Ranting in Cambodia

After a third and final stop off in the admin centre that is Bangkok, we began the infamously horrible journey eastwards. The border crossing from Thailand to Cambodia via Poipet where scams are rife, and nobody is trusted. The journey began on a sour note as we piled into a 12 seater minivan amongst some eighteen others. I was used as a storage rack, Shaan as a pillow, and Will was essentially a seat for the conductor. A four hour ride brought us to the border crossing. Despite already having our visa, we would spend three hours dodging fake establishments and queueing to be granted access into Cambodia. Fortunately we were made to queue outside in the forty-plus degrees of heat. No water. No banter. No fun! After all the commotion we became restless, and we foolishly boarded a free shuttle to the international bus terminal, where we would encounter our first fall to the con artist. We found ourselves helplessly dropped in the middle of a fake station, facing higher cost of transport, and lower quality of service. Following a rather heated argument with these scoundrels we realised we had no choice. With patience running low we paid the inflated price and headed for Siem Reap - or so we thought. Following another four hours on board, we pulled over alongside countless tuc-tuc drivers in what clearly wasn't Siem Reap. After simmering for the duration of the bus ride, our blood now began to boil once more as we paced back and forth with rage. Surprise, surprise, we were 6km shy of Siem Reap, once more reaching deep into our pockets. It was a long gruelling day, with some minor arguments and bags of frustration, but after 12 hours we made it to Mr. Bun Kao's Guesthouse. Here we stayed two nights in great comfort and company. Sharing our dorm room was a self-proclaimed 'Granny Backpacker' by the name of Jerry. She was a lovely lady from who we heard some great anecdotes and gained vital information for our further travels.

The following morning as arranged, tuc-tuc driver ,Tom, awaited us at 10am sharp ready to whisk us around the Temples of Angkor. 'Templing', as it's become known, only meant one thing; long sleeve tops and bottoms and at least one of us sporting the inevitable floral design (see below). The day trip took us from world-famous Angkor Wat, to the Tomb Raider Temple, the faces of Bayon, and the Sra Srang lake. All incredible in their own unique ways. Hours passed as we wandered in awe of such jaw-dropping architecture and design in the sweltering 45•C. As we reached the end of the afternoon, soaked through with our own perspiration, we were happy to call it a day. A very memorable adventure indeed. Following a tough day fighting against dehydration we decided that the perfect way to top it off was with a few beers on Pub Street; where we later indulged in the 30pence beers, a bit too much. Yeah. Way too much. We spent long periods of the night with a few Dutch girls that we became friendly with. Unfortunately, all the night brought was further confirmation of their teasing nature. Another Dutch 'guaran' down the drain. Seriously, if you're not in it for the long all, don't waste my WHOLE NIGHT! The morning of day 85 brought with it the nearest-death experience of the trip. What an awful hangover. The classic scenario upon awakening, searching around in silence and pain for answers. "What the **** is happening to me?!" The entire day was consumed by several snoozes and slow attempts to eat our way back to reality, topped off by a fantastic self-cook BBQ buffet, as far away from Pub Street as possible.

Despite being rid of that monumental hangover, the following day brought genuine illness in a completely different form. Will (especially) and I began to feel strange overnight, and we just happened to be boarding a bus, on which we'd spend nine hours listening to horrendous Cambodian music, when it started to worsen dramatically. As we arrived in Phnom Penh, Will looked as if he was clinging onto consciousness by a thread, and thus we rushed across town to check in and get some rest. Thankfully we bagged a nice spacious room with air conditioning and a good selection of TV channels. With the exception of a few hours a day, this room became a permanent crash pad for Will and I. At separate times we all managed a visit to the S-21 Tsol Sleum Genocide Museum, and the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek. During these visits we learnt of the brutal Khmer Rouge Regime which facilitated the deaths of millions of innocent Cambodians, and tourists, in the late 1970's. On top of feeling horrific, these visits brought tough, emotionally challenging times. Words cannot explain what those people went through.

What later turned out to be Dengue Fever, forced the first separation of the Well Street Wanderers. Whilst Will needed some time alone to recover, Shaan and I took another terrible bus journey to Kampot. A journey that progressed at an average speed of 20km an hour for 150km. Such a bad decision. In my opinion Kampot is a town full of screaming children, the heaviest rain of all time, and general misfortune. For the next passage bear in mind that Dengue Fever was still very much present. On our first full day we strolled slowly along the river, I was feeling sorry for myself, and thus we went in search of a massage parlour, again. The 'Seeing Hands Massage' had been recommended in our guidebook, a place ran by blind women. Upon arrival there seemed only to be fully sighted individuals, but a few calls had these ladies tracked down in no time. Whilst Shaan's masseus had clear visual impairment, mine appeared from around the street corner pedaling away on her push bike as if to say, "I'm coming! I'm coming!" Seemingly high on life. So many questions were answered when I learnt that she was blind in only the left eye. Couldn't help but be disappointed. I wasn't disappointed however with the massage itself. Very impressive from a blind lady, even if she could ride a bike..

As the sky grew dark with heavy cloud, we decided to move a few doors down to the cinema, where we watched 'The Killing Fields' lying down on the padded loungers provided. Shortly after the start of this great film, a heavy storm began pouring from the sky outside, creating a slight sound barrier inside the screening room. Within thirty minutes, a heavy storm began pouring from the sky inside! What started as a few intermittent drops turned into a pretty constant flow of rainwater falling on top of us. We moved to a dry section. Problem solved. For now. As the film ended there was no sign of the storm passing over, and it seemed more and more likely that we'd have to make a run for it. Fifteen minutes, still no change. Into the plastic bag went the valuables, off came the tops, and we ran for our hostel. Within twenty yards we'd already opted for shelter, a little breather as the rain grew heavier than I've ever witnessed before. We looked at each other, already drenched, and decided to plow on. By the time we reached the end of the street the floods were above the shin, and I'd lost my footwear. There I was in the pitch black on my hands and knees, wading through the current in search of my flip flops, with Shaan disappearing in the distance. I wanted to be back in Phnom Penh tucked up in bed, resting and watching TV, not wrestling the street waves of Kampot. Did I mention I wasn't well? As we slowly dried off in our grubby room the storm passed, and we were finally able to venture out for dinner. We didn't dare go any further than next door.

An early morning journey took us across the south coast of Cambodia to the party town of Sihanouville, where we were delighted to reunite with our long lost wounded wanderer- who looked a hundred times better, but still on the road to recovery. It was the time of the Khmer New Year and thus we had pre-booked accommodation at Panda's Guesthouse. Despite the best efforts of the friendly Irish host, Patrick, our stay here was clouded by several factors. Having already committing, we had to pay up front for two nights, without being granted sight or access to our room. After exchanging money, it became apparent that we'd have to wait a casual four hours before we checked in officially. Oh no, there was nobody in the room, he just hadn't got around to cleaning it yet. Seems fair enough? Slightly angered, we ventured off to find the beach. We found a half decent coastline, ruined by rubbish, sleazy bars and pushy teenage vendors; who seemed to own the beach. We parked ourselves in a sea front restaurant and made our way through a mediocre breakfast, interrupted by vendors at fifteen minute intervals. Great impression so far! Not too long later we were shown into our absolute hole of a room. Despite the suggestions made by it's name, Panda's Guesthouse and it's damp, smelly, windowless cells weren't fit to accommodate a furry friend, let alone a human. At least we paid a premium price for it! After laying silently for a while, we thought, at least we have a television to pass time in the evenings, to finally get over Dengue Fever. Underneath the surface, Sihanoukville supposedly had a good nightlife which Shaan sampled two nights running with Harry, a friend we'd made at Panda's. Meanwhile Will and I were back at Ritz having a fight with the TV. This useless machine had no controlling device and WAS STUCK ON THE HIGHEST VOLUME LEVEL POSSIBLE. Eventually we managed to track down Patrick, to hopefully save the day. We explained the situation and our general anger. "Ah, trouble with the television... You'll need one of these!" A code? A magic wand? No, just an old dusty remote which conveniently resides in a padlocked drawer behind reception. Makes sense. I had no energy whatsoever to run my mouth, and so we just returned to our pig sty to try our best to relax. Thank god we only had two nights before leaving the country that brought us serious illness and needless annoyances.

Other than that Cambodia is great. But seriously, get me to Vietnam!

Rant over.

Rhys