Siem Reap's a lot like Vietnam's Hoi An. If any of y'all have the attention span to recall, Hoi An takes what has some historical significance and charm and turns it into an excuse to sell thousands of locally-made-in-China trinkets for about a hundred times their value. It's an essential experience for any tourist, but one the wears you out pretty fast. Luckily these destinations also feature damn cheap beer. But Siem Reap has something that Hoi An and all the other bracelet-peddling-children-infested traps don't: a metric shitton of ancient temples. That's a lot of ruins, in case you're rusty on your SI conversions.
More than a crapton.
At the sightseeing epicenter of this sprawling collection of ruins throughout Angkor is Angkor Wat, a testament to ancient Khmer architecture and an overall impressive sight to behold. Surrounded first by a moat almost 200m wide and then a massive stone wall enclosing 200 acres of hindu stonework as intricate as it is massive, Angkor Wat makes the Pyramids of Giza look like the result of a toddler who doesn't quite understand the point of Legos yet. But Angkor Wat is one of what I can only assume are hundreds of other temple ruins scattered around the surrounding countryside. And scattered they are. Foregoing the advice to hire a tuk-tuk driver for the day, I instead opted for the much more affordable dollar bicycle rental. I don't know if they purposefully put the most uncomfortable seat on that thing or not, but after about forty kilometers, all I could do to rest was lean against walls as sitting was no longer an option.
I leaned there.
Most of the larger temples had a bunch of stands set up out in front of them, hawking souvenirs and refreshments. Around lunchtime, I pulled into the dirt clearing that vaguely resembled a parking lot near some odd temple, ready to eat. As I ride by, all of the vendors proceed to shout out me to buy from them. This is normal, so I take no notice and lock my bike up on the far side of the clearing, vendors outright shouting the whole while. I slowly begin walking towards the line of hawkers, headed straight for the one in the middle. The entire time, every single vendor is shouting at me and only me, including the one I'm staring at and walking straight to. Perhaps it was because I was the only tourist there at the moment or perhaps this was an especially determined line of stallkeepers, but even as I stopped a couple feet in front of my vendor of choice, every single hawker down the line was still shouting at me. Including the woman directly in front of me. I waited a few seconds, looking at this woman while she shouted at me, pleading me to buy from her. Finally I declare, "food." She rushed to get me a menu like it was an executive order. Removing my sunglasses to examine the laminated sheet, I notice the prices are about three times what I'd normally pay. I look up at her expectant face for a few moments more, then say, "Not the tourist menu, please." She nods more rapidly than the human neck ought to sustain, ruffles through some other laminated sheets and hands me a new menu. This one has prices a more reasonable twice what I'd normally pay, so I accept and sit down. Only as I order my fried rice does the shouting of the remaining vendors begin to fade. Ah tourism, what a splendid source of revenue for impoverished regions.
Tourism is ruining the culture, wouldn't you say?
Oh I also got a foot massage by having a mass of fish try to eat my feet off.
Asia!
2 comments:
These fish must have a foot fetish! Say that fast 5 times.
A certain movie director with fetishes for both asian culture and feet would have been proud of you there, buddy. Way. to. be
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