Siem Reap

We were lucky to get here at all having been ripped off by our hotel receptionist who booked us onto a ‘luxury’ coach that was more cattle class than first class. I felt we would be fortunate to make it across the bridge over the Mekong out of Phnom Penh let alone the 7 hours to Siem Reap. My fears were if not allayed then certainly side-tracked by some of the most extraordinarily loaded vehicles we passed along the way. Mopeds had up to six people on each but that was nothing compared to some of the cars and trucks. One saloon had sixteen people in including a child who appeared to be suspended above the tarmac until we passed and noticed her daredevil mother clinging on to her with one hand and the open boot with the other. As for small trucks you can squeeze about thirty in including belongings as long as you double stack by making full use of the roof.

It was then that I realised I’d got my dates wrong and that even if we did make it all the way on this piece of scrap metal we would have nowhere to stay during the busiest month of the year. Thankfully the Frenchman I had made the reservation with, although fully booked himself along with every other hotel in town, knew a compatriot restauranteur who had just started renting out a couple of rooms. Not only did we have a place to stay but also 20% off an excellent dinner in one of the top restaurants in town and to cap it all a free breakfast. The words ‘b*stard’ and ‘jammy’ sprang to mind and I made a mental note to leave all future bookings to Karen even if the owners were French.

Our initial impression of Siem Reap was of a disappointing dustbowl but that changed in the morning when we moved from the outskirts to Villa Loti next to the imaginatively named Siem Reap river. The land was more verdant and the whole place more vibrant with a hustle and bustle more befitting a former capital city. So it was in a more positive frame of mind that we made our way to the market for a spot of early Christmas shopping. Several bargains and a broken plastic chair later (clearly not designed for my ample girth) we left the maze of stalls. I remember browsing for a Lonely Planet Australia or New Zealand in a drawer of books hung round a local’s neck and feeling a bit guilty at not finding what I wanted. He had had both arms blown off above the elbows and had a massive scar the whole way across his chest presumably from one of the five million or so landmines left over from the Vietnam war (yes they bombed Cambodia and Laos too). He is one of about 40,000 to have been injured and that figure only includes those who are still alive. So much for the positive frame of mind.

There was nothing for it but a bit of R&R so I abandoned the family and hit the town. My first stop was a bar with a giant football screen where I witnessed Chelsea’s savage thrashing of West Ham (ok it was only 1-0 and yes the solitary strike did come from ex-Hammer Joe Cole but a win is a win). I ended up at a rooftop bar screening a psychedelic version of Jack and the Beanstalk, part of the little known Cambofest film festival and was the unworthy recipient of a souvenir T-shirt. I faithfully assured the festival organiser that the garment would be proudly displayed around the world before coming to rest at some of the more fashionable spots of Kensington and Chelsea. I don’t think he really cared but was merely happy to palm off his last extra large on someone suitable with such a paucity of candidates.

The relaxing lifestyle continued with day visits to two luxury pools at the Sofitel and Meridien hotels. The first one was $20 a head for over 6’s so in the rather grand shower I squelched on oodles of extraneous conditioner and body lotion as well as shampoo to get my money’s worth. The Meridien pool was not as huge but better designed with fountains and stepping stones the only slight annoyance being the bar staff trying to diddle us out of $15 (not again).

The final pampering ‘pièce de résistance’ was a four hands massage for the princely sum of 12000 Riel (3 US$). This hour of pleasurable pain culminated in me lying on my front while two of the hands lifted up both ankles, as if under starters orders for a Group1 wheelbarrow race, whilst the other two pummelled my shoulders. As if this wasn’t bad/good enough, the two northerly hands were joined by their knee counterparts in an agonising crawl up my spine, already at full stretch from hands one and two. Just as I was thinking this was worse than carting heavy luggage about, it all came to an abrupt stop and remarkably I felt no ill affects.

Hang on a minute – four days in Siem Reap without visiting the temples – the single biggest tourist attraction in Cambodia by miles. I had worked out that Anchor beer was far better than it’s confusing local homonym Angkor but hadn’t bothered to check out the famous temple of the same name. We had watched the free ‘apsara’ dancing but not studied their sandstone counterparts. We did a bit of research and booked a guide for the day for a whistlestop tour of 3 of the main temples Angkor Wat, Bayon and Ta Prohm.