From Siam Reap to Battambang

We spent the last day of our tuk tuk tour visiting two of the more distant temples. The number of tourists really declines after Angkor Wat. Even Angkor Thom had only a tiny fraction of visitors compared to AW. There were only about seven or eight other people at the diminutive Temple of Women until a busload of Korean tourists pulled up.
"They look like they're about to die." I said.
"Yeah." Chuck rejoined. "They are supposed to spend more time in their offices than any other race on earth."
The stumbled around the ruins chattering, taking scores of pictures of each other. They were flabby and awkward with skin the grey white color of bone.

As usual little beggar vendors were running around the temple.
"You buy me mister?" "You see me first. You buy me." They demanded as their strong little hands tugged at us. They were thin but quick with skin richly bronzed by the jungle sun.

The sun was setting as we motored back to town. A cloud of red dust trailed behind us.
"Bob Dylan was just an updated version of Woody Guthrie." Chuck commented.
He might have just as well punched me in the stomach.
"Yeah, my mom almost cried when she found out on TV that he was a sellout." Kendra laughed.
Or hit me on the head with a stick?

They had had enough of Cambodia after just four days. Chuck had grown up in Malaysia and they were taking the next flight there.
"Things are much better there. It's much more orderly and its way cheaper and easier to get around." Chuck made the claim.
"Yeah and you never see any beggars." Kendra chorused in.
"Well, it is a police state." I said.
"It's no worse than the US." Was her reply.

They left early the next day and I didn't see them again. I spent another two days poking around Siam Reap. I found out that you could use the massive pool at the 5 star Grand Hotel'd Angkor if you bought a spa massage package. During mid afternoon they had a hugely reduced promotion. I swam laps there. I had a body scrub. I had a facial for the first time in my life the next day and swam again. I walked around town. I ate in great restaurants. I jammed on a street corner with Cambodian grunge chick. It was nice to fly solo again.

I wanted to go by boat to Battambang but but I didn't want to go on some big tourist speed boat. My idea was to find some local heading that way anyways or a little cargo boat. As usual none of the tuk tuk drivers wanted to take me to the pier. They wanted to bring me to a tour operator so they could score their commission. After much hand waving I convinced one poor guy to take me out there. It was a long way out of town and as the road got worse the town got even badder. Grass shacks sagged beneath the blazing sun. Babies cried by the side of the road. During the last stretch the tuk tuk bounced around like a bronco. We passed a fat cop with mirrored sunglasses smoking a cigarette. He was watching over a horribly thin man who kneeling in the dirt sawed frantically away at a sun blackened tree stump.

We finally got to the wretched end of the road before the great lake. There were scores of rotting boats tied up in the mud. Nobody wanted to take me anywhere and even if they did it would cost me $200. Luckless or maybe luckily we headed back to town.

There was a torrential downpour that afternoon. The streets flooded and the motos were up to their axles in rain water. Evening approached and I decided to try to make one last trip to Angkor. If one buys a ticket for the following day one can enter the park for free at 4:30. Anyone can enter for free at 5:30 to see the sunset. Because of the storm Angkor Wat was relatively empty. I stayed there for a bit as the sun slowly receded casting long shadows over the giant monument. I then went on to Angkor Thom. There was nobody there. The guard told me that I could go in if I wanted. As the night approached I got to wander by myself inside the ancient temple. The only sounds were the whine of the cicada and the chattering of monkeys as they slowly emerged from the safety of the jungle.

I booked on with the tour boat for the next morning. The dealer promised me that it would not be some nautical horror but a mid sized wooden boat with only thirty passengers.
"Not too fast and not too slow you get there in four or five hours."
They picked me up at Earthwalkers at 6 am. They drove eight of us out in the back of a truck our luggage piled high in the middle. Once there they jammed about forty of us onto one of the sad wooden cruisers tied up at the pier.

The engines started and we cast off from that sick little lakeside community. Just beyond its grasp the wooden vessels of the floating village bobbed in the peaceful Tonle Sap. Every craft was skillfully made and lovingly tended. The structures deferring to rounded surfaces wherever possible. There were often potted plants filled with herbs on the decks and colorful clothing hung to dry.

We reached the other side of the lake and headed for a narrow inlet. Once again there was a dignified little village. The only touch of modernity, the aluminum TV antennae on almost every houseboat and the floating ice factory. Other than that, it could have been a thousand years ago, impossibly poor and impossibly beautiful.

The sun was round and hot but a breeze from the river made it bearable. At one point the river got so narrow the boatmen had to push us along with sticks. Everywhere we went children ran to the shore screaming and shouting hello. I remember doing the same as a kid, running to the side of the road whenever we heard a car go by and waving at the passengers. Like us they could probably hear our engines churning up the quiet long before we passed by. I climbed up the side and onto the top of the boat. The view was much better here. Eight hours later we arrived in Battmambang.