Well, I promised that I would write about our trip to the temples of Angkor, and it's coming, but before that, here is a description of our drive there.
Destination Siem Reap and Angkor Wat
First of all, it was a relief that we even managed to reach our destination alive and in one piece. The drive from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap is only about 300 km, but it takes close to six hours to get there. This includes two stops along the way – one very short one, a pipi stop; the other long enough for lunch. Mind you, it is not a restful drive. Even though the road connecting the two towns is one of the better roads in Cambodia, it’s only a two-lane highway, and most of it is in fair to poor condition, making for a bumpy ride. Not conducive to sleep. We had hired a van with a Cambodian driver, which was a good thing, I suppose, because I doubt we would have managed to nav
igate all the way ourselves. Cambodia apparently has a very comprehensive set of traffic rules, but nobody seems to care. Absolute turmoil dominates the road scene as motorbikes, cars, trucks, cyclists and every conceivable vehicle (anything that has wheels applies) zigzag down the road. All sorts of hazards lurk around the next bend, from motorcycles, speeding buses or little kids or old women trying to cross the highway right in front of you, to unexpected cattle crossings. Still, it seems to work. I have yet to see an accident (although it is said that on average 4 people are killed in traffic accidents and many more are injured daily in Cambodia). Makes you wonder if we really need all our traffic rules. Both going there and coming back, we passed a man who hobbled out into the middle of the road with the help of a make-shift crutch as we approached (two thirds of his leg was missing, probably blown off by a landmine), knelt down in the middle on the yellow line, and put his hands together in front of his face as if in prayer. We will never know if he was praying for alms or a speedy death.
As we left the city, we made our way through what can best be described as shanty towns, groups of make-shift shacks, the traditional wooden houses on stilts, countless little stands catering to the basic needs of the local population including petrol in two-litre soda bottles for motorbikes. These zones made way for a more rural area with vast expanses of emerald green rice fields, emaciated oxen grazing in the shade of trees and water buffaloes trying to stay cool in the wet, grassy areas along the roadside. People travel by every possible means: ox carts, bicycles, on top of trucks or even hanging out of the trunks of cars. Nearly every car is driven by a madman going at full throttle, and they never slow down, just honk their horns to announce their impending arrival, and nobody seems to mind. We passed by rice paddies where workers were busy with the back-breaking business of cultivating rice, past villages where red chili peppers were laid out on coarse cloths to dry in the sun and dirty children ran about naked while their mothers washed clothes in the brown water by the road, and yet others where the main livelihood seemed to be selling grilled grasshoppers on the side of the road.
Our first stop was at the Cambodian equivalent of a French “restoroute”, an (outdoor) restaurant serving up all sorts of Cambodian fare, and a “hot dog stand” selling cold drinks and grilled grasshoppers and spiders, turtle eggs and snails as well as all sorts of fruits; mangoes, pineapples, mangosteen, etc. We decided to be health-conscious and not give in to the temptation of snacking, though Thomas did convince me to try a grasshopper, having tried it a friend’s house, and I must admit it wasn’t all that bad! Though we didn’t buy anything, the people were kind as always, even in the face of incredible poverty.
After two more hours of driving, our stomachs were growling up a storm, so we tapped on the driver’s shoulder and had a stab at explaining that we wanted to stop for lunch. Since his English was non-existent, and out Khmer equally poor, we ended up putting it in very plain words… “Chop chop (stop in Khmer), niam niam?” and making eating motions with our hands and mouths – not a very proud moment for two linguists… Just as we were wondering if he had understood any of our babbling, he pulled off at another roadside restaurant. We were led down some steps, and there b
eyond the main dining area, we saw an enchanting sight – a row or six or seven wall-less huts with thatched roofs on stilts along the shores of a lake. They could only be reached by walking across a wooden walkway that was rickety at best and not accustomed to carrying the weight of westerners, but we took our chances and made it safely to one of the huts arranged with a table and chairs and two hammocks where you could relax while you waited for your food. The service was fast and impeccable; the food was great, and all at the modest price of $15 for the entire family and the driver, including drinks.
What we found most frustrating about this drive is that we had to suppress our constant urge to ask the driver to stop so that we might take pictures. We knew we didn’t have enough time, but decided that once we get our car, we will return solely for that purpose. The photo opportunities are endless. We saw so much beauty, but also crazy contraptions on wheels and means of transport that we couldn’t have imagined in our wildest dreams. Chickens and ducks being transported in bushels on motorbikes, and pigs attached upside down (alive!!) to the back of a motorbike, bikes with baskets piled high. As long as you can strap it on, anything goes.
We finally made it to Siem Reap six hours after leaving Phnom Penh, and after some searching, we found our hotel, Le Pavillon d’Orient. Fred had researched it on the internet, and the reviews were unanimous on Trip Advisor, which is a rare thing, so we felt pretty confident in our choice. When I saw the entrance, I must admit my heart sank and I thought “I should have double-checked this”. All we could see was an overgrown wall with a opening in it. But as the friendly staff greeted us and led us through the gate, it felt like we were entering the Secret Garden, and I knew my initial fears had been unfounded. They led us to the reception area which was in the bottom part of a traditional wooden house (ie. outdoors), asked us to have a seat and promptly brought us some icy cold washcloths and iced green tea, both greatly appreciated in this heat. After the formalities were taken care of, we were walked down a pathway meandering through the lush gardens, past the pool and to our rooms. They were decorated in a typical colonial style, and there was a fresh fruit platter to greet us. We didn’t have much energy after the long drive, and after all, this was supposed to be holidays, so we changed into our swimsuits, donned the hotel bathrobes, and headed to the pool to relax, and plan the next day’s outing.
To be continued...
