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Published: February 19th 2006
The magnificence of Angkor infuses us with effervescent wonder.
As Helios - that fiery spheroid of gaseous beauty - pokes his halo-esque crown of light and heat above the far distant mountains of Kdang Beart Sras Sang Rinong-Pu...oops! Sorry Richard! Better start that again.
In which The Busters drink cheap beer and souvenir whore for the last time
Today is the last full day The Busters have together and Angkor Wat awaits our perusal. We intend to head out to the temple at about 2.00pm so we can spend the afternoon exploring and watch the sun set. Tez decides to start the day with an extended toilet break followed by a mid morning kip so Joe and I head off into town with 1990. We visit the town's Old Market and stumble onto a huge butchery section. There is meat and blood and heads and gizzards and flies everywhere. We suddenly realise that this must be where all the restaurants, guesthouses and hotels buy their meat and as I watch a huge blowfly crawl across the milky white sclera of pig's eye I tell Joe to hurry up, it's time for lunch.
But Joe is deep in negotiation with
a stall holder. He is holding a statue of the Buddha that the owner claims is early 14th Century despite the serial number stamped into the bottom. The owner wants US$14. Joe looks around in a panic - Where is Tez when you need him? (A. He is back at the guesthouse sitting on the karzi.) I leave Joe to it and buy a silver ring for eight bucks after beating the price down from 9 bucks. When I return Joe has bought a smaller and uglier Buddha - it looks more like a statue of Frank Thring - but has managed to haggle the price up to US$19. Thank God Tez wasn't present to witness this sad and sorry effort.
We retire to Le Grand Cafe and Joe suggests that instead of eating why don't we just have a couple of Bloody Marys. As it is only 10.30am I can't help but agree that this is an excellent suggestion. I am certain that this will ensure that we suck maximum enjoyment out of our trip to Angkor Wat that afternoon.
And so to the Wat
1990 drops us right in front of Angkor Wat at 3.00pm and
Busters head in.
We have had no previous modelling experience (except for Joe)we walk across the causeway and through the gate of the exterior wall. Once inside it is very dramatic and open and the temple itself lies about a kilometre away. BUT there are people
everywhere. It would seem that 99.9%!o(MISSING)f tourists only visit Angkor Wat as every other temple was virtually deserted. There is also a nearby giant carpark full of tour buses spewing out a constant stream of people. Don't get me wrong, Angkor Wat is great but I am not digging it like I was at Ta Prohm and Preah Khan.
The Busters climb ridiculously steep and dangerous steps to the top and find a secluded corner to have a sit, a think and a ciggie. The view is gorgeous as the sun starts to set and we head back towards the main gate. On the way we find a huge, deserted courtyard and begin to feel the glory of Angkor. We also feel the glory of Tears For Fears and sing a couple of verses of Mad World as the sun sinks below the horizon. We leave Angkor Wat with 1990 and I feel very lucky indeed to have had three days to explore the
area with two such steadfast companions.
As this is our last night in Cambodia we dine at Le Grand Cafe and extravagantly order a huge and excellent meal. The wine flows like water and the conversation flows like champagne. We are sad to see the end of The Big Bust '05 but vow that this should become a two yearly event. Surely the Buster Wives would understand!
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B.C. G7 (prov) D (UK/US '06)
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angkor what?
A touch of melancholy passes through my heart as I read the final words and view the last images of the G1s on their 20th anniversary bust. And isn't the sight of an airborne G1 such a beautiful thing? More melancholia for Divola - today I leave my beloved NYC. Nothing much to report apart from surviving the heaviest NYC snowfall in recorded history. Naturally my G7 (prov.) instincts kicked in and I headed immediately to the epicentre - Central Park - where over 26 inches fell in 24 hours, a new record. Oh how I gambolled and squealed like a six year old girl. It was a nice break from drinking and skirt chasing around the bars of the lower east side, where I have a new nickname - That Boring Bald Australian Bloke. I think this trip was summed up when I found myself at 2:30 in the morning with two companions I had met four hours previously - one had just imbibed cocaine in a bar bathroom; the other was the 20-year-old foxy singer of a local pop-punk band. Between bars, a guy with a guitar case walks past. We get talking. He asks if we're musicians. Well, what could I say? (No doubt he was just a coy Fluffs fan) He hands over the instrument and within seconds I'm bashing out the chords to their request for Wild Thing - fortunately I know those three chords. The snow comes down, and my heart sings and everything's groovy. ATVB, B.C. G7 (prov. - surely a joke at this point) D