By Soch
Thursday, February 10th, 2005
 You cannot ask Cambodians visiting Cambodia how their trip went. Perhaps they can tell you and perhaps they can't, but whatever they tell you will rarely approximate the truth. Someone asked me for highlights, and I answered, "Biking in Angkor." It was perhaps, could have been one, convenient to say, easily understood. But imagine a rickety bike, whose chain keeps dropping. Imagine Japanese, Canadians, Koreans, Germans, Filipinos, Spaniards--a veritable United Nations flashing by every unlikely corner. Imagine a road frequented by busses, cars, motorcycles, motorcycle-driven buggies. Imagine this road singular, gently winding, tree-lined, forested, temple-d. Now imagine Angkor. Imagine a city of stones, imagine kings long dead, a people long conquered, a land long lost. Imagine every few kilometers you turn the corner to meet a new era, welcome a new king, centuries ago. Imagine you are his children. The sun beats down. The trees move in the winds. You are his children. The city of Angkor is alive today. It is a strange kind of life that she is experiencing, buffed and buffeted and offered as a curiosity to the world whilst her children begs for food in her leaves. Yet Bayon still smiles and the apsaras still dance. And at the end of every day in Angkor, if you listen to your blood, you find you can always climb one more step.
And still, this might not tell you of biking in Angkor.
You rent a bike from your guesthouse, for 1 US dollar a day (4000 riels). The bike will have a basket in front for you to put your shoulder bag in, that you will wind securely on the handle. You walk the bike to the intersection, through the intersection, because if you ride through the intersection, you might be killed in numerous ways, all of which involves some type of vehicle bearing down on you at death defying speeds. As you bike towards Angkor, you find you might not know the way to Angkor, and you yell the question at a passing biker ("Which way to Angkor?") and they yell back ("Turn left and go straight.") and you look perhaps a trifle unconfident and they say, bless them, "Follow us." There are two of them on one bike. The skinny one is peddling the not-so-skinny one.
So we followed them, which was a good thing. They knew how to turn left.
 From there the road is straight into Angkor and the only thing left is, as you approach the guards sitting by the road, if they stand up to ask for your Angkor Day Pass, as you bike past, to yell ("I'm Khmer.") They will either sit back down in agreement or, if they run after you, be sure to continue yelling ("I'm Khmer, I'm Khmer.") Best to do this in Khmer.
So we biked. It is not possible to get lost in Angkor. You follow the circuit, going from one temple to the next, each clearly marked by wooden or cement posts along the road. When stopping to explore each temple, lock your bikes to each other. If you came back and some enterprising soul had stolen three interlocking bikes, you have no recourse but to admire their tenacity.
If the chain falls off your bike, stop, and slip it back on.
If you happen to be leaving Angkor at the time when everyone else is leaving Angkor and the night is dark and your bike light happens to fail, bike off the paved road, or as close to the edge of the road as possible, and pray.
And if you happen to have some Sin Sisamouth with you, it will be unforgettable....
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