The clocks struck rat.

The Chinese clocks had just struck RAT when we rolled in to Khmer speaking Cambodia by private taxi from the Thai boarder, the transition from Bangkok was easy and to travel in such luxury cost nearly nothing.

We headed for Siem Reap the town most famous for the Angkor Wat ruins and temples. First thing I noticed was the Cambodian ladies who are tiny in height and wear an interesting combination of over sized cartoon and floral print pyjamas, flip flops, smog masks and cone straw hats. Many folk seem to have been sucked to near death with perfect circular blood marks similar to love bites that dominate key meridian lines on exposed body parts, Khmer torture stopped here some years ago but these marks are caused by the cupping technique that has been practised for centuries to this current day to rid internal impurities from the blood and the body.

We had not been in town more than 12 hours when we found a man named San. He told us about a very rare event that comes around once every 100 years, which was happening that night, this exciting news had my inner waters bursting through epithelium. Here they all celebrate Chinese new years as some ones relative is normally of Chinese origin, but it was also the opening of the new pagoda which had just been built. San drove us in his tuk tuk 8 km out of Siem Reap to Wat Po Village. It was a humid evening as we followed a light trail of bauble, tinselled flashing Christmas trees, strings of fairy lights and pink paper lanterns. San parked his tuk tuk and said “READY?”....Oh, ohhh....within seconds we had naked children begging at our feet, then the toothless elderly pulled at my t-shirt, the crippled and maimed land mine and polio victims started to drag themselves towards us and pull at my skirt, images of my time in India came flooding back to me. But we stood our ground and marched forwards towards the lights and carnival atmosphere ahead. San negotiated a massive bundle of Cambodian riel for $5. Since the Khmer Rouge surrendered in 1999 the country has been steadily getting used to living fear free, enjoying such small luxuries as money, normally in Cambodia they prefer to use the US dollar, the cash machines pump out small $1, $5, and $10 dollar notes as things cost next to nothing here. So we thought to hell with it lets get $10 worth and be mega loaded and ultra giving. This was no normal event, the money was in 100 bill notes which is about 1p. With this stash we had instructions to give it all away to the poor and needy because......altogether now “To give money is to receiving merits”. The thing was, we really were the only tourists and white faces in this entire site, so we were not only amassing karmic merits for attending their ceremonies but by being fresh blood in town we were also amassing an entourage who followed us everywhere. I suddenly knew what Angelina and Brad felt like, this was the same level of hysteria we received, except there was something missing, which was the flash of a camera as no one had one except us, as they cant afford them. My simple digital camera would feed a family for a year here.

Wat Po is a grand new pagoda and for the next 14 days the locals and invited religious guests from the pagodas of Phnom Penh and now Stu and I from London England come to celebrate the Chinese new year altogether, it went on all day and all night. Us and our new entourage crossed a hump bridge, along its path there was twinkly flames ignited by propane canisters, they lit up all the cards that explained all about the Chinese signs. Before each animal sign was a bowl to place money, but there was bowls everywhere with money still in them, as the poor had not stolen it. The hump bridge brought us to the grand gold ornate entrance, surrounded by fairy lights, balloons incense sticks and candles. When we entered word got round....the white tourists have a stash of karma cash....the tugging and pulling continued, we gave to one person and fifty more people would turn up, but we had plenty to give. San was trying to explain the customs and traditions, it was like being at a cross between The Notting Hill Carnival, a smaller Indian Kumbh Mela and Mardis Gras for the seriously socially and physically deprived. I felt like a frog in a sock, the whole place was crazy to be inside. We could not hear San speaking above the chanting noises coming from the karaoke machines on full blast with religious folk dressed in white and really very old, saying something terribly important that we must do, but I don't speak Khmer quiet yet so I ignorantly had to walked away. The ladies were selling real currency money in exchange for the same kind of money, which did not make sense, you give them what you feel the real money is worth by using other real money the same! There was a theatre show that was a full on crazy production with a 'real actress' from the TV dressed in jangling gold wraps and a diamanté tiara, she sort of sang some kind of love lament, I am guessing that she had tonsil problems as it was performed in a very high pitched s c r e e c h i n g as she sung with brain frying feed back from the mic, even the children in the audience who adored the beautiful TV goddess put there hands over their ears.

Millions of incense sticks burned fast and furious giving the humid air a thick sweet density. My camera took weird photos, more so around the beggars as there were clear orbs throughout, millions of circles of light, I checked for dust, flies, rain, dampness but nothing obvious did this. When I took pictures of the monks or kids playing the camera was fine. Bazaar. We took our shoes off and left them with a monk who was heavily tattooed and I blush to say this, but he was very handsome and charming indeed. It felt good walking barefoot in and around the temple especially with everyone looking at us. Surrounding us were low level lengths of string that originated from specific places, for example coming from the eyes of the illuminated Buddha the string stretched to the window, other string criss crossed all around us like a big cats cradled, it symbolised the newness of this building and the finale to this fortnight would be the Abbott cutting the strings, like cutting the red ribbon for a new supermarket or cruise liner. The Buddha stood 50ft tall in the centre of the temple, he was mesmerising as he had a circular 21st century disco looking disc placed right behind his head like a vertical halo, it displayed various graphics that was pure Goan acid hypnotic. The boy monks were huddled together beneath the Buddha's feet, they were still in training as they gave distracted blessing, many locals would donate this silly money in bundles in exchange for a blessing. I went up on stage to give my wad of cash and my respect for the training monks and the boy monks tried their best to contain their excitement when the enormous 6 ft busty white tourist .....female.... had stood before them, I was poised in bow position head to the ground, waiting and waiting for a blessing, which I got as they tried not to giggle, but I didn't realise until just after when I checked my photos as I was bowing down I had my t-shirt gaping open and ample pale skinned female flesh was sort of exposed. I gave them a bundle more of cash to make up for my ignorant mindless actions.

Out side the temple there were big holes in the ground, these are called 'The Hole' there was one on every side of the pagoda to represent north, east, west and south and they were owned by rich families who donated the cash back to the temple. Surrounding them were barriers made from sticks and a sheet that was suspended inside, it was a real money well with real money being thrown in. It was optional what you threw down it, either you could buy a clear plastic pack that had beauty products stuffed inside, this sort of bag would be the kind super models and vain people are allowed past the security checks on a long haul flight, this pack is symbolic to ask for physical beauty so it was mainly the women that brought this bundle to drop the beauty bag in to the hole. The other option was to drop an English grammar book in to the whole to learn more languages and to travel or most people just dropped cash in to the hole.

I spotted the handsome monk who was hanging out with his mate guarding the money, but from whom as no one would steal it anyway, both monks had intricate and decorative tattoos all over their bodies, one monk was smoking a cigarette. He handed me my shoes back, he didn't kick them over to me at all like the Dhammakaya monks may have done to avoid physical contact, so I asked him who his leader is. He said that his immediate boss is the abbot of this temple, but the big guy CEO of Cambodian Buddhist is The Dalai Lama of Tibet. The tattoos are markings from particular temples that they are from, and there is a slight difference in robes. I asked if they had heard of Dhammakaya but they had not. So far Id seen the monks chat casually to ladies, getting side tracked by fleshy bosoms ( they were adolescent Ill let them off for that) many smoke fags, one was eating a chicken wing, they lavish their bodies with beautiful tattoo's, the people throw beauty products in a well and wish for good looks, what happened to the 'beauty is held within', business? Compared to Dhammakaya monks it was a different set of rules, the monk told me that all monks practise daily the main 5-8 precepts, don't kill, lie, steal, ect.....

We walked from the temple through the food stands, when I saw an ice cream trolley that was lit up with a bunch of live, hot, flaming candles nestled amongst the crushed ice, this was so people could see what ice cream they are buying! We walked into the funfair area, where people with a bit more affluence were also strolling around amongst the very poor and destitute, who were still scattered all over the mud field. I had my fortune told by this man sat on a mat, the words of my future lay within a narrow wooden book with elaborate scriptures decoratively written within, I had to think of a question and place this book upon my head, then select my answer by randomly placing the marker inside the concertina pages. The man read my answer “My next job will be very successful and it will bring much joy to the world”, at this point in time I have not got a clue what job, ill be doing next year but after voodoo man in Peru told me what I felt at the time was a load of rubbish, that in fact turned out truer than day follows night, ill never laugh or mock any prediction ever again. I gave him one million riels for his time.

There was a public dance area in a mud field next to the dodgems, it was lit up with one string of fairy lights suspended from a washing line above. Young hormonal teens gathered close together like prom night with out the ball gowns, all dancing like their lives depended on it, all smoking fags and drinking cola, some situations are universal. The big wheel was made out of tooth picks, walking sticks and bandages and went round so fast that the G-force made the cages whistle and the people in them scream. There were odd rides Id not seen at all this century, then there were the beggars, they came In all shapes, sizes and speeds, it probably took them this long to slide, hop, drag themselves across the floors and try find our party, as most didn't have lower limbs, just stumps for legs laid out flat like resting frogs, then some had no legs and only one arm, then no legs and no arms at all, many were just bodies and a head getting by on ingenious skate boards or in multi functional wheel barrows. Then there was the Cambodian albino named Koom whose eyes and skin hurt him in the day as its bloody sunny here, he had a leg missing too, how does he cope? The dog pictured was incredible, he sat in the same position the whole time, his mouth clasping the begging bucket handle. He didn't flinch once.

We had to come back the very next morning but with two hands full of paper cash and a very full camera battery but this time no one really hassled us, the vibes were different. Maybe it was a school day and thankfully a lot of kids can afford to go to the schools here. We were still the only travellers in town, we didn't spot a single Lonely Planet whore, religious nut or representative from National Geographical. We were yesterdays big news but today's chip paper which was nice as we blended in a bit better than last night. The Abbott is currently 86 years old and his name is Abbott Non, he was sat upon a podium carried by 6 buff monks. They circled the parameters of the temple three times and each time the chanting and yodelling sounds got stronger. It was tribal and very raw, which brought a glide to my stride and a goose bump to my skin. Both Stu and I cheered, hollard, sang, clapped and chanted along with the excited kids and people with the most terrible growths and skin diseases The Abbott looked at me with a calm curiosity. I could hear him thinking “WHO IS SHE....who is she...where did she come from?” After the third lap of honour, Stu and I had gotten to know nearly everyone, the procession took a right turn and was moving inward to the temple. I ran ahead to take pictures and just as I got up the steps to the temple I could see the Abbott was soon to be garotted by the string that was criss crossed everywhere, I assisted the Abbott by lifting the string up as high as I could , while on tip toes as I was the tallest person in the whole site, so his raised platform with him sitting on it could go under it with ease and dignity. He looked in to my eyes and with his very old wise eyes he blinked and bowed his head to me, then to get under the raised string, ohhhhhhh....I felt honoured to assist.

When everyone was inside we watched the dancers pack up their speakers and the incense boy cleared away an armful of old incense sticks, the elderly ladies sat outside as the temple was stuffed full of people, they chanted along too but it looked like a huddle of senior Women's Institute patrons singing Jerusalem, linked up, arm in arm like a line of daisy's in a chain. The ladies all ran off to cook for the monks as one rule they do share with Dhammakaya is they can not eat after 12pm.

We left knowing it was all carrying on for another 3 days and nights. An amazing New year of the Rat....happy Rat year to those born in 2008, 1996, 1984, 1972, 1960.

And Happy Birthday To Me...........Today I am 4tybloodyone.....considering my Mayan age is now 57.5 years old I don't feel to bad at all.....(If I lived in Guatemala it will only be 2 years until I retire)....but what a blinding year its been, full of insight, wonder and colour. Proving you can change things for the better if you just believe in yourself, it really can be done.

If you are looking for a great tuk tuk man...look no further....

San Kim can be reached on (855) 12322050 or email SAN_KIM03@yahoo.com He speaks great English, he listens to what you need to do while there, he knows the best times of the day to do things (especially for great photos) he is on time and never complains about anything, geniune, honest with charging, knows great places to go and see, gosh......good man.

IF VISITING SIEM REAP CLICK HERE TO VISIT ODA ORPHANAGE Orphaned & Disabled Arts

---

---

---