From Phnom Penh, with Silver
safely back with his family, we headed further south to the coast.
Sihanoukville, one of Cambodia’s leading tourist destinations, sits on the Gulf
of Thailand and is blessed with a number of pretty beaches. We had originally
thought about heading offshore to the island resorts that have recently opened
up there, but lack of availability and our lack of confidence about what
exactly awaited us in terms of childrens parks in the middle of an eco-reserve
meant we took the safe option of the beachside hotel.
Friday, 21 October 2011
Tuesday, 18 October 2011
Saturday, 15 October 2011
Missing Tiger
Cambodian breakfast in the red light zone |
If first impressions count, our
hotel in Phnom Penh got off to a bad start as the promised pick-up didn’t
materialise at the bus depot when we arrived. Having found the hotel online, I
had made the cunning move of not physically writing down the name and address,
preferring to trust in the promise of a waiting tuk-tuk. With no easy access to
the web at hand, we jumped in a taxi and headed off in search of my vaguest
recollection of the street name.
Wednesday, 12 October 2011
Waterlands
From Siem Reap we took a bus
south to Phnom Penh. An early start saw us stuff our backpacks and jump in the
mini-bus that was doing the rounds of the hotels to hoover up the tourists with
tickets for that morning’s bus. Needless to say, the big bus duly broke down.
This one was quite exciting, for it was preceded by a pretty dramatic bump, and
then a loud bang. The engineers amongst the passengers swiftly concluded that
we’d suffered a blow-out, and the gash in the bus tyre was really quite spectacular.
Getting off to stretch my legs, the thing that hit me was first the heat, then
the fact that we were surrounded by water.
Wednesday, 5 October 2011
Tuesday, 4 October 2011
Whole Lot of Rosie
![]() |
Siem Reap airport, in Niel's tuk-tuk |
Our
tuk-tuk driver, Niel, turned out to be the kindest, most softly
spoken person we’d bumped into in ages. This was despite the fact
that we got off to a poor start. I approached him, recognising the
name of the guest house I’d booked on the laminate that he held as
we stepped out into the Cambodian rains. He smiled, and refused to
take us as we weren’t of the surname written on his sign. Our
language skills did not overlap to the degree that permitted jointly
contemplating the notion that the guest house had forgotten to wipe
the name of the previous pick-up off his laminate.
Dancing Apsaras |
If I
resign my literary skills in the face of a subject like Angkor Wat, I
will at least offer up a small taste of how it taxed my limited
photographic skills. From the crumbling stones temples frozen in the
rooty grasp of the aptly named “strangler fig” trees and the
endless gloomy corridors whose dank dark corners still carry the
whiff of incense past to leaping “apsaras” (dancers) and immense,
impassive carved faces, the complex drove Pati wild with frustration
as I spent hours playing around with the settings on our little
camera trying to capture that elusive defining image of the place. By
lunchtime on the second day she’d had enough and spent the
afternoon attempting an impromptu siesta in the back of Niel’s
tuk-tuk while he chatted to the other drivers as Oisin and I explored
the latest stop on our grand tour. Angkor Wat has, though, provided
me with what I think is the photograph that I am most proud of so far
on this journey, so any comments will be gratefully received.
Day three
in Siem Reap was spent away from the temples. In a stab at being
sensible parents and defusing any cabin fever before it crept up on
us, Pati headed off for a boat tour of the floating villages on Tonle
Sap lake, while Oisin and I walked to the local shopping centre,
bought a rubber ring, and hit the pool in the hotel next door to
Rosy. Sadly the rubber ring didn’t survive more than forty-five
minutes of Oisin’s road-testing, neatly justifying my earlier
refusal to spend more than a couple of dollars on it, despite earnest
entreaties for the purchase of the floating Mickey Mouse palace with
built-in mini (milk) bar. And it would never have fitted into our
backpacks anyway. When we’re stuck for an argument to explain to
the child why we won’t buy whatever the latest plea is for, “but
it won’t fit into our luggage darling” usually ends up being
trotted out. So far he hasn’t come back at us with a
counter-suggestion that we should get bigger backpacks, but it’s
only a matter of time…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)