IT'S almost ALIVE

I know, I know, it's been a minute. It's been quite frankly an absurdly large number of minutes. HOWEVER, I am happy to report that within the next couple of days you should see this space transform into a new Travel Wrong with some very exciting news!

(It's a book. The book is coming. I know, right?!)

STAY TUNED

Ending With A Full-Auto Whimper/SIEM REAP - HOME

It's a very lazy morning at Lazy Gecko. I lounge around for hours in the guesthouse's restaurant, mostly trying to use the shittiest wi-fi in the southern hemisphere and getting angrier and angrier. There's a guy at the table across from me on his own laptop, and there's no way whatever bullshit he's trying to look up is as important as the bullshit I'm trying to look up. I've got trivial nerd shit to look at, buddy. When at last I can't take the torment anymore of waiting whole minutes for a single picture to load, I pack my shit and check out at the front desk. I'll also need a bus ticket to Siem Reap, and ask for the schedule.

Turns out there are only two buses a day, and after wasting the morning trying to feed my internet addiction I missed the first one. The next bus isn't till 6 pm, which means not getting into Siem Reap till midnight. Whoops. If only there was a lesson to be learned from this, but for the life of me I can't imagine what. Better kill some time trying to load more websites. I'm smart though, so I go to a fancy foreigner bar called FCC that has better wi-fi.

After an uneventful bus ride, I'm picked up at the Siem Reap station by Saby, a driver from the Sweet Dreams Guesthouse. Sweet Dreams has some sort of partnership with Lazy Gecko, probably family relations, so I get a discount on top of a free ride from the bus stop. Once I've got my bags into his car, however, the guy asks if I'd like to go drinking with him before the guesthouse. Would I ever!

He takes me to Pub Street, where people in the know may find one or two places to get a drink.

Just another Travel Wrong Travel Tip!

Basically Siem Reap's take on Khao San Road, but less busy and a little less grimey, although not by much. We walk into The Temple, and while I'm on the lookout for scams and/or murder plans, Saby goes ahead and buys us a round. We're then joined by his friend, who genuinely seems to be interested in having a drink. I can probably relax.

His friend elbows me in the side, and I follow his gaze down to see that my bag of weed has fallen out of my pocket and onto the seat cushion. "Be careful!" he admonishes, grinning. "You get in a lot of trouble! Me I don't care, my family grows this, but you should not have in public!"

Eyes bugging out of my head, I embarrassedly thank him and shove the bag deep back into my pocket. NEVER RELAX.

After enough drinks with my very understanding but kind of boring hosts, I get up to dance. One British gal appreciates the deft manner in which I cut a rug, and following some inoffensive chats I agree to meet her tomorrow night. Her face nor her conversation are particularly exciting, so let's just put a pin in that for now.

Angkor Wat calls in the morning, however, so I need to try and get at least a couple hours sleep. The touts offering rides outside on Pub Road are particularly aggressive, but I've got my buddy from Sweet Dreams ready to drive me to the guesthouse. He reveals that he's also available as a personal driver for my own Angkor tour. His daily rate of $10 USD seems very reasonable, and I'm too tired of endless haggling and bargain shopping to fight him on it. Plus, it'd be nice to just have this sorted and be able to just get going in the morning. As he drives, we hash out a tour plan. Saby seems personally offended that I only have 2 days to do Angkor before I need to go back to Siem Reap to fly home, but professional that he is he puts a compressed itinerary together for me in spite of his objections.

Once again, my room at the guesthouse is a massive, undecorated cavern with two beds, and a table with two stools. Perfect for all those travelers "finding themselves", and find they are a person who is essentially alone in life. Or, "The High School Math Teacher Special".

I rise bright and early to meet Saby and start the tour. After buying the $40 3-day pass (they really push the 3 day thing, as if all temples aren't essentially the same stone Buddha box under a wacky roof), Saby drives me on his motorbike straight to the main attraction.

Hard to miss

Angkor Wat is actually just one temple among hundreds in the full Angkor Archaeological Park, which is pretty much the same deal as Bagan in Burma (but with actual UNESCO support). Still, being the capital temple of the Khmer empire, the temple grounds of Angkor Wat are sprawling like none I've seen before. Turns out, it is in fact the largest religious monument in the world. I recommend not having holes in your flip-flops before tackling it.

More like UNESCO World Blister-age Site

It's the epitome of one of those places that you could keep returning to over a few days and every time discover something new, or at least tell yourself that you're going to be one of those people, truly appreciating every fine detail of this ancient, magnificent place. Better people. People who aren't going to decide the day could be better spent stoned waiting for YouTube videos to load because you need a rest day after being so cultural. Exhausting people.

The bas-reliefs are definitely the real highlight, and showcase all sorts of nutty scenes. Battles, victories, mythological dudes doing mythological deeds...

Dozens of gods and demons using a giant snake to churn up a sea of milk in order to create an immortality elixir...

And the ensuing after-party warehouse rave.

I'm not surprised it's top of all those "101 Places to See Before You Die" lists. I wander breathstruck through old libraries, courtyards, towers, and water basins.

Somehow the image of this filled with water and people frolicking in it because they didn't know what germs were is just incredibly vivid and enlightening to me. I can't explain it.

Before today I had no real conception of the Khmer Empire, and now...I'd almost be willing to learn more. I would definitely watch the Hollywood blockbuster loosely and irreverently based on one of the Khmer's treasured stories, inevitably cast with all the White A-Listers in yellowface England has to offer.

Ooo, or maybe a white guy who turns out to be the Chosen One, and is better at being Khmer than all the Khmers? Methinks I've got a screenplay to write!

Once I've speed-walked (sped-walk?) through everything else I can find that isn't blocked off for restoration work, I leave to find Saby and move on. While I'm looking for him, some kids call out that they like my watch, and one of them offers to trade his calculator watch for my shitty Timex. Thing is, I like my shitty Timex, but no sooner had I turned him down that he starts asking about my licensed Guinness-brand flip flops, offering his white plastic sandals in return. I show him the ridiculously large holes I've worn straight the soles, and he's still in. My scumbag backpacker instincts say yes, if just for the quirky story factor alone, but my lame first-world fears of fake watches and foot fungus continue to win out the day. There's something romantic to me about ending the trip with the same corporate whore-flops I started with. I'll tell people that my feet getting stabbed by rocks through the holes lets me feel even closer to the temples. Maybe I could start a whole line of pre-holed sandals, cash in on that "barefoot shoe" fad.

Turns out I was looking in completely the wrong place for Saby, and now we're an hour behind schedule. Somehow, Saby is more upset than I am about this, and lays into me about the stuff we're going to have to skip. I'm sorry I let you down, Saby.

I don't know what temples I was forced to miss, but we end the day with a couple of tourist classics. First, Bayon temple in the ancient city of Angkor Thom, which has some cool snake heads on the road leading in.

Tell everyone they're called "naga". Be the coolest person in your social group!

At Bayon I walk surreptitiously behind other peoples' tour guides so's I can actually get the scoop on these sweet, sweet bas-reliefs. I'm batty for bas-relief.

Yeah, that's the stuff

Ye Olde Cock Fight? You're crazy, man, and I dig it

Some artisan spent days carving a dude getting eaten by an alligator, and I bet I will never know job satisfaction like that.

This is literally just a depiction of petty theft. History!

Wikipedia tells me it is the best example of the Baroque style of Khmer architecture, as opposed to the Classical style of Angkor Wat. More importantly, it's the temple with All The Faces.

Here are some of the multiple faces in this temple.

Here is the photo-op that all guides will insist you take, because there is something inherently compelling about giving the sacred image of an ancient king some eskimo kisses.

After Bayon, we venture out to Ta Prohm, which in Khmer loosely translates to "the one with the tree that was in Tomb Raider for a minute". Not as many bas-reliefs here, just quality tree.

You know the one.

Come evening time, Saby's got a great spot in mind to see the sunset. Turns out, it's the same great spot every tourist has in mind to see the sunset: the Phnom Bakheng temple-mountain. As we pull up to the temple, it already looks overrun by a colony of Polo-wearing ants.

After fighting and jostling for position, it's too cloudy to really see the damn sunset, and security guards make us leave just when some colors start to come through.

Saw some monkeys playing Tarzan. Not a total bust.

Saby now takes me to see an addition of my own to our itinerary, the Saturday night performance of Beat Richner. He's a Swiss pediatrician who opened a children's hospital in Siem Reap and plays a solo cello performance every Thursday and Saturday to raise funds. And his hospital treats all children completely for free, because this dude is serious about making every other single human being on Earth look like a total dick in comparison.

He plays under the stage name "Beatocello", because he is the most boss.

There's an intermission, which I use to chill out from feeling the worst about my life ever by smoking some weed in the bathroom. Quick recipe for anxiety: try to get high in a foreign country when surrounded by security and upstanding citizens who just want to watch the world's best man alive contestant play some frigging cello.

When cello-guilt time has ended, and at times it seemed like it never would, Saby takes me back to my room where I watch dumb shows on my netbook and smoke weed mostly just to practice joint rolling. I roll around in my head the notion of going out to meet the girl from the night before, but I'm tired and extremely low on funds, and I've got to wake up for the sunrise over Angkor Wat, and she's probably not even there. Or maybe she is, and I'm the asshole now. It's possible, and you know who I blame? If you thought my own lack of accountability, get straight out of town. No, I blame the British Empire, upon which the sun never set, for sending all their deviants and miscreants to that sunburnt country. Those Australians ruined me. I had the passing thought to write "cunt-ry", but I yet retain a shred of class. And they're not all bad. Dan, who let me stay on his couch in Perth while my skin was molting, for one.

Now, to see the sunrise over Angkor Wat, which as I understand it is a Very Important Thing to See (TM), one must wake up at 4:30, to be ready to go at 5. That's A.M. Maybe you're familiar with sunrise schedules, I don't know, but to me this feels like some Guantanamo Bay shit. Yes, I am aware that I am both soft and dated in my torture references, thus making me appear even more soft. I am in fact so soft that writing "soft" doesn't even look right to me. I'm as soft as a child's whisper. I'm as soft as that coat Cruella DeVille wanted to make presumably would be. I was dealt a soft hand in this life, and all things considered, it was a pretty good hand. See, my privilege even extends to mixed metaphors.

AND there are crowds?! Ol' Noam Chomsky's gonna have something to say about this, mark my words.

So is it worth it? You tell me:

In a word: notreallyunlessmaybeyouhavebetterweatherconditionsthanididbutactuallytheweatherwasprettygoodsomaybethisisasgoodasitgets. You may have been in Southeast Asia too long if you find yourself wishing for a good crop burning to really make the colors pop. The big photo-op people are all nuts for is that reflection of the temple in the water, which is fine, if you want to get up super early to take the exact same photo as everyone else of a reflection.

Which I totally did. Maybe you will be the chosen one who can break the cycle.

Since I am awake (against every fibre of my being), I decide to at the same time "bake" in one of the little pagodas out front. However, I still have either too many or too few fingers to roll properly, and abjectly fail. I see some cool animals though. THERE'S your real reason to get up for this sitch.

I'm in line behind him for the photo.

I feel like this horse has to belong to someone, but that person was not forthcoming. As far as I am aware, Angkor Wat just has a loose horse. Are you missing a horse? In Cambodia? I may have found your horse.

As I'm wandering around in search of anything I didn't already see yesterday, a couple girls from the bus down to Siem Reap recognize me. I walk around with them for a bit and grab a leisurely breakfast right outside Angkor Wat. I don't remember the name of the place, but their ravioli fish amok was on point. Whatever that place was, definitely check it out.

After a few chats, I return to Saby, who is once again very perturbed by my lengthy break in our schedule. I apologize to my driver with whom the employer-employee dynamic is becoming increasingly confused, and we continue on to what is known as the Big Circuit of temples. It's also called the Grand Circuit, but actually compared to yesterday's Small Circuit these temples kinda pale in comparison. GRAND STATUS REVOKED

The problem is after so many temples, none of these have a gimmick, and I'm too cheap to afford a guide who can provide a narrative one.

Take Preah Khan.

Please!

It's big, it's got this thing I don't remember the reason for posing next to...

It's got a little bas-relief business going on...

It's got a strangely auspicious stone knob...

A big bell...

And even one of those Ta Prohm-style strangler fig trees coming in to mess shit up, albeit in a much less photo-worthy way.

You're a decent all-rounder Preah Khan, but the competition out here is fierce. I need more gimmick. Up next is Neak Pean, which is not really a temple, nor a name that will ever feel right typing out. Really, it's just a few small ponds with some stoney bits around a bigger pond with a bigger stoney bit in the middle.

Tell me I'm wrong.

Some of the stoney bits have fun animal fellas inside, but I'm afraid it's not enough to compete with Bayon's All The Faces.

We now interrupt our underwhelming tour for a breaking news bulletin: Shooting stuff is awesome. When it is not directly preceded by evidence of man's capacity for evil, that is. Saby drops me off at a shooting range run by what seem to be actual soldiers, renting out actual guns from their actual military.

Whatever dudes, I'm in.

My elation is bittersweet, however: while I had read about this beforehand, and knew there existed the possibility of shooting off an actual RPG, it costs a whopping 500 dollars American for the privilege, which is pretty much all I have left to my name at this point and necessary to get back to Phnom Penh and then home. I simply do not have the money to realize my bazooka dreams. While the possibility of using my remaining funds to render the Earth asunder and then ask family/friends for more cash does cross my mind, that's some On the Road-type shit and I am nothing if not better than Jack Kerouac in every way. Plus, I already did that, and am totally already running on borrowed money.

I will have to settle for shooting an AK-47, at the less immodest sum of 50 bucks for a full clip. I'd also read that for extra money these places will give you a chicken or even a cow to use as a target, but this place doesn't, and I am totally fine with that.

Pew pew

30 rounds later, my hands are shaking and stained with gun oil, and it feels pretty great. A greater phallus surrogate our species has never made. Well, perhaps the rocket launcher, but best to forget that for now...

A+, Would fire automatic weaponry again

Last and some would say least, Saby takes me to Pre Rup temple-mountain. I'm starting to think the Khmer have never seen a mountain before. I'll give them sunset-disappointer Phnom Bakheng, which did take a good half hour to get up to, but a lifelong smoker could jog up Pre Rup and not even feel winded.

Make sure you take some safety stops so as to acclimatize yourself to the intense altitude.

I'M KING OF THE WORLD! EAT A DICK IN HELL, TENZING NORGAY!

The standout feature of Pre Rup are these three pagodas at the top:

They're special because there's three of them.

They have a good number of steps to get up to be fair, but only because you have to go down first. Maybe temple-caldera or temple-lava dome would be more apt, if not as snappy and ultimately even more of a letdown. It's another nice-looking temple, but they pretty much all are. Once you're done taking pictures in preserved doorways...

whoa so cool

...there's not a whole lot else to do or see.

Unless you know how to both play poker and speak Khmer, then I can hook you up.

And that's that. Saby takes me to back to the guesthouse to chill for a bit, before my scheduled and seemingly compulsory Apsara dinner and show. It is traditional, and thus another Very Important Thing to See (TM). I'm made to pay $12 for a buffet even though I'm not the least bit hungry, and then enjoy the classical hops and twirls of what must have been a fucking Kanye Superbowl Halftime Show a thousand years ago, but is now...less than that.

It's boring. It just is. Sorry, Cambodia. Sometimes things are boring, and that's okay. Your culture doesn't happen to have the coolest traditional dance around (yeah you know I'm looking at you Spain), and you shouldn't feel bad about that. None of your neighbors have particularly exciting traditional dances either, it's just not your thing.

If your dance involves sitting down, it's probably a warning sign.

The last I'll ever see of Saby is when he drops me off for the night at Pub Street.

Again, it's a well-kept backpacker secret, so PM me if you need info

I like that they've taken the synergistic move of turning ichthyotherapy into streetside entertainment.

I decide to start my evening at the Red Piano, where the story goes Angelina Jolie liked to hang out during the filming of Tomb Raider. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times: What's good enough for Lara Croft is good enough for me.

So Waldorf and Statler run a bar? I can see that.

Like Pub Street, it's very hard to find, almost like a speakeasy. You've gotta be in-the-know.

Their menu has a Tomb Raider cocktail, which by the old nerd rites I am obliged to order.

It's not very good.

On the plus side, they do offer a nice vantage point from which to watch Pub St and sup your gross cocktail.

Questioning my entire Lara Croft life philosophy, I hop to another bar called the Banana Leaf, and order a spicy pepper mojito, which their menu makes a lot of fuss about. It's almost undrinkable.

Fuck you, spicy pepper mojito.

On that note, I get a tuk-tuk back. So, Pub Street was a bit of a bust. And today's tour of Angkor was nice, but comparatively a bust as well. And you know what? As cool as Angkor Wat is, and Ta Prohm's tree and Bayon's All The Faces, I gotta say I had a similar yet better experience at Bagan in Myanmar. Sure, Angkor is better preserved, and more accessible, and the temples are generally bigger and grander, but there's something about the freedom and openness of Bagan that made for a much more surreal and magical environment. Angkor has crowds and constant restoration work and far more seasoned and persistent touts every step of the way, whereas in Bagan you can just explore unfettered the untouched ruins of antiquity.

Sure, I know objectively that Angkor has the more impressive temples, and is more valuable culturally, and the restoration work UNESCO oversees is invaluable, and maybe I saw Bagan first and I had that French punk with me to share the experience with and that elevated it in my mind, but...I still had the better time in Bagan, and recommend it over Angkor Wat. And I'm probably wrong and maybe you'll see it differently. I do tend to Travel...Wrong.

Oh god people please make it a thing, I will die if I am not immortalized somehow

In the morning I solemnly board the bus back to Phnom Penh. It takes awhile since we blow a tire and have to stop multiple times, but sure as shit my trip is at a close. At the final bus station I get a tuk-tuk to the Russian Market where they're supposed to have good iced coffee, but it's all closed. Typical. So instead, I ask the driver to find me some food, and he takes me to Jars of Clay, a completely women-run bakery/cafe. The cake and coffee is good. The tuna patties are meh. I sneakily dispose of the last of my weed in their bathroom garbage can. I still suck at rolling, but I'm definitely better at getting high. Later, ladies.

I manage to snag a quick snap of another Very Important Thing to See (TM), Phnom Phen's art-deco Central Market. Quirky architecture aside, if I never have to set foot in another street market for as long as I live, it will be too soon.

The driver takes me all the way to the airport, where I'm thirsty as hell but there aren't any water fountains, and water bottles cost $2.50. I consider drinking from a sink, but instead tough it out. I don't want lead poisoning, but I'm also not going to let those price-gouging bastards win. Unfortunately, I misread my flight info and it turns out my plane doesn't leave till 11 pm, and for some reason I scrambled to get here at 6 pm. It's gonna be a long, thirsty wait.

After an uneventful flight to Seoul and subsequent uneventful layover in Seoul (what the fuck guys, you're all too busy to hang), I'm finally on the way back home to Seattle, hoping my brother remembered that he needs to pick me up.

Once I touch down at Sea-Tac, I get my bag searched, even though I am not a minority. It's this weird, heavyset bro-type checking my bag though, so I'm not too worried. Also, I have nothing to hide, which helps. Although...

Uh oh. The Xanax. I never finished it.

Not to worry. It's in that secret compartment those thieves on Ko Tao found; this guy'll never find it.

HE FOUND IT. HE'S UNZIPPING IT. HE'S TAKING OUT THE XANAX BOTTLE. HE'S LOOKING INSIDE THE XANAX BOTTLE. HE'S...loudly shrugging, closing the bottle, putting it back, and zipping the compartment back up. He speaks to me.

"So you went all over Southeast Asia huh? Where's your favorite place?"

I feel like I am going to get this question a lot in the future. "Thailand's always nice."

"Oh yeah, the girls there are great."

"Yeah...I liked Vietnam too. Especially Hanoi."

"Oh yeah, they've got girls too," he says.

"Yeah," I say. "I guess."

And then he lets me go. And my brother did remember to pick me up.

And I finished with the same corporate whore-flops I started with.

THE END.

OF THIS ONE TRIP I TOOK.

I WILL PROBABLY GO ON MORE.

SO.

THE END???

I also found out that if you don't shave for like two months your moustache can do this. It came in very handy for the start of the hipster moustache craze. FOR REALSIES THE END.