in theory bicycles are an excellent, if not ideal, way to visit the ruins

SIEM REAP
02.16.08

my tire jammed, i know not how, when i tried to move from the motobike infested street to the relatively clear sidewalk. it locked against the frame and no kicking or prying or tugging of mine could set it loose again. david continued to the ruins while i rode a tuk-tuk back to the guest house to get a replacement bike.

* * *

it pulled strongly to the right the brakes were for appearance and the left pedal was broken, so my foot rode on the rod.

* * *

I turned the bend in the red dust road back beyond Bayon temple were the tourist traffic begins to thin and the jungle begins to thicken and found David, bike-upturned, hands black with oil raised in frustration. His chain had inexplicably leapt off the large gear and lodged itself quite irrevocably against the bicycle frame. I suggested he catch a tuk-tuk. Where am I going to find a tuk-tuk out here? he said. Just then, as if he had been waiting in the jungle, listening to our conversation, a tuk tuk driver pulled up, ever ready to make a buck.

* * *

As the sun was setting, a most dazzling display, red and pink and orange, behind clouds like torn cotton, I abandoned for the moment my plan to get home immediately and turned down a dirt path beneath a sign that read "Cambodia Korea Friendship Forest". I found empty open fields, tall palm trees black silhouettes on the horizon, a breeze whispering softly through the tall grass. Here and there little pale dust paths trailed off to find rickety stick houses in the distance. I waved to five little Cambodian boys playing on some green mossy ruins forgotten by tourists. I found that little temple I'd been searching for all day. Now that my time was finished. Alone with the rocks and the gentle hush of dusk I sat. A little boy, appeared from behind a wall. Feet and legs clothed with dry cracking mud. He crawled up in front of me. Sua s'dei, I said. Hello, he said. What's your name, I said. One, he said. He shows me that he could count really fast and I showed him I could count really slow. I told him that I had to go, and he taught me how to say goodbye.

* * *

I got lost following the dazzling setting sun West to the farm fields. There is the airport, a young Cambodian told me, just follow this road around and it will take you back to Siem Reap. Ah kohn, I said. He smiled and nodded. From the airport it took another hour to town, by the time I reached it, the sky was already dark. Down dusty alleys I dodged the invading monocle headlights of motobikes falling ever towards me like a flood of tetris blocks, then inevitably I would turn, wrong again, and head back up as the flow of lights seemingly reversed as well as I returned to the main street. Eventually I made it home, tired and covered in dust, butt aching from my long and scenic ride.

* * *

SIEM REAP
02.17.08

We never found that secluded little temple to sit and read passing the afternoon far from tour buses and flash photography, though we rode an hour out of town to the oldest ruins, the Roulos group. Instead we spent the afternoon sitting on iron bar seats riding through little villages as villagers waved congenially from their hammocks and the toddlers all called hello (and then as we passed back the other way, goodbye). We, so sick of our Quixotic quest, weaved back through the dirt roads to the temple we knew, ignored the fact that it was already spotted with Japanese DSLR enthusiasts and sat down for a disappointing, small, and relatively pricey late afternoon lunch. And decided to beat the night, endure the pain, abandon our quest altogether and return to town.

* * *

On one of our frequent stops to stretch and rest our weary hindsides, we spotted two little girls in a driveway across the road imitating our stretches. Then continued a little game of copycat to everyone's great bemusement.

* * *

We arrived at the guesthouse and the Islamic wedding music that had shocked us out of sleep at seven a.m. was still blasting from the huge speaker pointed, as if to purposely torment us, directly at our window.

These 4 AM mornings are going to kill me

Pitch black but for the myriad stars. Outside the gates of our guesthouse (where we ate a most fabulously delicious Amok (a traditional Kmer dish, some sort of beef or pork in sauce with a side of rice)) Pon, a twenty four year old Cambodian who learned English from tourists conversations in restaurants and can't afford to pay $400 for a year of English class (its about that much per month in Korea) and our hired tuk-tuk driver called my name. I saw two little red beads of light hovering in the air. He and David were having a little breakfast smoke.

* * *

Still pitch black we arrive at Angkor Wat (city temple). Here, says Pon. Quite confused and disoriented we head towards a bobbing light nearby. It belongs to a couple Japanese girls. They agree to let us follow them. We cross the a huge bridge across a moat that would humble any medieval lord. Suddenly two great coned shapes loom above us. A chill runs down my spine. The gates of Angkor Wat. A Cambodian man offering to sell us coffee and breakfast without invite leads us through the dark to what he proclaims to be the premier sunrise location within the grounds. The one you see in the postcards, he says. When we get there, little boys immediately swarm around us with plastic chairs and invite us to sit down. Those of us not paying deny. Apparently this spot is no secret and when the tour buses arrive it's suddenly alight with flash bulbs and chitter chatter. There is still some thirty minutes until sunrise so I get up for a walk around, cursing that stupid invention for stupid people, autoflash.

* * *

The squeaking of bats in the hundred nooks and cracks of the long decayed pointed stone ceiling above my head. Endless black hallways to my left and to my right. Alone, I wander through the temple, mesmerized. An occasional flashlight bobs in the dark. All is quite save the bats and the crunch of my footsteps on loose sand. I sit on a ledge on the far outer wall of the temple and watch the sun rise pink and orange over the treetops. I feel unreal.

* * *

For over twelve hours we traverse the massive ruined city on foot and in tuk tuk. Pon waits for us and naps in hammocks in shaded restaurants. He seems honest and kind. He reminds me of a Mexican boy I used to play soccer with. David confesses the same. Perhaps that is why we agreed to pay him, though we could probably have gotten cheaper elsewhere. I can't bargain with these people. After seeing the wretchedness of PoiPet, it would feel like stealing from the Red Cross Santa at Christmas time. So I end up paying more here than in Bangkok. I lose David in the morning before asking for the sunscreen, so I try to stay in the shade while wandering in and out of endless abandoned ruins. I don't see him again for four hours. By evening, I'm exhausted, roasted, and thoroughly amazed, staggering through the ruins like a ghost, too tired to take note or photos.

* * *

She made a fool of me. When I refused to buy a shirt, she began quizzing me on the US capitals. I failed miserably. She, on the other hand, not only named them all (except South Carolina) but also the capitals of many nations, South American, European and Asian. Then she started speaking in Spanish, then Polish. Her English of course was excellent. And she couldn't have been more the ten. With this little Cambodian girl David and I spent our last hour at Angkor. In some remote temple I never learned the name or significance of. She lifted our spirits. Among the throng of children selling books, shirts, cards, memorized eloquent speeches on the nuances of the reliefs in the walls, we could pay only a few, give a couple pens, and walk away and ignore a great many. It's truly humbling. So she, this little girl named Corn, received the last of our expendable money (100 baht and 1000 real), those not owed to our faithful driver. And in return we received a pair of pants and a souvenir T shirt. But it was the presence of her spirit that sold us. That rare, jubilant spirit that promises hope for the rest of us. She drew us flowers for good luck and wrote my name in Kmer. The sun set behind the fallen walls and it was time for us to leave.

Hasta la vista, she said.