Other Countries and Angkor Wat

The other day while eating breakfast at our hotel, I looked around and realized that Barry and I were the only Westerners in the room--and this has been true generally for us in Cambodia. A tuk-tuk driver told us the top two nationalities that visit are the Chinese and Korean, but we've also met visitors from Taiwan, Japan, Singapore, Burma, India and even Bangladesh.

We've met a few Australians, French and Americans, but not as many as Asians.

Although we usually go early to the temples to avoid the hordes and heat, I don't mind being there with other people around. Other tourists can be just as entertaining as the ruins. The Japanese, in particular, are fun to watch. They tend to pose for pictures in kind of campy ways, with arms flung wide, or wrapped around a monolith. I admire their enthusiasm. I think I'd feel a bit silly being seen in poses like that.

We haven't met any tourists from Cambodia, Vietnam, or Laos. We read, poignantly, that very few Cambodian schoolchildren have the opportunity to visit Angkor Wat or learn about Khmer history. A Japanese nonprofit is working to change that with a program called "School Trips for Cambodian Children."

Many countries have contributed to the restoration of Angkor Wat. We keep seeing signs like "German-Cambodian Angkor Wat Restoration Project." India, China, Japan, France, Switzerland, and even the Czech Republic have offered financial and technical help.

Getting from Place to Place in Cambodia

It's 4:00 p.m. in Siem Reap, Cambodia. Barry is lying on the bed by the window, earplugs on, looking at his mini iPad. I just had a shower, made us tea, washed a shirt, and unpacked my things from our day's excursion. We're both resting from the exertions of the day. We are not traveling bare-bones, which in my experience can add to fatigue, but even so, a day spent out and about, getting around, looking, listening, absorbing, and exploring can tire one out. Hey, I'm not complaining, just saying...

So, some details. I'll start with transportation.

Oddly, we haven't seen that many cars here, though the streets are filled with motion and there must be every other form of vehicle under the sun: bicycle, moped, motor scooter, tractor, tractor pulling a trailer (usually filled with people), van, bus, tour bus (medium sized), elephant (for tourists), and--our personal favorite-- the tuk-tuk, or motorized rickshaw. Think of an Amish buggy attached to a motorcycle. Today the tuk-tuk we were in, while we were driving down a country road, developed a mechanical problem: the throttle cable came loose. (This was our second repair, with two different tuk-tuks, in 2 days. The first was a flat tire).

"It must be us," Barry told our driver, Mr. Stores, who looked very embarrassed.

"Yes," I joked. We're bad luck." (I'm not sure that was appropriate, as people seem to be very genuine when they say here, "Good luck for you.")

Providentially, the problem occurred right next to a mechanic shop. Another nearby tuk-tuk also had mechanical trouble-- theirs was a bearing-- so Barry, me, and the passenger from the other tuk-tuk, a middle-aged gentleman from Burma, all sat on bench in the shade and talked while repairs were made.

"When I was a child, I always thought of America as the place where everyone drinks Coke, and they have very big refrigerators filled with food," he told us. "So when I read about Detrit, I thought how can this be? In America?"

It took us awhile to figure out that by Detrit, he meant Detroit.

I explained that in many US cities, the rich, often white people move out, and the poor black people stay. The city loses its tax base, so streets are not well-maintained and schools are not good.

Barry continued, "Detroit borrowed money from banks, and when the bank demanded payment, Detroit couldn't pay."

"This is so strange," he repeated, shaking his head. "My country is dividing. Imagine if California wanted to be by itself, or Texas, that is how it is in my country." He seemed to think this was a pattern. "In Indonesia," he said, "East Timor wants independence, and so does Papua New Guinea."

"Is it religion?" Barry asked.

"No, it is just the different regions. But I think it is dangerous to separate. China is very close and it will gobble them up."

I mentioned that in our part of the world, every few years Quebec debates autonomy.

"I have been to Quebec. It is very clean. And I have been to Norway. I like these countries, Norway, Sweden, what is the name for them?"

"Scandinavia?"

"Yes. They are all so clean," he sighed. "They have a different mind than we have here in Asia."

I was about to say that I've been pleasantly surprised by the lack of litter and the general cleanliness here, but our driver called us, repairs complete, and in the sweltering humidity, I was looking forward to the breeze that sails in from both sides.

We did not see our companion again, so we hope his tuk-tuk was fixed and he was able to carry on.

Despite their mechanical vulnerabilities, tuk-tuks are great. But since we are cyclists anyway, and the land is so flat, Barry and I decided to rent bicycles yesterday. I expected to be nervous cycling though town, and indeed, traffic is chaotic. No clearly defined lanes, and people on bikes do not always follow the rules. A couple of times I would be riding along minding my business, when suddenly I'd see a bike unexpectedly approaching, going the wrong way, and I'd have to swerve.

So why wasn't I nervous?

Somehow, even without rigid rules, it all seems to work. Is it because of the good will? I sense no hostility among drivers. Rarely do you hear a horn or an angry, discordant voice. Nor have we seen any accidents. Everyone's moving along at a good clip, but without any of the usual impatience or aggression I often feel in traffic. Drivers seem relaxed, casual-- and not anxious. I don't know when I last experienced this! Their attitude was contagious, and I blended right in, effortlessly threading my way through the tangle of people, bicycles, motorbikes, back to our hotel.