Sihanoukville, the small beach town you should skip if you are ever in Cambodia.

Cambodia was rated as my favourite country so far until we hit Sihanoukville. I had a bad feeling before we even arrived, but I tried to tell myself it was silly. Looking for a hotel online was frustrating which was my first red flag — many hotels had bad reviews and grumpy travelers complaining about bad service and overpriced accommodations. For me the reviews I read online are better than any guidebook. They are from yesterday, not last year, and they are very frank. The Lonely Planet had recommended diving and snorkeling. I wasn’t buying it. Diving to the bottom of the ocean with a tank of air in Thailand was scary enough for me. Cambodia? Well let’s just say it was not a proven quantity. Being on the water in a boat in Cambodia is problematic enough, never mind under it.

To give us a bit of an advantage, I booked us into a slightly more expensive hotel (we have been getting away with $28. a night these days. This hotel was $40) called the Cambodian Resort. Five minutes from the beach was the claim. Breakfast included.

Nothing is ever as advertised in South East Asia (pick a country, any country and it is the same). It is very consistent. So it is funny that we are always surprised and disappointed when things don’t go as we had anticipated they would.

Getting from A to B around here is usually by bus. There are dozens of bus companies and sometimes there is a proper bus station. But usually, tour companies act as agents and sell you tickets. It is all very easy. You choose a tour company (there is one on every corner and in every budget hotel), purchase the ticket and someone picks you up at your hotel and delivers you to the bus wherever it happens to be leaving from. Usually you have some kind of receipt that gets traded for a sticker or another piece of paper and somehow you get to your destination. But the mode of transportation, length of the ride and where you get dropped off is rarely what you thought you paid for.

Every tourist riding with you has the same puzzled look on his or her face for the whole journey. The crazy part is that every few days you go through the same rigmarole again and are as surprised as you were the first time when things go sideways. That’s because you really believe that the cute travel agent, who really seems to know her stuff (much cuter and more knowledgeable than the last one that screwed you over), this time will certainly be putting you on that big air-conditioned bus she is pointing to in the photo behind her.

After our experience on the smelly bus in Thailand, we always ask for seats at the front of the bus. Our cute (all smiles) travel agent in Phnom Penh assured us that seats 27-28 on the bus heading for Sihanoukville were not by the toilet since the toilet was at the back of the bus, which had 45 seats. Even though there were several other buses leaving at other times of the day that may have had seats closer to the front, we somehow got convinced that we were fine. These girls are very convincing. The tickets were $6 each.

Marc woke up in the middle of the night with a bad stomach ache and things had not improved by the morning. It was supposed to be a four-hour bus ride. The minivan picked us up more or less on time and delivered us to our waiting bus. But of course, I am sure you already surmised, seats 27 and 28 were in fact right in front of the toilet! Marc looked at me and said softly, “Maybe in my condition, this may prove to be a good thing”.

The toilet was just below the screen, down a few stairs.

The road was very bad and we hit a stretch of road construction, so four hours very quickly became six, but we made it to Sihanoukville without need for the toilet or the barf bag. “There is a god!” I said to myself as we left the bus.

Sihanoukville, unfortunately, was as disappointing as I had imagined. The Cambodian Resort was not bad, but it was not worth what we paid and was on a very uninteresting street. I was bummed. I had been on a winning streak with my hotel choices and this was a dud. The walk to the beach was in fact five minutes, but the most uninteresting five minutes imaginable. The beach was very narrow and full of young people getting drunk. Tuk tuk drivers and motos (scooters here are a taxi service serving single passengers). You hop on the back of a scooter with a strange man and put your life in his hands — just my style) are on your back every step of the way to and from the beach and when they are not bothering you, the restaurant and bar people take over.

And then of course there are the travel agents. Marc, feeling quite a bit better went in search of a dive shop and we also looked for a day trip for the next day. To give everyone the benefit of the doubt, it is possible that we spoke to so many agents that we confused some of the details, but maybe that is the way they get you. There were basically two different day trips available. Both of them are on boats and there was a lot of discussion about fast boats and slow boats, big boats and small boats. There is always talk of air-conditioned buses that never really materialize and promises of gear, towels, lunch, water and English speaking guides, which must be taken with a grain of salt. The activities are also explained, but rarely end up being what has been described. It is an adventure every step of the way and this trip was no exception.

We were headed out to Ream National Park the next morning by minivan (I thought by air-conditioned bus) that brought us to the dock where we transferred to a (slats for seating) motorboat (I thought on a big, slow boat with real seats with back rests) covered with a tin roof. We did have an English speaking guide and a Park Ranger with us on the boat, so I was encouraged. There were lifejackets in the boat, but no one was bothering to wear them. Marc kept reminding me that the water was only shoulder deep and we could see both sides of the riverbank so no worries. After we all got seated, our guide loaded the boat with coolers and jute bags with fixings for lunch so there would be food and water. Looking good!

I think we heard three words from our guide during the more than two-hour (very uncomfortable) ride to the park. We were supposed to see wildlife, mangrove forests and learn about the park. I think we managed to see three eagles and were told the rangers are in place to educate the villagers about the reasons why they should not cut down the forest, but that was the extent of the educational part of the trip. We were told that there would be optional swimming or jungle trekking when we arrived at our destination. What they really meant is that you walk through the bush from one side of the island to the other to get to a filthy beach where there is no shade unless you want to pay the restaurant that just happens to be at that particular beach for chairs under their umbrellas. Our English-speaking guide, it ends up was really our cook, and he left us with the ranger once we docked at the Island.

The scenery was quite lovely despite everything.

Marc made an attempt at swimming. Me, I thought it was a really long way to come to swim in dirty water and have to sit for two hours on slatted wooden seats in a wet bathing-suit. I found a more or less clean piece of beach and laid out my sarong and tried, as comfortably as possible, to pass the hour allotted for swimming on our itinerary.

The beach actually looks quite nice in the photos. I guess we were just cranky tourists!

Lunch was the highlight of the day, but only if you try to get the thought of the pack of wild dogs licking the plates out of your mind. A big fish had been barbequed for us and we were served fresh baguettes, rice, salad and cold coca cola with hearty portions of fish. The food was really good and the drinks were ice cold, but after the pack of flea bitten wild dogs appeared and were being fed the scraps as well as being given plate-cleaning duty, I could see Marc’s stomach turning. The dogs were now inside the shack where our food had been prepared and both of us had many frightening thoughts about what went on in there as the food was being prepared.

The park ranger was bailing several pails of water out the boat as we all re-boarded for the next leg of the journey. We were headed for a watchtower that we could climb for a 360-degree view of the protected park. Our guides dropped us off at the beginning of a path that led to the tower. They didn’t accompany us or explain any of the things we would see if we actually made it along the sketchy slatted boardwalk over the bog in the jungle, and up the less than safe or sturdy staircase leading to the top of the disintegrating tower. When we all made it to the top platform, we noticed that someone had apparently built a small fire there at some point and there was a burned out hole a small child could easily fall through right in the middle of the platform. One of the women on the trip with us commented, “I guess they were not really thinking ahead when they built a fire up here!” We all laughed, but at the same time tried to get the hell out of there before it all came tumbling down.

We asked one of the other passengers to take a photo of us through the burned out hole in the platform.

Safely back in our boat we settled in for the rest of the ride back to the dock. Our guide/cook pulled a cold watermelon from the cooler and skillfully cut it up into bite sized pieces and handed it around the boat. Funny isn’t it, how good food and cold juicy watermelon can make almost any situation tolerable?

This young boy was diving for clams instead of going to school!

We saw a lot of fishing boats along the way.

And I haven’t said anything yet about the people on the boat with us. In fact, I could write an entire post about the three Russians sitting in front of us in the boat. I was planning another screenplay about them. It would have been absolutely hysterical. But who has the time. I will just say that voluptuous Natasha (of course I am making the names up!), with her beautiful white skin and thick shiny black hair done up in a bun on top of her head, did not stop receiving calls on her iphone. Boris, with his soft curly head of redish blond hair, wearing Indian pajama trousers, sat cross-legged at the bow of the boat smoking, admiring Natasha and once in a while getting a word in while she snapped photos of him with her iphone, giggling at a high pitch each time she reviewed the photos of her adorable boyfriend. Sleek bronzed Katarina (who must have had a Mediterranean or South American ancestor) seemed to be as attached to Boris as to Natasha. She was much softer spoken, but an integral part of the ongoing Russian rhapsody (or maybe Opera is a better description) playing out on the boat in front of us. For the short intervals that they were not in ongoing conversation, they were sharing earphones from the one mp3 player they had with them (one in Natasha’s ear, one in Katarina’s for a while and then Boris got a turn), gyrating to the music. And when we hit the beach, well let’s just say they did not have the same impression of the beach as we did. Much frolicking, picture taking and sarong readjusting, until they were forced to pack it in to return to the boat.

Natasha checking her photos.

The truth of the matter is that when I look back at the photos, I can see that we were really in a beautiful place and when I think about the laughs we had with the other people on the boat who were as amazed at what was going on around us as we were, it was a very memorable day. More and more as we get deeper into this travel rhythm, it becomes more about the people, than the places. Our guide/cook was a very soft-spoken kind young man, who was trying his best to give us a good day. We both had a fairly long talk with the ranger who is trying very hard to get ahead in a country that has few opportunities. The rest of the tourists on the boat each had their own stories, which we only learned a little about, but it all adds to the richness of the day.

Marc in deep discussion with the Park Ranger.

That evening we decided that based on our experience that day, diving may not be the smartest thing to do in Cambodia. We made plans for an exit to Vietnam the next morning. I hope you are not getting tired of hearing about our crazy travel days, because the next one was the craziest to date.

Phenomenally educational visit to Phnom Penh

The Royal Palace

Phnom Penh has come and gone and we have crossed the border into Vietnam. So many important things have happened and our days and nights have been full of activity. It seems to get harder and harder to find time (and energy) to write about it all. In fact, most of the time, I wish I had a dictaphone to be able to capture it all. But I don’t, so I will try to get at least a bit of Phnom Phnh down tonight.

Royal Palace

We visited our usual number of temples (including the Silver Pagoda – where we kept looking up to look for the silver tiles on the roof, only to embarrassingly discover that the temple is named after its floor tiles), museums, markets and the Royal Palace, had some good meals and really enjoyed the city. It is Cambodia’s Capital and the largest city in the country, but much less daunting than the other large cities we have visited thus far in SE Asia. Maybe this is due to the numbered streets and totally organized city plan. No subways to worry about and all of the sites were walkable from our hotel.

I booked us in to the Silver River Hotel in the River Front area of Phnom Penh. The staff were amazingly friendly and the street the hotel is situated on was chock-a-block with small restaurants and coffee shops. At night it was well lit and perfect for people watching while enjoying dinner and a cold beer.

Delicious coffee, chocolate banana cake with sliced frozen banana on the side!

History Museum

Although the city is bustling with activity now, in 1975 when Pol Pot the leader of the Khmer Rouge took control of Cambodia, all citizens of this city were ordered to leave everything behind and move out to the countryside to become farmers. Within only several days the city became a ghost town. His party’s radical attempt at agricultural reform led to widespread famine and death. But that was not the only way this regime managed to murder their fellow comrades.

Inmates tortured in Tuol Sleng Detention Centre. Like the Germans, the Khmer Rouge documented each person who arrived.

We spent a full day learning the tragic story. First we went to the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, which is the site of the systematic torture of 20,000 people, forced to sign pages of confessions before being transferred to and later murdered at the Choeung Ek extermination center. The extermination centre, 15k out of Phnom Penh is one of the largest Killing Fields in Cambodia. We hired a tuk tuk driver to take us to the Genocide Museum and later to the Choeung Ek, which is now a memorial to those that were brutally murdered there.

The prison was a converted school. The classrooms were divided into tiny cells.

It would be impossible for me to describe the feelings we both had at these two museums/memorials. After our trip to the sites of the Auschwitz concentration camp and Birkenau death camp this past July, we were shocked to see the eerie similarities in Phnom Penh. The numbers of murders that took place during the short reign of the Khmer Rouge are disputed, but however you look at it, the world chose to ignore the cold blooded murder of two to three million human beings during a period of three years, just 30 years after the end of the second world war.

While large numbers simply died of starvation or disease, those brought to Choeung Ek, where literally hacked to death. The tools of choice were an ax or a spade or a steel pipe. Bullets were expensive, so brute force was used instead. Many were buried alive after having their head’s smashed or neck’s broken in shallow mass graves, and then covered in DDT. There is a memorial now at this site, which houses the skulls and bones of the victims whose graves have been uncovered. Many fragments of their crushed bodies still make their way to the surface of the grave mounds after the rainy season. Volunteers collect them and add them to the memorial.

I know this is tough to read about. Believe me, it was tougher to be there and to see the cells the prisoners were forced to live in, the implements of torture and the rooms filled with their photos. But these stories need to be told. How many of you reading this post even knew this happened? We saw a documentary at the detention centre of a mother telling the story of her son and his wife, both tortured and killed in the two places we visited that day. When you hear the story of just two of the more than two million that died or were murdered, it is hard not to be overwhelmed at the grief this country has had to endure.

The depressions in the ground are mass graves.

At Choeung Ek, there is an audio tour narrated by a young man. One of the first things he says to us is “imagine if one of every four people in your country were killed by a fellow countryman”. That is a very strong statement that is impossible to comprehend, yet that is exactly what happened here. And thirty years later, there is little justice for the victims. Although there is a war crimes tribunal underway, it is fraught with delays and political quagmires.

The bones of the dead are kept in the memorial building. The bracelets on the bamboo fence commemorate all of the children murdered here.

In Israel the 19th of April is Holocaust Remembrance Day (Yom ha Shoah). This year I will be remembering not only the six million that perished in the death camps of Nazi Germany, but also the three million who lost their lives in the Cambodian genocide in 1975-79, the approximately one million Tutsis, and moderate Hutus that were murdered in the Rwandan genocide in 1994, the 10,000 who died in the genocide in Bosnia in 1995, and the growing number of victims of the ongoing civil war in Darfur that began in 2003. If you are interested in more information about all of these crimes against humanity, I found this very informative website.


We made it finally to Saigon, now known as Ho Chi Minh City, and the pain does not subside quite yet. But our journey here was too comical to keep from you. So I will be working on that next!

Angkor What?

It is hard to begin any discussion about Cambodia without some background. It is hard otherwise to appreciate the miraculous way these people continue through history (recent and past) to pick themselves up and continue their lives as gracious, joyful, proud human beings after living through so many unthinkable atrocities. In recent history, these atrocities have been perpetrated upon them by their own people (the Khmer Rouge), who both starved and worked them to death in work camps, or brutally tortured them before murdering them in mass executions. The number of deaths attributed to the Khmer Rouge while in power from 1975-1979 is estimated at between 2 to 3 million.

This unthinkable genocide took place after Cambodia survived the unprecedented magnitude of ordinance dropped on indiscriminate sites in this country during the Vietnam War. Cambodia may well be the most heavily bombed country in history.

And if that wasn’t enough, according to whoever records these things, Cambodia has one of the most corrupt governments in the world.

I could go into more detail, but I think this paints a clear enough picture. These people are survivors. Learning about their history and spending time in their country, has really been an education. The borders in this part of the world have been redrawn so many times, by so many governments that the populations of all of the countries in South East Asia are like a patchwork quilt. Vietnamese, Thai, Chinese and Cambodians everywhere, either displaced through war and border realignments, relocated through political agreements, or escaping from one country or the other as refugees.

Somehow, with everything they have all been through, they manage to live together, at least on the surface, in harmony. I know as a tourist, I really have no real idea of what goes on here, but I am trying to get a grasp of it, because I find it to be a miracle of survival. And I want to believe that different ethnic peoples can live in peace even after killing each other so recently. (I have a vested interest in this concept.) I know hate must exist here, but it doesn’t destroy the possibility of progress and prosperity. Cambodia’s economy is growing steadily and life seems to be improving for these people. Seeing this with my own eyes has had a profound impact on me.

There were some other surprises too. The town of Siem Reap is not at all what I expected.

Big resort hotels line Airport Road coming into town, which is divided by the river. The centre of town is packed with resort style restaurants, hotels of all price levels, open markets, covered markets and storefronts. All of the signs are in both English and Kampuchean. All prices are in US dollars. Even the ATMs spit out American greenbacks. The streets, restaurants, and markets are filled with well-healed travelers here to experience the temples of Angkor Wat and beyond, visit floating villages, and marvel at the colourful silks and shimmering silver jewelry in the markets.

In my mind, I was expecting a small strip of basic hotels, tuk tuk drivers to take you out to the temples and moneychangers to give us piles of Cambodian Riel (the rate of exchange is 4,000 Riel for one US dollar). I also wasn’t expecting the population of Siem Reap province to be 1.8 million. When I started looking for a hotel online, I realized quickly that this town was no small village. Even before we arrived though, I knew there was something great about this place. Every hotel here gets great reviews. To me this is a sure sign that the people living and working in Siem Reap are content. And that the people visiting Siem Reap are having an amazing time!

I booked us into the Angkor Riviera (which everyone here calls the River-a), a large hotel on the river; five minutes walk from Pub Street and the Old Market. It ended up being as perfect as I had hoped. Great room, great breakfast, close enough to the action, but far enough away to be quiet.

We spent six nights and five days here. Three of those days were spent exploring temples from early morning to sunset. We spent our first day at the main temples of Angkor Wat and the surrounding temple complexes with a small group tour. For the second day we decided on a private car and guide to visit the temples at Pre Rup, Bantea Srei, and Banteay Samre, and the river of a thousand linga at Kbal Spean. By day three we decided we didn’t need a guide and hired a great tuk tuk driver to take us 70k out of town to the temples of Beng Melea with a visit to the Rolous complex on the way back. This gave us time to appreciate the countryside at our own pace. Each long, hot and tiring day of touring was concluded with great Khmer food, happy hour cocktails, and either market hopping, a cultural dance performance or a walk down Pub Street. We enjoyed every minute of our stay here.

I could write six more paragraphs about the large number of temples we visited, but I think the photos speak for themselves. Somehow, through all of the war and bloodshed here, these monuments remain as a reminder of another time.

Just a few facts: They were built between the 9th and 15th century when this area was the base of the Khmer Empire. The temples number over 1000 and are in all sizes and shapes, representing both Hindu and Buddhist religions. Some have been restored and some are simply piles of rubble. No matter how many you visit, you can be sure to be amazed.

Before coming here, I had only heard of Angkor Wat. I had no idea that this huge temple, considered to be the world’s largest religious monument, was one of over 1000! We did not visit 1000, but we did see our share of Buddhas, asperas, Shiva linga, and white, pink and red sandstone as well as brick structures. Some were massive and some were small. Some were intricately carved while others were simple. Some were full of interesting tree root structures and others were fully restored. I think we can safely say we did the temples of Angkor!

Sadly all good things must come to an end. We were picked up at our hotel by a minivan that would take us to the bus station where we would catch our bus to Phnom Penh. As our minivan left the hotel parking lot, there was a tap on our window. I looked over and there was our tuk tuk driver all smiles, waving us a final farewell. What a wonderful final memory of our stay here! If you are ever in Siem Reap, and you are in need a reliable driver, you should look him up. His name is Cheng Sangha and his usual spot is the Hotel Angkor Riviera. Tell him Naomi and Marc sent you!

Even after eight months on the road ...

On the second floor of the train station behind these umbrellas is the tour office where we booked our tickets.

We weren’t going to admit we fell for this, but hey, this blog is a like a confessional. It always feels good to get stuff off your chest.

When we arrived in Bangkok, we went directly to the information booth to inquire about trains to Cambodia. We were informed that the trains went to the border and from there; you need to find transportation to a bus station, and a bus from there to Siem Reap. There were two trains daily. She handed us a schedule and we were on our way.

We have seen this phenomenon many times before, but we seem to get drawn in each time. There are official type people roaming around with badges saying they are Tourist Information people, but they really work for tour companies and are steering you to their offices. The guy who stopped us seemed to know we were eventually heading for Siem Reap. He explained that the train was very slow and uncomfortable. If we would just go upstairs, we could organize minibus transportation to the border, and a pickup from the border to the bus station coordinated with a bus directly to Siem Reap. All organized, easy. Otherwise we needed to get from the train station to the border, from the border to the bus station with all of our luggage. Why go through the hassle when it could all be organized? He seemed to make good sense (they all do).

We have booked this way before knowing that it is a bit more expensive than doing it yourself, but much less hassle. It has never been perfect, and we always question afterwards if we should have done it that way, but here we went again, down the same path. Marc went upstairs to discuss the details with the tour company. Shortly thereafter we decided to go for it. It was about $30 each which seemed reasonable for a full day of travel. How bad could it be?

Four days later, we returned to the train station to pick up our air-conditioned comfy mini bus. We were escorted by the tour agent out of the train station, down the street, around the corner to a battered (and not very comfortable looking) minivan. The front windshield was cracked in two places, the seats worn. We looked at each other and cringed. Oy! What had we got ourselves into? In the van already, were three young German tourists and one young Asian tourist. At least we were not the only suckers.

We left Bangkok at a fast pace, and once on the highway, our driver proved to be as horrible as any of the drivers we experienced in Nepal and India. Marc was busy reading and didn’t seem to notice, but I was on the edge of my seat and wondering if we could possibly survive the next four hours to the Cambodian border, weaving in and out of traffic. In Thailand it seemed to be in fashion to have several cars/scooters/trucks pass at the same time so that there were often times three vehicles sharing the same passing lane while oncoming traffic moved towards them. Finally in desperation, I alerted Marc to our situation. In quick order, he stood up in the minivan and set the driver straight. The rest of the ride was much calmer.

Somewhere soon after our minivan pulled into a gas station and we all got out for a pee break and time to stretch our legs. The three Germans politely approached us to ask quietly where we had bought our tickets and how much we paid. We all commiserated with each other about the state of the minivan, the crazy driver and how badly we had been scammed. They had really been taken to the cleaners, so we felt a bit better. But only a bit better. They had paid 50% more than we had, but had heard from other travelers that the lucky ones paid only half of what we paid! But things would get even uglier, once we reached the border town of Poipet.

As we entered town, instead of going directly to the border, our minivan took some narrow back alleys and parked beside a restaurant. A representative of our “tour” company, greeted us, took our bus tickets, saying he would be replacing them with new ones. “Sit down, relax”, he said calmly as if reading a script. “You have some time for lunch and to fill out the forms for your visas”.

“Oh” I thought at first, “Good, we can get this out of the way before we hit the border”

When he came around to pick up the forms, he was requesting a fairly large amount of money for visa payment. The three Germans came over for a pow-wow and we all agreed that we did not need to take this charade any further. I had done some research and knew that we could get a visa ourselves at the borer and it should cost $25 US max. He was asking for almost double that to expedite it for us.

Quite an argument ensued between Marc and this very unfriendly and rude man. Forms were ripped up and words were exchanged. I was hoping for calm since these people had our luggage and so far we had not been reissued our bus tickets. The Asian man went for the full scam and was separated from us to be taken who knows where. The Germans finished their lunch (we didn’t purchase any food on principle which only infuriated our rude little man) and we all inquired about our bus tickets. We were ignored at first and then he came up to us with a roll of blue tape and tore off a piece for each of us to attach to our shirts. “This is your ticket,” he said blankly looking in the other direction. The Germans, who were much calmer than us, asked if our original tickets could be photocopied just in case. “No photocopy!” he said angrily “get in the minivan”.

I looked at the boys and said, “We are all together, we will figure it out” and we climbed back into the banged up minivan with our suicidal driver.

A short and thankfully uneventful ride later, our driver dropped us off in the middle of the border marketplace. Glad to be out of the van, we all walked to the Thai border, passed through passport control and then found our way to the Cambodian border and visa on arrival office. There were no hassles or delays and the fee was $20US. Certainly there was no need for any help from anyone.

We were directed to walk further on to a seating area where, incredibly, they was a man expecting people with blue stickers! But interestingly, at the same spot was a free shuttle service to the bus station. So once again, there was no need for any special help from anyone. Eventually we all ended up at the bus station along with the young Asian man who paid all of the extra money to have his visa organized for him. We all ended up on the same bus to Siem Reap. The Same bus that did not drop us at the Siem Reap bus station as promised, but rather in the middle of nowhere, so that the Tuk Tuk drivers waiting there would have a heyday with a bus load of tourists arriving after dark in a strange city with no idea how far it was to their hotels!

The end of a perfect day!

So there you go. After eight months on the road, we can still be taken for a ride!

The good news is that our stay in Siem Reap was nothing like the journey to get there. In fact, within an hour we were drinking margaritas and eating great food in the incredibly colourful and vibrant gateway to the historical temples of Angkor Wat and the many, many temples beyond.

But that is a much longer story for another post.