The sight of the ruins made the traveler
forget all the fatigues of the journey
filling him with admiration and de-
light, such as would be experienced in
finding a verdant oasis in the sandy
desert. Suddenly, and as if by enchant-
ment, he seems to be transported from
barbarism to civilization, from pro-
found darkness into light.
- Henri Mouhot, on Angkor Wat
The Mona Lisa smile of Avalokiteśvara at Bayon, a face of utter serenity.While Angkor Wat didn't exactly fill me with the wondrous splendor raved by the myriad travel blogs I read, I must admit the temples do possess an otherworldly charm entirely its own. If you don't already know, Siem Reap is the gateway to the ruins of Angkor. This almost-sleepy little town is 250km northwest of Phnom Penh, 15km north of Lake Tonle Sap and inhabited by a population of 70,000 (an inordinately large number of whom are amputees, but more about that later).
We touched down on Siem Reap 7-ish in the morning, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, but all psyched for exploring. I must admit, being historically- and culturally-challenged, that my interest in Angkor Wat was only piqued upon viewing the vacation photos of one of my chionging buddies (thanks, Jason!). The resplendent Angkorian temples, cloaked in their mystical, old-world glory, shriek to me of a
die-die must visit before my time is up.
Cozy guest-house upstairs, Irish pub downstairs...our home sweet home for five days, Molly Malone's...smack in the heart of a bustling Siem Reap nightlife.I have to give Molly Malone's credit for providing one of the visibly cleanest, crispest sheets ever, but the floor is little more than a big, pulsing dish of microbes and yuckies. I had to Dettolize the entire bathroom before I would even plant my bare feet on the floor (maybe that's just OCD-prone me). While they offer great value for our dough, I get the distinct feeling that we Singaporean-Chinese were little more than second class guests to the hairy, smelly ang mohs that sleep with their filthy shoes on and use their own spit as a multipurpose cleaner. Oh, but the slender little black & white kitty is a delightful bonus...sweet-natured and friendly to boot.
The Holland Village-esque area we stayed at, by day.The trip was all-round magnificent, but I was somewhat burdened by the fact that I could potentially run out of camera battery (fully charged for the trip, but didn't bring charger due to its bulk)
and memory card space (a meagre 1GB). You can see
how light I like to travel from here...I would rather risk low bat than lug the damn charger along). While the rest of the guys happily clicked away at anything and everything that struck their fancy, I was forced out of the typical "Omigawd, I love this! I so totally have to take this!" reflex. I gave the more mediocre places like Neak Pean a complete miss, snapshot-wise. I found myself better able to relish the fresh experience of each new place, and savor each moment for itself. While exploration of the old temple ruins wasn't entirely unfettered (no thanks to preservation/restoration works rendering some places out of bounds), I did enjoy checking out 'stones' (as my cousin put it).
Crumbling structures are propped up by sturdy reinforcements. Babi and I seize the opportunity to pose as Dumb & Dumber. Cambodians
love climbing. I have come to this conclusion after making it back in one piece (if that statement makes me sound like a complete wimp,
yesss I am one). My sorely under-utilized kneecaps bore most of the brunt from all that daily ascend-descend yo-yo. Is it just me, or are Cambodians super fond of steep steps? Molly Malone's had a really steep staircase; so did most of the makan places-cum-watering holes that we patronized; so did most of the temples (
so steep, in fact, you've got to crawl up on your hands and feet sideways in a zigzag pattern). I heard that the reason for this is Cambodians believe in making the gesture of ultimate reverence to their deities (i.e., you get on your hands and knees to pay respects to your god). Coupling
the ubiquity of steep steps are the malevolent 'Climb At Your Own Risk' signs that portend an unforgettable payoff at the summit (but usually an anti-climax). To reiterate just how steep these steps are, I have included a set of pix for your closer inspection. Babi and I were discussing (me sweating bullets while at it) how many people have actually toppled off these steps. I think each month will see at least
one toppling incident; Babi puts the figure at
one a year (gee, there must be an awful lot of very cautious elderly folks out there lor). At a 70-degree slant, just
one person toppling and you'll get the domino effect of
all beneath him toppling towards a certain doom.
Either way you view it, up or down, it's hair-raising.
Stairway to heaven? Well, with Babi on it, probably not. Here, Babi fearlessly scales the steep steps.
The only way to descend the daunting Phimeanakas, in my lily-livered opinion, is by your butt, unless you want to risk toppling off into the yawning abyss.
Looking up at it makes me dizzy. Looking down from it almost unclenches my sphincter muscle. I have a deathly fear of heights (if you didn't realize by now), so the only thing I was acutely aware of during my harrowing crawl up was the deafening cacophony of my wheezing and the frenetic pounding of my heart. Yesss, I'm that much of a chicken-shit.
Siem Reap is littered with grubby street urchins who bug you for a dollar (USD of course) and sweets. As with their adult counterparts, they peddle wares from guide books to trinkets when they aren't aggressively pleading for handouts in their native singsong inflection. "You want cold drink, sir?", "You buy, you buy from me.", "You come back and buy ok? My name is Loy. I remember you." "You like? You buy. All same same." We were accosted on a daily basis such that I refused to maintain eye contact with any of the locals...so when an Angkor gatekeeper approached to inspect my pass (we got the 3-day ones), I casually swatted him away like a pesky fly. "No no, no buy."
While I'm all too aware that we, too, are mere tourists, I can't help but get supremely irked when other tourists (especially the pestilent China mainlanders and the boorish Koreans) rudely shoo us out of the way when me or Babi wind up in their camera frames. I mean,
hullloooooo! Angkor ain't that huge, and it does accommodate
plenty tourists on a daily basis. There is
only somuch space left lor (and I take up quite alot of it). I pretty much spent the rest of the trip boh chup, boh hiew to many an indignant,
"Skew me!". Let's just say I didn't bother to siam when I see someone posing or about to snap a pic, so alot of tourists' photos got this
extra at the backdrop.
Crumbling structures at the mercy grip of an ancient kapok tree. This is Ta Prohm, where Tomb Raider: Circle Of Life was filmed.
The girl with the X-factor that truly captivated us. She alone made the trip down Sewer River worthwhile.We horribly spoilt and sheltered Singaporeans braved a boat trip down the filthy river to the floating village of Chong Kneas. Along the way we came face-to-face with the epitome of hand-to-mouth existence, only to view narcoleptic crocodiles. Ramshackle huts without doors line the dusty streets and banks of the feculent river. Considered by the locals to be their lifeline as the river supports over three million, we nevertheless shudder at the thought of being sprayed with the water that is peed on, shat on, bathed in and basically on the receiving end of all daily, stomach-churning human activities. One incident saw everyone leaping for the right side of the boat when the left was suddenly sprayed with a significant amount of the sewer water. KNN, the whole bloody boat tipped dangerously and almost capsized because we wanted to siam the sai zui lor. We would
rather drown than kena contaminated. Singaporeans. Go figure.
Ruiqin snapped this tian mi mi photo of us at the peak of Phnom Krom, looking towards a bright and shining future together *gag gag*.
It's just like Babi not to be serious about anything in life. Even during a Kodak moment like this. Heng he never lapse into his drooling, spastic man act that always malu the heck out of me.
Not exactly a view to die for, but at the very least a view to remember.
Our group (from left, Jianhong, Desmond, Chee Kong, Ruiqin & Babi) snapped on the premise of the eastern-facing, first-level library within the fourth enclosure, also our 2-hour stakeout point for Angkor Wat's infamous sunrise......which we crawled out of bed at 3.30am for. We had to make our way through hazards like the many steps, shrubbery and winding ledges of Angkor Wat's outer enclosures...
in pitch blackness...save for a few dim beams of torchlight paving the way toward front-row seats to supposedly The Sight of one's lifetime. Turned out,
wowee-zowee, the towers were shrouded in magnificent shades of grey and its grounds speckled with thousands of tiny, camera-toting human pests. No thanks to gloomy, overcast skies, this is the best shot we could get of our postcard-perfect subject.
Well, on the bright side, I tell myself at least the wat's true age is reflected here. :p
Babi flanked by gods and demons, sat sat boh chio at the South Entrance of Bayon.
I certainly take credit for making the boys look sooo good. Wowee, I even managed the mean feat of making my pig look human. :p
What did I tell you about Babi's chronic inability to not be a cockster for one minute? Here, he convinces the very guai Ruiqin and Chee Kong to follow in his footsteps.
One of my favorite shots. The guys obviously can't feel the murderous daggers being glared down their backs. While they gleefully pose for photos, Rain's stance seems to say, "Knn, hor liao buay? Lim peh already wait for you CB Singaporeans sibeh long liao hor!"
The guys lapping up a tequila sunset at Phnom Bakheng.
Rain's enthusiastic, action-packed storytelling of his local legend falling on deaf, apathetic Singaporean ears.Can't really blame us though...I mean, for all Rain's good intentions on educating us culturally-clueless tourists, his deeply accented Engrish does pose as a challenge to comprehension. I was telling Babi that we would've been better off with a Mandarin-speaking guide despite my dismal grasp of the language.
Marriage of the yoni and the lingam (two primary 'characters' of the Kamasutra)...a frequent sighting on temple grounds in Angkor. I don't know...is it me being a cultural neanderthal, or is intercourse the basis of most Hindu folklore? If you're still half-baked about the birds and the bees, yoni is basically Sanskrit for vagina and lingam for penis. It is
everywhere. No wonder nehs are so hum sup lah.
A much-lauded Hindu legend...The Churning of The Ocean of Milk, as depicted on this bas-relief in Angkor Wat. 
Babi and I blissfully explore the ruins of Bayon.
Me draping my arms over Babi, assuring him that I still lup him beri much, at lomantic Banteay Srei.
Ruiqin passed out cold after finding his spot at Banteay Samre. 
Babi looking sibeh, sibeh sian from having to slow his usual pace down to a near-crawl so that this boh-stamina lao jiao can keep up. 
Even on holiday, Babi can't help but be my drill sergeant. From where he stands, he's barking at me, "Aye, pui eh! Can you like faster chop chop double up?"
Outside Molly Malone's, a parting of ways with our guide, Rain (5th from left), and our driver, who shall just be known as Smiley (extreme right) because he had a perpetual Cheshire cat grin that never once slipped. 
The indigenous milk fruit which initially had me gagging to try. Boy, was I sorry I did. Milk fruit is acquired
after-feel, really. They taste almost exactly like persimmons (which I feel no lost love for), stained our tongues purple and left a lingering residue that gummed the lips shut. One word...
bleurrrgghh.
The ubiquitous loc lac and fish amok.Khmer food isn't big on variety, but taste-wise pretty easy to take to when you're Singaporean...in fact Khmer cuisine is sometimes derogatorily described to be like Thai food, but a boring version. Their main two staples (at least from what I've observed) seem to be fish amok (buay hiam coconutty fish curry) and loc lac (ho-hum stir-fried beef usually served with fried rice and a sunny side up). Both fail to make an impression on this Queen of Chili Padi. The only tasty Cambodian treat turns out to be their fish sauce, which is akin to our soya sauce and available at every makan place as a condiment. Due to the general lack of kick (my tastebuds only register spicy and salty) in Khmer cuisine, I found myself liberally dousing my food with fish sauce.
The only dish we tasted that packed a real wallop was prahok (fermented fish paste), and I don't mean the
shiok kind lor. Eager to jolt my under-stimulated tastebuds, I decided to order a dish on the menu that read
strong-tasting fish paste with brinjal. Lim peh made the mistake of interpreting
strong-tasting as
spicy. KNN, a whiff of that gag-inducingly pungent stench once our noses came within close proximity of the soup dish was enough to curl our toes. To put it damn bluntly, it smelt of and tasted like yeasty cheebye lor. Vegetable of choice, among the locals, seem to be what they call morning glory (
chey, thought
what exotic vege until we found out it was just boring old kangkong).
Cozy breakfast at old skool kopi tiam, Guang Fu Ji, run by a Chinese owner. Hot beverages are served teeth-decimatingly sweet (ratio of coffee/tea/Ovaltine to condensed milk in a glass is approximately 3:1).
Thinly sliced, succulent pieces of still-pink-in-the-centre beef fillet (ohhhhh-so-tender) and juicy beefballs at Guang Fu Ji. Yup, this was the breakfast geh kiang Babi made me miss that I was sibeh tulan about.
Eat, drink and be merry could not have been more aptly exercised.What proved to be a disappointment on the food front was more than made up for on the booze front. Alcohol is
soooo cheap Siem Reap ought to be Booze-Hound Paradise. Alcohol is
soooo cheap it made no sense to drink anything
non-alcohol. Alcohol is
soooo cheap you could literally guzzle yourself whoozy the whole damn day and still not feel the pinch to your wallet. Cocktails go from US$2.50 (SGD$3.50) to US$4 (SGD$5.60) per glass, as opposed to Coke's US$2.
Hell, my favorite Long Island cost US$4 a pop at Soup Dragon (SGD$18 at Zouk). Mojitos at Khmer Kitchen cost a paltry US$3.50 compared to Fullerton Post Bar's SGD$19+++. Certainly didn't take long before we kiasu Singaporeans jumped on the boozewagon and ordered up a frenzy. Prices like these could turn even the most resolute teetotalers into raging booze fiends lor.
A mojito binge in the afternoon......was usually followed by a blissful pre-dinner siesta. Dinner would be accompanied by more booze, followed by
even more booze
after makan. I'm just surprised I didn't see any revellers sprawled out in the streets outside pubs throwing up the products of their excesses. We were, however, privy to a minor ruckus caused by a drunk ang moh woman trying in vain to seduce a bunch of local tuk-tuk drivers and security guards. Too bad no one captured incriminating evidence on camera. Probably because no one wanted to risk kena sexually violated in the name of a good photo...haha! She did manage to piss off one guard by publicly groping his prized jewels, for which she was soundly rewarded with a hard slap that resounded into the night. She ought to be pinned down and publicly gang-raped for her boozy-floozy behavior, but heh, she'd probably love it.
Tsk tsk tsk...bloody drunken ang mohs. They become little more than beasts once unleashed by the fury of booze (i.e., there was this incident at the Hyatt lounge where this chow drunken Nazi called me a "yellow monkey"...he later claimed to be a German NASCAR driver). One could almost forgive the pooh bor for this grave lapse of behavior, seeing as he's a direct descendant of the Vikings.
The rather telling consequence of attempting to take a picture while inebriated. Thanks hor , Babi.Of course, all's not lost in drunken reverie. When we were sober enough to comprehend, we took a walk down Cambodia's not-too-distant grisly past. At Siem Reap, this manifested in the form of Aki Ra's Landmine Museum. For me, this turned out to be the highlight of the trip.
The flimsy, nondescript exterior belied a wartime treasure trove contained within the walls of the Landmine Museum. Displays of mines and other war-related paraphernalia were set up by former child soldier Aki Ra (pictured on right).A former child soldier for first the Khmer Rouge and then the invading Vietnamese, Aki Ra specialized in laying landmines as well as disarming them. He joined the UN peacekeeping force after the civil war and now works to uncover and deactivate the millions of fatal footsteps that lay scattered across the country. Between bouts of mine-seeking with a handheld metal detector and a disarmingly nonchalant approach in deactivating active mines, Aki Ra serves as foster father to a bevy of young landmine victims displaced from their homes and families.
A grim reminder of Cambodia's not-so-distant past.The museum was nothing short of an mind-opener, the scale of the landmine problem made blatantly clear by the info and personal accounts pinned on the walls. The summary of Aki Ra's work in the villages is an inspiring testimony of what one man
alone can do to
make that difference. Fate may be cruel, but its fatality is blunted by the will to live and lust for life in people snagged in an arms race between powers and ideologies beyond the reach of a human touch.
Babi and I attempting to show our indignance at the fact that Singapore is on the list of countries that have protected landmines since 2002, and have yet to sign the anti-landmine treaty. KNN, what the flying fiak is our gahmen doing?!
The denizens of Landmine Museum. This is where defused mines, mortar bombs, anti-tank devices, directional claymores and waist-cutting bouncing betties call home.Cambodia has more amputees per capita than any other country; one in every 300 Cambodian is missing a limb. Landmine victims are often stigmatized because they can do very little in a country where the main source of income is born of physical labor. Often, they either resort to begging, or by a cruel twist of fate, wind up demining for a living.
The man in my photo is 'lucky' in a sense...Ruiqin says he now runs a bookstore.In one of those warped twists in life, maimed children usually end up leading a better existence for all their early suffering. They stand a stronger chance of an educated pathway and exposure to urban possibilities, compared to their limb-intact siblings in distant kampongs where TV is considered the ultimate luxury.
Cambodia's tragic recent history tends be glossed over by the demand for visitors to Angkor. Landmine Museum brings the horror of the Khmer Rouge era back into
piercing-sharp focus. The past, though lived and relived in reluctance by post-war Cambodians,
cannot be allowed to become a mere memory of contention for the souls of mates lost and minds forsaken on the path to skewed glory.
An outdoor mock-up of a minefield.I switched off when Rain prattled on and on about the Indravarmans, the Jayavarmans and the Suryavarmans. The Churning Of The Ocean Of Milk? C'mon, no disrespect to the beloved and much-revered Hindu legend, but what's the likelihood that a thousand-year tug-of-war between gods and demons, in the quest for the elixir of immortality, existed?
It didn't. Turns out the notorious folklore is an allegory for the spiritual endeavor of an individual...in achieving self-actualization through concentration of mind, withdrawal of senses, control of desires and practice of austerities and asceticism (i.e., the way of the Buddha). Spirituality?
Baaaah.I am interested in the Landmine Museum for the very same reason I am interested in the
Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum (unfortunately located in Phnom Penh)...the fascination with the living, breathing facts of social history and its impact, especially from a socioeconomic standpoint. There are estimated to be three to seven million mines in Cambodia scattered throughout forests and paddyfields. The UN described the carnage left by mines in Cambodia as
"one of the worst modern man-made disasters of the century." Along with Angola and Afghanistan, Cambodia rank top among the most mine-afflicted countries.
Landmines and other explosive remnants of war pose
serious obstacles to the sustainable development in many of the world's poorest countries. There is often no record of their location...as a result, they continue to pervade as a menace
long after armed conflicts have ceased. The number of casualties caused each year number in the tens of thousands, most of them civilians and children.
Landmines compound refugee problems by laying to waste large tracts of potentially productive land. They cause restriction to transport and communication, deprive affected populations of basic needs (e.g., water) and access to markets to sell their produce. And let's not forget the continuing need to care for and rehabilitate landmine survivors. This places groaning strain on healthcare services struggling to make ends meet to begin with. I can go on and on, but Babi is
insistent that this badly-procrastinated entry be up by tonight if I want to live to see tomorrow. Har, now then you know I'm married to the mob ah? :( Anyway...
Most of the time worst than a quadruple amputee, this sighting can be considered a miracle of sorts. Babi has actually sprouted functional arms and legs, and is finally of some use, though barely.Not knowing what to expect, we didn't quite pace ourselves properly this trip...and quickly got templed-out by the second day. There is only
somuch cultural-historical overload one can stomach lor. Only upon our return to Singapore did I realize we could've roved around the countryside and witness facets of rural Cambodian life (but then again, there's the landmine hazard to consider...wouldn't want to get my limbs blown off poking around some ulu timbuktu spot). But roaming the villages and learning how palm sugar and palm wine (yum, tasty!) are brewed would've been a nice treat. Oh well. Anyone up for a second round? ;)
In a nutshell, we had a
terrific time. Words alone can't begin to describe the bone-deep
sian-ness I felt when we had to bid Siem Reap adieu. This is easily the best trip I've taken in a
reeeaally long time. If you haven't already visited Cambodia, I highly recommend (no, make that
urge!) you to do so.
Me and my favorite person in the whole wide world. Me and Ah Pek are like sooo tight lor. No one can break our bond. How much do I love Ah Pek? Hmmm, let me count thee ways...
Ah Pek lancing lancing wif me in the jacuzzi. Bet Ah Um is jealous lor. I mean, Ah Pek never even lancing lancing wif her. Ne ni ne ni boo boo to her lor. I have Ah Pek all to myself.
Ah Pek and I doing our NZ Samoan warrior thing. Ah Pek can give Gene Simmons a run for his money, but not me lor. All I have is a short, under-developed stump of a tongue. Neber mind, at least I gave it my best shot. I always have lots of fun making funny faces and posing wif Ah Pek.
Nabeh, I want to go that way; Ah Pek wants to go this way. I dun care! I die die must have my way, otherwise I will kao peh until the whole schwimming structure collapses. That's just the way it's gonna be. My way or the high way.
In case you haven't noticed, I happen to be Ah Pek's favorite arm ornament. He has me on his arm everywhere we go. Who ask me to be born so to-die-for cute leh? Boh pian. Ah Pek simply cannot resist the urge to pick me up and swing me to the skies. Weeeeeeeeee!!!
That's Ah Pek hitting the water feet up, making quite a splash there. Whooshing down the yellow and blue slides respectively are my cousins, Peixian and Peiyi. Nabeh, win liao lor! Everyone had tons of fun playing with the slides except me. Just cuz I'm little, the lifeguards see me no up and refused me access to the slides. Bloody spoiler! I was so furious I sulked and threw a hissy fit in public. How dare they!!
The first time Ah Pek and Ah Um took me schwimming schwimming at Tampines Swimming Complex. I was a chicken shit and didn't dare take the water slide by myself. After riding pillion a few times on their thighs, I decided to give it a go. Not so difficult after all. Now that I know how to slide on my own, I how lian yaya papaya and refuse to stick to Ah Pek and Ah Um liao...everything must do by myself. I'm an independent woman in the making ok...mai pray pray hor!
