I developed two sets of answers for when people asked why I was going to Cambodia. Most often I'd just smile and nod and say "Angkor Wat". That was usually enough to be polite and escape much further conversation. But when someone would notice my helmet, or I was feeling especially chatty, I'd give them the full answer, "I'm going to go dirtbike riding." The second reply was usually met with blinks and a blank stare, followed by, "alone?" Even grown men with beards and dirt under their nails looked a bit impressed and frightened for me at the same time. One pair of such men were on their way to Malaysia for a rally car race, they asked for the web address of my dirtbike tour company.
This was how I started my Cambodian adventure, with lots of blank stares and furrowed brows. I spent over a full day on planes and in airports avoiding this question. First stop was Los Angeles where I barely made it through the mile security line in the international gate. Then it was on to a brief stopover in Taipei, were I giggled at such Engrish gems as "Smile! You're on stakeout Camera!" in the airport electronics store. Kuala Lumpur was next, where I learned the Indonesian I had been picking up via martial arts could be used in Malaysia. Apparently Malay and Indonesian are nearly identical. This came in handy when the airport coffee shop barista tried to pour me "dua" lattes instead of "satu".
The airport in Bangkok was a whole new adventure. Some tour trade genius put a 9 hole golf course in the middle of the two international runways. Never mind trying to tee off amidst jetwash and noisy equipment, what happened if someone's slice got a bit out of control and decked a 747? Here I switched to my 4th carrier of the day, Bangkok air. Since this airline didn't have a partnership with Malaysia air, I would have to collect my suitcase, go through customs, then re-check it. A good reason I usually try to carry on for such trips, but hauling my helmet and assorted dirtbike gear made that an impossibility. Not only are there no signs and no map once inside the Bankok airport, but they have a special gift for sending to you wrong lines. In my one hour layover I had to run to baggage claim, then another baggage claim when I realized I'd been sent the wrong direction, to customs, where I found out I needed to pay an arrival fee (even though I was never going to leave the airport), then over to the exchange booth once I found out in the arrival fee line they didn't accept US dollars. $15 and a lot of sweat later, I was on my last flight into Siem Reip. This puddle jumper was filled with middle aged Europeans and I was starting to understand the demographic of the typical visitor to Cambodia.
On arrival we stepped out of the plane into a night sky filled with chirping bats swooping around the airport streetlights, collecting bugs. Bats always made me feel welcome; I'd seen bats in Peru, and last year in Africa, and something about the presence brought back a familiar feeling. In the line for my visa I suddenly remembered I'd forgotten to bring passport photographs. I'd brought 20 of them with me to Africa, but never used a single one, but here there were signs telling you where to place them for the clerks. At my turn I asked if I could use my driver's license photograph instead, fearful I'd be sent back before my trip had begun. "No, no, two dollars!" Apparently in lieu of a photograph you can slide them a few bucks. It was cheaper than the passport photos would have cost me back home.
Suddenly I was out the door and into the sea of humanity standard to any third world airport. Hundreds of men yelling for your attention for taxis and tours. I've always felt this was the most unsafe part of any trip, so I'd arranged for my dirtbike guide to pick me up. I was greeted by Sheila, Paul and Lee from Hidden Cambodia. Sheila was from Ireland and the businesswoman of the venture, her boyfriend Paul was from Cambodia and the main mechanic and guide. Lee was one of his assistant guides. We drove from the airport in their shiny new Land Rover, with Sheila pointing out the sights on the way. "This is the only street with streetlights, I think they're trying to impress the tourist. Over there is the Children's hospital, free treatment for kids under 14, after that, who knows where they go." "This is one of the new five-star hotels," she said pointing to one of a line of massive, soulless hotels that looked as though they'd been plucked from the Vegas strip. None of these hotels were in my Lonely Planet, which meant they were all less than three years old. Siem Reap was booming. Immediately I was thankful I would be leaving first thing in the morning, as felt sorry for the standard tourist who would arrive in airconditioned Land Rovers to their soulless five star hotel then be driven about Angkor Wat in an airconditioned buss with their only interaction with Cambodians being with the help at their five star restaurant. We pulled up to my hotel, the FCC and I was both delighted and guilt-ridden. It was stunning. Unlike the other placed we'd seen, it had personality and class. A two story colonial style restaurant overlooked the black marble fountain at front. Behind was a salt-water swimming pool and rooms with built-in cabinets and marble bathtubs. It felt very strange to be staying at a place like this in a country with an average annual income of $275. "The woman, what's her name, from Tomb Raider?" Sheila asked. "Angelina Jolie." "Yes, she stayed here while filming." I had the feeling that was not the last time I'd here her name in Cambodia. I settled in to my room and quickly feel asleep, tomorrow was an early day.
