It is a bit chilling when thinking about Cambodia of the sixties and seventies with Pol Pot and his Khmer Rouge that led to the Killing Fields. The Khmer Rouge still has some strongholds today which have deterred Yanks like me from playing tourist. Two prior attempts to get here were a timing problem the other was misinformed Chinese agent in Guangzhou telling me there was too much unrest for Americans to travel there. The Kingdom of Cambodia today has Norodom Sihanouk, another echo of the past, in his eighties still enshrined as father of the King.
In my plight to get here, I had confirmed my plan by phone with the agent back in Bangkok. As language problems have it, my paperwork noted tour arrangements w
hich explained the seemingly high price when all I asked for was plane fare and a hotel. So be it. Upon arrival in Siem Reap, the swarms of Japanese tourists were looking for their respective guides. I felt I would locate my Pink Rose Tour just to get to the hotel but I saw no funny pink flag waving. As I made my way to find a taxi, I spotted my misspelled name on a banner held by a concerned guide. I was his only client so this might work after all. His name was Vishnu and he was quick to say he was Buddhist not Hindu as the name might imply. He struggled to pronounce my name, so I said, “Call me Raja but I am not Hindu.” Driving from the airport I saw fields of rice being tilled by water buffalo, this was the classic sight I had sought in Vietnam in 1994. Before me was the Orient I had expected to find in prior travels. Cambodia is emerging from fifty years of war torn oppression such misfortune gives us a glimpse of their time lapse.
My Sofitel Royal Angkor was the best hotel to continue my indulgence. It’s too much of a contrast to those in the rice paddies, sorry. The appreciative staff was so good in every way. You can tell those that find gratitude in having a job – it is not servitude. The food selection and preparation put it outside its environment. I doubt the owners were seeing a return on their investment with such a minimal guest list but then it was the off-season.
The sight and feel of the ruins were, in a word, fulfilling. I may have been more enraptured with the aspect of just being there. In trekking through England several years ago, I overheard someone say “Another bloody castle and another bloody cathedral.” Not to belittle the majestic sight of such a wonder but once the awe subsided Angkor Wat, Thom, or the Leper King did not matter. Maybe when the heat and humidity are at 100, little matters. Drenched in perspiration, I took liberty to tell Vishnu that we will not change Angkor but Angkor will change us unless we succumb to vendors selling cold beer.
Princess Diana’s land mine campaign will continue in this country for years to come. A group of mine victims played music for the cause in the ruins of Bayon. Shamefully the United States never took up the cause as we were the origin of so many. Our flight from Vietnam led to Cambodia’s destruction by the Viet Cong and the ascension of Pol Pot. Time seems to have healed the wounds we left in this area. It is probably given from the nirvana of Buddhism or just a generation looking forward.
In my plight to get here, I had confirmed my plan by phone with the agent back in Bangkok. As language problems have it, my paperwork noted tour arrangements w
hich explained the seemingly high price when all I asked for was plane fare and a hotel. So be it. Upon arrival in Siem Reap, the swarms of Japanese tourists were looking for their respective guides. I felt I would locate my Pink Rose Tour just to get to the hotel but I saw no funny pink flag waving. As I made my way to find a taxi, I spotted my misspelled name on a banner held by a concerned guide. I was his only client so this might work after all. His name was Vishnu and he was quick to say he was Buddhist not Hindu as the name might imply. He struggled to pronounce my name, so I said, “Call me Raja but I am not Hindu.” Driving from the airport I saw fields of rice being tilled by water buffalo, this was the classic sight I had sought in Vietnam in 1994. Before me was the Orient I had expected to find in prior travels. Cambodia is emerging from fifty years of war torn oppression such misfortune gives us a glimpse of their time lapse.My Sofitel Royal Angkor was the best hotel to continue my indulgence. It’s too much of a contrast to those in the rice paddies, sorry. The appreciative staff was so good in every way. You can tell those that find gratitude in having a job – it is not servitude. The food selection and preparation put it outside its environment. I doubt the owners were seeing a return on their investment with such a minimal guest list but then it was the off-season.
The sight and feel of the ruins were, in a word, fulfilling. I may have been more enraptured with the aspect of just being there. In trekking through England several years ago, I overheard someone say “Another bloody castle and another bloody cathedral.” Not to belittle the majestic sight of such a wonder but once the awe subsided Angkor Wat, Thom, or the Leper King did not matter. Maybe when the heat and humidity are at 100, little matters. Drenched in perspiration, I took liberty to tell Vishnu that we will not change Angkor but Angkor will change us unless we succumb to vendors selling cold beer.Princess Diana’s land mine campaign will continue in this country for years to come. A group of mine victims played music for the cause in the ruins of Bayon. Shamefully the United States never took up the cause as we were the origin of so many. Our flight from Vietnam led to Cambodia’s destruction by the Viet Cong and the ascension of Pol Pot. Time seems to have healed the wounds we left in this area. It is probably given from the nirvana of Buddhism or just a generation looking forward.
Faced with a 6 AM flight out of Bangkok, I had chosen the last flight from Siem Reap at 8 PM. Of course, I wanted the most time in Cambodia there was no way I could get a hotel with 10 hours transit time. At 10 PM, a sign on the Northwest desk said check in would begin at three AM. I rolled my luggage into a baby changing stall and got into some fresh traveling clothes. A floor above the departure counters was the nice Sky Lounge Restaurant that fit my situation. Once I staked my claim with a grilled salmon dinner and a bottle of red wine in a setting made for six, I sipped Perrier for three hours with my laptop. Call me ‘the Bobble-Head on the Balcony”. Who needs a first class lounge?
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