(extracts with 220 photos)
All text and photos © to the author, Rakit
Grateful acknowledgement to Jock McCock for comments, humour and companionship
CAMBODIA (130 photos)
Part 1: Siem Reap
Day 1 : Arrival in Cambodia
The trip started with a 4 hour train journey, then a 2.5 hour wait for the plane then an 11-hour flight. A further 5 hours in Bangkok was needed for the Cambodia connection, supplied by Bangkok Airlines, who sell a BKK–Siem Reap-Phnom Penh–BKK open round ticket for 9650 baht, valid for 2 months. Their first price was over 13,000 baht, open for 3 months. Rakit quietly praised his enquiring mind. He’d now been travelling for 24 hours and, after getting a standby on the first flight to Siem Reap from Bangkok, was in Cambodia. Despite getting 7 hours sleep on the plane, courtesy of an all-night bender back in London, earplugs, a neck pillow, as much booze as his economy seat allowed and 3 Alaxan, the jetlag felt like he was walking in treacle and simultaneously being hit by a bus. He envied those expats like Rockhard, Lucky and Macumba he’d read about on various South-East Asia websites who’d made the jump and moved to this exotic and alluring part of the world.
Siem Reap’s Airport was more primitive than Phnom Penh’s, but fast and efficient at Visa issue and passport control, provided you brought the obligatory photograph. Otherwise you had to bribe your way through without one for a mere $2. Despite falling asleep on the flight and forgetting to fill in the required forms until he hit the ground, Rakit still cleared immigration, baggage and customs and hit Cambodia for real in 20 minutes. He took the standard $5 taxi to town rather than wait at the roadside in the blazing sun to save a few dollars. He’d considered a moto for $1, but the jetlag was too severe and the thought of an 8-stone moto-driver trying to balance himself, Rakit’s 15-stone and a large suitcase held no appeal, given the meagre saving.
At 2.30pm, 10 minutes after leaving the airport, Rakit arrived at the Thai-owned Dead Fish Tower. He made a $20 arrangement with Sarith his taxi driver for a 5.30am pickup to see the sunrise over Angkor and then tour the temples the next day and then headed inside. There were two parts to the establishment. Firstly the rooms ($12 to $20), which varied from fan-cooled twins under tin roofs to double-bedded, air-con units. All were clean but fairly spartan with lean toiletries, cheap towels and dim lighting. There was no real guarantee of security, although having no windows helped a bit and Rakit was glad, for the sake of his digital devices, that they did not clean rooms until requested. He selected a $20 room and negotiated it down to $16.
The crowning glory of the Dead Fish Tower is the bar/restaurant, probably the most eclectic explosion of south-east Asian styles in the world. It is constructed in numerous levels, in the ubiquitous SEA stilt-style, to create a plethora of seating arrangements for large groups, small groups, romantic couples and singles. Some areas are carpeted and require shoes to be removed. A vast range of table and seating styles, including rough-hewn logs for barstools, polished tree trunk tables, an incredible array of lighting, jazz-fusion music and live Khmer shows add to the amazing ramshackled appearance. A crocodile pool inhabited by over 70 crocs, some up to 6 feet long, provided Rakit with extra entertainment, especially feeding them with fish at $0.50 a plateful. To top this, the menu was extensive and contained both Thai and Khmer dishes, all prepared from very fresh ingredients, cooked to order and absolutely delicious at decent prices. If lemongrass as chunky as your finger, fresh herbs just bursting with flavour and spices to truly die for are your thing, the Dead Fish Tower restaurant is your place. Whilst happy enough with the place overall, Rakit made a note that next time that he’d eat there every day, but sleep elsewhere.
So after one of the best and most memorable meals of his life, Rakit headed for his room and blacked out for three hours. When he awoke it was almost dark and the real reason he came to Cambodia, publicly disguised by his professed spiritual love of temples, was beginning to growl. He hit the street.
The tuktuk guys outside the Fish are fairly good, especially one called BeeBee who came from Phnom Penh, spoke good English and knew exactly what foreign gentlemen like about SEA. Being new in town, Rakit offered him a beer and they hit some Khmer joint, where BeeBee advised about the best brothels and pubs. He was a little pushy, but soon got the drift that Rakit had been around and backed off from his commissioned venues. They talked about the Penh. BeeBee used to work outside the Heart of Darkness and knew the big bouncer, referring to him as KingKong, which was an apt name, as anyone who has encountered the guy knows. Rakit told him about the hassle he and JockMcCock had at the Heart on the last trip. In true Cambodian style BeeBee replied, with no hesitation whatsoever. “This is no problem now you know me. For $100 I can get you a gun, silencer and 6 rounds of ammunition. Give me one hour. Or I can arrange someone else to fix it for you. Give me a contact number for you in Phnom Penh”. Rakit laughed, declined and thought “God help any lager louts who extend their Thailand trips over here”. In Cambodia it pays to back down rather than risk everything over petty quarrels. Many people you encountered have very little to lose.
Heading north from the market on Sivatha Boulevard, after a few hundred metres BeeBee turned left at a big petrol station on the left hand side, then followed the road for 3-400 metres until faced with the choice of a dirt road (straight on) or a sharp right turn into another main street. He took the right. This was the Vietnamese brothel street, half a mile of joints ranging from utter squalor to full-on fishbowl, the best being Tokyo at the top of the street on the left hand side. Rakit checked 5, noted that Thailand quality gash was not available and passed because it was early and he wanted to see all that Siem Reap had to offer. Lastly, BeeBee took him to Hollywood, probably the best in town, about ½-1 mile south eastish of the market. The standard was considerably better here. Rakit took a beer and surveyed the choices, eventually settling for a 22 year old stunner dressed in what almost looked like a short-skirted school uniform, sporting pigtails and with a body that curved in all the right places. “A bargain at $30 all night”, he thought. She walked with that arrogant swing of the hips and bounce in the heels that characterises very fit birds, but it turned out she was a prima-donna who didn’t do yumyum, refused photos (except the one below), had English limited to “what you say?” but performed very well otherwise.
Photo: Cambodia A 01
Rakit fucked her hard for an hour then, bored with her, booted her into touch and headed back to the other places he’d seen. This time he took 2 - one who gave the appearance of being mad keen, the other a curvaceous beauty. He negotiated $30 for the pair for 1.5 hours. The concept of threesomes sounds brilliant, but when there’s no way you can have any conversation, the birds gabber to each other in Vietnamese and the whole show is mechanical compared to a girlfriend, they sure ain’t the porn show they sound. This time Rakit specifically asked for 2 who did yumyum. These two did, but it was no great shakes and he ended up taking turns at them from the rear for a while. They warmed up a bit, especially when the chunky one had her head in the pillow and ass in the air and the other was ordered, unceremoniously, to finger his ass. They were a little more amenable to photos than the last one, but so far, Rakit was not particularly impressed with the quality or performance of the gash in Siem Reap. Thinking about the lower prices and better attitudes in Phnom Penh, Rakit was already of the opinion that Siem Reap had too many tourists and that the hobby was probably already fucked. “Those fucking temples had better be good” he muttered as he paid them the obligatory dollar tips.
Photo: Cambodia B&C 02
Photo: Cambodia B 03
Photo: Cambodia C 04
Three birds done and Rakit headed, against the advice of 2 moto drivers and various internet articles, to the not-so-legendary Siem Reap Martinis, located a few blocks south east of the market. All sources of information were correct, it was loud, brash, full of skanky slags and their wido Khmer boyfriends and Rakit was glad he asked his moto-driver to wait. He took BeeBee’s tip of the Laundry Bar, one block south and one east of Pub Street and found a warm, relaxed but trendy environment with vivid Khmer décor. Slightly to his chagrin, there were no taxi girls, but plenty of laid-back music, cheap beer and interesting people. It wasn’t the sort of place he’d take a taxi-girl as there seemed to be NGO types about, but that aside it was a fine oasis for some time out of the hobby. After one beer, Rakit’s jetlag kicked in again, together with a ravenous hunger. He hit Pub Street (3 minute walk) and found a few food stalls opposite the Angkor What? Bar and Lazy Mango Bookshop. A fine, freshly-cooked lamb kebab and coke was spoiled only by the flock of young beggars, who gleaned their requisite 1000 riels before leaving him in peace. 1am now and Rakit headed back to the Fish. With the thought of a 5am rise the next morning weighing heavily on his shoulders, he passed out within a minute of hitting the sack.
Day 2: The Temples
Before he was even awake, Rakit sprung from the bed, desperately trying to find a watch, a phone, anything that told the time in a room decorated with the detritus of last night’s excesses - used condoms, wrappers and boxes, KY jelly, half-unpacked clothes and beer bottles. He balanced the certainty of a stinking hangover and no time to catch a shower against the perhaps once-in-a-lifetime chance of an Angkor sunrise. “05.45am!!!” yelled his phone. He paused for about 2 seconds, weighing up time pressures against the need for ablution. “Fuck it, the sunrise wins” he thought as he wearily threw on his sweaty kit and headed out.
Sarith was waiting, placid and unruffled, a calming influence on Rakit who was carrying the wild memory of last night’s threesome, “No ploblem”, he said, “you have plenty time”. They cruised off to Angkor at a relaxing pace and Rakit’s heart began to slow down and he took stock of the day, growing increasingly aware of his personal odour. “There goes the chance of a score with a local chick”, he thought, resignedly.
Arriving at Angkor Wat at 6am, Rakit expected the tourist dream - a pink sky with stark outlines, reflected in mirror-like water and not a soul in sight. He was sharply disappointed. Every wannabe national geographic photographer in the eastern hemisphere was there. The value of the cameras alone must have been higher than the fucking Cambodian GDP. There were fucking thousands of the cunts and in March there was no water and no reflections. And it was cloudy, so no sunrise. Rakit cursed and wished he’d slept longer or taken an all-nighter from one of the brothels, but decided to make the best of it. He headed in, across the vast moat to the outer wall. There was something about Angkor Wat he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was stark, surrounded by a moat and felt more like a fortress than a temple. He knew plenty of people have tried to destroy in the past, but it was a place of worship – right? So why the fortification? He did the customary stair climbing and took a few shots, but was intrinsically bored by its stark regularity and lack of soul, so headed for breakfast about 7.30am. He met a young couple, en route to Finland after surviving the Tsunami, who tell him it’s a Hindu, not a Buddhist temple. It clicked - fucking Indians!!! Not normally one to judge by race, Rakit hated those money-grabbing, devious bastards. Every single one he’d ever met was a rip-off merchant who’d sell your mother if it made him a rupee. He split, not impressed, his hangover creeping up on him and his exhaustion just kept at bay by the adrenalin of where he was and what was to come.
Next on the Rakit’s schedule was Bayon Temple. This is the one that has all the huge faces carved out of blocks of stone. It’s much smaller than Angkor Wat, much more serene and spiritual and the road runs right round it, so access was easy. Bayon was stunning in every way. Built in the shape of a rounded-edge square, it had a series of towers, all with carved stone heads, which rose from low ones at the exterior getting progressively higher towards the central tower, within which there was an alter with incense and monks. Tortuous paths and stairways wove their way in every direction and it was easy to become disorientated in this awesome creation of the ancient world. Rakit simply forgot about direction and drank in the splendour of the seemingly chaotic but actually very precise architecture. Not one normally to wai Buddha, he succumbed in these surrounding for the price of a photograph and Buddha’s forgiveness for his past and future debauchery in this fine land of plentiful dusky maidens. A bargain if ever one was sealed, Rakit strolled on proud, tall and cleansed like the driven snow through passageways, up stairs, under archways and finally walked the whole perimeter to see this magnificent wonder of the world in its full glory. For moment (albeit fleeting) he wondered if it would be possible for him to bring his elderly parents to see this place and still swing a bit of the hobby, but empowered by Buddha’s blessing of his favourite pastime he decided that not giving the hobby his full attention could now be sheer blasphemy. Who was he to challenge Buddha’s will?
And so to Ta Prohm, the legendary temple of massive tree root, Indiana Jones and front cover of Lonely Planet Cambodia fame. It was surprisingly deserted and Rakit spent 3 hours here. He wandered the perimeter in awestruck wonder at the magnificent Khmer-faced structures split asunder by trees seemingly feeding on stone alone. The cool, rainy air reverberated with the benevolent spirits of ancient times and, normally a cynic, Rakit felt them smiling, whispering, twinkling to him from the trees, the stones and the very ground he stood upon. “Buddha surely has blessed me”, he thought. Then it dawned on him, the understanding coming like a flash. “The old bastard must have been a monger!!” he smiled to himself and made up for the day, he penetrated the depths of the temple, past the most famous tree roots in the world and through long, columned passageways to the epicentre, where Mr Lonely Planet sat meditating as if he’d been there all his life. Perhaps he had. The rain descended like stair rods, whipping the leaves and thumping off the stones. Rakit sat under some tree roots for shelter and tried to absorb some of the energy of the place, but the Japographers were now arriving in chattering droves, he’d been on the go for 7 hours, the sticky heat was beginning to exacerbate his already high body odour and he needed several rounds of ablution and a sleep. It was too much and when the rain slowed, he headed for the peace of the perimeter area again. Here two young Cambodians offered to show him the North Gate of the temple, slightly off the beaten track in the jungle. Remembering the good advice about landmines, the dangers of not taking malarial medication when walking through the jungle, especially in post-rain humid conditions and the possibility of getting robbed, Rakit immediately agreed and stepped into the hot, dripping, steamy forest. It was worth it. 1000 riel later he split, stopping briefly at the Land Mines Museum on the edge of the temple complex, then back to the sanctuary of the Fish, where the basic room now felt like a palace with its running water, shelter from the sun, blasting air-con and a fast fan. Sleep came rapidly.
In the evening Rakit headed out to the pair of brothels at the 333 House, on the same road as Tokyo massage. Again, he negotiated $15 a taxi-girl for 2 hours and took 2 back to his hotel. These two were professional, attentive, up for a few porn shots and happy to lick and suck to order. Rakit felt that what they lacked in looks compared to Thai bargirls, they surely made up for in attitude and he tipped them $8, mainly because they stayed 30 minutes longer than agreed, but also for the great service. After another memorable meal in the Fish, Rakit collapsed into his pit, tired but happy, excited but satisfied and at peace with the world and what was to come in the near future.
Photo: Cambodia D&E 05 06
A nice paced start, thought Rakit. Stay tuned as things heat up in Parts 2-7.
