the anxiety prevents her arms from working. But to an outsider it’s hard to not understand why she doesn’t swim. I better understood it when I remembered a student from the College I used to work at. I met him for the first time after he had been involved in a car crash, prior to the accident he had been a very talented footballer, he had led a very active and healthy lifestyle but after the crash the only thing that remained properly active was his brain. He felt continuous frustration as he knew he should be able to walk, run, kick a ball but no matter how much his brain told his legs to move nothing happened. That battle between what you know you can, or should do and the bodies inability to respond is terrifying. When by all intents and purposes you are a healthy person that lack of control is in some ways more debilitating.

We left Papa Pippos the next day and moved off the beach to Otres Village to a French run place called Nice Dreams. The luxury, concrete villas were a long way from the wooden, straw roofed, open sided bathroom of Papa Pippos. They had air conditioning, a bath and a fridge, they were a 15 minute walk from the beach and a further 15 minutes from Papa Pippos. I really thought these factors would allow Hatty to get some peace and bring her anxiety down, and for the first part of the day this was the case. Being closer to Otres Two we could more easily explore the furthest end of the beach, we found an amazing stretch of water, you could clamber over the large rocks and commandeer you own tiny island, the water was so clear we could see schools of fish swimming about and for the first time we were both able to enjoy the moment for what it was.  

On the walk back we stopped and had a drink at a place called Shanti, their accommodation was set inside beach front treehouses. To my surprise Hatty suggested that we should see how much it would be to stay here. I loved the idea, it was like a childhood dream to spend the night in a treehouse and added to the fact it was open fronted so at any given point I could see the beach it sounded perfect. We had a few more nights at Nice Dreams and then planned to visit Koh Rong, a near by island for a few nights, on our return to Otres we would potentially stay at Shanti.

We took the boat over to Koh Rong for a day trip to see if it was actually somewhere we wanted to stay, in short the answer to that was a resounding “no”. By all accounts the waters here were that bit clearer and the sand a little whiter but the island was littered with people, rubbish and sand flies. All the natural beauty of the place had been swallowed up by tourism. It was overcrowded and hard work finding somewhere to enjoy yourself. We laughed at how fortunate we were that we were, by all accounts on one of the worlds most beautiful beaches and able to say, “meh it’s alright, I’ve seen better”.  

After the boat drops you off you have four hours on the island, this wasn’t long enough to go diving or get a boat to the smaller, less populated islands so after having some very average food and being attacked by sand flies we opted to sunbathe on the top desk of the boat. The highlight of the trip was definitely sailing back as the sun set, the cooler evening breeze did little to soothe my over exposure to the sun but we were both happy with our decision to remain on little, old Otres.

Our last night at Nice Dreams saw Hatty’s anxiety level creep up but she convinced me she was happy to go to Shanti, she wanted to test herself for at least one night. All credit to her she saw the night through without any issue. I, on the other hand hated it, I foolishly thought that being that close to the sea, out in the open would make for a cool evening but that night the wind was still and the temperate never dropped. I paced around the upper desk all night searching for the slightest breeze but everything I tried just made me warmer and more awake.

We checked out the following morning and moved to a newly built hotel behind Ostres Two called Golden View. The hotel hadn’t finished being built and as so the rooms were ridiculously cheap, our private double cost £12 a night, once the place is finished I’d expect this price to at least triple. We were a little walk from the beach but instead had stunning views out along the river, more importantly we were somewhere Hatty felt comfortable.

Our time on Otres was coming to an end and despite having not been a completely smooth ride I was sad to be leaving. I’m almost certain this place is now tainted in Hatty’s mind but for me it’s somewhere I would return, time and time again. Beaches, people and food aside there is one thing that ensures my heart remains in Otres, that my friends is the Frozen Flannel. First discovered at a small restaurant on Otres Two, Elephant Paradise, the frozen flannel is the ultimate companion to dining in a tropical environment. Having just eaten the Khmer Volcano curry- not dissimilar to the Thai Green but with more of an emphasis on lemon grass than coriander I was feeling a little warm. This may due to the bowl of fresh red chilies I poured on top of the curry or the fact the outside temperate was higher than I care to remember but regardless I was beading furiously. About half way through the meal the waitress came over with two wicker baskets with a rolled up flannel in each. I assumed this was like one of those warm, lemon towels you get at Indian restaurants so I left it to one side until Hatty revealed its true identity.”IT’S FROZEN” she shrieked in ecstasy. I immediately grabbed mine and put in on my neck, then under my knees, my forehead just about anywhere I could think to cool me down. By now, if you’ve been reading my blog you’ll now that I struggle somewhat with heat, with the frozen flannel I’m finally able to do normal things like sit or eat or walk about outside without my forehead turning into a waterfall. I have seen the light, I have been to the promise land.

Siem Reap

Our journey to Siem Reap was one we had been looking forward to, we had paid a little extra to travel the 13 hours on the Hotel Bus as this would offer us a more luxurious and enjoyable experience. The ticket gets you a double bed, curtained off area, TV, power sockets, WiFi, pillow and blanket. It’s the business class of bus travel but all was not as it seemed. We were travelling to Siem Reap going into the Khmer New Year and as so the bus was at full capacity, in Cambodian terms that means not only that all the beds are full but also the gangways and steps. This resulted in a very strange night basically sharing by bed with upwards of four people. I woke up at multiple times in the journey, the creepiest of which was due to someone holding my toes. The TV didn’t work nor did the WiFi, the plug sockets were covered by a partition wall, one curtain was missing but none of these things were as bad as the discovery we made at the end of the journey.

There had been a faint whiff of fish the whole time we were on the bus, this isn’t unusual as often the buses and trains are also used to transport goods. It’s also not uncommon for the locals to cook something up, the lady opposite us actually had a gas camping stove which she used. I put the smell down to that and forgot about it. When we got off the bus there were four or five large polystrnene containers on the pavement, one was badly damaged and had already become infested with flies. The stench from the box filled the warm air and was enough to turn even the strongest of stomachs. Still I didn’t put two and two together.

I collected our bags, which was sodden, wet right through but assuming that they had just been unfortunate to land in one of the puddles I threw it onto my back and went to get a tuk-tuk. Then it hit me, the fowl smell of rotten fish washed over me, we walked past the baggage hold of the bus and everything fell into place. The boxes which had been full of fish and kept cool with ice had been on the bus, in the hold besides all the bags. The ice had obviously melted during the warm, 13 hour journey and the slushy fishy water had drained away and soaked into our bags. Worse still was the broken box which had spilt not only the icy water but actual fish all over the luggage. Not a single member of staff seemed to acknowledge this as an issue. We got a ride the hotel where, before checking in prioritised finding out if they offered a laundry service.

Every single item in our bags stank of warm, musty fish, from shorts and t-shirts to shoes and the bags themselves. Laundery costs $1 per kg and our bags weighed out at roughly 15kg each. This expense would be damaging to our budget but there was little option other than pay up. We washed the heavier stuff in the shower then took the rest downstairs. I can laugh about it now but at the time I was livid.

We were staying at the V&A Villa, £13 per night got us a private double room with balcony, free use of the swimming pool, breakfast and access to lots of cats. OK, maybe the last one isn’t strictly part of the package but they had a lot of cats and that’s worth something in my book.

Once we’d de-fished we went downstairs to best work out how to tackle the Angkor park over the next few days. Andy, the “A” in V&A was originally from Hertfordshire, he’d come out to Cambodia as a volunteer where he met Voleak, they got married and then had the tough decision of working out whether to move to England or stay in Cambodia, It should be obvious which decision won. Andy was a wealth of information and talked us through the options for doing the park as well as giving us the low down on the New Year celebrations that were happening throughout the city. It was sounding like a very exciting time to be in Siem Reap.

Angkor tickets come in three sizes, one day, three day and seven day and cost $20, $40 and $60 respectively. A nice touch is that if you buy your pass after 5pm you are allowed to go into the site to see Sunset for free and your pass starts the following morning. We took advantage of this and that evening we chose to watch the sun come down over Phnom Bakheng. Set high at the top of a hill looking over the ancient city below you get a stunning view of Angkor Wat and the reflections on the Tonle’ Sap lake. The temple itself is under repair but I liked the collapsed look it gave me a better idea of its age and I felt like it had only just been discovered. It was an awesome place to take photos and the sunset was pretty special up there.

The following morning we made our way to Angkor Wat for sunrise, on the way we made a brief friendship with a Slovakian chap who had hitched a lift with us, but instead of sitting in the tuk-tuk he was on a push bike, holding onto the side of the vehicle. Each time he thought the driver would catch him in his mirrors he would swerve just out of sight or let go, peddle like mad and catch up again. It was an admirable way to save both energy and money. He joked he had come all the way from Europe using this method. In reality he had just spent the best part of the year living in a van, travelling across New Zealand. He was headed for Bayon so at the junction we said goodbye and continued on our way.

Every single person that was at Angkor Wat that morning had the same idea, go through the main gate, get as close to the lake and position their cameras to capture the sun coming up behind the iconic towers of Angkor Wat. I had a different idea, for me the shot of the gates, the towers behind them and the moats either side offered not only a better photo but somewhere to really enjoy the moment away from the crowds. Every single guide that came past us told us that the views inside were better but we stood strong. As the sun came up I was blown away by the view and got great joy from the photos I took. We moved inside and joined the sea of people, who were all crammed into the “perfect spot”, sure enough they were greeted with a more impressive shot of Angkor but the drained lake took away some of the magic, not to mention the amount of heads and cameras that would inevitably be in their shots.

We wandered around the Angkor Wat site, built in the early 12^th Century it is still to this day the world’s largest religious monument. It is extraordinary how much detail has been preserved in the wall carvings and ceiling decorations and with nothing to distract you it’s easy to forget you’re in the 21^st Century. Things get even better when you climb to the top of one of the temples inside the complex. The 360 degree view from up there pulls you further into the belief that you have left the 21^st Century, with nothing but ancient buildings, grass and woodlands in sight you continue to feel further connected with Angkor.

For me, each complex we visited got better and better. Next on our list was Angkor Thom, one of the largest Khmer cities ever built housing, in my opinion the best temples in the park. The first of these was Bayon, the complex of face towers built in the late 12^th Century was an epic place to explore and take photos. Some of the walls have collapsed and sections of it are under repair but I liked the way it had been allowed to age, it made it feel more like a discovery than a tourist experience. The giant faces tower high above you, surrounding you from all directions, its like being in a labyrinth.

The next few places we visited, Suor Prat Towers, Elephant Terrace and the Terrace of the Leper King were all rushed due to the arrival of the Cambodian Prime Minister, who was visiting the Angkor complex and kicking off the new year celebrations. We were ushered along pretty quickly and so didn’t have much time to explore, thankfully though from what I can tell all three of these were considerably smaller than any of the others we had visited and so we didn’t feel we missed too much.

The absolute highlight of the Angkor complex for me was the visit to Ta Phrom and Banteay Kdei. Both sites have been left to allow nature to do what nature does, so as a result you have monumental stone structures dating back to the 11^th or 12^th Century with gargantuan roots twisted around them. The trees both support and destroy the site in equal measures and it looks truly awesome. Both sites received fame on the big screen when they were used as a location for the movie Tomb Raider. Both Ta Phrom and Banteay Kdei are out of this world, it’s hard to believe what you are seeing and with so many hidden corners you can really feel like you are the first person to ever stumble across this lost city. I enjoy taking photos and this was by far one of the best places to do just that. Angkor Wat holds a lot of the glory and fame but for me its these two that stole the show.

Aside from the temples, one of the other cities star attractions is found high in the trees of the Palace gardens. Hundreds of bats hang from the branches all day, occasionally testing out their wings but on the whole they stay fairly motionless. That is until the sun sets and then, like a black cloud they exit on mass into the dark of the night. The noise they produce echoes across the park and people come from far and wide to watch the evening spectacle. We waited for about two hours for their performance and it was worth every second. Thanks to the New Year there was the occasional moment of pre-show premature pyrotechnics which sent the bats into a state of frenzy. After the trees had emptied and our necks were crooked from looking up for too long we moved over the park to the “Leo Concert”. Leo, for those that don’t know is a beer from Thailand, we were both a puzzled why a Thai beer was sponsoring Khmer New Year, especially seeing as they have their own beers, Cambodia and Angkor.  The logic to the event was further lost when I bought the first round, my beer arrived along with a token. I exchanged the token for a dart, which I was instructed to throw at a spinning wheel. Whatever I hit meant that I won a Leo hat, which I kindly donated to Hatty but she wasn’t impressed. Other lucky winners had walked away with pens, fans, t-shirts and motorbike helmets. Her eyes were soley on the helmets. I sank the beer, bought another and tried again. Another Leo hat. On stage was a band playing traditional Cambodia folk music, to my right a large screen playing Leo adverts. Running out of heads to put hats on we finished our drinks and called it night.

Round two of New Year  celebrations were more lively, the infamous Pub Sreet had been taken over and in the middle of the road stood a large stage, a DJ blasted “C-Pop” at the thousands of young people who jumped about, cheering and screaming with joy. The energy was electric, people was rushing about wishing everyone a Happy New Year, laughter and cheers filled the air. Everybody was drunk on happiness, not a bottle of alcohol in sight. Each road had its own theme, its own loud, energetic music, dancing crowds. Traditionally Khmer New Year is the one night men and women can mingle, in fact it is supposed to be on this night that a man finds his wife. Spirits were high and that’s an understatement.

There is one other tradition that we had avoided, that was until we turned down a certain road. We were met by hoards of people covered head to toe in talcum powder. As we shuffled through the crowds we found ourselves being wished a happy new year, receiving a high five or a hug and a good handful of talcum powder to the face, head, body or wherever it landed once it left the bottle. By the end of the street we looked like two ghosts, with baby soft skin. That, however isn’t the end of the tradition, for as we turned the corner we were met by another group armed with water pistols, buckets of water, hose pipes. They lined the streets and the balconies of the building above and without hesitation proceeded to drench us and turn the talcum powder into a kind of cement. There is very little you can other than laugh and embrace it, nobody has the slightest bit of menace in them, the atmosphere is like a carnival, a massive free party across the city. Nobody is even hinting at having a fight, or vandalising anything, there is no need for heavy policing. There are tens of thousands of people on the streets and every last one of them has nothing but love in their heart. There’s no getting around the fact it was surreal walking about drenched and covered in baby powder but who am I to argue with tradition. Happy Khmer New Year.

Our final stop in Cambodia saw us make a brief stop back in Phnom Penh. We caught the bus out of Siem Reap and six hours later were checked into our hotel. With the New Year celebrations winding down and people making the most of being off work the city was basically closed. We spent the night planning our route for the next leg of our journey which will see us travelling through Malaysia, starting with Kuala Lumpur.

Cambodia has well and truly captured my heart, it’s made up of the kindest, friendliest and most genuine people I have ever met. The Cambodians are lively, jolly and full of spirit. They are proud, curious and welcoming. Not one person that I met during my time here gave off anything remotely aggressive or standoffish, it’s impossible to be in their company and not laugh or have a permanent smile across you face.

The food, although it often had a negative effect on us, was delicious and exciting. So many of their dishes are borrowed from neighbouring countries but cooked with  a Cambodian twist, often subtle, always for the better of the dish. Every hour spent either on or near a toilet was worth every bite.

The landscapes, the beaches, the ancient cities and their temples were mind blowing. Impressive doesn't begin to cover it. The more I think about Cambodia the more I love it. To have gone through some of the things I’ve mentioned in this blog, to see the person I love in such a vulnerable, uncontrollable state of fear has had an impact but I don’t hold Cambodia responsible, or if I did, I forgive her.

Next stop, Malaysia.

As always thanks for reading.