10 posts tagged “food”

Why hasn't anyone started a line of perfumes that smell like food?

I, for one, would like to smell of roti kirai, on those days that I feel warm and maternal and want to come home early so I can cook and bake for my little Russian. On weekends I would smell of crepes, and we would have breakfast all day.

I want to smell of bread pudding when I'm out with my friends, so they will feel nice and hungry and talk to me, talk talk talk about every detail of their lives and I can soak it all into my puddingness like rum, or let it wash over me like vanilla sauce.

At work I would smell of coffee. Everybody would want to be my best friend and people would come to me for answers.

And on days I want people to stay away, I would smell of mint ice cream, cold and biting. Or curry. Nobody messes with curry.

That The Cookie Museum at the Esplanade serves a cup of tea OR a slice of cake for $15?

It's a Singaporean company, serving food made in Singapore. They think they who ah?

It makes no sense.

I would only pay that much if the food comes with a complementary side dish of crude oil.

We met at about 9 a.m. in the morning for breakfast at the restaurant of our guesthouse, then split up: Fa.rah, U.ma and So.o Hi.an were talking a mini-van, provided by the guesthouse, for a tour of the Killing Fields, the National Museum and the Royal Palace. The Russian and I were setting off on our own for a walking tour of Phnom Penh.

The Russian and I started by taking a tuk-tuk to Wat Phnom, a modern temple built on the only hill in town. The first thing that happened when we reached the temple was: a policeman demanded that we pay $1 each for entry, which we doubt was an actual rule. The Lonely Planet does warn not to make eye contact with policemen in Cambodia; they're known to ask you for money for any reason under the sun. From that moment on we tried to avoid any policemen we saw, and we took care to hide our camera whenever we saw a policeman nearby.

After walking around the temple we went back downhill and made a stop outside The Raffles Hotel Le Royal. There we  took a couple of photos of ourselves, and a bunch of kids that were playing just outside the building. We handed out sweets and felt like colonials.

Next stop was the train station, but it was closed, so we just stood across the road and took photos of the grand old art deco building.

 

Then we headed southeast to Psar Thmei, or the Central Market. It was huge, and the most crowded place I've ever been in. Every inch is covered with either goods or people. We took a walk around and then stopped at a small stall to have some bamboo-orange juice. I was already sweaty and tired by that point; it was amazingly refreshing.

We walked around the market some more, attempting to find our way out. I ended up buying a Lonely Planet Vietnam for US$3.50 after much haggling, but even then the Russian wouldn't stop nagging at me because he said I was overpaying.

 

Finally we made our way out and got to Sorya Shopping Centre. The interior really made me feel like I'd returned to Singapore in the 1980s -- the lighting, the store arrangements, the architecture. We only took a look at the escalator trainers -- people who stand by the escalators to help those who have never ridden on one before -- and left.

From there we took a long, long walk to Ph 240 for lunch. We ate at The Shop. There I had the best meal I have ever had while travelling: a lamb burger and a lychee-mint cooler. The food was so good it hurt. I seriously almost cried. You know how when you hear a song that really touches a part of you that you feel like crying? It was like that. A part of it had to do, of course, with the fact that I was starting to like Phnom Penh, finally, and it was my last day in the city.

The Russian had a pretty good pasta salad, but he went and ordered a dates-banana-molasses shake. It was, of course, thicker than blood, and was not the most thirst-quenching of drinks, especially after four hours of walking under the hot sun -- and the weather was pretty damn hot.

Next to The Shop was a cute little boutique that sold really cool locally-designed accessories and bags and I wanted to get myself a bag but I couldn't find the shopkeeper and there were so many other tourists in the shop oohing and aahing. I thought I'd go back after lunch but then I forgot about it, and now I live in regret. They were really pretty bags.

After lunch we walked down a couple of streets until we got to a row of art shops. This was where we found out that we had been overcharged on the Kompong Chnang tourist trap boat. The Russian bought another painting from one of the shops here, of a sunset over Angkor Wat.

Then we walked on and stumbled upon the Singapore Embassy. It's gorgeous! We were so proud we took photos. A couple of streets later we stumbled upon the Malaysian Embassy. Let's just say it only made us prouder of the Singapore one.

Eventually we ended up at the Independence Monument. We took a couple of photos and moved on, to the Royal Palace. It was closed for lunch, however, so we made our way to the National Museum.

I was really pretty exhausted by this point, so after some viewing I sat down and waited for the Russian to finish. We barely spent an hour in there. Once he was done we went back to the Royal Palace.

Again, I was close to collapsing, and the HORDES of tourists were really wearing me out, so after looking inside a couple of the pagodas, I sat and waited for the Russian.

Well that was the end of Lonely Planet's recommended walking tour. But was it the end for us hardcore travellers? No! We took a tuk-tuk and made our way to Psar Tuol Tom Pong, or the Russian Market, to buy some last minute souvenirs for people back home.

I bought a t-shirt for June and a book for my colleague who asked for it, but then when I got home I decided to keep the book for myself. No, I only do that to people I don't care that much about.

The Russian got some pencils for his colleagues and t-shirts for his family. We came across a stall that was selling original American clothing, probably from Cambodian garment factories -- Gap, Adidas, Nike, American Eagle, etc -- for about a tenth of the prices back home, but we didn't find anything that fit.

And finally, finally, after NINE hours of walking, we took a tuk-tuk back to our guesthouse. But if only it were that simple. Our tuk-tuk driver didn't understand our instructions or the map, and got really, really lost. Eventually, he made a wrong turn when he was about five minutes away from our guesthouse, so we hopped off and walked the rest of the way back.

It was fucking exhausting but I'm glad we did the walking tour. I really fell in love with Phnom Penh that day. That walk alone made me feel like going back to Phnom Penh someday, if only to have another meal at The Shop and buy the pretty bag that eluded me.

Once we got back we showered and went to our friends' room to ask them out for dinner. They were still washing up, and so we waited outside their room. When we were all ready we took a tuk-tuk (none of us had functioning feet anymore by this point) to Ph 93 (I think) and ended up at a nice little Khmer restaurant for our last Khmer meal and shake battle.

The winner with 3 votes was the Russian, with his delightful apple shake, which had bits of green apple skin in it and was not at all sour. They probably added sugar or syrup. Um.a and I tied for second place -- I had a strawberry milkshake which tasted a lot like the one from McDonald's (except nicer of course) and she had a really nice, refreshing lime shake. For some reason I can't remember what Fa.rah had -- again. So.o Hia.n's coffee shake, I recall, was as strong as death.

When we finished our meal we upset all the other patrons' meals by making a lot of noise over taking a group shot. In the one camp were U.ma and the Russian, who were urging Fa.rah to just ask someone for help. In the other camp were the rest of us, determined as hell to use the self-timer function on Far.ah's camera.

Of course, she set it all up and we posed to perfection, and when the self-timer ended, her camera batteries died.

This lone guy having his dinner stood up and offered to take the photo for us. It was not at all embarrassing, because we were leaving the country!

And after that, Far.ah replaced her camera batteries and made us take another group shot on self-timer, so everybody won:

After that S.oo H.ian and Fa.rah went back to the guesthouse and the remaining three of us got a foot massage next door.

And after that, back to the guesthouse and home the next day. I carried the post-holiday blues with me for the rest of the week, and even today as I sift through the photos and write this entry, I feel quite sad that it's all over. I know that only means it was a great trip. I still ache for Laos every once in a while and that happened two years ago.

But life moves on. I'm working with the photos right now. I'm collecting photos from all the cameras, arranging them chronologically and uploading them onto Ofoto. It's taking a lot of time, a real labour of love. Let me know if you're interested in taking a look -- I think there must be about 600 photos in all.

I'll also be uploading more photos onto the blog gradually. Check back on the previous posts to see them.

End credits:
Thanks to my fellow travellers for ALL the photos, especially the Russian, for providing me with the first few you saw on this blog. I don't have a camera.

Far.ah and I both bought Lonely Planet Vietnam while in Cambodia and U.ma too has a copy. Stay tuned for more in the World Travels of the Tuesday Group!

How do I even begin to describe this day?

Ok, from the start: We started the day with breakfast. Our friends were held up for some reason, so the Russian and I headed off to the Sunrise Coffee House without them. We were its first patrons.

We asked the waitress how big the pancakes were. She showed us a small circle with her hand. So we each ordered pancakes AND something else. Him a cinnamon bun, me some french toast. Of course, the pancakes turned out to be pretty damn huge. Also very very tasty. We got the café to pack our leftovers.

Our friends joined us halfway through breakfast. The Russian and I left them before they finished, because we needed to shit and we had a 5-hour bus journey ahead.

So then we checked out of the hostel and took a small van to the bus terminal. The bus to Phnom Penh, thankfully, was air-conditioned. However, and unfortunately, it also came with "entertainment". This included:

a) Thai music videos which showed girls dressed in skimpy clothing dancing as if they were in a club -- no choreography here -- against various psychedelic technicolour backgrounds. It was... bizarre. At one point Um.a turned around to look at me and we both burst out laughing. Look, I just snorted thinking about it. There were many different songs, but all the music videos were of the exact same style. Different girls and backgrounds though.

b) A Khmer sitcom, which involved people being angry and yelling at each other ALL THE TIME, and men crying in an exaggerated manner. The Russian pointed out that this was probably why PCK Pte Ltd always wins Best Comedy at the Asian Television Awards. Worse, the volume on the show was so loud it was honestly ear-piercing.

c) Cambodian music videos, which were the least threatening to my sanity. Slower, gentler music and no dancing -- just local actors playing out some sentimental drama.

I fell asleep for the first part of the ride. After I woke up I borrowed Fa.rah's Lonely Planet and read about Cambodia's history. Then I went back to sleep and the Russian took over. He not only read the history of Cambodia, he also put to memory the map of Phnom Penh, picked up tips on how to keep safe from lowly criminals and high-class thugs and categorised the guesthouses recommended by Lonely Planet according to how well-located they were with respect to all the tourist attractions.

The only reason why he did the last thing was because our friends had decided that The Boddhi Tree was too expensive for them. I had booked us rooms at The Boddhi Tree before the trip and was actually looking forward to staying there after reading all the reviews; now my friends said they would prefer somewhere cheaper.

When we reached Phnom Penh, it was utter chaos. I cannot even explain it to you. Could you try to imagine this for me please: Imagine you have just woken up from sleep and your head is still fuzzy. You are separated from some of your friends by the throng of passengers milling about. A policeman is standing next to you, blowing on his whistle and swinging his baton to keep the horde of shouting tuk-tuk drivers at bay. But despite the policeman the drivers keep grabbing your suitcase. You take it back once, twice, they just keep snatching it from your hand again.

Now in the midst of all this, the Russian and his brain full of knowledge was stuck somewhere at the back of the crowd, too far to take charge of the situation for us. I turned to Uma and asked her whether she had a guesthouse in mind, since she was the one who suggested the change from The Boddhi Tree. Unfortunately she hadn't gotten around to looking through the Lonely Planet recommendations.

All this while the tuk-tuk drivers were still yelling at us and shoving advertisements in our faces. They were posters for a guesthouse called The Lakeside, located along the strip of guesthouses and cafés on the bank of the Tonlé Sap. It's kind of the Khao San Road of Phnom Penh, I suppose.

It really was the worst place in the world to hold a discussion. Somehow we had to decide where to go. I suggested to my friends, why not we go to The Boddhi Tree, sit down at the restaurant and discuss where to stay. For about five seconds that became The Plan. But then U.ma said, you know, I really don't mind just going to this Lakeside guesthouse. And, you know, I was just like ok yeah whatever let's go. I just wanted to get out of that place.

Of course,  it turned out to be a bad idea. The moment he caught up with me, the Russian started scolding me about giving in to scammers. It was my own brain fart, so what to do? Just sit down and feel stupid.

We then proceeded to pay too much to the scammer, who dropped us off at a completely different guesthouse. It was located along the Tonlé Sap too, but it was called the Greenlake. When I said to the driver, "This is not the Lakeside!" he pointed at the lake and said, "Yes, that is lake. This is lakeside."

Also one of the men who carried our luggage into the guesthouse tried hugging Fa.rah from the back, which really freaked her out.

Well there was no fucking way we were going to stay at this Greenlake place and earn the scammer-driver some commission, so we ignored the receptionist and the driver and all the other men and sat a table to discuss what to do next. The boys then left to look for the actual Lakeside guesthouse, or any other decent-looking guesthouse we could stay at.

In the meantime, I'm sorry to say I snapped at my girlfriends. I really had had it up to there. In the run up to the trip, I complained to the Russian many, many times that I seemed to be the only one doing anything. (Of course that is arguable.) I had looked for the guesthouses, got everyone's votes and booked the rooms with their approval. When my friends had said the day before that The Boddhi Tree was too expensive, I was hoping they'd look for a replacement guesthouse and have it decided on by the time we reached Phnom Penh. I was not expecting to end up scammed. But it was all my own damned fault anyway, so who was I to snap?

U.ma asked if I would prefer to just go to The Boddhi Tree now. I said, "Well I booked the fucking rooms there, so of course I wouldn't mind going fucking anywhere now."

And that's how it was decided.

But determined to ruin the day further, I promptly forgot that The Boddhi Tree had three branches and of course led them to the wrong one. So we had to walk about five minutes to the correct one.

Well at least it was a nice place. A sanctuary, really, from the outside world of shitty, dusty, lying Phnom Penh. The guesthouse is actually a restored colonial house. All the bedrooms and any available space besides have been turned into guest rooms. The Russian and I ended up with the attic. It had no doors, just curtains for cover, but the staff assured us the place was secure. I actually liked it a lot. As a kid I had always wanted to live in a tree.

But oh -- the day was only going to get worse before it got better.

After placing our luggage in our room, the Russian scolded me some more. And then we went to Tuol Sleung. We went without our friends because they wanted to shower first and we didn't.

Tuol Sleung, also known as S21, was where enemies of the revolution were kept, tortured and mostly killed. Before entering the building proper, there is a board where you can read a brief history and description of the place. And just outside the classrooms (Tuol Sleung was a school before it was turned into a concentration camp) is a big board which shows the list of rules that the prisoners of Tuol Sleung had to abide by. Fucking crazy rules like "You must immediately answer my questions without wasting time to reflect". (Click on above Wikipedia link to read the rest.) These helped place my mind in the proper context, so to speak.

The first classroom I walked into was honestly oppressive. I'd always thought it was a meaningless cliché when people described a certain place as having "an oppressive air" but seriously, the air in the classroom was heavy. I could barely walk. The first classroom held a metal bed frame and a picture on the wall of a tortured inmate, only recognisable as a human being because of his shape.

The second classroom held the same exhibits and was equally stifling.

But the third classroom. The third room had row after row of boards holding photos of the people who had been  incarcerated in Tuol Sleung. Thousands of people -- people who looked like me and my family and my friends, to boot.

I cry as much as the next person over Holocaust films, but the truth is there is nothing that aids empathy more than the superficial.

And then, in one corner, was a cabinet filled with the clothes of these people, folded, in a fucking cabinet. Like they were waiting to be worn again. That was where I lost it.

I didn't just cry, I sobbed. I was a fucking mess. I ran out of the room and sat on a bench and cried and cried and cried. The Russian was there with me.

And even at that point I asked myself if my outburst had anything to do with my own experiences that day, but no -- I don't think the petty horrors of my first hour in Phnom Penh had anything to do with my racking grief.

After cleaning myself up we walked on.

Halfway through our tour our friends arrived, and we arranged to meet at the entrance at 5.30. By the time the Russian and I finished our tour, we had a lot of time to spare. I decided to buy my own copy of Lonely Planet Cambodia because I had a feeling the Russian and I would need it. I turned out to be right.

When our friends were done, we minus Uma went for dinner at Comme à La Maison. It was a pleasant interlude from the trying day. Haute cuisine at fast food prices! The food was excellent. The Russian's fish carpaccio was especially uplifting. If you go to Phnom Penh, you must eat there.

After dinner Fa.rah and So.o Hia.n went exploring the city. The Russian and I went looking for a place to get a foot massage. But we didn't find any so we just walked back to our guesthouse.

It turned out to be quite fortunate that we couldn't find a massage parlour, and this was also where my newly-acquired Lonely Planet came in handy: We had a fucking hell of a lot of things to arrange and very little time to do it.

Here was the problem:

Originally, we had planned to stay Friday night in Phnom Penh, then take a bus to Kampot and stay there overnight, then return to Phnom Penh on Sunday, so I had not booked a room for us in Phnom Penh for Saturday.

However, we wanted to take a day trip to Kirirom National Park on Saturday. This would be a whole-day affair starting at 730 in the morning. We won't have time to move to a guesthouse in the morning, and we'd probably be too tired to  move after hiking all day.

So, we thought, maybe we could just extend our stay at The Boddhi Tree for one night.

But, when the Russian and I got back to the guesthouse after dinner, we found out that they had no rooms for Saturday. We also overheard a couple of other guests asking to extend their stay. (And I didn't ever want to leave the place, honestly, so I wasn't surprised they didn't have rooms.)

So then there was a mad scramble to look for another place to stay. I figured our best bet was the Sunday Guesthouse, where I had booked us rooms for, coincidentally, Sunday.

In the meantime, the Russian and I also had to arrange for transportation to take us to Kirirom.

While juggling several phone calls at the same time, we got to talking to the waiter/manager at the Boddhi Tree. His name was Sak, and he was a 23-year-old Cambodian who had just graduated from university, where he had studied economics and informatics. Sighing the universal lament of the graduate, he said the jobs he had now were of no relevance to his studies.

Yes, jobS. He worked in marketing by day, at the Boddhi Tree by night. He was the sole breadwinner of his family now, since his father passed away last year. But since he started both jobs he hasn't even made enough to send any money to his family. He earns just enough to cover his own food and petrol (they always call it "gasoline" in Cambodia) costs. His family lived in a different province, near the border with Vietnam.

We asked if he was not tired working two jobs daily. He said, "Yes, sometimes I think, why is my life like this? But you know, I am so happy to come to work. Because here we are like a family."

He just reminded me so much of Xai, which made me feel like doing to him what I often did to Xai -- give him money. I didn't, however. Though I really wish I had, because he was the one who got us the driver to Kirirom, through a friend of him whose work it seemed was to arrange drivers for every need.

Back to the accommodation dilemma: the Sunday guesthouse got back to me and said they did have rooms for Saturday, but I had to confirm quick. Yet my friends were taking very long to reply my SMSes and I didn't want to make a decision without their approval.

But finally, Far.ah and So.o Hia.n came back and said yes to the guesthouse, so I could confirm our booking. By that time my eyes were already half-closed. I went straight to sleep.

We met at the lobby of our guesthouse at 6.30 am. A bus was supposed to come and pick us up at 6.40 to take us to the bus terminal, where we would take another bus at 7.30 to Battambang.

That first bus came at 7.10. It was tiny and didn't have a trunk or underside compartment where we could store our luggage. Everyone and everything was squeezed into its cramped, dirty inside. Just sitting on the bus left a huge sand stain on my new cargo pants. Worse, the bus went on to pick up more and more people on the way to the terminal.

We reached the terminal at 7.40. Thankfully we had not missed our ride to Battambang. That one left at 8.

The ride was supposed to be 3 to 5 hours long. It took about 7.

The bus was supposed to be air-conditioned. The air-conditioning was spoilt and all the windows were shut. Ventilation came from a small opening in the ceiling, and narrow slats under our windows that we could open. With the wind came thick brown dust into our eyes, noses, coating our faces.

By the time we got to the lunch stop at 11.30, any piece of tissue paper we dragged over our faces came away brown. Our hair felt like straw. Our noses were plugged with dirt.

Being a monopoly in the area, the pit stop restaurant charged exorbitant prices for shitty food. Well my plate of fried noodles was not bad but everyone else's fried rice was basically steamed rice coated in oil. Their coffee was terrible.

Throughout the ride I slept and woke up, slept and woke up. When I was awake I would look out at the crappy-looking towns that we passed by and think, "Please don't let this be Battambang or I'll cry."

The passengers on the bus were made up mostly of locals. Now I don't know how to say this without sounding like I'm making a sweeping statement about all Cambodians... but... some Cambodians... are rather... unhygienic.

The streets of Siem Reap are dominated with litter. A couple of times, when we gave sweets to kids inside the temples, they'd discard the wrappers on the floor of the temples. When we went to Kirirom National Park on Day 5, the area within a 1-metre radius of a sign saying "Please throw litter into the bins provided" was completely covered with... litter.

But back to the bus. At the beginning of the rise, the bus was relatively clean. A bit run down and the worse for wear, but clean. By the end of the trip, the aisle was covered in unknown liquids, drink cans, corn cobs, bits of bread and other fallen food items.

Throughout the ride we were also help captive by the sight of a cute little Cambodian kid who was eating corn on the cob. He'd rub it on his feet, then eat. Rub it on the windows, then eat. Then he moved on to sticky rice. He'd rub it on the chairs, then eat. Then he started kissing the greasy, dusty windows.

After the pit stop I noticed that he was no longer wearing any pants. This was a common sight among Cambodian kids -- if they're boys, they're often left running around without pants (or underwear). If they're girls, they go around topless.

 

It was a thoroughly exhausting ride and obviously went on for much longer than it was supposed to. Towards the end of the ride, the Russian and I amused ourselves by listening to my iPod and dancing.

Finally, the bus stopped. We had no idea where we were, but we saw the other tourists on the bus take down their bags from the overhead compartment so we did the same too. I asked a German guy who was standing before me, "Is this it?"

With a look of resignation on his face, he replied, "I don't know. It doesn't matter."

As a consolation, we told ourselves that this bus ride meant that we were truly hardcore.

When we got off the bus we were bombarded with a horde of transportation drivers offering us rides. We agreed to one of them, a van driver who was offering a free ride to the Chhaya Hotel, which was recommended by Lonely Planet.

At the Chhaya Hotel we got our rooms and immediately showered our brown, sticky, dusty bodies. My room was spartan but nice. It wasn't as pretty as our rooms at the Western-run Rosy Guesthouse, but the beds were cleaner and came with bolster pillows.

I'm generally not a big fan of white lights. Since it was still daytime, I asked the Russian to switch off the lights. Once he did that we burst out laughing.

"This looks really porn," he said.
"I feel like I'm back at home... in Geylang," I said.

Our room looked like what you might imagine a room in a cheap brothel to look like. White ceramic tiles on the wall, one closet with a couple of hangers, one old TV set. And thanks to the red curtains, everything was washed in red. Later, when we walked to our friends' rooms, I got a peek into some of the other rooms in the huge hostel, and I realised we really got a good deal. Some of the other rooms looked like wards in a prison hospital.

And so we had a meeting in my room, to discuss a rearrangement of our itinerary.

After that bus ride from hell, none of us wanted to take any more bus rides than necessary. A bus to Phnom Penh was necessary, since we were flying out of there to get home. But Kampot was dispensible. We had to cut out Kampot.

We finally decided that instead of going to Bokor National Park, we'd go to Kirirom, just outside Phnom Penh. We'd have to find a place to stay for Saturday, since I'd only booked rooms in Phnom Penh for Friday and Sunday, but it shouldn't be a problem.

That problem solved, we went out to take a look at Battambang. It's a nice charming town with a lot of colonial buildings. It was still a city with crazy traffic and pollution and dirty streets, but it wasn't half as mad as Phnom Penh.

After walking around we ended up at Smokin' Pot for dinner. What a pleasant surprise --not only was the food delicious, we only paid about US$2 each for the meal. The only letdown to the meal was the tom yam soup -- we asked for it to be medium spicy and it turned out to be Super Fucking Westerners Die!!!!!11~~~ spicy.

Farah and I ordered coconut shakes this time around, after tasting how wonderful the Russian and Uma's coconut shakes were at Angkor the day before. They were good, but sadly not as good as the Angkor ones. I think Uma won the shake battle at Smokin' Pot with her mango concoction.

During dinner we talked about our psychotic fears. Little idiosyncracies that we had that few people knew about. Things that might make you think we were complete psychos.

For example, I hate hotel toilets. Sometimes, I retch when I am in them. Thinking about them stops me from sleeping. The Russian cannot wear new clothes until they are "ready." Fa.rah fears speaking on the telephone and goes to pieces when she has to answer a call. Um.a imagines certain people killing her simply by sitting on her face.

All of us shared our psychoses. All of us, that is, except So.o Hi.an, whose fears are completely lame-ass:

Me: What about you -- what are you afraid of?
SH: Uh... I don't like people hearing me shit.
Russian: What the fuck? Nobody likes that! That's normal!
Me: You might as well say, "I'm scared of tigers."
Uma: Or landmines. "I fear landmines."
Me: Yeah, so we can ask, "Oh but why landmines?!"
Uma: "Was your fear of landmines prompted by something that happened in your life?"
Me: "So how do you feel when you think about landmines?"
SH: Ok ok... I don't like sleeping in rooms that are not my own bedroom.
 
After the meal Uma went back to her room and the remaining four of us went to what seemed like the only restaurant in Battambang that was still open -- a bubble tea cafe called BT Cat. Farah took a lot of photos of the menu, which had many, many weird items in it, such as "tea with coffee smell".

Bubble Tea is big in Cambodia, and it seems to be an upper middle class kind of drink, not a mass market product like it is here. It's only served in air-conditioned restaurants with closed doors and big seats. And the restaurants that serve bubble tea will have it as part of their name, like "BT Cat" or "Bubble Tea Lounge", or else proclaim it loudly at their entrance posters. Being able to afford bubble tea is a status symbol there. A glass of bubble tea (and they always come in nice tall glasses, with a straw and a stirrer) would usually cost about US$1.50.

So at BT Cat I had a boring old chocolate milk tea. The Russian and Farah had this drink called a snow-something. So.o Hian also had milk tea but I can't recall what flavour (or smell). In any case, we didn't compete drinks. I think it was a tie for all.

We left the cafe sometime after 9 and went back to our rooms. It was bedtime soon after that -- another long bus ride awaited us the next morning! 

Day 2 was all about the Wats. We -- minus Uma -- met our driver at 4.30 a.m. and made our way back to the Angkor Wat. It was pitch black darkness; there are no streetlights in Siem Reap, not even around the Angkor Wat. We sat on the grass in front of the temple, together with many other tourists to wait for the sunrise. In the meantime, we blinded each other with camera flashes.

And then the light began to creep into the day. But where was the sun? Where were the golden rays and voices from heaven heralding the sunrise over the Angkor? The sky just got lighter and lighter until suddenly the sun was already up in the sky. What an anti-climax.Thank you, clouds.

We walked around the temple for about two hours and made the scary climb up to the top of the temple. I was terrified going down.

We went back to the guesthouse and picked up Uma before going to a nearby 'fast food restaurant' for breakfast. It had fast food chain chairs and air-conditioning, but the food was miles better than a real fast food restaurant. Um.a and Fa.rah had fish burgers, the rest of us local food. The Russian and I had coffee-flavoured bubble tea which was pretty good.

We then took our van to the temples. But first we had to sort out with our driver the order in which to visit them. During this communication, S.oo Hia.n asked him, "The wat is where?" Thus was our theme for the trip established.

Our first stop was Ta Prohm, where we had to deal with our first group of souvenir-touting children for the day, the first of many. They were much like the merchant kids we'd met at the boat-shop of Kompong Chnang and the landmine museum the day before, except these children blocked our way into the temples if we didn't buy. It was quite maddening. Distributing sweets only made them ask for more. At one point I opened my bag to take out the sweets, and one child spotted my pen and kept asking me, "Can I have a pen? Can I have a pen?" You just had to squeeze past them into the temple.

Day 2 was also all about camwhoring. The Russian took up the mantle of demanding photo director. "Look up! Step forward! No, too much! Stop looking like a retard! Now look into the camera! Look into the camera!!"

We spent about an hour at Ta Prohm taking lots of photos of ourselves among the ruins and the oddly shaped trees that had sprouted all over the temple grounds. And then at one point I stepped out of a doorway and found myself in the middle of a major Japanese tour group photo shoot, with people spread out over the many broken rocks and in several different poses. I ran back to my friends saying, "Ok we're all amateurs. You've got to see this." This sight of Japanese kawaii prowess inspired us to strike funkier poses and 'mix it up', as they say in the industry.

Another funny thing that happened was, Far.ah got conned into buying an erhu from one of the souvenir-sellers outside the temple. When we sat down to take a break, a group of German tourists crowded around us waiting to hear her play. One of the men said, "We'll give you 1 dollar if you play." Of course we only giggled, because Far.ah didn't know how to play the erhu and probably never will.

It was mostly the same at Preah Khan, which had much fewer children and almost no other tourists: a lot of photo-taking and horsing around. Far.ah touched a phallic object which we later found out was called a Sivalingham. Many dumb jokes ensued.

As we were leaving Preah Khan, U.ma squealed, "Oh my god, it's the teacher fucker guy!"

This was the third time in two days that U.ma had seen the teacher fucker guy. The first was at Changi, boarding the very same flight to Siem Reap as us. The second, on the road to Angkor Wat on our first day. And now, he was entering Preah Khan as we were leaving. And on all three times, he was wearing a striped t-shirt which had the words "Teacher Fucker" sewn on the back.

U.ma: I can't believe he's been wearing that same shirt for two straight days!
Me: Well at least now we know to keep a distance whenever we see him.
Russian: Maybe he has three versions of that shirt.
Um.a: No, it's the same shirt. It's the exact same colour each time I saw him.
Russian: Yeah, why not?
Me: If I liked a shirt so much, I would buy the same design but in different colours.
Um.a: Exactly.
Russian: Batman has five copies of the exact same suit.
Me: He needs it for crime-fighting.
Russian: Well maybe this guy needs it for teacher-fucking.

We then went for lunch at one of the restaurants outside Angkor Wat. There we were mobbed by kids again, who when we said "No," said, "After lunch you come and buy from me. Don't forget me, I wait for you here." It was heartbreaking, but I knew I couldn't save them by buying postcards. The face of one of the boys there still haunts me today. No, not in a nightmare sort of way. More in a dying kitten sort of way. It is painful to think that we were having a wonderful meal right in front of them while they probably had very little to eat. If I ever go back I'll hand out bananas at least, not sweets.

Lunch was Khmer food. We tried their amok curry for the first time, and it was delicious. That was also the meal that sparked off the fruit shake battles. Every restaurant in Cambodia worth its name has a host of fruit shakes on its menu. But there is no knowing what you'll get by ordering any of them. They always taste different, restaurant to restaurant.

At this one, the Russian and Um.a tied for first place with their unbelievable coconut shakes.

After lunch we headed off for more temple-watching, this time to Angkor Thom, within which lies Bayon.  Fa.rah and So.o Hia.n had the great fortune to meet Ran, a local heritage policeman just outside the temple while the Russian and I had been off looking for a toilet. Ran not only spoke perfect English but knew everything worth knowing about the temples. He offered to give us a tour, and of course we took it up.

I asked him, "Don't you have to do your policing work?"

He replied, "I'm a heritage policeman -- I can do whatever I like as long as I stay in this area!"

The Russian quipped that it seemed like a pretty cool job, but Ran said he would turn into stone from boredom if he didn't interact with the tourists.

He told us a lot of really cool things about the temple, such as what the carvings meant. All of the carvings at Bayon told stories about life back in the day -- and with jokes included too. He took some cool trick shots of us and the Buddhas and brought us to a deep well that no other tourists knew about. He also complained to us about the Korean-run tourism industry within Cambodia, which uses up Cambodian resources but gives nothing back. We had already been pushed around enough by obnoxious Korean and Japanese tour groups by this point, so it didn't take much for us to agree with him that they were the bad guys.

These guys swarm into every place they enter, pushing everyone else into the periphery. If you want to take a photo at a certain cool spot, you have to wait 15 minutes for the tour groups to disappear first. Outside Bayon we saw a Korean woman from a tour group taking a photo of a crippled beggar up close and walking away without donating any money. You would think that the tour guide would advise them on such matters.

Coincidentally, in the middle of Ran's rant about Korean tour groups, we came across one. Actually, they came across us. We had reached that spot in the temple first. And then they came by and the tour guide immediately shoved Ran aside and rudely said, "Excuse me" without a smile.

Despite the crowd, Ran showed us some cool camera tricks that made us look like we were touching noses with the huge Buddha faces on the temples. Of course, everyone around us saw what we were doing and immediately tried copying. But of course, they couldn't do it right. Ran had to help them.

At the end of the tour, Ran whisked the Russian away on his motorbike for a visit to the toilet and met us back at Baphuon, a temple right next to Bayon. It was closed for restoration works, so we only got to walk on the long bridge (which symbolises the bridge to heaven or something) and then piled back into the van all sticky and gross and exhausted.

The consensus was that we wanted a massage but when? Should we shower first? Should we shove our sticky, dirty bodies under the hands of blind masseurs immediately? Decisions are hard to make when everyone's favourite phrase is "Up to you." It was finally decided that we should shower first. So back to the guesthouse we went.

After my shower I realised I could not put my jeans back on. They were disgusting. Sticky. Dirty. All around gross. But I had no other pants to wear because I had no other pants to bring to Cambodia! So there was no choice but to go out in my 7-year-old hockey shorts.

After showering we took our last ride in the van with Chad. He dropped us off at Seeing Hands, a massage parlour chain that's run by a Japanese NGO dedicated to helping the blind find work. All the masseurs in the parlour are blind, and extremely good at their job. But before going in for some flesh-kneading, we took a couple of photos with Chad and he gave us his email address. "Tell your friends if they come to Siem Reap, I can drive them," he said. And so I am telling you.

Uma, the Russian and I went for a massage while Fa.rah and S.oo Hia.n walked around Bar Street, just a street away.

The Seeing Hands parlour was kind of smelly, but my nose got used to the smell soon enough, especially when the hands of my masseuse started working on my back. It was the best massage I've ever received in my life. And it cost US$4! When I tipped my masseuse, she hugged me in delight. It was so sweet. But she fell off the massage table while massaging my legs, so it would have been heartless not to tip.

During the massage, there was a man next to me who kept moaning out loud, both in pleasure and pain. I couldn't really tell which table it was coming from, and I actually thought it was the Russian at first. I thought, "Oh my god why is he acting like such a retard I am so embarrassed I am so glad these people can't see that he came in with me."

But then I realised that the noises were coming from the fat white guy right next to me. (The Russian was two tables away from me; Moaning Man was in between the two of us.) So I turned my head to him and said, "You're making so much noise, I was wondering if something was wrong."

He said he was moaning in pain because the masseuse was kneading his Achilles' tendon and it was sore. We then went on to have a conversation. He was from Sydney. He had been visiting the floating village and flooded forest all day. He had gotten a three-day Angkor ticket before that and so had finished touring all the temples. He had visited Singapore before, and stayed in the Raffles Hotel. It had cost him $23 a night then; it was 1975.

After the massage the three of us went to meet Farah and Soo Hian at the Blue Pumpkin. On the way there we found a clothing store and I found a nice pair of army green cargo pants for US$10 that fit perfectly. I wore them out of the store, keeping my hockey shorts in my bag. Not even in Cambodia are hockey shorts cool enough to wear outside.

When we met Far.ah and Soo Hi.an, they commented that I now looked like a hardcore traveller who'd been backpacking for six months, especially since I was wearing my Beer Lao t-shirt.

Dinner was at a restaurant whose name I have forgotten, mainly because it was a meal that should be forgotten. Our food took about an hour to come.

While waiting for our food, this conversation took place:

Russian: So.o Hia.n, let's say you were in a boat and there were four kids drowning in front of you. One of them is your son, who is very fat. The other three are skinny Cambodian children. If you save your son, you can't fit any of the other kids on the boat. Or you could save the three kids and let your son drown. What would you do?
SH: Why would my son be fat? His father is not fat what.
(A small discussion ensues, and I've forgotten what SH's final answer was.)
Russian: Ok Fa.rah, what would you do?
Far.ah: I would get the three Cambodian kids to help my son into the boat.
Russian: Yas.mine?
Me: I'd let the fat kid die. In the long run, the three Cambodian children can grow up and work for me, while the fat kid will just eat and eat and use up all my money.

Everyone then agreed that my answer was the most logical.

When the food finally came, it was disappointing. Um.a and Far.ah's grilled fish came in tiny portions, while the Russian and my grilled beef were of the consistency of pencil erasers. My jaw hurt trying to chew the steak. I gave up, eating only my salad and bits of Soo Hian's pasta.

Travel food lesson #1: Don't order red meat unless you're very very sure they can do it properly, i.e. it's recommended by Lonely Planet.

After dinner we walked around Bar Street and found an art store selling paintings by Stef, a French-Canadian artist who draws pictures of happy Cambodians and works with NGOs that help Cambodian children. They were really nice paintings, but too expensive for us. Even the t-shirts were too expensive.

After that we took a nice walk back to our guesthouse on the dark streets. When we got back to the guesthouse, the owner's dog, Pickle was so happy to see us he licked our hands and frolicked around us and then -- went straight for So.o Hi.an's Crocs.

They dog started chewing on the Crocs while they were on his feet and he had to wiggle his way out of them. Then he tried to pull his shoe away from the dog's mouth but there was just no way. We're talking about a HUGE dog. On its hind legs it's about my height.

Of course the rest of us just stood around and laughed because Crocs are fucking ugly.

The guesthouse and dog owner came by and helped Soo Hian out though. Also he told us that the dog was only 10 months old!!! And then the dog went and played with the cat Branston, which involved a lot of biting. It didn't look much like playing to me but what do I know?

We went up and slept. Tomorrow morning, another early day -- catching the 7.30 bus to Battambang.

For a more concise and much funnier summary of the whole trip, read the Russian's account at http://wifflewiffle.vox.com.

We met at the airport at 4 a.m. all bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived. All of us felt like we looked like shit, so no photos were taken. Changi Airport is very quiet and mostly empty at 4 a.m; I didn't expect that. Most shops were closed.

The flight was on time but -- none of the passengers were allowed to use the toilets for the duration of the flight! Something to do with a water problem? So I land in Siem Reap busting for a pee.

We touched down at 7 a.m. Cambodia time. The morning air was cold. Ours seemed to be the only flight coming into the airport at the time. There also seemed to be only one belt for incoming luggage. Immigration was very slow. It took us one hour to get out of the airport! But this airport is still much nicer than Don Muang.

We peed and got outside. Our driver from the guesthouse was waiting to pick us up. He had been waiting for us for 2 hours!

The drive to the guesthouse reminded me a lot of Langkawi. However there were much nicer buildings here. A lot of nice hotels. Architecture is generally one of Cambodia's strong points -- ancient, colonial, contemporary; they have good-looking buildings. We got to the guesthouse and checked in. While lying prone on our beds, Uma and I proceeded to tease Far.ah about things I'm sure she'd prefer I didn't mention. Then we washed up, met the boys and went downstairs to have breakfast at the gueshouse restaurant. Breakfast was pretty expensive. Everything's in US dollars here! We aren't as rich as we thought we would be!

After breakfast we got the same driver, Chad, to take us to see the floating village of Kompong Chnang. We'd decided to save the Angkor temples for Day 2. During the ride we discussed what to do after the floating village, but there wasn't much of a conclusion.

Chad took us to a harbour of sorts, where we got on a boat and took a one-hour cruise on the lake. We peered into a lot of houses, several schools, a couple of churches, even a pig farm, all on the lake.

At one point I turned around and asked Farah, "Shouldn't this be the Tonlé Sap?" She said, "No, this is the Tonlé Saab or something like that."

In the middle of the floating village the boat stopped us at a tourist trap, a shop and restaurant on a boat. The top floor of the boat offered us a nice view of the village, as well as of the boats (and basins) of kids crowding the shop-boat touting goods to the tourists.

The Russian and I bought a painting from the shop-boat for US$5. Later in Phnom Penh, we will realise that we had been ripped off.

After the boat-shop we took our boat back to the harbour and got back on our van.  We rode off, still not knowing what to do next. Chad had said earlier that he could try to get us into a mountain temple, but then now he was saying we couldn't do that without an Angkor ticket. We thought about going to the flooded forest, but then Chad pointed out that we should have done that while at the floating village. If we wanted to go now we would have to pay for a boat again, and then another US$25 to go into the flooded forest.

We all felt kind of annoyed at the miscommunication but had to move on, so we ended up at the Landmine Museum.

It was an open air museum, basically just an open space with a couple of tents showing posters, videos, articles and stories about landmines and landmine victims. There were animals walking all over the place, mostly dogs but also one huge pig. There were houses in the museum compound and all around it so there were lots of people, some of them landmine victims.

Also there were thousands of landmines all over the place -- hanging on the trees, laid out on the ground, being used as paperweights for the flyers. They were all supposed to be very safe but I didn't dare touch any of them.

 

As if that wasn't depressing enough, I came across a dying kitten. It was skinny as hell and meowing non-stop. Well not so much mewoing as squeaking. I had no food to give it and the shop across the museum didn't sell anything a kitten could eat. I petted it a bit and it immediately became attached to me. It crawled onto my leg and sat there.

Then this Cambodian girl about 4 years old came, took the kitten, flipped it backwards and threw it on the ground. I screamed. I thought, "Ok that's it. No more Third World travelling -- it's way too depressing." Also, "I hate Cambodia."

I took the kitten to a bench, where it snuggled up against my leg. I sat there feeling sad and helpless. Then the Russian said, "Dying cats are supposed to be very affectionate." I cried.

I walked away from the kitten when my friends looked for me. I stood around waiting for them to finish buying landmine t-shirts. When I looked over at the bench I saw a landmine victim, a guy in his 20s probably, petting the kitten and that made me feel a bit better and more forgiving towards the Cambodian people. Then I stood around waiting some more and a souvenir-seller came up to me and tried to make conversation in very bad English.

Finally we got back on the van, all the while being mobbed by kids trying to sell us crappy souvenirs. We gave them two bottles of water instead, and they kept asking for more. Even when you shut the door of your vehicle they stand outside and shout at you. It's just terribly depressing.

We then went back to our guesthouse and ventured outside on foot to look for lunch. Being the pathetic travellers that we were, we ventured about ten footsteps, into a thoroughly disgusting, unhygienic Chinese restaurant. Needless to say, the girls were utterly horrified while the boys were excited about what food would appear before us.

There was used tissue paper all over the cement floor of the restaurant, and I do mean ALL OVER. There were dogs running around everywhere. The tables and menus were greasy. The guy who came to take our order had a lit cigarette in his mouth. The Russian had a fun time laughing at our distress and betting that the food would be delicious.

The food tasted ok actually, but soaked in oil. Not that we were expecting anything else -- the menu said that all the dishes were cooked in "oyster oil". Not oyster sauce, mind you. Oyster oil. And that's what we got. Oodles of it.

We then took the van and made our way to Angkor Wat to catch the sunset. I didn't do much research on Angkor Wat before the trip and I hadn't seen a lot of photos of the temple, so when it first came into view, it was breathtaking. Really majestic. Too bad about the hordes of tourists.

 

We walked around the temple and waited for sunset. It was too late for us to climb to the top of the temple, they were closing, but we watched and laughed at other tourists making their trembling way down the steep steps of the Angkor.

We then went back to the guesthouse, washed up and went out again for dinner. Dinner was at Bar Street, the Holland Village of Siem Reap. There were a lot of really cool, chic places there.  After walking  around what seemed like  hours, we finally settled on a restaurant called Le Tigre de Papier and had Khmer food. It was ok, nothing exceptional.

During dinner I borrowed one of my friends' Lonely Planet guides and looked at the map of Cambodia. Well guess what, my suspicions were confirmed -- we had visited the Tonlé Sap after all!

After dinner we moved on to Blue Pumpkin, a café that was recommended by Lonely Planet. It turned out to be the best part of the day, because we are all fucking First World bourgeosie.

First, the second floor of Blue Pumpkin was made up of bean bags and tables and fans. There was nobody there so we conquered the entire area. Then we were served iced water and mint-scented wet towels!!! Everyone made orgasm noises while using the towels to wipe our faces, necks and arms. For the rest of the trip, we kept talking about these mint-scented wet towels.

Then we ordered dessert and drinks. I had a wonderful sundae made of mango and chocolate ice cream with mint-flavoured honey and mango slices. The Russian had this great shake made of coconut and berries. So.o Hia.n had a bottle of Angkor beer. Um.a and Far.ah, in a flash of genius, ordered the same drink: the Morning Glory Fizz. It tasted like Chinese herbs plus donkey sweat. They then spent the rest of the evening trying to force others to finish their disgusting drinks for them. Giving up, they ordered a caramel-chocolate ice cream-kahlua sundae instead.

And then we went back to our guesthouse to sleep, promising to meet the next morning at 4.30 a.m. to catch the sunrise at Angkor Wat.

Yesterday, Mr Bob took the day off from work. We watched Quinceanera, which was pretty good. Then we went book shopping. He bought for me Moby Dick in English, and two books in French: Anton Chekov's Stories for Laughing and Smiling, which was originally in Russian, and Albert Camus' L'etranger. Getting to read Camus in its original language -- I'm excited to no end.

Then we ate a buffet dinner at Intercontinental Hotel, because he had vouchers so we could eat for free! We had: salad, then soup and bread with dips (hummus, cranberry/beetroot/some red plant, pesto in olive oil and crushed olives in olive oil), then fresh seafood, then pasta (me: fettucine in pesto and garlic, him: fettucine bolognaise), then one thin slice of beef and a small portion of seafood crepe shared (because by this time we were pretty much full), then dessert (me: chocolate croissant pudding, him: apple pie) and tea.

The food was very good, but I didn't think it was worth the original price of $52+++ per head. I'm proud to say that we didn't waste any food! Well ok, I wasted half a cookie which I nibbled at but couldn't finish for fear of vomiting.

It has been a very good break so far. I'm flying off to Langkawi tonight, with my family. I have to share a room with my brothers, which makes me nervous. And I have to spend three whole days with my parents, which I'm starting to fear might not have been a good decision on my part. Wish me luck!

Also thank you to everyone who remembered my birthday and dropped me a note. It really means a lot.

Are there any snacks, food or candy that are no longer made that you desperately miss?

Old-school Milo bars, which were basically compact bars of Milo powder coated in chocolate. The crappy rice-coated ones they sell now are gross.

Also that red popsicle in the shape of a hand. And sour plum popsicles. I used to have these all the time when I lived with my grandparents.

These are still available but I rarely see them and I haven't had them in about 14 years: ice cream cake rolls.

I haven't had any ice cream in an incredibly long time.

You know, in case you want to surprise me with a treat or anything like that.

What's your morning beverage of choice?  Coffee, tea, juice?  Homemade or store-bought?

Vox has a "Question of the Day" every day just in case you don't know what to blog about. Today's question is "What's your morning beverage of choice?  Coffee, tea, juice?  Homemade or store-bought?" and considering the pancake photo and breakfast-related self-description, I thought it was only apt that I wrote about breakfast.

I love breakfast. I adore all the things that people traditionally eat for breakfast. Pancakes, waffles, toast, cereals, scrambled eggs, orange juice, milk.

I don't just like eating them; I like the way they look too. I like milk cartons, and I like looking at milk being poured into a glass filled with ice (they do this at Spinelli's when you order a chocolate drink). I like photos of food, especially breakfast items, and especially breakfast items that can talk. I was with Joon at Kino some time back (well, in June, actually, because I remember it was around her birthday) and we came across this notepad with pictures of pancakes, cupcakes and cups of coffee with faces drawn onto them. One of the captions read "There is no accounting for this taste".

Needless to say, I was jubilant that some Japanese people shared my unaccountable tastes, and bought it. I still haven't used a single page. But that has more to do with impracticality than preciousness. Writing fancy notes to your friends somehow only seems right when you're sitting in a classroom.

But back to breakfast -- I wrote that I was a maker of wholesome breakfasts. This is not entirely true. I've never made pancakes or waffles from scratch. I guess I could if I looked up the recipes, but I don't really have time to make baked breakfast goods these days, you know. Of course I can toast bread and add milk to a bowl of cereal but what retard can't?

That's what I had this morning -- a bowl of cereal with milk. Just good old-fashioned cornflakes with no sugar or funky flavours. I wanted to add bananas to the bowl but apparently a family of monkeys broke into the house and stole the bananas that my mother bought yesterday, because they were nowhere to be seen. And there's just no way my brothers could have finished the whole bunch overnight, is there?

So imagine this wonderful wholesome breakfast, without the bananas:

My mother used to make these fantastic banana pancakes for us when we were little.

I can't remember -- did we manage to eat banana pancakes in Laos? I only remember the giant omelette.

Oh oh oh do you remember the huge breakfast we had