The Wombat continues his adventure in late July, 2002. Waking up to a grey morning in Phnom Penh, he boarded the high-speed ferry to Siem Reap, but was unable to sleep due to the frequent blasts of the boat’s horn, beneath which he was sprawled.

I had slathered myself with sun block just in case the sun managed to break through the hazy cloud cover. The last thing I needed was a bad burn; being exposed on the deck of the boat was a sure place to get one. However, we saw the sun for less than an hour that day.

The boat had no facilities to speak of. Fortunately, I managed to procure a baguette and some cheesy comestibles before embarking, so my hunger was abated. We eventually left the confines of the river and headed into Tonle Lake; with water on all horizons, it felt more like an inland sea. We would occasionally see another boat, usually ferries making the trip to Phnom Penh, but sometimes a lone fishing canoe, miles from anywhere.

It wasn’t long before the upper deck was nearly crowded. It was then that I noticed a squall on the horizon. We were heading into some very dark rain clouds. I gathered my belongings and shoved them close to the windbreak so they’d be out of the rain. I figured we had another ten minutes before we cruised into the rain so I went below to use the head.

This was my first time inside the passenger compartment. It looked more like an airplane than a boat. Two rows of seats on each side of the center isle, each cushioned seat looking small and not terribly comfortable. At the back I found the head. I went inside, bolted the plywood door and discovered how primitive our boat really was. The toilet consisted of a squat hole raised on a platform nearly a meter above the deck. Through the hole I could see the water rushing by. I counted my blessings that I needed only to pee, did my business, washed up in the little sink and left.

By the time I had returned to the outside, it appeared as if none of the other passengers had noticed the storm we were approaching. They just sat there, making no attempt to seek shelter. I could see there was a bright area beyond the rainsquall. This meant there’d only be a few minutes of rain, maybe half an hour. When the rain started, the passengers outside beat a hasty retreat to the one hatchway leading back inside. I pulled off my shirt, stuffed it in my kit, and rode out the storm half naked. In the midday heat, the shower was a welcome relief. The deluge lasted only a few minutes, sporadic rain after that for just about half an hour. The rushing wind dried me off before I put my shirt back on.

The open water of the lake eventually gave way to the approaching land; a low bushy greenery hugging the water’s edge. The boat made its way to a break in the vegetation, a difficult area to spot, and we cruised up the channel. I noticed that a police boat had followed in behind us. I didn’t know if it was checking us out or just following along in our wake.

We started to see the first of the floating villages plying a living on the water. Boats, houseboats and floating shacks were scattered along our route. I observed floating convenience stores, hardware stores, gas stations, a haberdashery, restaurants and fish farms in addition to the numerous dwellings. The first bit of dry land I saw was occupied by a score of children dashing about as they played games.

Our point of debarkation was well marked, not with a pier or sign, but by approximately one hundred touts holding up signs for their hotels. The ferry glided straight in to shore where several men secured it and set up a narrow gangplank. I donned my backpack and scanned the crowd for my name. I spotted my driver, a short stocky man with a round face and dark glasses. We made eye contact and I gave him a thumbs up. He returned the gesture with a confident nod.

I had my driver wait while I toured the village. The road here extended out into the lake. Numerous watercraft lined the sides while makeshift structures occupied the banks. Houses, hair salons, electricians, restaurants, schools, government and non-government agencies clustered around this causeway road. It was like a needle of civilization trust into Tonle Sap lake, bringing with it the infection of humanity.

As I was out of cash, I had to stop by the bank. This place was modern and efficient as anything I had seen on my travels. The staff was well attired and polite. I produced a credit card so as to obtain a US dollar cash advance. I had to produce numerous identification papers and complete an extensive form to make the withdrawal. A couple that entered after me made the mistake of leaving their passport with the hotel. They had to take a long walk back before they could get cash.

My boots had tracked a fair quantity of dust and sand into the bank. The guard at the door carefully swept up my mess. I apologized for complicating his job, but he smiled and waved it off. Cash in hand, I joined my guides outside and we drove off to the hotel.

The hotel was nothing impressive; just a tidy looking building set off one of the main roads. I signed in and inspected my room. It was reasonably sized corner room. The walls were covered with wood paneling so it would have been dark if not for the windows on two sides.

I dumped my bag and inquired into the possibility of renting a motorbike for the next few days. The fellow who met me at the ferry terminal asked me if I would not like to hire a car for around $20/day. Knowing how easy it was to get around on a bike, I declined. I was then told that I could not rent a bike; I would have to hire a driver with a bike. We dickered over this for some time because I was quite sure I could rent a bike somewhere in the town. I gave in as I reasoned that a guide who knew his way around would be quite valuable for the $6/day I would pay.

The first job of the day was to locate a shop where I could burn CDs. My guide knew just the place. A quick moto later and I discovered that the shop didn’t burn CDs. It took about four more shops before I found what I needed. Meanwhile, I was rapidly loosing confidence in my guide’s abilities.

I got a quick tour of the town and a bite to eat. It was then time to hit the temple complex. I got photographed, paid my entrance fee and chatted with a few other tourists while waiting to get in. Back on the bike, my guide took me down the road. Past the enormous moat, I caught my first look at Ankor Wat. I won’t bother explaining the sensation, but it was one impressive bit of stonework. I knew it required more than a couple of hours to see, so I told the drive to take me to a temple where few people would congregate.

Later, as I stopped at one of the many food stalls outside another temple complex, the rain hit. It rained and rained and rained and rained. After over an hour of sitting around, I decided that there was no point in hoping it would let up. We got back on the bike and started plowing through the puddles on the road. By the time we made it back to the hotel, we both looked as if we’d just jumped out of the lake.

I arranged for the driver to return in an hour. I got showered and changed, then waited for him. It was still raining a bit, so I pulled out my trusty umbrella. I got on back of the bike and held the umbrella to shield us both as I had seen so many other locals do. It worked surprisingly well. I then instructed my driver that I wanted a tour of where the ladies are. He gave me a big grin as we sped off.

The first place he took me was a nondescript, typical garage door place with plenty of girls inside. Another brothel was located right next door. When I learned that long time was $40, I pointed out that Phnom Penh only cost $20. He made some lame excuse about how things are more expensive in the country and I told him to forget it.

I told my driver to give me a tour so I could get the big picture. The brothels of Siem Reap are scattered about. You’ll find a few in close proximity to each other, but for the most part you have to drive around a bit.

The second place we stopped had only a few girls. However, one of the girls gave me a big smile and wrapped her arms around me. I asked her a few questions and learned that she spoke no English. I did find out she was from Vietnam. She wasn’t at the top of my list of beauties, but she had a good attitude. I begrudgingly agreed to $30 long time (more on this later) and told the mammasan my driver would pick her up after taking me back. I was a bit uncomfortable with three of us on that bike and was also a bit shy about taking her into the hotel.

Thirty minutes later, after I had straightened up my belongings, she was at my door with a big smile. We reacquainted ourselves and got undressed. He body was very nice, with beautiful skin. We got into the shower and she was surprised that I wanted to wash her. Despite my best efforts, she sent me out after she scrubbed me so she could wash herself again.

The events that followed were pleasant, but not exactly memorable. We performed well together and I had a satisfactory orgasm. We fell asleep soon afterward as communication was just not possible.

In the morning, I was ready for another go. The night before I had played with her ass and she made no move to protest. It hadn’t occurred to me that she might be game for anal sex then, so after we had tried out a few positions I made the appropriate gestures. She nodded with a smile. Hmm, this could still be a memorable occasion. After playing with her some more, she was ready. Over the next thirty minutes I struggled to achieve orgasm, but I just didn’t have it in me. I was too pooped to pop.

I collapsed beside her and we cuddled for a while before going for the shower. Despite my meager performance in bed, I soon had a raging hard on as we washed each other. She gave me a big smile and started sucking me in the shower. While other girls have done this before, it was mostly in play, but this gal was working hard to get me to come. She was really into it.

Her enthusiasm inspired me. I turned off the shower, took her hand and led her back to the bed, both of us soaking wet. I grabbed a condom and got her ass ready again. She was giggling from the display of my eagerness. Ten minutes later, I fired my final shot. We hugged and kissed some more before returning to the showers.

After we dressed, we went to the front of the hotel. I gave her a $5 tip and put her on a motorbike. My driver arrived and we sped off to look at some more temples.

I spent the next few days temple storming. I was getting up before six each morning, so there was no way I was going to have a lady in my room. On my last day, I knew I’d be sleeping in the next day so I decided to save up my energy.

I became infatuated with the carvings of the apsara dancers carved in the temple walls. I was determined to see what they looked like in real life. My driver suggested a hotel/restaurant that did a show. Once inside the venue, I realized that this was place was the tour-bus version of the real thing. My driver took me to the next place on his list. It was a classy looking restaurant with lots of teak décor. The stage was a real stage and this place just reeked of good taste.

I took a seat near the stage and gawked at the dancers as they appeared. The costumes were beautiful, the girls were beautiful, and when they moved, it was … well, it was beautiful. At the end of the show, I really wanted to meet some of the dancers and tell them how much I enjoyed the performance, but I couldn’t figure out where they all went. I stumbled around a bit, but as the place had cleared out, I felt it best that I should take my leave as well.

I decided that that night I must share my bed with a Khmer girl. Naturally, I wanted one of those dancers, but there are a lot of things I want but can’t have. I told my driver to take me to the lady houses and off we went.

This driver of mine had a nasty habit when pulling into a brothel. He would come roaring up on the bike, with me on the back, drive right into the place, practically driving right in through the garage door entrances. Before I could get my bearings, three or four girls would be latching themselves on to me, the mammasan would be chattering to me, other customers would be giving me the once over and I didn’t know what the hell was going on. After he had done this a couple of times, I told him to stop outside the brothel so I can make a more genteel entrance.

Well, a few girls caught my eye, but they were all Viets. As tempting as they were, they were not on the menu for that night’s entertainment. We finally ended back at one of the overpriced shops I saw on my first night. There were plenty of girls from which to choose. I asked the papasan, a youngish fellow, which girls were Khmer. He pointed a few out and I selected the most comely of the lot. She sat with me on the couch as the rest of the girls watched, and I asked her some irrelevant questions to see what she was like. The papasan went on and on about how good she was, etc. I accepted her.

Now came time to haggle for price. He wanted 40 bucks. We went the same arguments as usual, but he wasn’t going to come down to less than 35. I was too worn down and didn’t feel like cruising the streets some more so I paid up.

My motodriver took me back to my hotel. Before he left, I gave him a $20 tip, as he had been very patient with me these last few days … also to make up for the fact that I very nearly killed him earlier that day (but that’s another story). He thanked me and roared off to fetch my bride for the night.

She arrived some time later. We undressed and showered. She was pretty, but not drop-dead gorgeous as the dancers. She also had a nice shape and delightfully smooth skin. In bed, I started the action going by kissing her and gently fondling her. As I navigated my way south, she pushed me away before I could reach my goal. She was determined that I was not going to be eating Khmer that night. I gave up and crawled beside her.

I lay on my back and instructed her to use those full lips on my nether regions. She shook her head. I rephrased my request assuming she didn’t understand. Nope, she understood and she was not going down on me.

Discouraged, I figured I might as well move on to the next course. I wrapped the little wombat with a raincoat and had her climb on top of me. She was hardly enthusiastic, but I didn’t care as I concentrated on the task at hand.

After a few moments, I was totally distracted by her total distraction. Here I was, pumping away into her while I caressed her body and she was obviously somewhere else. She was looking around the room with the same look Martha Stewart might use when deciding how to redecorate the place. I let it pass, thinking it would last but a moment. Nope, Martha had gone from changing the curtains to papering the walls and was moving on to consider changing the furniture to something in a colonial motif.

By now, my already half-mast erection was withering away. I decided that it was time for a change. I pushed her off me and announced that was it; enough was enough. I pointed to her clothes as I started to don my duds. Once she understood I was sending her off, she was very happy – another sign that I picked the wrong girl. She asked me for money for the ride home. I assured her I would take care of that as we left the hotel. I waved down a moto and got on with her, instructing the driver to take us back to the brothel.

We pulled up in front of the half closed doors and I was surprised to find the place empty. There were about twenty girls in the place earlier that evening. Could they have all been hired? I pulled aside the papasan and explained the situation. I was not happy with the girl and wanted another in her place. He told me that all the girls had gone home and besides, I had already taken the girl. I explained her behavior and lack of performance, and then reminded him that he told me I would be satisfied. Meanwhile, my agitated arrival was picked up by a mamasan who was now busy talking to the girl.

The three of them chattered away for a few moments, then he responded to me that since I “had” the girl, the business was done. I explained to him that she did not “yum-yum” and that she was not particularly enthusiastic. I emphasized the point by asking her if she “yum-yumed.” The poor thing was near tears but I was beyond caring at that point. I am normally a very compassionate guy, but I could see I was getting the runaround and she wasn’t exactly a sweet, innocent girl.

“Fine,” I added, “I will pay you for short time only. Give me a refund of $25.” This caught the fellow off guard. He stammered and made some excuse about not having enough money, that his boss took it back with him. “Fine, call the boss and tell him I want my money back.” This really threw him for a loop and told me that it was too late and I should come back the next afternoon.

“That’s no good. I’ll be visiting the temples,” I lied knowing that my flight left at noon the next day. There was no way I was going to tell him this because I could kiss goodbye any chance I had of getting my money back. So long as they knew I’d be back the next day, I still had a chance.

At this point, a moto driver handed the papasan a roll of bills. I don’t know how much, but there was at least 20 bucks in there. “Ah, you have money now. You can pay me!” I said with a smile.

“Can not!” he stammered, “this for someone else.”

“Well, give him the money tomorrow and give me my money now,” I responded coolly. “Look, I don’t want to make a big deal of this, but you did not give me what I paid for and now I want a refund or another girl. Up to you.”

He went on and on about his boss. I asked him if his boss thought he was competent enough to be left in charge of hiring out the girls. Yes, obviously he was. If this was the case, he must also be competent enough to handle complains from a customer. Therefore he should refund my money and I would leave as a satisfied client. Otherwise I would be sticking around and make a big deal for some time to come.

Of course a small group of motoboys had gathered near the edge of light coming from the doorway. They were all eyes and ears to see how the events would transpire. “You want refund, you get your driver here” the guy says to me.

“What does my driver have to do with it?” I asked incredulously.

“You must have driver back,” he insisted.

“Why?” I demanded. I eventually dragged the story out of him. His shop was running the old taxi scam deal where the driver would get a sizable cut of the payoff. “How much?” I asked. He attempted to skirt the question. “How much?” I asked again, voice as soft and menacing as I could manage (and let it be know here and now that I am as far from menacing as a wombat can be). It turns out that my driver received half of what I paid.

“I see” I replied, “and who paid the driver? Did you pay him or did I pay him?” I went on to point out that any business he had with the driver was between him and me and if he was stupid enough to pay my driver then that was his money squandered, not mine, and I wanted my refund, driver be damned for all I cared.

Well, my hard-line approach was getting me nowhere, but the papasan’s older pal, presumably another papasan stepped into the discussion. I explained the facts all over again and made the same demands. He insisted that I should come back at noon the next day and talk with the boss. I told him about visiting temples and that I felt there was no reason why I should not be paid. He tried to explain how the girl would receive $10, the driver received $17.50 and that left only another $7.50.

I told him to give me $20 and he could get the money back from the driver at his leisure. He did have a good point, but I still felt that if these guys were stupid enough to be giving this much money to moto drivers, they could damn well absorb the loss themselves. I had absolutely no sympathy for them. He offered to give me $10 to make me happy. I seized the opportunity and graciously accepted the ten bucks. “Now, about the other $10 …” I started.

“I give you ten dollar!” he said.

“Yes, but you still owe me another ten. I want my money.” The other fellow, with whom I spoke earlier, appeared to be totally absorbed in a TV program but I knew he was keeping a close ear on our conversation. The new guy wandered back into the room as I stood in the doorway. I reminded them both they I was told I would be satisfied and I am not yet satisfied. The new guy returned to the door and told me that they are closed and I should come back tomorrow.

“No, you’re not closed. You still have a customer, a very unhappy customer. Give me my money back and I’ll go away and you can close.” They both did their best to ignore me but I was having nothing of it. I had kept my voice down the whole time and remained calm. My plan was to continue in this manner. The motoboys gathered by the entrance were still watching so I decided to play to the audience. “Do you really want all these fellows to see how you treat your customers this way? Is this the sort of reputation you want?”

The new guy was now ignoring me completely and talking on his cell phone. I had visions of the local mafia dropping by for a visit. In this part of town, with plenty of moto boys as witness, I figured I could hold my own so long I stayed in the street. Yeah, I know, but by now I was pretty pumped and itching for a tussle. I could also see that I was getting nowhere with these two. The women had disappeared long ago. With the ten buck in my pocket, I figured I should cut my losses now while I was further ahead than I was half an hour ago.

As I stood at their garage door, my hand had rested on a massive pad lock. I really wanted to leave these guys with something to remember me by, but was at a loss as to what. The thought of trashing the place crossed my mind, but that sort of behavior was beyond me even if there was anything in that room to trash other than the old TV. I deftly removed the lock and started stepped back from the door. “Can you believe these guys?” I asked the moto boys. “They ripped me off. I will never come here again and will make sure I tell all my friends that this place is a rip of joint.” They just stood and stared at me, wide eyed.

I meandered down the sidewalk and contemplated my next move. I heard a shout from the doorway as one of the papsans discovered the missing lock (or more likely one of the moto boys pointed out my petty theft). “Give back what you take!” he cried.

“Give me back my money.” I called back.

“You steal!” he replied.

“Yeah, well you cheat! You rip me off” I shouted back as I started walking down the street. I decided to dump the lock. Rather than toss it in the river as I had considered, I dropped it in the gutter where they’d find it if they took the trouble to look.

The next thing I knew, I motorbike was pulling up beside me. I braced myself for an attack. Fortunately for me, it was the motoboy who took the girl and me to the brothel earlier. I had not yet paid him as we agreed earlier that it would be a round trip fare for a dollar. I got on and we sped off. I glanced back to see if we were being followed, but there were no lights behind us.

Back in the hotel, I showered and replayed the events of the night. I was half expecting a knock at the door (or worse, the door being smashed open) and wondered how I should deal with the possibility. Fortunately, I was a lot more tired than I was worried and had no trouble dropping off to sleep.

I woke at dawn the next morning and thought back through the events of the night before once again. I shook my head and wandered out into the street in front of the hotel. My drive to the airport was some hours away. As I could not return to the temples, I decided to cruise around the streets near the hotel. To my surprise, the local market was open. By local, I mean local. There were no tourist items anywhere to be found in the place. There were plenty of meat, dried fish and vegetable vendors though. There were also plenty of stalls selling clothing items, shoes, and other such daily necessities.

What I found unique about the market here is that the stalls were mostly platforms. They were square brick table-like affairs raised about a meter from the concrete floor. The vendor, primarily women, would chop their meat, clean their vegetables, etc., and display them on the platform. It was like visiting your home supermarket and seeing the grocer tucked away behind the green peppers and carrots.

I meandered through the market for a while before heading back to my hotel to shower and pack. I paid my bill and arrived at the airport about twenty minutes before the flight was do to leave. I was in somewhat of a panic as I thought I’d be late. However, the laid-back security measures and boarding procedure took only a few minutes and I still had time to spend the last of my Cambodian currency to buy a cool drink.

Out on to the tarmac, we lined up to board the prop plane back to Bangkok. As the plane headed east, I had an aerial view of the temple complexes. Even from the air, they were magnificent. I also had an opportunity to grasp the size of the two Mebon (reservoirs). Only the western lake held water; though it was barely half full, from the air it was enormous. As the scene shrank into the distance, I reflected on how a thousand years ago, the Khmers built structures to rival the Egyptian pyramids, yet only one generation ago they teetered on the brink of savagery.

A handy rule to remember in any SEA country, but especially Cambodia and Thailand, is that anytime a moto/tuk-tuk driver takes you to a brothel, they are in for a huge cut of the price. That's why the prices you were quoted were much more expensive. It's always best to walk in on your own and then negotiate.

I did one girl in Siem Reap, in one of the houses near the old market. It was $10 short time. They wouldn't go down to KM11 prices, due to it being the "countryside" like they told you.

I'm also glad you got out of that situation unscathed, but it could have been dicey. In my book, it's best to take the 10 bucks, be gracious, cut your losses and scoot.

Nice writing style. I love the temples there too, and I know what you mean about the carvings of the dancers...