Siem Reap – Day Two
Firstly, I’d like to say. FFFFUUUUCCCCKKKK!!!!!!!11111!1111ELEVENTYONE!111
Right. Now that I’ve got that off my chest. Allow me to expound around the business end of a Siem Reap visit.
First thing. Landing. Rice paddies, mud, shacks like you see in African Ghetto movies – flaps down. “No wait man, surely this aint it!” – still decsending – dude, you sure about this? – Shacks – Mud – Donkeys – Phew.. No sign of monkeys. Ok fine, land.
Get off plane. Follow white and yellow people to immigration.
Instantly lose respect for Australian Authorities when you see the demons with stamps at SR Airport. No one talks to you, if you’re standing somewhere they think isn’t good, they’ll walk up to you and point somewhere else.
Not a good time to start singing “Fuck the police”.
Enough about airports. pffft! More about dirt roads, dust storms and the tuk-tuk army.
The roads are crazy. So much fun to cross. Just bust it across them looking left and right at least 30 times and watch the motorcycle soup flow around you like Pho.
The motorcycles? Do me a favour. Rad. Biggest bike I’ve seen is an xr400 and that’s rare. Most are 50cc or 125cc. Th Honda Smash and Honda Wave and Honda Dream (I think) are prevalent. Not many cars. XR250’s are dirtbike of choice.
The footpaths are a tasteful blend of cobbling, paving, dirt, mud, dog, rubbish and tuk-tuk.
Onto the tuk-tuk army. Get a load of this shit.
*Loud CLAP CLAP* “Tuk tuk? You want tuk tuk?”
*Waving him* “Te Te Te No thanks”
Ï know you seeing Temples today! Tuk Tuk?
“Te TE. I’m walking”
“WALKING? *looks at mate, “WALKING!!!!” *both drivers* “HAHAHAA WALKING!!!!”
*keeps walking…*
To catch a tuk-tuk, you don’t flag, you don’t wave, you don’t call 13-13-30. You look at one. That’s it. Then you argue that you’re only going to pay him $1 and if he says anything else, keep saying $1.
Lather… Rinse.. Repeat. About once every 5 – 10 meters.
If you’re on your own, expect every 2 meters with the motos also asking you (dudes on motorcycles).
Jumped on a moto today. So much fun. Crazy. Balls in my throat – head on with cars. So fucking GTA.
Seeing two hardcore looking cops, both on one motorcycle, cuddling is funny ass. I came so close to laughing until I realised that the cop on the back was carrying a locked and loaded AK-47. No longer funny.
Things spotted on motorcycles no bigger than 125cc.
- One massive pig
- One full sized top loading washing machine (inc. pillion)
- 40+ Coconuts
Weather is hot. Humid but bearable. Demolishing bottled water like it’s going out of fashion, which I promise you, it’s not here. Beer is cheaper than water. Literally.
Much more to say, but my keyboard is almost impossible to use and I think the 6 gekko’s on the wall are starting to lose the battle against the mosquitos.
Yo, I’m wearing fishermans pants. Checkit.
We’re staying at the Smiley Guesthouse. It’s fucking rad here. $6 per night.
Photos to come. Take it easy kids.
woohoo wheelsdown…keep dodging them bikes…and dont be tempted to buy one Sam…Sam!
Listen to papa. Don’t do it! The cars can smell your fear.And how is it that I’m walking around like a crazed fisherpersonpantaloon salesman for a week in Broome (“Got fish pant? You like pant. Ooh, breezy see? Looksee? Wear pant? You like pant, go on, too dollah izzit?”) and noone bites but two days in cambodia and you’re bodjangling with the natives. SHEESH!!1!