So. Generally speaking, I've had apretty good time in this dusty, hot country known as Cambodia. I can't say that I loved Cambodia beyond comprehension, but I did learn to appreciate and quite like Cambodia. It's a pretty laidback place, the people are nice and friendly (but not overly so), I've loved the beaches and the seaside towns of Kampot and Kep, and am glad I braved the heat to take in Angor Wat.
Read MoreHow I Did Cambodia
Finally! A post where I give you the lowdown on how I did Cambodia -- the good, the bad and the ugly (ugly = using band-aids to fix a mosquito net, come on!).
Where I went
Siem Reap
Lonely Planet said anything less than 3 days with the temples of Angor is a travesty, and boy were they wrong. Unless you are a scholar of Hindu carvings or a masochist who loves spending extraneous amounts of time in excruciating heat, you'll be fine with one. The tuk tuk drivers have a pretty solid circuit that took me a morning to bang out. Sure, if you walk slow and are the kind of person who needs to stand in front of a carving for 30 minutes to bask in its glory, you might need more time. Given your tolerance for oppressive humidity and competing with all of China and Korea to see the sights, you probably will finish before noon (I started at 7 am and was passed out in a state of exhaustion/heat stroke by 12:30 back at the hotel). If you really truly believe you will need more time (you're a bonafide photographer or just love being in heavily touristed environments), go ahead, plan for three days.
Read MoreSomething like a Koh-Rong-men-on
There's been a bit of a delay since my last post -- but what can I say? I arrived in lovely Otres Village at a place called Mama Clare's, which is a collection of little bungalows up on stilts perched over Otres River, run by a super awesome British woman named (you guessed it!) Clare. It's about a 10 minute bike ride to Otres Beach, so for three glorious days, I hunkered down here and did what the British would describe as "fuck all." (Sorry for swearing, Mom, but given that this is a large expat community with tons of Brits floating around, it's the descriptor that seems the most apropos.)
So yes, for three blissful days, my daily agenda was something like this: unlock bicycle. Pedal bicycle past the various hippie boho enclaves in the village to the beach. Lock bicycle. Find a nice beach bar to buy a bottle of water, or mango smoothie, or pad thai, or beer. Lounge in a paddasam chair for an hour or three. Stare at the ocean. Get up, meander in the waves down to another beach bar. Repeat, until the sun began to hang low to the horizon. Saunter back to bicycle. Unlock. Pedal slowly in the warm orange sun back down the red rocky roads to Mama Clare's, where I'd find beers and supper and expats waiting. It's been a good scene.
Read MoreI did it all for the Sihanouk-ie
All travel, in a way, is a form of masochism. Why else would we fly halfway around the world, hoist a heavy bag on our shoulder, and submerge ourselves into unknown languages, customs, currency? Sure, after time a little cultural assimilation is natural; we find ourselves naturally dropping a "s'il vous plait" upon ordering, we know to politely queue (or throw elbows), we find ourselves no longer fumbling through foreign coins and cash, proudly prouding the right notes almost instantaneously.
Everyone's threshold for masochism is different -- that's why for some, two weeks in Paris can be long enough to send anyone longing for the familiar routines at home, and others are ready to get down and dirty checking out the hotspots of, say, Rwanda for months on end.
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