The events here take place in July, 2003, the Wombat's first journey to Cambodia. Our story begins the morning after the Wombat went on a rutting spree in Bangkok. He’d left his girlfriend up north then hit two soapies and a lured a go-go girl back to his hotel. With only two hours sleep, he dashed to the airport for his flight, making it with time to spare.

My flight from Bangkok to Phnom Penh was quick and uneventful, touching down in the early morning. I managed to get near the front of the immigration line, but unfortunately, I neglected to bring a passport size photo with me. I handed over my papers along with the appropriate fee, and then waited for them to do whatever it is immigration officers do. A few people got through before me; obviously their paperwork was in order.

An officer waved my passport in an attempt to identify its owner. I stepped forth, claimed my papers and went pack to waiting for the visa. A minute later he waved another passport at me. I went up and noticed the photo was that of a thin bearded man who looked nothing like my heavy set goateed countenance. I identified the owner to the officer. A few moments later he waved still another passport at me. This time it was a goateed man, but again not me. I guess we all look alike to him, but why he would think I had two passports is anyone’s guess. With my visa processed, I headed into the rest of the airport.

I spotted a commercial tourist kiosk and inquired into the high-speed ferry service to Seim Reep. I learned I had just missed it by an hour, and the next one left the following morning. I hadn’t planned to spend any time in the capitol, but there I was. I figured I’d make the best of my stay.

Someone asked the attendant about the vacant tourist booth beside her. She indicated that it was the official government kiosk. When she was asked why it wasn’t open, she said it was because the employees worked for the government so they didn’t have to show up. This got a few chuckles from the eavesdroppers nearby. While I was browsing the brochures, the bearded fellow began inquiring about taxis. The man with the goatee joined a moment later suggesting that the three of us share a cab. Although we were each going to a different place, we figured it was still cheaper than individual cabs. We piled into the waiting taxi and took off down the dusty road.

This was my first trip to Cambodia. My attention was equally divided between the fascinating countryside and the curious customers with whom I was sharing a ride. The bearded man was a teacher on summer holiday. The goateed fellow was a writer. Both had spent a lot of time in Cambodia. In fact, the writer had a long-term girlfriend here and split his time between here and the US. We dropped him off and continued on to my hotel. The teacher figured this was a better place than what he had in mind and decided to stay.

While we checked in, he asked if I’d like him to show me around. I was delighted; with only one day to spare, I could not possibly have taken in the city without a knowledgeable guide (as I would learn later, I had no idea how knowledgeable he was). He had read no fewer than four history books on the country and was well versed on the local customs. Hanging out with a teacher can prove valuable some times.

We dumped our bags in the spacious rooms of the Riverside Hotel (right across from the high speed ferry terminal) and headed into town. He, like myself, was a consummate walker. This gave me plenty of opportunity to see the sites as we traversed the streets. We got disoriented once or twice but eventually made our way to the big, round French market. We spent some time wandering around before I pointed out that I could buy nothing as I was out of US dollars. He took me to a moneychanger where I picked up enough funds for the next couple of days.

I asked him if he knew of a good place to sit and relax and have a good meal. He said he did, but it depended on what I was interested in. I wasn’t particular, but wanted something with a lot of atmosphere and easy on the wallet. He said he could think of a couple of places but they might not open until a bit later. I was content to wait.

The next stop was the Russian market. I heard rumor that this was a good place to pick up DVDs. I was pretty disappointed at the lack of dual layer discs, but was astounded by the selection of CDs available. I found one place that had a staggering collection of world beat and jazz music. A couple of expats were sampling the discs and I was drawn into their discussion. After inquiring as to my tastes, the music aficionado suggested some albums I might like. A few samples later and I was walking away with a dozen albums for the cost of two CDs back home.

I was starting to get hungry and asked my teacher guide about where we should go. While we were flipping through CDs, he made allusion to some place; not one for subtleties, I missed it and continued on unaware. He suggested the same place again. “It’s this little village about 11 kilometers out of town. It’s a sleepy little place where you can sit in a restaurant on the road and people watch. The food isn’t great, but it’s got nice atmosphere.”

“OK,” I said with a shrug, “let’s go!”

“Uh, I have to tell you something and I’ll be right up front about it.” He looked at me gravely, “It’s a … well, it’s a brothel.”

Now, how fucking lucky am I? Not only am I getting a tour with an erudite traveler, but he’s a sanuker as well!

I grinned at him, “Hey, sounds like fun. Let’s go!” He gave me a wide smile and we hunted around for some motoboys. About a half hour later we pulled into K11.

Had I not been told what this place was, I would have walked right through the middle of it without suspecting a damn thing. I once spent a good part of the day and night in the equivalent of the red light district in Hat Yai, Thailand without ever knowing I was in sanuk territory. I am convinced that the infamous El Burro ("The Cleanest Man in Bangkok") possesses my share of the sanuking senses.

So, there I am in K11, sitting down for a drink with a vacationing teacher, sitting beside a handful of German guys talking about lord knows what. I order a beer and a bite to eat while my guide gives me the lowdown on the venue. He also pointed out the garage door-like openings with the girls gathered around laughing and carrying on.

I mentioned an article about Thailand I read not long ago. In it the author uses an unusual euphemism for sex, typing. The writer claimed that some of the finest typists in the world are in Bangkok. Here you would find small shops full of eager young typists anxious to type for you. He goes on to say that busy executive from all over the world stop in Bangkok just to have their typing done while other move there to have greater access to the local typing skills. It was a well done piece and he enjoyed the humor as much as I did.

He told me a bit more about how the brothels worked. I had never before gone short time with a girl (with the exception of massage joints), so I was a bit uncertain as to what I could expect. My hotel room was always a safe place and I didn’t know what I’d find inside that mundane concrete structure. My companion pointed out that I could try the girl for short time and take her home if I liked her. He then led me on a quick tour of the few establishments already open.

All the girls I saw were in their late teens or early twenties. Some were pretty and some were not. Very few of them were overweight. One petit thing gave me a hard time for not choosing her despite the fact that she could tell I was obviously attracted to her. “Maybe I’ll come back,” I said to her with a twinkle in my eye.

“I not believe you!” she cried as I left.

As luck would have it, she was the most appealing of all the girls I saw. I was also impressed with her spunkiness. Me and Teach went back to her establishment. She had her back turned to me, engaged in some game with a few other girls. When I tapped her on the shoulder she squealed in delight and threw her arms around me. “Didn’t think I’d come back, huh?” She smiled at me. “How old are you?” I asked her. I had been fooled with girls who were a lot older than they looked; while there was no doubt that she was not old, I didn’t want to take a chance that she might fall below the moral threshold. There are some things I already knew about Cambodia and had no intention of being blindsided.

“Eighteen,” she said decisively.

There was nothing to keep her from telling me what she thought I wanted to hear, so I asked her for her identification card. She pulled it out of her pocket without hesitation. To be honest, I had no idea what was on that damn card, but I figure if she were even a day underage she would have made some excuse as to why she couldn’t produce an ID. I handed it back to her.

Teach decided to go with two girls and suggested I do the same. “How often do you get this opportunity at home?” One lady was busy tugging his arm, trying to pull him up the stairs, while her partner was enthusiastically pushing him from below. I wondered briefly if I’d ever see him again alive.

I was sore tempted to choose two girls, but I was also quite tired from my travels and lack of nourishment. Keeping up with this one gal was sure to be tough enough. As she guided me to her room, I got a chance to see what life inside a Cambodian brothel was like. It was concrete floors, walls and ceilings, particleboard and plywood room partitions. Each room was little more than a high walled office cubical with a door. The place was remarkably clean.

Her room consisted of a smallish bed taking up half the floor space, a small shelf and a cabinet. She had a small radio tuned to a local music station. On the wall, a fan struggled to keep the air moving. A decorative cotton blanket covered the bed; a couple of stuffed animals occupied the corner near the pillows. She had a few ornamental hangings on the walls to decorate the place. A plastic hook system near the door was provided for hanging clothes.

As we stood there, I leaned my head down low and gave her a nice long kiss. She kissed back in a way that told me I had made a good decision. “We really should get cleaned up,” I murmured as my hands explored beneath the back of her t-shirt.

“We undress. Take bath,” she replied as she struggled with my belt.

I couldn’t figure how the bath system worked, but it looked as if we should get undressed here and now. I pulled off my clothes and hung them on the hooks. She eyed my erection with some interest. While I am not particularly long, I am on the wide side, if you know what I mean. “Is this OK for you?” I asked. She wrapped her fingers around it, looked up at me and nodded.

She handed me a towel and I wrapped it about my waist. She put on her own towel and led me back in to the corridor. I hoped that we wouldn’t run into anyone as that towel did little to hid my, um, excitement. As she pulled me down the hall, we encountered a few of the girls eating their lunch on the back porch. They gave me a glance and kept eating. My girl opened the door to the bathroom and I got my first look at a brothel boudoir.

A concrete tub, a good meter in depth, occupied one side of the little room. A squat hole was tucked away in the corner. There was no shower hose anywhere to be seen. She hung her towel on a hook opposite the tub and I followed suite. I couldn’t imagine climbing into that basin of water. She grabbed a shallow plastic bucket, dipped it in the water and poured it over her chest and stomach. I caught on quickly. Once we were both good and wet, she pulled out the soap. She washed me gently and carefully. Before she had a chance to wash herself, I lathered up my hands and gave her a good scrubbing. This was something she was not accustomed to, but humored me. We poured the rinse water over each other and toweled off.

Back in the hallway, I waved to the girls eating. They either didn’t see me or chose to ignore my gesture. We got back to the room and I made note of the fact that my strategically arranged clothing had not been disturbed. I was concerned that leaving them on the hook would provide too tempting a target for some of the employees. Everything was in order, however.

I placed my towel on another hook and lay down on the bed. It was firm, but comfortable. She climbed up beside me and we resumed our necking. Her hand wasted no time as she took hold of my cock and gave it a good squeeze. I pulled her on top of me and fondled her firm little ass. My erection was pressed between her thighs as we kissed. Her skin was the smoothest and tautest I had encountered in all my travels through South East Asia. as I massaged my fingers into them, I noted that her muscles were well toned.

She broke away from my kisses and slid down my body to my anxious appendage. She wrapped her lips around it and began bobbing her head. I just lay back and reveled in the sensation. Despite the fact that the previous night I had two fabulous orgasms with two other girls, this honey was making me exceptionally horny. I instructed her to play with my balls as she worked on me and she complied.

Although her technique was not particularly good, I was enjoying myself immensely. I wanted to return the pleasure and asked her to stretch out beside me. We kissed for a few moments before I worked my way down her neck, across her shoulders and paused to play with her small breasts and very erect nipples.

I kept kissing downward past her pubes and along her thighs. Once I reached her knees I started back up again. I was licking and sucking around her pussy without touching it. Finally, I gently touched her lips with my tongue. She was wet all right. I began licking her gently, avoiding her clit, just circling around it. When I felt she had been teased enough, I ran my tongue in circles around her little bud then sucked it softly.

What made the whole procedure doubly pleasurable was the fact that she was nearly clean-shaven. In the shower, I thought that she did shave. It turned out that she had only a few, long, wispy pubic hairs. This was something I had encountered only once before. Nuzzling between her legs was a delightful sensation and I took my sweet time.

At one point I looked up, expecting to see her head thrown back, clutching the bedspread in ecstasy. She was just lying there, staring at something on her cabinet. I couldn’t believe it. The things I was doing to her drove most women bananas. While I’ll be the first to admit my numerous shortcomings, I can definitely state that cunnilingus is not on that list.

There are two parts to sex that I really enjoy. The first part is the simple physical pleasure I receive, from stimulation to orgasm. The other part is the delight I receive in giving her pleasure. While I was really enjoying eating this lady, I was ultimately disappointed by the fact that I might just as well have been fluffing her pillow.

I tried a couple of tricks to get her eyes closed, but nothing worked. I know when I’m defeated so I licked my way back up her body and suggested that a condom would be appropriate at this point. I assisted her in rolling it on and guided her on top of me.
She positioned herself astride me and reached between her legs to guide me in. I knew she was plenty wet so there was no need for additional lubricant. She eased her way down and I could feel the warm tightness of her body as I entered her. “Oh, yeah,” I murmured encouragingly. When she reached my pelvis, and I was all the way in, she sighed and began rocking slowly. I wanted to hold her for a moment and pulled her down to me. We kissed and I gently thrust in and out of her as I caressed her silky skin.

She soon began to get into the spirit of things as she rocked back to meet my short strokes. Once I knew she was comfortable with my size, I grabbed her little butt in both hands and started driving into her vigorously. She pressed her head against my shoulder and held on to me. When I slowed down, she sat up and began rocking again, this time with real enthusiasm.

She pulled her feet up beneath her so she could use her knees for leverage. I steadied her with my hands on her hips. It almost hurt as her small pelvis pound into my pubic bone. I sat up and took her with me. We stayed in this position for several minutes as we kissed and she rocked back and forth. We then moved into a doggy position so I could admire her tight derričre; I grabbed her hips and plunged into her. We were both having a terrific time.

When I was close to orgasm, we switched back to missionary. I had one hand on her little ass, the other beneath her back and my tongue exploring her mouth when I exploded inside her. We remained in this position for several minutes as we waited for my erection to subside within her. When I finally pulled out, I was impressed at the amount of semen in the condom. I figured I’d have been drained dry after the previous nights escapades.

We snuggled together and talked while languishing in the afterglow. She told me she was from Vietnam and had been working there for a few months and really liked it. She showed me some photographs of herself she had taken by a pretty good photographer. In makeup she looked a lot older than her eighteen years and told her so. She appreciated the compliment. I told her about my travels as I stroked her back. Although there was no pressure to leave, I knew that time was running out and I should be going.

We donned our towels and headed for the bathroom. It was occupied. I couldn’t imagine waiting in the hallway until the occupants had finished their toilet. Thankfully, she grabbed my hand and pulled be back down the other way to the auxiliary bathroom. It was pretty much laid out the same as the other one. With a good, invigorating shag behind us, we were splashing the water around more energetically. I soaped up my hairy chest and showed her how I could scrub her back. She giggled approvingly. I then knelt down and had her wash my hair while I ran my hands up and down her legs.

Back in her room I dressed and asked if I could take her photo. She was hesitant, so I pulled out the camera and showed her how it worked. I took a couple of shots before she begged me to stop. She would get in trouble for some reason. I put the camera away and she reached into her pocketbook to give me one of her wallet-sized photos.

I had taken two or three one-dollar bills and slipped it in her purse. She gave me an odd look and asked me why I did that. “It’s for you,” I replied. I thought it strange that she didn’t thank me, or even smile. Was it too little?

We left her room and walked out to the entranceway and embraced. The door was nearly closed and only a few girls were around. I handed her a five-dollar bill and thanked her. She looked at it oddly. “It’s five dollars, right?” She called out to someone in the back who answered right away.

“Ten dollars,” she said. Well, I was told it was five, but I could have been mistaken. I had a hell of a time with her so I didn’t mind forking over another fin. I gave her another hug and a kiss then said goodbye. “You want me come with you tonight?” she asked. I replied that I was tired and she took all the energy I had. She pouted so I hugged her again telling her how much I enjoyed my time with her.

Back at the restaurant, my teacher guide was sitting back enjoying another beer. I gave him a big smile when he asked me how it was. He also expressed some dismay that I seemed to have been in there a long time. “I was afraid you’d had a heart attack or something,” he said, jokingly.

“Well, you might not have been far off,” I laughed. “It would have been a great way to go! That was a lot of fun!” We ordered some more food and relaxed.

We chatted with a few of the other gents enjoying their beers. No names were exchanged, not nationalities revealed, just serious small talk relating to the one thing every man came here for. When they learned that I paid ten dollars instead of five, they all groaned and teased me for being the newbie I was. “I think they must charge by the inch!” I cried in my defense. I got a good laugh out of that one.

Teach told me about a girl who used to work there. He had been with her only once and had regretted not spending every waking minute with her. “She was a legend,” he said.

“Was?” I countered.

It seems she had stopped working about a year ago. She was from Vietnam, small, pretty, and took to sex like a seal to water. In his words, “She liked to fuck hard.” She was aggressive, bisexual, and let you know it in every way. She had also made at least one porn movie. Many of the other girls were a bit afraid of her because she made no bones about involving them in her erotic exploits. Teach told me how she was playing with his balls while another girl was riding him cowboy. She shoved two fingers up the girl’s ass without any warning. He claimed that this girl’s pussy clamped down on him like a vise. While the little minx roared in delight, her friend was about ready to kill her. He didn’t know whatever became of her, but he knew plenty of guys who were willing to travel halfway around the planet to be with her again.

After we finished our drinks, I suggested that we take a walk around and see what this little village looked like. We went through the narrow alleyways taking pictures of life in a rural village. We got plenty of smiles from the little kids and their parents as we waved to them. The few times we happened upon a brothel, the girls scurried inside and the papasan hurriedly shut the doors. “They’re nervous about the cameras,” my companion observed. “There’ve been too many newspaper stories about places like this and they know not to trust anyone who looks like a reporter.” I had to admit that we did look a bit like rugged photojournalists.

We stumbled upon a couple of kids, about eight or nine years old, weaving roof matting. It served as a reminder that outside the Western world, people start work at a very early age. The notion of “childhood” is a relatively recent, Western, concept. For us, childhood was about going to school, doing our homework, maybe a few household chores, then nothing but play, play, play. For these kids, their youth was a time when they went to school during the day, but worked during the evenings and weekends to help their family survive. They learned responsibility at an age that would demean most first year university students. Even with the two strangers in their midst photographing them, these kids just smiled and kept to the task at hand, remaining focused on their job.

Around the corner, we encountered a couple of toddlers with one of the mothers. They were, as most toddlers are, adorable. Out came the cameras for some baby pictures. I showed mom the picture I took of her child and you should have seen her face light up with that smile. I suspect it was the first time she had ever encountered a digital camera. I showed the picture to the child, but he was mystified by what he saw. Mom called over her friend to see the picture. I stepped back to get a shot of a few of them at once and displayed the results. I hadn’t really noticed, but there were a few more kids running around. I focused on a couple of them smiling at me and they were suddenly joined by a few more. Within seconds, a small crowd had gathered. There were easily thirty kids cambering over each other, hamming it up for the cameras. I organized them into a group and arranged them on the steps. I took a couple of pictures and showed them the results. The shriek of laughter when they saw the result was worth the price of the camera.

We spent the next quarter hour trying to shake off the older kids. They kept tagging along begging to have their picture taken. When I tried to get a shot of child peacefully crashed out on a hammock, they had no qualms about jumping on top of him to get in the picture. After that, we decided that it was time to put away the camera gear.

We went back to the restaurant and discussed our plan for the evening. The music loving expats we met earlier suggested but one restaurant for our evening meal, the Foreign Correspondents’ Club. We decided we should go there that evening. I wanted to make it an early night because my boat left just after dawn the next morning. Teach agreed but wanted to bring a girl back with him. I wasn’t sure how he could manage getting her back to the hotel and still go out for a meal unless he was planning to take her with him to the FCC (which didn’t seem like a good idea). He planned to just leave her in the room and let her watch TV. I realized that a evening sitting alone in a hotel room was probably a world more interesting to a young Vietnamese lady than hanging around a dusty brothel town hoping some guy would give her a couple of bucks.

Our motoboys had been hanging around hoping to take us back to town when we were done. Teach decided to put them to good use since they didn’t seem to have much else to do. He provided them with a detailed description of what he wanted and sent them on a woman finding expedition. Now this rocked me back on my heels. I figured that the search for the perfect, albeit temporary, mate was half the fun. He claimed that he was happy to relax and the guys who knew the landscape scout out ahead for him. Upon reflection, I realized it was a brilliant idea.

While we were shooting the breeze, I felt a presence at my side. I looked over and my girl was standing right beside me. She put her arm on my shoulder and said hello. I was a bit flabbergasted because none of the girls that I had seen left the shelter of their dormitories. I greeted her and asked her how she was doing. She told me she wanted to go back to my hotel with me.

At first I was pleased with her interest, but I understood her motivation all too well, but thought nothing less of her. I explained that I was really too tired and I planned to go out to dinner and turn in. She whined a bit and countered by offering to pose for pictures, give me a massage, etc. She even dropped the twenty-dollar fee to fifteen. Of course, my razor sharp mind quickly determined where that five dollars had come from. Had she been more responsive to my oral ministrations or not overcharged me, I might have taken her up on the offer. As it was, I really was too shagged out to shag. Dejected, she slumped away.

By now, the motoboys had come back with their first report. Teach wandered off with them and came back a few minutes later. Their selection was close, he told me, but they needed to do some more scouting. They came back after a short wait and decided to tag along. They took us to a side street we hadn’t walked down before. The papasan invited us in and we sat on the couches provided. Papasan was a bit confused by my presence. It seems he thought the girl was for two guys. Teach told him that I was simply his bodyguard and let it go at that. Papasan would give me a sideways look once in a while; I did my best to stay in character.

The young lady was presented to Teach. She looked about twenty, slim, attractive and well attired. She also looked a bit uncomfortable in a room with two foreigners and two motoboys. Teach sat her down and tried to talk to her a bit. Her English skills were pretty much nonexistent, but he felt she was a worthy companion for the night. He dickered over the fee, paid up and we soon departed.

It was now night. Teach and his girl climbed onto the bike with the driver, and I got on the back of mine. We drove slowly as there were lots of people on the road and scarcely any lights (including many motorbikes with nonfunctioning headlamps). We made it back to the hotel in one piece.

Teach checked the girl in at the desk with no problem. We decided to meet for supper at an agreeable time to give me a chance to check e-mail and for him to have an opportunity to interview his new secretary. When I returned at the appointed hour, I tapped on his door. A few moments later, the door edged open and he peeked out. He was breathing hard and covered in sweat, a towel wrapped around his waist. I guess that interview was still progressing. “So, does she have all the qualifications you’re looking for, or do you need to do some further probing?” I asked with a wry smile.

“The interview is going very well,” he said. “She has excellent typing skills,” he added between breaths, “but her oral dictation needs work.” I laughed and asked him when he wanted me to come back. He said he’d be ready in a few minutes and he’d come to my room.

Ten minutes later he knocked on my door to get me. As we took the elevator downstairs he told me that he decided to send the girl back. She was not as the papasan described. Apparently her lack of oral skills was a bit of a sore spot for him.

When we arrived at the lobby, the deskmen were anxious to see us. I noticed my companion’s lady sitting near the entrance. The clerks wanted to know if everything was OK and if my friend had sent the girl away. He explained that he had and they signaled to her that it was OK to leave. It turns out that the hotel will stop a girl from leaving in case she had decided to run off and/or stole from the guest. They then wanted to know if either of us would like a lady for the night. Yes, this is a sanuk-friendly hotel all right.

We declined, but I had second thoughts and asked about massage. For seven bucks, I’d get a two-hour massage. I was intrigued and indicated that I would decide later. We walked to the restaurant and had a fabulous meal while gazing out at the river and swapping travel tales. I was exhausted from the past 24 hours and decided to call it a night.

The walk back to the hotel energized me to the point where I decided to try the massage -- if only to see the service level the hotel provided. I bid my companion adieu, as I would leave early the next morning. By the time I had finished my shower, my masseuse knocked on my door.

She was a big girl in comparison to the ladies I met earlier, but not fat. She was big boned and strong. Unfortunately, she was not particularly attractive. I let her in and discovered that she spoke no English. I pantomimed my desire and she directed me to lie on my stomach on the bed. I stretched out my towel and flopped onto the bed. She retrieved another towel, wrapped around her waist and removed her jeans.

Her massage technique was good. I was right about her being strong. Unfortunately, I managed to drift off to sleep for a good portion of the proceedings. Had she been more comely, I might have invited her to stay the night, but I also knew that I was going to pass out the moment she left.

With the massage complete, she tugged on her jeans and shoes. I dug through my pockets to find the exact change. I had a ten and a five. I asked her if she had change. She didn’t. I wasn’t about to go traipsing down to the lobby for three bucks so I gave her the ten. She was very pleased with the sizable tip. We shook hands and she went on her way. I staggered to the bed and hoped the deskmen would remember to give me my wakeup call.

As the grey, pre-dawn light filtered into the room, the phone rang. I stumbled around, got my kit together and managed to get to the ferry before it filled up. I grabbed a spot on the upper deck of the boat, arranged my gear and settled in for a good sleep. A good sleep, that is until the ships horn, under which I lay, announced its departure. It continued to sound at each bend in the river. Next time, I’m taking earplugs.

Wow, super report! Lots of detail. Thanks a bunch.

Wombat,

Thanks for the story! How does Cambodia compare to PI in terms of housing, conditions, food?

How much time would you recommend for a side trip while in Thaliand?

thanks again!

I don't know about the Philippines (damn, now I know why everyone abreviates that sucker) as I've never been there.

That being said, from a zero base standard, I can tell you that housing is as varied as anywhere I've ever seen. You can get ultra cheap digs or you can spend luxury dollars, they've got it all in Phnom Penh and Siem Reep (Angkor temple complex). My hotel was comfortable and cost me $20USD.

Conditions are post-war-torn. The infrastructure seems as if it's held together with bailing wire and duct tape, but it gets the job done. The roads are a mess, the streets are generally dirt (or mud if you're there in the rainy season). Internet access is slow, but hey, you can get get connected!

Food is a delight. The French, bless their colonialistic hearts, passed on to the Khmers their receipe for bagettes. You'll see vendors on every street with a big box of fresh bread. Mmmm. Other than that, the food is fairly standard fare (i.e. no where near to the high standards of Thailand, but you will NOT go hungry).

As far as a side trip from Thailand, by all means, go for it. The flights from and to Bangkok are reasonablby priced and there are plenty of 'em. As you can see, 24hrs in PP isn't quite enough, but my interests lay further north. If you just want to sanuk in a new city, a couple of days is plenty of time. On my upcoming vist, I'm planning to get out into the country some more to get to those out-of-the-say places.

A good triangle trip is to fly from Bangkok to Phnom Penh, take the high-speed ferry to Siem Reep (tramp around the temples and be a culture vulture) then fly back to Bangkok.

Wombat, I really, really, really find it hard to believe that any mongerer standing on the main "street" of KM11 would not know they were in a red light district. I mean all those girls waving at you make it quite obvious! :-)

I was surprised they let you pay afterwards. On all my visits, it was money up front. Do you know which house you were in? 12? 14?

It's true! Of course, now I would be a bit more clued in, but had I stumbled upon K11 by myself, I'd have just figured those gals were being all friendly-like. Yup, sometimes I'm clued out to the point of being stunned.

The house I visited was ... uh, boy ... I didn't see any house numbers. OK, if the little resto was at your back, my girl's place was across the street somewhere around 10:30 o'clock. I can't tell you what it looked like on the outside, but I remember the inside pretty well.

Yup, you were probably in either 12, 14 or 15, as they all are in that row across from the restaurant in the 10 to 11 o'clock range. And the last time I was there, they were also the biggest. I have many fond memories of 12 and 15 in particular.

Wom,
When you bathed in the concrete tub, how was the water? Was it hot? warm? cold? And was it clean?

Just trying to feel your wonderful report.

MA

The whole bathing experience was quite pleasant, actually. Don't forget, I was hot going in and hot coming out. The water was room temperature (which feels cool no mater how hot the room may be) and totally refreshing. It was rain water so it was as clean as anything you'd find coming out of a tap in New York City (yeah, really).

I was further prepared by the fact that only a few days previously, in her family's up-country home, I had a water fight wash with my Thai girlfriend in a similar lavatorium.