The Adventures of Brian & Julia

After our brief stopover in Phnom Penh, we made the bumpy, six hour bus journey to Siem Reap. The town is fairly small and unremarkable, and would just be another dusty village in a rather remote corner of the Cambodian countryside if its proximity to Angkor Wat didn’t bring well over half a million tourists annually. The streets are lined with dozens (hundreds?) of guest houses, restaurants, bars, shops and massage parlors, each with employees out front, haranguing passersby for their business. Tuk Tuk drivers line every sidewalk, hoping to sell a tour to new arrivals.

The temples of Angkor have been a must-see itinerary highlight for us since this trip was first conceived, so we were excited to finally be at their doorstep. Angkor Wat itself is actually only one temple among many in the complex, which hosts dozens of sites over nearly thirty square miles. We toured the temple complex over three days, mostly during early morning and late afternoon, as midday temperatures soar into the high 90s. Also, outside the golden hours, the temples are rendered flat and dead gray, severely hampering photographic efforts. So it’s back into Siem Reap for lunch, a cold beer and a nap until the shadows get a little longer.

Will you go to Ta Promh with me?

We were fortunate enough to see the sun set behind some of the more unbelievably surreal temples, particularly the iconic Ta Promh, famous for the giant tree roots engulfing many of its doorways and walls. We also loved the views:

So, I’ve said the good. Now, in the interest of telling the whole story, even at the risk of sounding a bit underwhelmed…Angkor has its downsides.

First of all, the entry fees are quite steep, comparable to an American amusement park, not counting the $5-15 you’ll have to pay a driver every time you want to visit the park from Siem Reap. Also, while a world-wonder such as Angkor should be enjoyed by people from all over the world, it often feels like they’re all there at once. It is absolutely swarming with tourists, and at any significant site or vista, you’ll typically find yourself waiting for a group of 15 middle-aged package tourists to pose for photos in endless combinations before shuffling along.

We were also disappointed to find the ambiance of the temple complex much more commercialized than we would ever have suspected. Far from the ancient city forgotten to the jungle that I had imagined, it felt more like Yellowstone. Unlike Yellowstone, however, and possibly as its greatest detraction, were the absolutely relentless touts at every site’s parking area. While I hesitate to complain how someone’s desperate means of earning a living inconvenienced and annoyed us, it had a huge effect on the overall experience. Every time we exited a temple complex to look for our driver, groups of men, women or children would be waiting, shouting over each other to sell a bottle of water, postcards, some pineapple, or whatever. Again, I sympathize with these people, whose desperation forces them to hear “no” a million times a day. But to us in their target market, it’s frankly maddening. This brings me to my next point, and one that unfortunately sums up much of our experience in Cambodia.

It’s easy to become irritated being asked “Tuk Tuk?” ten times in a block. It’s hard to be patient and kind to a little kid that won’t take no for an answer. You dread every time you step off a bus or out of a museum, as you’re sure to be assailed with people touting guesthouses and taxis in a manner that, to our sensibilities, is offensively aggressive. Aggressive salespeople are nothing new to us on this trip, but it’s hard to deal with here because as likeable as these people are, and how clearly in need, they are utterly overwhelming in number and persistence.

Many of them are children; many are too-young girls with babies on their hips. Many are old men, crutched or wheelchair-bound amputees long maimed by land mines. Some beg but most are selling something – Books, postcards, bracelets, flowers, cigarettes and food. They approach you at your restaurant table, just as you’re about to order that third $2 beer. There is so much need in Cambodia, it often feels impossible to find the right response. You say “No thank you”. You say “Sorry”. You ignore them but they plead and harangue in Pidgin English. We furrow our eyebrows to convey our compassion, but ultimately we just wait for them to leave and take the uncomfortable air of guilt with them. You look down at your expensive dinner and think twice about who is actually being offensive.

One has to wonder where all the money goes. As I mentioned before, Angkor is a costly place to visit. Admission fees generate millions of dollars a year, but as is so often the case here, little of the wealth finds its way to the poor. There seems to always be some greedy hand to thieve what might benefit the truly needy. This economic disparity gives Cambodia an uncanny ability to present visitors with difficult moral questions.

When we were exiting the S21 museum in Phnom Penh, I was approached by a horribly burn-scarred man. He simply held out a hat, and my hands reached for money without my mind’s consent. I think I handed him 2000 Riel (about $.50). He thanked me and turned away, then immediately, another man confronted me for money, offering his crutches and missing right forearm as evidence of his need. I looked around us, to several men watching, seemingly poised for my reaction. I realized they were all beggars, and knew I had to refuse the second man. I told him I was sorry, and that I didn’t have any more cash. The man followed me at a brisk hobble, demanding the same donation I had given the burn-scarred man. He followed me up the block and back, growing increasingly angry, until we found our driver and climbed in to the Tuk Tuk. As we pulled away, he spit at the ground and swore at me spitefully, thoughtfully including one or two English expletives.

If I give two men money, why not ten? Did the first man’s burns make him so much more deserving of pity, compared to the second man’s mere amputations? There are so many open hands in this country, it’s impossible to know your own moral ground. If you give one man money and not another, you judge them both. If you refuse all who ask, you are selfish. If you give to all, you’re a fool.

As I related in the previous Cambodia post, we made a day trip to an orphanage in Phnom Penh. We were advised by our driver to bring a gift for our host, as is customary in Cambodian culture. We stopped by a simple storefront and purchased about fifteen kilograms of rice, as much as we had cash enough in hand for. We made our visit, left our donation, and frankly felt pretty good about it. That night, however, Julia read online that drivers often collude with rice sellers to drastically overcharge tourists, and then split the gains of their grift, effectively stealing food from the mouths of orphans. We were willing to spend all the cash we had with us on rice, but their overcharging drastically reduced how much we could buy- some poking around online suggested we paid roughly double the fair market value. We were disheartened (to say the least) to think that even in such a perfectly allegorical scenario, people’s greed would persevere over their compassion. As easy as it is to call these men despicable, you have to wonder how broad the allegory truly was; how much of the world and our place in it did the situation put into metaphor?

We left Cambodia with mixed emotions. Few places we’ve visited have elicited such awe, pity or contempt. The people are kind, cheerful, and beautiful. They clearly love their families and are proud of their country and history. Their resilience speaks volumes about the indomitable human spirit. Hopefully time will bring progress and some financial equality, and the kind nature of the people will be more evident than the greed and desperation mandated by their circumstances.