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Published: February 19th 2010
Winter break has come and gone again. I started getting ancy for my trip right around Christmas, when I threw my 2nd annual (smash-hit) brunch (attended by approximately 40 of my lovely co-workers). I was cautiously making general plans for my trip: I knew I wanted to go to Cambodia and Vietnam, but didn’t want to cram a lot of physical movement onto my travel platter. I decided to just go to the usual suspects in Cambodia, and to limit my travel in Vietnam to the south (where I could easily move around by bus or boat within a few hours), so that I could end my trip on the Vietnamese island of Phu Quoc.
I flew first to Bangkok; it’s a round-about way to go, but it was the cheapest ticket from Dalian. I’ve spent a little time in Bangkok in previous years; it’s a city I find alluring and familiar, which many people find hard to believe. To me, it’s like your slightly sketchy friend who you only see once every few years, and you have a great time with them when you meet. You love them, but you’re happy you don’t live with—or even very near to—them.
I was only there for two nights, but managed to get up to no good when I ran into a few of my more rowdy friends from work. I awoke in a late-night-washed-down-with-chocolate-milk-and-a-whopper haze and hauled my bags (under eyes and on my back) to the airport to fly to Siem Reap.
Siem Reap is a pretty little city with a central river canal. It reminded me at first glance of Chiang Mai in Thailand; there are benches and trees lining the banks, and the pace of life appears relatively gentle. I stayed at a colonial-style hotel with a tasty open-air restaurant facing the riverfront. As soon as I arrived I met Mr. Ren, the tuk-tuk driver who hauled my butt around for the next 3 days. He took me that night to get my Angkor pass and to watch the sunset at the temple on a small mountain across from Angkor Wat. I climbed up the path next to a hillside that was abundant with large ground-spiders who build thick, tunneled nests near rocks and over grass. The cicadas (my favourite and most cherished sound from Asia, fireworks, horns and blasting techno aside) were sawing away in the
trees. The temple site wasn’t very large, but you had to climb (along with what felt like 80,000 other people—that was the busiest temple I visited) straight up these ladder-like (in their incline) stairs to the top, where throngs of people had set up camp to capture the descending sun. As I stood gazing out over the Cambodian farmlands and scattered buildings, I realized that once the sun actually set, all these people were going to be fighting to climb down the ladder-like stairs…in the dark. It was at that moment I chose to escape without watching the sunset (I was later rewarded for this decision, I believe, by viewing some of the most stunning sunsets of my life while on Phu Quoc in Vietnam). I regretted it just a little bit when we got back to the city and the sky was streaked with red and gold, but the idea of cracking my head open after being kicked off a step by an overzealous traveler with a khaki vest and an oversized camera lens helped me get over that regret pretty darn quickly.
The next three days I spent wandering temples both near and far to Siem Reap.
Mr. Ren
With delicious sweet rice and beans, roasted in a bamboo stickI started with the furthest of the temples, Bantei Serai (my spelling is likely an embarrassment to all Cambodians, my apologies!) and the circle of temples there. The drive out to Bantei Serai was just as rewarding as the temple itself. I knew that Cambodia is a third world country, but I didn’t really understand what that meant until that drive. The houses were shacks (which I’ve seen in various parts of the Philippines, Thailand, and even on occasion in China, but not the steady stream of them that these roads contained), and many of the houses had small water pumps out front donated by various people in various countries through the Red Cross. We passed three large World Food Organization tents, and numerous signs warning about landmines. Free-ranging cows momentarily prevented us, at one point, from continuing our journey. Men on motorcycles drove by with forty dead chickens hanging off a beam of plywood or wicker cages filled (filled!) with live piglets, their noses squashed into their relatives rears. The “gas stations” were oil drums with a hose and a small glass bottle displaying the liquid within.
Once at Bantei Serai there were a few children playing by
a small moat who followed me and asked for money, but when I said no, they threw me giant grins and ran off yelling “goodbye, lady!” This temple was one of my favourites. It looks like a bomb exploded in it years ago, but it’s just the jungle that is swallowing the whole thing. A quiet man watched me survey the mess of stone and brick and suggested I follow him through the decimated doorway. At this point, there were no other visitors that I could see, but the idea of entering this cavernous structure was tempting, so I asked him the cost of his “tour services”, he said “whatever you think”, and off we went. We climbed over giant boulder-like bricks and through narrow and crumbling frames. It was by far the most adventurous of the temples, and without that guide, I would never have found my way through that maze. At least not safely.
I went to 21 temples over three days, so (to your relief) I won’t discuss each one as I can’t really even remember them all. Similarities between all of them would include the children and women selling pencils and bracelets and water and
Good luck to you!
This man was so friendly and welcoming; I ended up chatting with him for almost 30 minutes. fruit. “Madame, you buy cold water? You want cold water you come buy from me, ok? My name Lisa, my stall number 14. I remember you when you come back”; “Madame, you buy flute? Only two for $1. Why you no buy? Only $1, Madame!” Sometimes, if the child was quite young, they would call me “Sir.” I was struck, however, by the politeness of these touts; if you looked them firmly in the eye, smiled, and said “no, thank you, I don’t want anything,” they typically smiled in return, and left you alone. Typically. There were a few times I was followed a little more aggressively, but generally speaking, people were extremely friendly and ventured off in search of people with looser pocketbooks than mine. The touts were often eager to engage in a little conversation, as well, and the children were always eager to have their photos taken so they could see them on the screen after. I often appeased the kids I didn’t buy from by doing just this.
When not at the temples, I spent the days in Siem Reap drinking beer, eating delicious Khmer food, and browsing the market. I
Taking a break
It's hard work protecting a temple! met a lot of people there, including a now-retired but former celebrity photographer (who has photographed everyone from Michael Jackson to Cindy Crawford and their homes), a Dutch real estate mogul in search of new property ventures, and a charming Cambodian waitress whose boyfriend wasn’t Buddhist so he didn’t want her going to the temples of Angkor but she goes anyway, when he thinks she’s working.
I took a bus to Phnom Penh and immediately felt disengaged from the city. It felt crowded, dirty, and was more filled with amputees and child touts, not to mention desperate-looking beggars (I suppose that’s a little redundant, as I’m sure all beggars are desperate). It took me a day to warm up to the city, but I had the help of some very kind and open staff at the River Star hotel on the main drag; they were the friendliest people I’ve ever met, and openly discussed their dislike of the government, their fears about their own poverty, and what they think about tourists. They gave bread every night to a small girl who passed through carrying what looked like her baby brother, and whenever the child touts came around selling their
photocopied books, they were very kind and respectful. A sort of gentle tolerance seems to exist between the less fortunate and the workers of restaurants and hotels, and I suppose this is in part due to the fact that many, if not most, Cambodians would be considered less fortunate. Pan, the 27-year old bus-boy-turned-driver-turned-front-desk-clerk told me he comes from a tin house in the country, where both his aging parents still run a farm and are still raising his younger brothers and sisters. All the savings he makes in Phnom Penh go to his family. Sokeesa was a fascinating woman, also 27, who works full-time at the hotel as a receptionist but spends all the rest of her time (and money) going to night-classes at the university so that she can become a high-school teacher. She also has a 5-year old son.
Aside from the warmth and generosity of the people I met, I also ended up enjoying the city, despite the fact that I initially balked at it. The royal palace and its grounds were beautiful, the waterfront is being gussied up to be quite attractive, the restaurants were delicious and plentiful, and there was no shortage of
things to see or do. In contrast to the fabulousness, I did go to Choeung-Ek killing fields and S-21 prison; I heard a young traveler complaining that people should not go because it should not be a tourist attraction. While I agree that going and taking photos of yourself standing next to skulls or harrowing photographs is totally inappropriate (and, sadly, I saw it happen several times), I think the point of these two sites is to provide insight into the Cambodian experience and psyche, to provide an understanding of their present situation, and to help build a future free from the monstrosities that Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge inflicted on the Cambodians. All I’ll really say about experiencing those two sites is that, like visiting a concentration camp in Germany, you won’t forget what you see or feel there.
The day before I was set to leave Cambodia, I went out for dinner at a highly recommended Khmer restaurant. I finished eating, and then went home feeling extremely full. About an hour later I was the most sick I’ve ever been in my life. I continued to throw up every 15 minutes for nearly 12 hours, until
I had to go cancel my boat to Vietnam and take a motorcycle to a pharmacy. My fabulous hotel staff checked up on my periodically, and asked me how I felt every time I went to buy a water or fruit juice. I was lucky that that was where it happened.
After my delay in Phnom Penh, I finally made it to Chau Doc in Vietnam only a day late. In Chau Doc I met a lovely woman named San, who showed me around and bought me dinner one night, all in exchange for her just to speak English. I explored the floating market and floating houses on the Mekong River. I road on the back of a motorcycle to the top of Sam Mountain to see the Mekong Delta. I ate bowls of noodles and drank fruit smoothie after fruit smoothie. I enjoyed the slower pace of Chau Doc, and, when I made it to the largest Mekong Delta city of Can Tho, I felt like I had stepped into a metropolis. Both Chau Doc and Can Tho draw tourists for their colourful floating markets, and both have very well-appointed river-front parks, Can Tho in particular. I
spent a good deal of time reading or drinking shakes on the benches in that park; the shade from the trees and the breeze from the river made it almost cool, which was welcomed relief from the hot-wash of sweat I experienced whenever I left my air-conditioned $10/night room. I stayed in Can Tho about 3 days, which was more than enough; I checked out the floating markets and a few canals, went to the museum, and then tried to go for a long walk to explore some of the back lanes and alleys. I grew up in Northwestern British Columbia in a small town. Our “traffic” situation was never a problem. Living in Vancouver, traffic is also generally under control. People always let you cross on a crosswalk or red light. Cars dominate. In South Korea and China alike, if there is a crosswalk and lights, you’re typically ok to walk. Cars also dominate, with a smattering of scooters and motorbikes thrown in for good measure. In Vietnam, however, cars do not dominate. Motos rule. Try crossing a large street (or even small lane) with motos riding your ankles and flying toward your face. I was so frustrated with
Bayon
One of the hundreds of giant carved faces at this temple. not being able to walk 2 steps without almost being maimed, burned, crushed, or smashed; that may explain part of what I really didn’t enjoy about the cities in Vietnam.
I was already annoyed by traffic, so arriving in Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) and discovering that my hotel room was on the opposite side of a very busy street from the reception (where breakfast and all-day free fruit and tea were served) only furthered my annoyance. However, I drew a deep breath, booked a city tour (to avoid having to cross more streets, which I attempted to do the first day and then ended up having to hire a xe om to drive me across an enormous intersection), and met my cousin for dinner (he has been living and working there for the past 5 years). That was good—he and his girlfriend managed to redeem the city for me by feeding me well and helping me wade through the flying motos weaving in, out, back, forth, up, and down (I swear! It really was this bad). The city tour was ok because I met a few cool people, though the only real highlight was the War Remnants museum,
which, like S-21 in Phnom Penh, is an emotionally horrible place to visit, but an important one. It’s also well laid out, and has a lot of information to read and process.
Exit Saigon; enter Phu Quoc. Heaven upon heavens! It was even better than I was expecting. The island is only 15km from Cambodia (Cambodians still claim it as their own), and was apparently fully-booked for the Lunar New Year (Tet). I was told the beaches would be packed, and I would get bored. I was told there would be no way I would enjoy 12 days there. What would I do? I would do nothing. That’s the point.
The beaches felt deserted. The sand (powdery white or grainy, smooth yellow—you have a choice here) runs almost the entire length of the island, on both sides. It’s at least 49km long. Nuff said. Palm groves and shady patches abound. I immediately signed up for a few fun dives and made a few friends, including a financier from Finnland, and a 28 year-old tour guide from Phu Quoc. The tour guide, Tang, was hilarious—he’s a self-proclaimed “player-boy” who loves tourist women because “they don’t make me pay for
everything like the Vietnamese women.” He would sit with me at dinner, or on the beach while he was supposed to be working, and regale me with stories about his latest attempts to get a few of the dive instructors to fall in love with him. I looked forward to hearing what shenanigans he’d been up to.
I went on a total of 6 dives; 2 in the north and 4 in the south. The visibility wasn’t very good at any of the locations, and there’s no large sealife, but there are a lot of beautiful corals and a few schools of small reef fish. I got to see three bamboo sharks, which was kind of neat (they’re very small and sleep under rocks during the day). I met a lot of people on the boats, though, which was great for helping pass the time.
After I’d been on the island for 6 days, two friends from work joined me and we whiled the days away with snorkeling, wandering the night markets, eating, and drinking. Days passed in an absolute flash, but I felt completely refreshed by the end of it. Although I was resenting the fact I had
one full day in Bangkok before I went back to China, I ended up loving it, as I went to two movies (yes, two), a luxury I don’t have where I live in China because they rarely play movies in their original language (one-billion Mandarin speakers don’t want subtitles in their movies, people), and then bought out most of Khao San Road before heading back to Dalian.
I arrived home in a snowstorm, but the sky is now blue, the snow melting, and there’s still a festive feeling in the air for Lunar New Year. Dalian looks exceptionally pretty with all its lights up for the holiday. Although I was worried I would be sad to be back, I feel rather excited. I haven’t left Asia, after all. There’s still a lot of exploring to do in my own “backyard.” Now if only I could convince myself to be excited about going back to work on Monday….
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Uncle
non-member comment
Your trip!
Sandi Joy, Sounds like you had a great trip and you wrote a fantastic story line. Unc