Chapter 6; Southeast Asia, Chaotic Cambodia

Monday 30th November 2015

http://berriesenthusiast.com/2013/04/15/bus-from-bangkok-to-siem-reap/

Out of our pits and wide eyed by 7am, as the taxi pulled over from the busy road. After quick exchanges of goodbyes and pleasantries with our little beauty, the helpful receptionist behind the desk, we squeezed into the car and told the driver where we needed to get to. He threw us a look as if he were mystified, not understanding our already slow, guided words. So we turned to map pointing, and when he finally began to drive, we hoped that he had managed to grasp the destination. The bus wasn't due to depart until 9am, but Bangkok's peak time for traffic would have been upon us if we had left any later, and we wouldn't have been able to afford a prolonged sit in the small metal container, moving at an unimaginable pace. The funniest part about the journey was when we had to pay a fee for the toll booth. The middle aged man in the drivers seat began to vibrantly express himself by speaking in a raised Thai tongue, finger pointed to the crumpled up baht notes that were resting in the middle of the car. So, he wanted us to pay the toll. If we were meant to pay out or not, it didn't matter because it would have been far too complex if I had refused it. It was already hot out, and the combination of no breakfast, along with the stuffy interior...well, there was no space or energy left for heated conversation as well. The driver got us to the bus station in plenty of time however, and we thanked him regardless of whether he understood or not.
We checked in, then followed the scent of coffee to a food booth for breakfast. The terminal was already lively, and we noticed the expanding bundle of tourists that stood waiting outside of our designated gate. I sipped at my caffeine, inhaling it's golden aroma, expecting the drink to work it's magic soon. "Oh look," I spoke aloud, allowing the sarcasm to be clear, "Our bus is going to be a packed one, excellent!"
Mother scowled over her own coffee cup, as she chewed thoroughly on her morning meal, then swallowed before replying, derisive. "Great, more annoying travelers."
I laughed, almost choking on coffee, thinking that it was completely ironic to feel annoyance towards fellow travelers, but I agreed with her one hundred percent. Always the same conversations, almost like a battle, to who's been where and what you have done. I didn't care for boastful remarks, as if in a competition. But what is one to do? Attempt to avoid such surface chatter, and carry on. It turned out that we wasn't bothered by anybody as we boarded, and we could settle into our soft, reclining chairs at ease. The bus stopped and started as it drove through the city, but soon began cruising freely on open road. Bangkok was soon left, quite literally in the dust.. I often wonder if the slightly worrying effect of pollution will ever improve.

And so, the dreaded moment had arrived. I had researched into the worst boarder crossings in the world, and we were to embark on one of them. My senses stirred anxiously. The bus conductor began to explain about how the boarder operates, but it turned out to be quite a confusion for everybody, because his English was tremendously broken. We could not be angry at this lovely young man however, because of his constant apologies, smiling that sweet young smile of his and his innocence shedding away as he timidly spoke. A tourist on the bus could speak Thai, so there was our savior. I took back my sarcastic remarks that I had made earlier about tourist behaviour...but only a little. He translated for us all, who sat patiently, sympathetic about the entire situation.
A visa is required for Cambodia, which is certainly better to be sorted in advance. It doesn't take very long, and is just a simple process online. The less time that you spend at the boarder, the better. Trust me! We all began to descend the bus, and braced ourselves for what was to come. Out into the sun, and the scammers attempted to ambush. The both of us walked briskly to the first building, eyes cast straight ahead and ignoring the yapping about needing a 'visa'. Our passports were stamped, and the time in Thailand had come to a definite end. Mother then went ahead of me, her form disappearing among the parties of people. I couldn't seem to stop her. Out of the first building and onward to the next, although to get to it, you have to walk along a small pathway outside that joined the two together. Alone, I began to pace it along the connecting walk through and instantly spotted two young men, who seemed to be 'just hanging around.' How they were allowed to simply just 'hang' in that particular place, which was literally in between two countries, still remains a mystery to me. One of the young men looked at me, noticed that I was a party of one, then exchanged a quick gesture with his friend before moving. He fell into step next to me and began to walk in a zigzag pattern, obviously trying to attain my attention. It worked to a degree, and I immediately became suspicious. Maybe it was instinct or maybe it was luck, but something inside of me instructed myself to turn around at those precise next few seconds, which became so very crucial. I turned, and the young cretins buddy had his hand delving deep into the side pocket of my rucksack, hand enclosed on my phone and taking it out. "Hey!," I cried out, "Give me that!" My adrenaline levels raised, addressing me sharply, bringing fire. One of my own hands shot out to grab hold of him whilst the other unhooked his fingers, so I could take hold and get back the device. Out of shock and hissing under his breath, he reacted straightaway by stubbing out his lit cigarette on my wrist. I was too keyed up to notice the instant pain as I almost ran to catch up with mum, eyes blurred with tears, shocked. But I can remember the almost unreal, sudden sharp burning sensation as the cigarette end punched into my skin, as fiery as my temporary hatred that I had felt for those thieving scumbags. They stopped following, and a bout of solace washed over me greatly as I stepped into the next building, spotting mum in a queue. My knuckles were ghost white, where I was tightly gripping onto my phone. I took a moment to release it as well as my fluster, and I wiped away at my eyes to gain a clean vision again.
Mum registered the distress that possessed me as I walked towards her. "Amber, you okay? What happened?" I spilled out the scenario, trying not to cry as I did, the droplets sliding down my cheeks. The taste had been salty. The shock was the main cause of the tears, as it had all happened so very quickly. I showed her the burn, which had bubbled up with puss, the yellow substance raised and watery. The edge of it was tinged with a sore shade of crimson, and I couldn't do anything but attempt to cover it as it was prone to infection. Mother embraced me. "Oh honey, I wish I had stayed with you now, those pricks." I drew away, sweating, the air not circulating enough within the crowded queues. "It's okay, I managed."
She tutted as a look of disgust masked her face. "You must be the target for the thieves!"
I laughed without humour. "Well, aren't I the lucky one!" The attempted theft situation was the topic of conversation that made the time pass by, as we waited to get stamped into Cambodia. The bus was outside the office, and I melted into my seat as smoothly as butter spreading over toasted bread. The bus was the escape for that place, and I couldn't wait to get moving. We spotted a hotel next to the border, and god forbid whatever happens in an overnight stay there. I know that I wouldn't be able to sleep if I ever had to, because I wouldn't allow myself for it to happen. I closed my eyes and turned away from the derelict building. My head rested on mum's shoulder and she cradled me as lovingly as a

mum does, as I fell under, exhausted from it all.

Some hours later, our destination of Siem Reap had appeared. Our hostel was a small walk away from the bus drop off point, which was a bonus. The alleyway that lead up to the hotel was slightly daunting, but there was nothing that we could do about that, so we trudged through the darkness, unknown to what could be hiding in shadow. At check in, we were told that we had free breakfast every morning which I didn’t know about, and there was a swimming pool to use, free of charge. Mum and I exchanged a grin, ecstatic with the surprises, which especially seemed to be an even better result after the journey that we had just been put through. The ebbs and flows of life is something that cannot be controlled, and that is the most remarkable thing. You find the light at the end of a tunnel, but be prepared to be plunged into another darkness at any moment. Our room was on the first floor, and it was a decent space so there were no complaints to be found. Tired and weary, we didn't feel up to doing much for the remainder of the night, so we only walked into the outskirts of the town to find a supermarket for essentials. Essentials being beer and cider, of course. We drank and snacked in our room, talking away over the random sounds from our television, which spewed out random imagery on an unheard Asian channel. Then, goodnight.

Tuesday 1st December 2015

After a good night’s sleep we were refreshed. The puss in my wound had stopped weeping for the time being, and the pain had settled down. We changed out of our nightshirts and left the room once we were ready, heading down the brick coloured steps for breakfast. The young man who served us our food and beverages barely spoke any English, yet the kindest, most apologetic smile never left that face of his. Another guest was already sat opposite us. A woman, middle aged with long brown hair, dressed hippy and attempting to humour the smiling worker. I gathered that she had seen a fair amount of the world, and she proved my theory correct when she began to speak to us, chattering away about her experiences. She was currently in Cambodia to attend a yoga convention, which did not surprise me, and I admired her will to still be so free minded at her age. We were then asked about our adventures, so mother began to share them.

"Oh my," the hippy lady said at one point, her expression sour, "You went to Kuta? Why on earth did you go there? That is probably one of the worst places In Bali that you could go to!"

I tried not to reveal the growing distaste for her opinions, as she ranted away about what we should have done instead, and questioning our experience as if it had all been wrong decisions. Should it matter where we go? A walk down any pathway is part of the journey, and we shouldn't all attempt to go down the same ones. Yes, we may have stayed in the rougher parts of the island, but beauty can be revealed during every step that you take anywhere, and every corner that you walk around. To witness the true poverty and conditions of these poorer countries will stick in your mind more than just the generic watching of a sunset or lounging on a beach. There are plenty of places to do those things. We did not dictate her stories, so why do it to us? I simply sat there and wore a masked smile as mum did the speaking, and ate breakfast quickly so that we could escape. We left the hostel, walking down the alley that now seemed completely harmless in the sunlight. I tried not to rant too much about the discussion that we had just encountered, although I must have said the words 'how dare she!' more than three times.
But hey, enough of that. Our day turned out to be a content one.

We strolled around the town of Siam Reap, to collect our bearings. The food and drinks were extremely cheap, which pleased us. Mother treated herself to a vest top on one of the market stalls and I finally bought myself a book, as my desire to read had been gradually increasing as the trip went on. The energy of the town seemed to hold a more relaxed atmosphere, and we hadn't truly mellowed out for quite some time so it was the place to do so. I couldn't wait to have the coolness of the pool roll over my moist skin and my body to cut through the waters as I swim powerfully, causing a splash and tranquilising my mind into almost a numbness. I would let nothing but the meditative state of the exercise compel me. And I would tumble turn at the wall before kicking off if it, to also mentally kick away the moronic humans that shouldn't exist in this world. Starting with those two imbeciles yesterday at the boarder.
...Yes, I think a swim and a wind down was needed.

We just had to be aware because of the scams that frequently go around. The poorer the country, the more they will try to take westerners money. Lurking on the dusty streets they do, plotting their methods to withdraw your money. Watch out.

Cambodia is soaked in poverty, more so than any of the previous countries that we had journeyed through, so we had to be on the highest alert for scams. And after the boarder incident, my trust in the locals had disheartened, my senses still jittery. The poorer the country, the richer they think us westerners are. We physically slowed down a considerable amount during our stay in Siam reap. Our legs were crying out for a rest, as we had carried them around constantly, walking until our skin glistened in sweat, our thirst desperately in need of a clench, stomachs aching. We usually wander out for miles, and pack in as much as possible within the twenty four hour days, not wasting any moment. Our schedule was tight compared to others, and our combination of wanting to budget as much as possible, plus the high fitness level that we like to maintain, we go go go until almost burn out. So, it was the time to rejuvenate. The sun somehow seemed to affect us harder in the main tourist city of Cambodia, so maybe it was also voicing it's opinion and telling us to slow down, for we would surely, totally burn out, no almost about it. The pool was the saviour, and there I swam as many laps as I could muster. Back and fourth, back and fourth, meditative state as I performed the strokes. As the alcohol was cheaper, our consumption of it was higher. Have to take the opportunities when they arise, do you not? There is a road within the backpacker district called Pub Street, which is full of... Well, you can quite easily guess by the name. The Margaritas went down very nicely, it's sophisticated flavour a refreshing change from the standard bottle of beer.

Although our legs weren't covering as many miles, we still took them down the nearby streets, to witness the ways of Cambodian culture. The local families were the friendliest, always greeting us with shy smiles and a slight wave of the hand. The children ran around carelessly, always in the mood for a play. We chose to eat dinner in the restaurants that were run by such bloodlines, preferring to see genuine hard work and strong bonds as we ate, knowing that we were paying for good cause. One evening, we even dined in our hostel, with barely anybody around the long wooden table with us, lights dimmed and the stars twinkling above at the hours of twilight. I remember the dancing patterns of the ripples in the pool, with the glow of the stars reflected in it from above, caused by the slightest of warm winds that gentle caressed our skin and hair. My path to awakening was developing deeper every day, and through my research into quantum physics recently, and with the hypothesis that time could potentially all be an illusion, it had made me realise that every moment spent on this earth is vital. Drink from the present moment of life, drain it, and soak in it. Because? Everything is always unpredictable, and we do not wish to feel like that we have done nothing with our lives once we reach that stage of old age, although we are already wasting away, bodies shutting down. That is if we even make it to that milestone. Death is constantly tapping us on our shoulders, inviting

us in it's mysterious door of obsolete. If there is such a thing as time, then there is no time like the present.

Saturday 5th December 2015

We had the same option every day for breakfast, and as simple as it was, we could not get enough of it. I had become a sucker for Jam ever since pots of the stuff were sat atop the hostel kitchen table in Jakarta, and I grew excited as the morning come around to see

which particular or obscure flavour was going to be within each layout. In the Jasmine guesthouse, it was a bread and butter with strawberry jam for myself, and mother had omelette. I have said before that her savoury buds are always a preference at breakfast. Fresh fruit was also included. When you travel, you seriously begin to consider and relish the smaller things in life, which we take everyday for granted. A buttered baguette may seem like something so minor in our western culture, but to a poor Cambodian, stranded semi naked on the street, ribs so visible that you could play their body like a xylophone... well, they would see the baguette as a beacon of pure survival and importance. That baguette could save a life.
The generous portion of the morning meal set us up well for each day, especially for the epic adventure of visiting the famous Angkor Wat on one of them. I booked a package to see the temple because the size of the wonder was overwhelming, and we wouldn't know where to begin. The package included with us was being taken around the site in an old Vietnamese style jeep, and I laughed gleefully, hands clasped together, as it's wheels rolled up the dirty alley to our current residence. Both the driver and tour guide introduced themselves, a natural friendliness radiating off of them, and we made ourselves comfortable in the back of the wild vehicle, instantly at ease with our company. Humans stared as we took to the main road, in awe of the old school war machine in action, cruising at a leisure towards the famous temple, Angkor Wat.

The first part of the tour consisted of the main Angkor Wat temple. Getting our tickets was a quick and easy process. We only needed a one day pass, but there are other options to chose from as the complex is gigantic. If you want to see the magnificent wonder in full, then I would suggest taking a few days out to travel through it properly, so one doesn't have to rush.

We figured out that our guide followed a Buddhist belief, as he often passionately expressed himself with his opinions on the topics of war, politics, and religion. The three of us stepped through corridors, high and deep within the temple, with crumbling chalky walls of the dramatic architecture on either side enclosing us. He would speak continuously, talking himself almost into a frenzy, as he told us the deep history behind the significant landmark that we were stood upon. Then he would lapse into a soft silence, leaving us thought provoken, and time alone to study such a wondrous, groundbreaking beauty.
"During the war here, I was one of the many children who had been tried to be made into a machine," I remember him telling us about this particular horror, with the green plains of the fields beneath us on the ground, a carpet stretching out to meet the shaggy trees in the distance. “It was as if we were being brainwashed, and they only wanted us to do one thing, which was to kill. I luckily escaped."
He described his past trauma in such a calm manner, as if the memory hadn't been a troublesome matter. Yet, his words to me were like pins, each one stabbing away at my chest and sticking out of my heart, the thumping fading away. To speak to a being who had experienced and lived through such atrocity, and to escape from the barbaric others who were knee deep but wanted to bathe in war, was a honor for me. I grew to develop plenty of respect for this man.
It wasn't all misery, however. He would sometimes scowl over at the abundant of Chinese tourists that flocked in wide groups, looking out for nobody else but themselves."Bah, the Chinese are so noisy! And have no respect for this place," he complained, as I gave a few of the tourists a look over and noticed their skimpy outfits, flesh clearly visible and acting as a symbol of disrespect. "Come on, we will go this way so they don't go blah blah blah to us!!" And off he scurried, itching to get away from the shit show. I nudged mum in the arm and we both stifled our laughs, hurrying to catch up with remarkable nutty man.

After the main Angkor Wat, we jumped back into the jeep and we were taken through the local village. There were no other tourists around, or tuk tuks straying down the same sanded paths. We stopped along the golden road a couple of times, to be shown

some original Cambodian houses. We were even lucky to be shown around one interior and meet a family. The conditions were bad, which I had expected. The space was cramped, and after taking a couple of steps within it, you would be at the opposing wall, the end. Dust hung heavily in the air, and piles of battered, unrevealed household objects were sitting in the dark corners. The rugs were tatty rags, and old clothes were hanging over lines, draped in dismal forms. I looked at the little girl who sat in her tiny cot, where she supposedly slumbered. Her eyes locked onto mine, as bright as dancing stars that twinkle brilliantly in a galaxy. Her smile lit up the glum and sullen surroundings; the gloomy box that she had to call home. Yet, this was all she had ever known, and on her face portrayed nothing but a genuine beatitude. That little box was her home. I was moved by her adaptation and her youthful beauty, so I barely felt the tap on my shoulder by my mother, whispering that we had to leave. I tore myself away, waving goodbye to the delicate child, an angel in a manger, and knew that I would see those glittering eyes again. Sapphires they had been, as haunting as ghosts in abandoned houses.
At least she may never see the explosive destruction and the corrupt brainwashing and the terrorism that is seeming to constantly spread over the earth, like a disease. Having a little shack, with nothing but excessive nature surrounding me...well it doesn't sound like a bad concept at all. To live within a picturesque postcard, and to not rely on a level on imagination to believe that there is a true peace within society, could only result to contentedness, could it not? We stopped for a second and last time in the village, and it seemed to be a small community, designated mostly for the children. They kept close behind us on our tails as we were shown around the area, not be able to stop saying hello as their English was limited. They circled us, ecstatic to have visitors, and overcame their shyness to a point where their delicate hands were tugging on my over sized vest top. We all laughed together as the farming pigs rolled disgustingly in the wet mud, and posed for a photograph shot by mum. There was no cable here, just the traditional methods of natural, outdoor living and the only will to simply live with what you have. Witnessing no involvement with wealth or motive, or even greed, I couldn't stop myself from smiling. I felt once again humbled as it was time to leave those exuberant little souls, and we waved vigorously goodbye, their laughter fading away beneath the sound of the jeeps engine. Their forms evaporated among the dust that rose up from the run down

road, and we soon were driving through a banana farm, submerged in the trees coated with the sweet fruit until the edge of the village grounds came into view.

Our guides dropped us off at a local restaurant, as we had a lunch included in with the tour. We had just over an hour to refuel ourselves with energy and subside the moaning that could be heard from our stomachs. The set menu provided was gorgeous, several plates of traditional Asian food set before us on the white table cloth. I was bound to stain that with the chicken curry. I couldn't fault the food or service, and it was certainly worth paying for in the tour.
Ready to trek again and burn the pile of calories that we had just consumed, the jeep next delivered us to the Ta Prohm temple, which was the famous landmark for the Tomb Raider movie. A mass amount of words could never explain the treasure of a place, and it's fragile enchantment. The thick, multiple roots of the trees wound around the ancient temple wall, curved into a shape that made me think of the great legend Cthulhu, only what I was seeing was no myth. The smooth curves of the branches, so well preserved

and immovable, baffled me in a most perplexing way. For how such an abnormal structure could possibly had put it's way together? The power of natural phenomena will undoubtedly always astonish me.
We were also taken around the outskirts of the Ta Prohm grounds, off the beaten path, with no other mortals around. Just us, and the scattered flare of sunlight that peeked through the lazy trees, with the leaves rustling in fluid motion with the careful breeze. My ears tuned into their whispering, and if there wasn't a schedule that we had to attend to, I would have laid right there on the dust ridden floor, and allowed myself to be buried within the earth. The warmth that took to my face was as graceful and sensitive as a lover, and I accepted the tender kisses that it planted all over my skin. The dirt that had ascended from the moving tires of the truck, also swirled around gracefully where the sun struck the terra firma; it was as if looking into a dream, where extreme projections could

make no sense yet all of the sense at the same time. But the mother nature was tapping into the voids of my own spiritual temperament, and it was greater than any dynamics within a dream. I had no desire to leave the realms of the forest.
After adjusting to reality from the spoken words of the woods, we were driven to the Terrace of the Elephants, stopping by at the gateway to soak up an awe of its magnificence.
Then we explored the twelve Buddha towers, the gigantic Hindu temple, and the very popular Bayon Temple. So much to see, so little time. The everlasting land that surrounded us as we looked out from the top of the Hindu temple, was a landscape of lustrous beauty. All of the temples that I could see, so significant in the past for its history, all looked so microscopic from up there. Details of their stone lost within the distance, some so chipped away that they could collapse under the pressure of a a human force. Ah, the power of perception, and tricks of the mind. Descending the high building was a trifle amusing, as the stairs were almost at a straight vertical angle. I glided down the wooden ladder at ease, as I was used to climbing ladders through my old work. Those unsteady ladders that rocked from side to side, as I slided out the shoe boxes from the old shelves. So yes, it was no problem for me. Once my feet were planted firmly on the ground, I looked up to watch mum amongst other tourists struggle, encased in a fear of falling. I grabbed her hand towards the end to secure her, and I was proud of her bravery to overcome the steep drop.
There were no steps for the last of our tour, at the Bayon temple. The carvings of the Buddha faces that were set in the stone, was sculpture at its most finest. Such details a hand had created to craft these outcomes, the inscriptions and lifelike expressions that were set on those Buddha faces. I couldn't help but to reach out and feel the detail under my hand, the mixture of the rough and smooth I could feel, through the curves and dips of the historic walls. I eyed up the guide a little wearily as he approached us, because I knew what he was going to say. "I'm afraid that our time is up," he looked at me, apologetic, for he could see my reluctance to leave such a place, "If you could follow me to the jeep please." I sighed, and the three of us walked towards our traveling machine together for the final time. On the drive back, we couldn't stop thanking both of our guides and thinking that our money spent was ultimately worth every penny. The driver smiled constantly and the guide thanked us also, to then go on about how he had to pick his kids up from school once he had dropped us off. Children went to school on a Saturday in these parts? Well, that would certainly cause a stir back at home, if that decision was ever to be made back in the UK. Outside the hostel we hugged them both, said goodbye and thank you for one last time, then watched the jeep drive away down the alley and out into the road. As it had been one adventurous day, we took rest in our room and fell asleep early. I pondered for a

small while in the darkness, before my unconscious took me away, and realised that the tour of Angkor Wat had been one of the greatest experiences that I had lived through. If you plan to go to Cambodia, then you must visit, no question about it. I was smiling as sleep overcome me.

Sunday 6th December 2015

Our final day in siem reap had arrived. We relaxed around the pool for one last time during the warm morning hours, before heading out to eat in our favourite bar in the afternoon. This bar was named Viva! Which was a relaxing Mexican themed place, stationed just off of the main pub street. It was an idyllic spot to people watch as we sipped at our $1 cocktails, and we soaked up the touristic life around us as our brains soaked up the booze, like sponges to water. The food wasn't half bad either, and I was

satisfied with my order of a burrito with nachos on one of the many early evenings we sat there, outside under the looming umbrellas and shielded from the ability to sweat more. Our time in the popular town had been, like the rest of the destinations, one worthwhile, and our minds we set yet again to move on and delve deep back into the possible, lengthily wandering.

Monday 7th December 2015

Back yet again in the small dimentions of a bus office, attempting to check in. I presented the reservation to the woman behind the desk, and waited patiently as her eyes zig zagged their way rapidly over the scheduled list. Her features cast into a frown as she went over the list again, and then another time, before tearing her pupils away to meet mine. "I am afraid that you are not on the list," she stated, her tone of voice sounding confused, "Did you book this through our website?"
I blinked at her, unable to at first take in what she said because our reservation was quite clearly there on my glowing, mobile screen. "No," and swallowing heavily, needing to get the lump that had made an appearance in my throat go away, "I booked it through a website named Camboticket,"
The lady nodded slightly. "Ah, okay, well do you have a number for them? I give them a call for you to see what is wrong?"

"Ye-yes, okay sure, thank you," I stammered before searching in frantic scrolls, to find the correct number for the company. Then I sat down and sighed, and began to smile because I was actually not very surprised. There was always going to be something with mother and I traveling, was there not? Alarmed, mum looked at me. "What's happening now?!" I explained the situation to her, and mother could only raise her eyebrows slightly, tut, then lay back into the cushioned chair. "Typical."
I sniggered, and listened to the receptionist speak in her fast tongue to communicate to the receiver, even though I hadn't the foggiest idea what was being said. Minutes what seemed like hours passed, and she eventually put the phone down. "Well, it wasn't recorded for you to get on the bus," she claimed, still frowning at the mobile phone screen as if it were A grade algebra, "but you can still get on it as there is space." I released a steady sigh of relief, and thanked her. "You are welcome," she replied, the customer service with a smile trait transforming back into her, "just wait here and it shall come along soon." I hoped that the other buses that I had booked through Camboticket were legit, and knew who I was going to be emailing once we had checked into our new hotel. Yes, a hotel! We had decided to upgrade in the town of Battambang, our next point of call. The ride took an easy three hours, the journey itself being short and sweet.

http://www.canbypublications.com/cambodia/buses.htm

The bus dropped our half awake souls into the heart of the town, so we were greeted rigorously by the army of Tuk Tuks, parked up hazardously along the pavement. The drivers became just a drone to our ears, as we were experienced enough at that stage to simply cut them out and ignore them. The hotel was a stones throw away, and we only needed to turn a corner into to quieter road to be exposed to our lodging. Whilst we checked in, I noticed the lack of noise and the a familiar sophisticated essence that is so distinguished against a hostel. We were taken to our room and oh wow, was it extravagant. From the velvety looking curtains that draped across the brilliant, bright windows; to the two king-size beds, covered in silk materials that flourished with intricate, herbaceous patterns of reds and golds; to the towels sat upon them, made up into the handsome shape of a swan bird, even complete with a feathery looking tail. Such clever detail that added quality to this room, and I sprawled over one of the beds in a delight, thinking that I had just been crowned a queen and these were my royal quarters.

http://www.royalhotelbattambang.com/

There was only a couple of days to explore. We considered the idea of the general Battambang tourist attractions, but after scrolling through the various lists on the internet, we decided against them. Nothing had seemed to tempt us, so we were quite content to just leave our own footprints interspersed around the city, requiring

nothing more but ourselves and our walking shoes. All of the attractions seemed to be out of the way, so that would have been a hassle to arrange within the small window of time that we had planned to stay for. After some further digging on the world network, I had managed to find a map of Battambang that unveiled free heritage routes. I instantly laid my finger on the download button and swiftly tapped it, so the map had become part of my phones storage, ready to be accomplished. The walk was an engaging success, our minds occupied by reading the short history paragraphs about the tattered, deformed buildings, which were once vital to the city. Yet, time had left them all to gradually crumble, and there was something attractive about the cracks spiraling along the walls, unable to be controlled.The sun beams dazzled my eyes as they reflected fiercely onto the broken windows, and deprived my sight on certain letters that were printed onto the half hanging signs, colour stripped away and fading. The heritage walk not only gathered a knowledge about the architecture in the city, but a knoweldge of the many slender pathways that crossed over one another within. We studied the local culture as we at times wandered aimlessly, returning the waves that we recieved by the young, merry children, and watched the men and women act as they were, whatever may be part of their daily routine.
We ate well whilst we roamed, as the hotel did not provide us with a free breakfast. I recall improvising with the glass cups that were an amenity in the room, by pouring the cheap Chocco Flakes that we had purchased from the local store into one of them and cheerfully guzzling them down with, was it a fork? Possibly. Did we have milk? That, I cannot remember. Food is food, and food was fuel. I'd eat with my hands if required. Ladylike qualities have never really been part of who I am, maybe only catching me when I absolutely have to display them from time to time. I found that my

addiction for banana pancake had somehow expanded. A banana crepe one day for brunch; banana pancake on another. I felt no guilt as I indulged in these delights. There was a restaurant that we dined in twice, slightly more upmarket that the usual eatery that we would choose, because the one time was not satisfying enough. We were swimming in a rich sea of curry and rice, yet it was unable to drown us. I shall never tire of Asian cuisine.

We walked along the bank of the river a few times, which only really awakened at nighttime. It was an amusing moment to witness the locals take part in a daily dance routine, in the park that sat upon the water, where they shook their agile limbs in all sorts of directions, their hair let down and releasing any tensions that could have built up. Their squeals and laughter invaded the air , coming out in flurries in between the blare of the steady music. There were exercise apparatus along the riverside too, which was occupied by the children at night, scrambling over the bars and slowly depleting their high end energy, so sleep would easily come to them. We used the apparatus in the morning, as did the elderly, as it was a far more sensible and composed hour to train properly on them. There was also the opportunity to circle the river, and my hormones soared as my legs pumped wildly, predators after the preys of stone on the pavement, possessed with a pure, lustful freedom. I ran until my chest heaved and it was difficult to breathe. My pants were short and sharp, and such a comparison they were as I looked out onto the almost motionless silent waters of the river, as the salty beads of sweat tumbled into my eyes.

hocolart Cafe-http://www.chocolartcafe.com/

The Lonely Tree-http://www.thelonelytreecafe.com/contact

Heritage Walk map-http://www.ka-tours.org/MAP3%20bb%20south.pdf

Thursday 10th December 2015

It was that time again. Our bus wasn’t until 11am, and it was unusual for us to not be awake at first light of the dawn. We took advantage of the unfamiliar schedule, by resting until it was necessary to rise out of our sumptuous silk cots, and packed at a leisurely rhythm to welcome the unrushed hours where time had seemed to have lapsed. The hotel did not provide a free breakfast, but offered the meal at a low cost up on it's highest floor, the rooftop. As we were relishing the slow progression that we had

been granted, we decided to not take up the low budget option of dry Chocco Flakes out of the glass cups, but to climb instead all the way up the staircases until our feet had come into contact with the very top step, to fulfill ourselves with a decent amount of food. We sat by the window, so we could savour the monumental view of the city, which was waking up lazily as the sun gradually ascended. Resplendent hues of yellows spilled over the edifices, some strong structures complex and then some deteriorating, all looking prepossessing before me under the smoldering glow.
Minimal bodies ambled around along the stretched out pavement below, as small as ants, passing by the cafe opposite which was preparing for just another day of hopeful trade.We were not closer to human skin but instead the birds that swooped gracefully in the sky, level with our sight, in search of their own first meal of the day. The mixture of such a peaceful view and the smell of hot food being prepared just a few metres away behind the boarded off kitchen doors, relaxed my muscles and mind.

I looked at mother, who's face glowed under the natural light, her features fresh and rich with that still wholesome youth. God, was she beautiful, so unbeknown to the way I am often marvelling over the astonishing woman that she is. My mother, my creator, the angel who loves me so dearly. And as much as I do not reveal it as obviously as she, my love for her soars as much as a shooting star would across the oblivions. So touching it was to see her confidence rise once again after collapsing, because of the cheater, a man who she put every ounce of trust into. He left us in a black ocean of sorrow, and sometimes the waves of tears were unbearable. I could hear her cry herself to sleep during those painstakingly cold winter nights not so long ago, her broken sobs my ears could detect from her closed bedroom door, shut away and lost. I had to contain my own heartache for my angel, for she had fallen. It was just a world of crushing pain. Yet here she was, bathed in the morning light and her wings were stable again. It was me, her, and not a sorrowful world but the real one, and we owned it in that ultimate moment. We were as free as the birds outside.
We ate the food that was brought to us, quiet apart from the little scraping of cutlery against the plate, and sipped at our coffee. It's aroma was the signature smell that defined our morning. Back downstairs, when we had said farewell to our palace chamber and checked out, we sat outside the hotel doors. The wait yet again for a bus had begun. Instead of trekking to the bus office to be collected, the sweet man at reception offered us the option to be picked up from the hotel instead, to save our little legs from heading anywhere. He also provided us with some of his mother's homemade rice cakes to try, which were glorious, and something that I had been meaning to get my hands on. Why we had recieved such kind gestures from him, I was curious. Maybe because my eyebrows had knitted together as my eyes read over the final bill at check out, and had noticed that we had not been charged for the breakfast that morning. It was not in my nature to cheat on such a place, if it had been worth the money to stay. Besides, karma probably would have come back with a vengeance if I had kept my mouth closed. So we sat outside and ate these little sticky bundles of sweet rice, waiting for the mini bus wheels to roll into the sharp street. 11am had passed and our anticipation was gradually rising.

We should have been used to the buses arriving late, for its a miracle if one ever does show up on time. But I cannot control those butterflies that flutter around in my belly, wings rapid and growing in numbers. Again, those famous lines from the receptionist. Don't worry, the bus will come. Eventually, it did.

The minibus was full but the vehicle was spacious, providing comfort to the journey. The scenery was pleasant to watch as it rolled past, out of the square windows, nature typically shaking it’s green outstandingly in time to the frequent rushes of the wind. As we came into Phnom Penh however, we became deeply disturbed by our surroundings. The collapsed houses that would be weeping if such a structure could, were basically just piles of rotting wood, stood slanted and barely holding. The minivan wheels caused the red dust to stir angrily beneath them, and it’s heated stalk though the air tolerated no respect for ones health. Construction took over the broken sidewalks, and as I stared, dismayed by the extreme poverty of it all, I was glad to be encapsulated by the ventilated container that we were sat in. Our lungs were secure for now.
I did not want to step out of the van as we pulled onto the roadside, outside the office. The dust invaded and congregated instantly within our breathing mechanical organ, causing me to cough and splutter, and my eyes stung from the grit. Mother was in a rupturing bout of hysterics, and she stared questionably into my pained pupils, with her own wide and wired. “Amber,” she croaked, voice stained from dirt, “Where the hell is our driver?”
I stood and looked about my own tense figure, ignoring the other collective army of wrong drivers, who watched us like wild beasts that were being refrained to touch their scraps of meat. Their presence was as irritating as the dirt that clung onto my skin. “I don’t know,” I sighed, wearily watching the sea of cars pass us by, and none of them being our reserved method of transport. “The hostel said that the driver would have a sign with our names on, and he isn’t here.”
The minutes dragged on by, and we were soon the only travelers left on the sidewalk, becoming desperate and smothered by the tension that the city beheld. One of the tuk tuk owners then directly approached us, inches away from my apprehensive posture. “I think your driver has forgotten you. Here, I can take you to the bus station, where you can get help, and sometimes the driver pick you up there.” I unfolded my crossed arms, and my hands rested on my hips, tense. Was he speaking the truth? I pondered, suspicious. The hysteria thickened around my mother, and I looked back and fourth from the driver to her, deliberating. “I guess we shall just have to take this guys word mum, for our tuk tuk isn’t coming.” A sad moan escaped her. “Okay, whatever.” So we gave in to this driver unwillingingly but out of options, and climbed into his tuk tuk. It joined the long line of traffic, the beeping of the vehicles were as deafening as wailing sirens against our fatigue and delerium.
The bus station did not aid us in the slightest. The driver pointed to the office as he came away from the wheel, and stepped down onto the tarmac of the car park. “Just go in there and they will help.” Then no more was said, and he took himself off to the other side to the car park to join in a casual game of football. That’s right, a game of fucking football. I stared after him open mouthed, gaping in utter bewilderment for the abrupt rudeness. We were now just as stranded, but in a different location and none the wiser if it had actually helped us. “What the fuck does he think he is doing?!” Mother cried out, shaking with rage. “I have had enough of this place already!” I hushed her, and prowled around the bus office in attempt to find the front door. The attendant who was not even half sympathetic said that I must call the hostel, after I'd probed him. It took a few tries and some mishap communication as I struggled to speak under such conditions. Our designated driver eventually showed up, our saviour and the grateful light among the tunnels of dust that terrorised the capital. And we gathered that the other driver whom had taken us to the bus station had been correct about the pick up point. Oh, what a bother. The second and correct tuk tuk pulled it’s way out of the dismal station and crawled along the road. We held onto our luggage in the back and I slouched over, resting my heavy limbs onto my bag rather the hard wooden seat. The town was just a cluster of insanity; it was already shaking out souls.
We had over a week to spend time within this capital of calamity, and I remember the dawning feeling that overcame me as I knew that it was going to test us more than all the past challenges that we had faced. Our limitations were to be expanded yet again.
Once we had arrived at last to our destination, we climbed to our feet and I hastily followed the tuk tuk driver, mothers steps then behind mine, through the tall wooden gate of the hostel and towards the reception desk. The booming noise only continued, with the babble from the crowd of travellers emmersed in typical chatter, within the brick wall that separated us and the street. The Eightyeight was a a pure backpackers hostel, which was something quite unaccustomed for us. I had chosen it because of the price, the location, and the decent reviews. Multiple conversation flooded my hearing as I checked us in, and it was sheer luck to notice that I had been overcharged for the reservation. We were shown to our room, just a basic set up, that held no entertainment services. A somewhat dingy square that lacked in pure light. Clean it was however, and I half folded myself atop one of the single beds that was tucked up against the creamy wall, relieved to have at last a private place.
We could not rest just yet, as we were desperately hungry. One of mothers eyes had been affected by the dust, causing an infection to spread within the pupil. I studied the angry red veins that had developed, and could notice the enveloping sorrow that held her body like a harness. What was I to do with her. “Amber,” she spoke my name, wearily, “I need to find something for this eye.” I slid back into my flip flops and slipped my shoulder bag over my head, adjusting the twisted strap. “Come on, let’s find the shopping centre.” She looked at me like a deer in head lights, afraid to step into the outside world. But she gathered her belongings needed and followed me out of the room, out in to the mayhem.

The racket was unstainable and we were shaken as we tried to follow the map through the maze of the puzzling city. There was a moment where we strayed from our destination, and I could feel a harrowing divide between the two of us, and the tension intervened with our relationship. We were in an obsticle course, turning left then right then back around, on a quest to find this building. I avoided any eye contact with the living, as all they would do was curiously stare or pester. I was not in the mood for such things. Eventually we accomplished our mission, and scouted down the aisles of a drug store in search for an eye remedy. I believe that we purchased some eye solution from the opticians upstairs in the end, as mother thought that the infection was connected to the dust invading her contact lens.
So then, food. We strayed away from the shopping mall and ended up down a quieter road, which seemed to hold a few humble restaurants. I stopped outside one of them and scanned over the menu. “Hey mum they do pizza, how’s that?” I asked her, a tremour of exctiment ran through me at the thought of a slice of pizza invading my system. “Yeah, whatever, anything,” she replied, her tone flat as all care had departed from her long ago. She was weakening and I pitied her, yet we had to keep on flowing with the time. I took a seat at a table under the shelter outside, and mother sat opposite. Two beers and two pizzas were ordered. I drank deeply from the glass and it was a treasure to feel the smooth golden liquid travel down my polluted throat, a remedy for the dust ridden and sore glands. And I greedily devoured the pizza, slice by slice evaporating like it was ones last meal. There was a silence with us as we ate and we watched the life of the street go by. I could see the vivid neon signs of the clubs on the opposite side of the road, growing brighter as darkness fell, flashing their sleaze and trying to lure in custom. I dreaded to think what was behind the blank doors. A seedy mystery that could remain a mystery. A homeless family went past, and it was a struggle to swallow the bite of pizza that I was chewing on at the time as I observed their presentation. The mother, a flaky frame and carrying her home on her back, was far too much that what her strength should have provided her. Withered and patchy was her skin, deep lines sunk deep into her features from a supposedly tough past. Her clothes tattered and torn, dragging across the pavement as she tried to keep up with her children, brushing her dirty unwashed hair back with her skinny fingers so she could see. And the children, now they were harder to watch. As bony as their mother, yet they still flapped around playfully, running circles around her to cause mischief. The most striking element about them was the fact that they were naked. No clothes dressed them at all, yet they did not seem to care about such a thing. They were poor enough to be used to exposure, and it pained me to think that to be in that condition was a typical trait in this part of the world. This planet is unfair, and revolted we were as the family went past us and vanished out of sight around a corner. What was also vanishing was the light, so we polished off our plates. It was time to head back.

The darkness made us lose our way, and stalking ahead was mother and her anger bubbling dreadfully. So we accidentally turned into a narrow street which was far from inviting. There were hardly any traces of light, and we walked in almost a blindness. Suddenly, a vespa come racing up from behind, far too close for comfort. I cried out in surprise and jumped away nervously as a shadowy hand snatched out towards my bag, wanting to grab a hold of it and take it away from my possession. It missed, and with my heart in my mouth I pulled my bag in towards my chest and quicked my pace to catch up. Another one of those clubs I could see up ahead on the left hand side, and that was where the vespa had pulled up. Two young fellows climbed down from the seat, their faces masked by the evil grimace of a shadow as they moved inside the building. “Those two guys going into the club just tried to steal my bag,” I stated, as I walked swiftly next to mum, keeping up pace. Her head snapped in my direction, her expression thunderous. “WHAT?! Those bastards. Amber, what are we doing down here, just get us back! I am sick of this place!” She complained despairingly, and sniffed back a sob. I looked ahead of me and could see a recognisable building, so I pointed. “We aren’t too far, look, remember that?!” Mother shook her head, but kept on walking as she had faith in my rememberance for directions. She was utterly lost on this road and within her mind.
I was flooded with relief as we stepped through the hostel entrance. Finally, a sanctuary and an almost solitude. Yet, I could not relax entirely, because I could not ignore the prickling tension that surfaced the cold tiles of the floor and scattered across the rusty frames of the limited furniture. I looked over to the other side of the room, where my lady, just a shadowy form atop the offwhite but dominating sheets of cotton, lay there quietly and wept. Her sobs bounced off of the plaster to much my unwilling, and I silently cursed as to how her cries were increasing the unwanted apprehension that had no desire to leave, and it was as if I was being suffocated in this intoxication of negative frequencies. Silent I remained, as I unpacked my belongings and tried to bring comfort to the downhearted space that was our chamber. My headstrong mind was slipping away, and I dared not to speak for I feared that I would only snap, and I did not wish to do that. I saw her there, her hair matted from the muggy heat, eyes gleaming wet and shimmering in the little whispery corner of the space, head sluggish against the bed frame. I wanted so much to reach out to her, but I had said all of the words that I could muster and it got me as far as nowhere. Her pale face seemed now to be a phantom, to join the already seeming haunted shadows that lingered. It was abysmal and I was helpless, and I even cried myself into lucky undisturbed dreams.

Friday 11th December 2015

The sun rose. There were minor words exchanged between us as I carried myself into the bathroom to bathe under the plastic shower head, surrounded by bland white tiles that stuck together with a morsel of grime. It was a delight to have the hot water scold my skin though, with it erasing the pessimistic drama that took place the previous night. The hostile atmosphere still lingered, but at least my body was rested. It didn't appear that mother was any better as she lay there, lethargic. I dried myself off and swiftly got dressed.
"I am going downstairs to chill out and read for a while. Shall I just meet you there for breakfast?" I asked as I scrambled my hands through my rucksack for them to locate my book. Her sigh carried through the air, melodramatic and as brooding as a dying flame. "Okay," she breathed, but she began to stir. At least that was something. I then left the room, aching for another positive aura to leak it's way into my soul, as I was dizzy from the wretched clutches of this antagonism.
I treaded softly through the lonely corridor on our floor then hastily desended the stairway that took me all the way to the bottom. Through another little corridor and I then found myself in the main common room. Past the reception and into the open plan, it's space taken up with multiple chairs and tables. There was a bar in the middle, where a waiter stood silently cleaning a glass, waiting for the breakfast orders to commense. I made my way over to him and ordered an iced coffee before floating over to one of the inviting sofas, not so far. I sat and I sipped away at the caffine, the ice cubes clinking against the glass as I raised it to my lips. The natural light was a remarkable sight, the way it flooded the space, unfurling over the small clusters of backpackers. I smiled as I monitored some of them, their expressions as they spoke. Sat up the tables some of them were, wasting their breath away in between mouthfuls of food, conversation that most likely held no matter. And there were others that spoke silence, puffy eyed and shutting out the present moment with their headphones, probably wallowing from the devilish wrath of a hangover. They were propped against the backpacks, like bodies under a tombstone, maybe waiting for their bus ride out onto the next town. It was the typical scene one would usually think of when it comes to hostels, and yet I carried on smiling because on that particular morning, I had needed to be emerged in a situation like that to bring back a contentedness. I picked up my novel and began to read, where the prattling of voices became a mere hum. But I found myself glancing every so often at the swimming pool, empty except for the glimmer of the ripples that quivered on the surface.
Mother appeared by my side a little while later, as the sound of an acoustic guitar carried it’s classical melody around the room, another travelling souls fingers strumming away. She sat, her body language seeming to be more positive than before. “So, shall we order some breakfast?”
I smiled faintly at her and folded my book shut. “Sure, I noticed pancakes so I know what I am having.” She mirrored my smile, and it was from then I knew that we were going to be alright. We discussed the disagreement as we ate, and it resulted to her not being just upset about the intense city, but the fact that I would departing from her side in a months time. As she revealed her truth, a little stab of pain plunged into my heart. I was going to miss her, of course. But the dependency must be altered and erased, for I will be not around forever. Why, nothing is permenant. Time apart will strengthen our souls, and It isn’t as if we will not be able to communicate due to how quickly modern day technology is evolving. And no matter how far away she is, her presence will always be here right with me because I have the correct mind set to master such things. I explained this all to her as she sat there leaning back in her chair, and I hoped that I was getting through. She pressed her fingers against her temples and rubbed them once my speech had finished. “I know Rosie, I know,” she answered, before sighing, “But it's harder for me, you must understand that.” Another stab through my chest. Of course I did.
“Look,” I said, bending forward across the table, “let's just enjoy our time like we have been since the beginning of this trip. Today is

another day, and this place may be different under the sun. Let's avoid the damn tuk tuks, and walk.” Mother then sat up and pushed her now empty plate away from her, and stretched out her arms. “Okay, let's go,” she said over the quiet scrape of the chair against the stone floor, determination unfolding on her face, always timeless in the natural light. I copied her movements, and we grabbed a hold of our belongings before we left the the comfort zone.

https://www.88backpackers.com/

Our wanderings didn't take us too far, for the lingering unsafety seemed to follow us. We strolled along the famous mekong river, somewhat murky, with a boat chugging past us here and there. The land on the opposite side ended at some point, which revealed the open sea. It warmed my soul to see such space every time, for it always looked to be an infinite, boundless path and a possible gateway to a heaven. It could be a realm beyond this one. The riverside led us to the Royal Palace, but we only saw a small part of its structure, for mother didn't care for reaching any closer. I wasn't

too fussed myself. So we turned ourselves around and walked back, but this time on the other side of the road. There was a stream of restaurants, collected all along for both tourists and the locals. That was where most seemed to be spending their time, either dining for brunch or drinking coffee, whilst talking gaily with one another. We noticed that there was an Iviva! bar, a sister chain to what was our favourite place in Siem reap.

So we stopped and ordered some drinks in there, then tried to work out a plan for the next seven days as mother knew that she would not be able to reside in Phnom Penh for an entire week. I was rattling away about beaches to visit, and the waitress overheard as she set our drinks down. “Hey, you might want to look at Otres Beach,” she chipped in, her voice quaint and smile genuine, “I have been there for holiday, and want to go back! It is beautiful.” When she walked away, I raised my eyebrows at Mother and picked up my phone yet again to abuse the WiFi for research. “Let's look up this place!” And so, being impressed with the suggestion, It was decided that we should visit the Otres beach for a couple of days in Sihanoukville, only being a four hour drive away. Easy. The relief that spread over mothers face was as wondrous as a painter that makes his brush kiss a plain canvas for the first time. Thank goodness for that.
We told the reception at the hostel of our plan once we had returned from our wander, and they agreed to keep our

room for us so we could sleep in it for the last two nights before we were due to head on into Vietnam. A small bag would only be required for the beach, so we could also leave the majority of our belongings in the room. I mused as we perched ourselves at a table in the common area once more. Balance out the chaos with the calm, for there are constant similar moments throughout our lives which will take place, and there is nothing to do but to carry on living.
We were quite content to stay in the hostel that evening, so we ordered a western burger for a little home comfort, and thoroughly enjoyed the glamorous happy hours for drinks which sent us into a soundless sleep.

Phnom Penh info-https://suntourspp.wordpress.com/

Saturday 12th December 2015

The time had come for us to visit the Cheong EK genocide centre and the S21 prison. We chose Mr Phally to take us, the endearing tuk tuk driver who had eventually picked us up at that daunting bus station where we had been standing almost a lifetime ago. Had it really only been a couple of days since? Time ceases to exist whilst on the open road. Our journey begun with the battle of traffic to release us from the city, and onto clearer roads.

They were not clear in terms of pollution however, and the reddish sand particles gathered up in angry clusters. “Here, put these on,” Mr Phally spoke up over the heavy noise of the tractors that dominated the broken streets, “It will get quite bad down here.” We eagily took the masks that were gripped in his outstretched hand, as his other was firmly set on the wheel. I put my mask on and instantly felt a healthier ventilation leek it's way into my lungs. I did not want the clouds of dust to be hugging the organ and to gradually be toxicating my wellbeing. The tuk tuk carried on to move in through the pollution, where construction was in action wherever you turned. The houses seemed to be made up of haphazard planks or wood and chunks of metal, all peiced randomly together to form a shelter. Similar to those we first witnessed on our arrival of the city, only worse. The local people walked alongside the poor structures, barefooted and unmasked, being consumed by the unformiddable and simply getting on with it. The conditions were terrifying, and I had to swallow down my anger because there were so much terribly wrong with the scene. Sure, I was already aware of such poverty. But to physically see it, be surrounded by it. Hell, to be breathing in the putrid stenchs and the air, it's purity stained. To watch the locals amble around in their rags, accustomed to the muck and the chaos that they resided in. They deserved something so much better than these maddening conditions. And then there are the millionaires, sitting on their

throwns inside one of the many spacious rooms in their empowering mansions. So wrapped up they are, in their endless stacks of money notes. They see nothing but gold, they touch nothing apart from the protencious materialstic shit that they possess, and smell nothing but manufacturerd paper that they could burn because there is so much of it. My blood boiled as I smelt the sewage rising from the drains and saw these beings walking on a wretched pathway, not even able to fucking purchase some decent shoes. I only ask why. WHY. But I, only being one out of the seven billion here on this earth, was out of my depth to cure anything.
There was already a sorrow atmosphere manifesting as Mr Phally pulled up to the entrance to the genocide centre. He would wait for us until we were done looking around. We paid at the entrance desk, then began our tour. You are given headsets, and have to listen to the story as you make your way around the centre. The more that the recorded voice revealed, the more mortified I became. The Khemer Rouge, a Cambodian group who tortured, killed and made their own people suffer.. Well, I just could not phathom such a disgusting act.
There was a stuper that was piled up high with real humans skulls and bones. There was a particular tree named the Killing Tree. Soldiers used to smash innocent babies heads against the bark, turning their young brains which were so ready to learn, to mush. Death came swiftly for the little humans.
There were women who were molestered and raped, and all of the bodies had been placed in the various graves around the area. The point which had resulted me to eventual tears was when I listened to the music that the soldiers used to blare out loud, to drown out the sounds of the screams and cries of the people as they were being tortured and then killed. Yes, let's cover it up, and nobody shall know. The melody was hauting and struck me like a hammer, straight into my heart. I gagged as it continued to flood my ears, and I turned my head away from the still lake before me. There were bodies resting down in the depths of that water. However, this was history, and it is best to have knowledge of such awful events that occurred. It cannot be erased, and it teaches us about the way a human mind can be warped.

http://www.cekillingfield.org/index.php/en/

We were silent as Mr Phally drove us to the S21 prison, our horror being hidden from the masks. The prison was just an eye opening as the genocide centre.
I can remember standing in those little wooden cells and noticing the various blood stains on the floor….God, I swallowed back my nausea. The building, which was once a school, had a deep aura of morbidity around it. And as I stepped into each classroom, which had been converted into holding cells for innocents, where I stared at the dirty mattresses and the chains that were wrapped around the weak bed frames; well I simply stared and could utter not a sound. A display of the torture instruments used in one room, and the remains of the dead behind cabinets in another. The world was and is smothered in deep horrors and the dictators get away with it.

The trip is a must if you visit Phnom Penh, even if it scars your soul.

Once we were back at the hotel, free from the atmosphere of death and from wearing a mask, we walked to Iviva! for drinks and food to release our grief. Then we had to pack a small bag for the beach.

http://www.killingfieldsmuseum.com/s21-victims.html

Sunday 13th December 2015

We were picked up from our hostel at 7:30am and the mini bus journey took five hours. The transition from the pollution and dirty capital into the clean, crisp countryside was a relief. Literally, a breath a fresh air. The van stopped once so we could squat in the always riveting pot holes for a pee, and to purchase iced coffee with a donut. You know, the usual. And there was no trouble caused as we passed the lustrous rolling hills, free from the looming buildings and the bedlam of city life.

When we arrived in Sihanoukville, we began our hour and a half venture to reach our destination of Otres beach. The town of Sihanoukville wasn’t the greatest. The holiday makers that we noticed all seemed to be staggering around, inebriated at midday. The air was cast with drunken heat and sloppy debauchery, it's undertones seeping through the cracks in the pavement as we stepped and hovered above us like the clouds. It reminded us of Magaluf, only dirtier. We wasn't here for the party vibes and if you ever want to seek the same as us if you decide to go to Sihanoukville, then I suggest that you book somewhere on Otres beach.

It’s quieter, prettier, and you cannot go wrong with the hippy ambience. Once past the chaotic party town, the land filters out the brash mortals, and replaced are trees and the golden grains of sand. Sound gradually reduced and it was the gossip of the whispering leaves that floated leisurely above the tumbling of the waves from the ocean that we could hear. I kicked off my flip flops and jogged to the mouth of the sea, and I trotted through its frothy tongue whilst surveying the landscape. There were islands, just dots on the horizon which were interrupting the open space. I inhaled the salty sea smell and breathed out a deep sigh of contentness. This was our healing.

We stayed in the Golden River bungalows at Otres Beach 2 and it was divine. We were relieved to find that the hotel existed, as Google maps had at first led us to an empty space. After confusion and slight panic, we had spotted the hotel further up the road. Fuck you, maps. The young receptionist was a timid chap, who took his time but checked us into our room. He was a newbie to the business. We looked around the grand, airy space before us and grinned at one another. Such a difference to the gloomy room in Phnom Penh. I drew back the heavy curtain to reveal the patio doors, and turned the key in the lock. There was the guest pool just under a metre away from my itching feet. My, did they want to throw themselves into the glittering blue. Hardly a sound could be detected through the building, which was unusual for us. Even a trifle spooky, as my ears strained for even just for a voice, or the

pur of a vespa. There was construction work taking place close-by , so at least there was something similar to laugh about. Same same, but different.

http://www.goldenriverbungalows.asia/

https://www.tripadvisor.com/Hotel_Review-g325573-d7119315-Reviews-Sam_s_Beach_Bar_Bungalows-Sihanoukville_Sihanoukville_Province.html

Our short two days mainly consisted of strolling back and forth along the ocean, consuming our typical amount of beer and sampling the food in the bars which were situated along the beach promenade. My camera accompanied me to capture the soothing, picturesque landscapes at the notorious hour of sunset. The

rainbow spectrum of colour overtook the sky as the ball of fire descended, ready to speak goodnight. It could never be fully defined through a lens. Since we hadnt spent a lot of time at beaches, we certainly took advantage. We also faced the party hole of Sihanoukville again, and it was just as grimey as before. Half naked bodies lay sprawled almost on top of one another as they lay across the sunbeds, bunched together all too closely to be comfortable, surely. I didn't know where to place my eyes as I walked past all of this sweaty flesh, smothered in various oils, some burnt and some not, a mixture of bronzes and reds. Others were galvanting about on the sands, involved in games along the shore line, their body parts flailing around voluptuously in their skimpy numbers. I was only in a bikini top myself, but quickly made the decision to pull my vest back over my head, to eliminate my wariness. It was a relief to step onto pavement, away from the sexual looking scenes under the rows of coloured beach umbrellas, all too touchy and personal for my liking. A rock bar come to our aid as we drifted up and along the street, and the empty place looked welcoming. We ordered beers and loaded potato skins and sat there, enjoying the rock music and relieved to be away from everyone.
During the evenings, I introduced mum to the wondrous dish of Pad Thai and she loved it. We also tried a Whiskey called Mekong, which we had seen untold amounts recently, going for an unbelievable price in the supermarkets. I was as sceptic as I was curious as I raised the glass of blackened gold liquid to my lips, and was prepared to wince as I felt the substance flow down my throat. But the firey kick turned out to be quite divine. Why we hadn't tried it before was almost frustrating because of the price. But alas, at least we knew now. The smell of pot occasionally reached our noses and the temptation to find the source was there. Weed and the vibe of Otres beach went as well as two peas in a pod.

We giggled uncontrollably to stupid movies that made no sense on the telly in our hotel room, and swam half lengths in the little pool. It was an extra attempt to not swallow any of the insects that were floating on the surface. I had eaten enough unexpected bugs in Thailand, thank you very much. My, there was even some handsome fellows that I took the pleasure in observing as we sat along the front in one of the beach bars. It had been a while since I had seen anybody remotely attractive. And although looking at the opposite sex isn't a priority, and I am content enough to not be around any being whatsoever, the brain waves that sent the chemical reaction down into my body was a satisfyingly sensation. The good looking men could be absolute arseholes, but their skin suits were pretty and I wasn't going to be getting any closer to them so it was okay.

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The two days were definitely the small break that we had needed. We were cleansed from our toxins, and that disturbing tension had been washed away. Swallowed by the waves it was, and joined the mysterious creatures that guarded the ocean depths below. They could keep it. Detoxed and in a world of peace, we wasn't concerned about returning to Phnom Penh. As the minibus drew itself into the city outskirts, the traffic of course began to thicken, and we did not move for sometime as we sat in the heart. Darkness had covered the turf by then, and I remember sitting in the back of the minibus, in the pitch black apart from the glare of the street lamps and ever changing traffic lights that I could see beyond the glass window panes. The radio, a quiet noise that could just be detected over the vibrating thrum of the engine, which I could feel under the battered leather seat. Fingers tapping on the steering wheel, as the patience of our driver ran as thin as a coat of ice on a frozen lake. Tap, tap, tap. I looked at mum and she rolled her eyes at me, yet presented to me a grin, her teeth milky white among the shadow.
We only had a short walk to the Eighty-eight hostel once we had finally arrived at our drop off point. Back through the tall wooden gate once again, and my, did it seem different with a refreshed set of eyes. How somewhere can seem to be changed entirely due to circumstances. We glided through the lobby, uncaring about the bombardment of people, and simply laughed about the dreary space that we had to sleep in.

Tuesday 15th December 2015

Our last day in Phnom penh was very relaxing. The hectic unnerving city could affect us no longer. We strolled around the central market and the shopping mall, at ease with the lack of safety and constant hyperactiveness of the roads. We even chuckled at any strangeness or mishaps. At our final Iviva! stop for dinner, mumma managed to hand over the remaining dollar that she owed to a street seller. Tiny she was, under half of my height and still captivated by youth, her age probably not yet hit double digits. Long black hair in a pony tale she wore, flowing down up to the mid drift of her back. And she had looked hungry as I had studied the dark half moons that sat underneath her desperate eyes.
She had spotted us a few days ago, and had used her best techniques to make mother purchase an item from her colorful basket of tourist nonsense, which was strapped firmly around her neck. In front of her it hung, it's weight not looking the lightest for such a fragile frame, yet she was not phased. So young to be selling on the streets. What sort of upbringing and childhood was that?
The price for the shoulder bag that mum had chosen had been three dollars, but she only had two in change on her at the time.
“Look sweetie, I'll make you a promise,” mother spoke slowly so the girl could understand the English, “You come back here in three days time, and I shall give you the rest of your money. Okay?”
The pretty waif smiled shyly and nodded, as if to understand.
And there she was again, she had understood and returned. Her face lit up as brightly as a flame appearing on wick, features soft and trusting. I imagine that she has been made the promise a number of times, yet no tourist had ever kept their word. Mother had so desperately wanted to collide paths with the girl again to present her the remaining dollar, and the entire scene was quite moving. The timid sellers friend however, wasn’t as kind or gracious. Stubbon and angry she was, because we did not choose to buy anything from her basket. Her attitude was quite off putting, and I could have sworn that she had uttered a curse under her breath about mum. She sauntered off, an expression of anger set upon her chubby face, sandles flapping on the pavement. Our little friend followed her, but not before waving us goodbye and delivering us a smile of beauty.

During the later hours back at the hostel, when the clock told us that it was the happy time for the bar, we perched ourselves on the tall chairs that were placed next to the surrounding tabletop and ordered. They seemed to be out of spirits, apart from Vodka. “I’m going to get a double, fuck it,” mother firmly stated, descision quickly made, “You want the same?” I raised my eyebrows but couldn’t refrain from smirking. It was going to be one of those kinda nights. “Sure, why not?! Let’s get drunk!”

we began to intake the poison, which had actually made a pleasant change as we hadn’t had vodka in an eternity. The lobby was busy, as it usually was. I looked around me and spotted two men splashing heartily around in the pool, participating in a game of volley ball. I reckonised them from the night before, only because one of them had a particular handsome face. I couldn’t help but be distracted by his presence, and had to steal a glance every so often as we played our travel sized checkers game. I was bewildered by his handsome features, and his laugh rang out like a melody over the thumping beats from the hostel speakers. Dark curly hair, untameable, spiralled outwards and down the sides of his face, and I could study him closely once they were finished with their volley game in the pool, and sat on a table not so far from us. The two of them had purchased a beer tower to share, which consisted to each able to fill ten mugs worth each of the golden substance. No trace of it remained as the night progressed, and I couldn’t understand how both were still standing and functioning so well. I’d had two beers, then a double vodka, and was feeling squiffy. Ten mugs of beer and I would be in a corner, knocking on deaths door. Oh, what a lightweight I can be. And by the time I was on my third double, I had to give in to the checkers because I had lost against mother. I blamed the alchohol on my poor decisions and lack of skill. I lost three to one and I could only produce a lopsided grin at my champion. “Well done for kicking my ass.” She picked up her glass and sucked on the straw, intaking the spirit. “Thanks Rosie.” Then she quickly set her glass down and nodded in my direction, eyes just beyond my being, determined to make me turn around. So I swivelled around in my chair and was suddenly greeted by those tumbling curls. So close was the attractive fellow, his profile striking me as it was so close and bathed in fluencent light. He caught my eye and cast a dazzling smile before speaking. “Hey, how you doing?” I managed to find my voice through my bewildering state and reply. “I-I'm good thank you, and yourself?” He kept on blinding me with those pearly white teeth, seen through soft looking lips. “I'm great, would you like a beer?”
Before I could respond, Mum tapped me on the shoulder, and I noticed that she had packed up her things, empty glass resting on the table.
“Rosie, I am going upstairs and I’ll leave you to it. I’ll say goodnight now!” I wrapped my arms around her bronze shoulders and we held one another for a brief few moments. “Okay mum, good night,” I replied, a strange sensation coursing through my veins. We had hardly been apart and since Phnom Penh, there had been divides. It was needed. So then she left the common room, out of sight and ready for the land of dreams. And I was then alone with the beautiful stranger. I turned myself back towards him and accepted the offer for a drink. Our chatter began to flow as well as the beer that was being consumed, and only god knows what we were speaking about. Of course I can recall that his name was Wes and he was from Tasmania. I cannot remember such other things, but we were most likely swapping stories about our journeys. It was exquisite to be in male company again, a little flirt here and there was a refreshment. Even without the flirting, I have many male friends at home and generally delvelop better bonds with the opposite sex. I could do as I pleased, and before I knew it we were laying down on the surface of the raised platform in the chill out area. I can just about see his face now, inches away from mine as I was curled up next to his body in an embrace, his hand solid and warm against my spine. A blur from the alcohol, but his lips met my own and I closed my eyes, his tousled hair wrapped around my fingers. We laughed and it became just the two of us in the room, where nobody could enter our dimension. Time had escaped us and we were stuck in a void. A comforting void.
The hour of 2am was suddenly upon us and reality brought us down to the earth. There wasn’t many humans left in the room, and we didn’t wish to sleep just yet. Wes looked at the gate that had been sealed up shut for the night, then looked at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hey, you wanna climb this and go for a stroll?” I grinned fiercly back, an adrenaline beginning to accelerate. “Sure, fuck it. Lets rebel!”
So we lifted our feet onto the brick ledge, and used our strength to hoist ourselves onto the top of the high wall. Wes jumped down first so he could assist my smaller frame into reaching the outside ground. I fell into his arms, like two lovers reunited, and I took a moment to catch my breath. “Wow,” I murmered, as I straightened myself out, “It is so quiet.”
We seemed to be the only breathing souls as we walked leisurely to the cross roads at the end of the street. “It’s pretty cool isn’t it?” Wes replied, his sandles audibly smacking the cracked pavement underneath us, as the city had seemed to be under the spell of silence. It was as if death had toured it’s way through the pathways and stolen everybodys breath. There was only ours, the particles spreading discreetly around us, invisible collisions within the humid air. I nodded a reply, as I was too captivated by the desolate eeriness, and the way the street lamps displayed a pattern of feathery light down the what looked to be an infinite road. We found a bench, interventing with the shadow of the light dance that was drowning under one the beams. A perfect scene to describe a solitude, and so enticed by the wooden object, we were. Our voices were cascading out as we spoke to one another, and into the beyond our eyes could identify the occasional driver. They were guarding their tuk tuks and scurrying around in the shadows, creating prey out of those who would be as brave as us to stalk the streets at this deathly hour. Before we realised, it had reached past 3am and we both would be travelling in the few hours that were due. So we dragged ourselves back and took on traits of a ninja as we clambered up the brick wall again, back into the safe enviroment we knew so well. “I hope that my dorm room is open, as I do not have the key,” Wes frowned slightly, but it lasted for not even a second before his teeth appeared again, flashing me a wicked, beautiful grin. He tried the handle on the dorm room and it successfully turned. “Okay great, I am not locked out,” his chuckle rang quietly like sinking bells, “Now let’s get you to your room.” My heart choked on his chivalry. “You do not have to do that Wes, I can make my own way.” He stepped closer towards me and placed his warm hand on my arm. I felt him squeeze it softly. “Yes, I do. Lead the way.” I presented him with a doting smile before turning around and treading lightly up the next staircase, with those sandles of his I could detect just behind me. Down the corridoor and presto, there was my door. We faced each other, and I spoke first. “Thank you for tonight, I had a lot of fun. It was terrific meeting you.” There was that sunny smile, bringing in a loveable light within the darkened passage. “That’s okay, and you too Amber. Let me know if you ever decide to come to Tasmania!” We had somehow drew closer to one another, like the unseeing force of two magnets. He held me in an embrace, which gave me the chance to inhale the musky scent of his sun kissed skin, and feel the ringlets of his hair against my cheek, tickling my freckles. And I relished the taste of his sweet mouth as he kissed me one final time, his lips tender as they pressed snugly against mine. “Good night,” he

murmered as he pulled away, and I could see those pretty eyes dancing like wild flames under a night sky. I was mesmorised. “Good morning,” I joked, and whispered out a laugh. Then he walked away, back down the corrridor he walked, turning back once to signal me a wave. I raised my hand and returned the gesture, until he became a sillohete before disappearing. Then with all my might, I tried to silently turn the key in the door and find my way to my bed within the pitch black darkness of the room. Mother didn’t wake up, and I didn’t bother to change. My head hit the pillow and I was almost instantly sedated, a flutter of my eyes and a flash of the young handsome man who I had just seen a moment ago, before I shut down.