Saigon & Nha Trang, Vietnam: The South That Really Went South

When people asked us how we liked Vietnam, even as soon as when we had just arrived in China, Jon's answer was always that he "hated it." To me, hate is a very strong word. It implies something (or someone) has no redeemable qualities. In my mind every place we visited in Vietnam had some redeeming qualities. Of the five places we visited, I would say two were awesome, one was meh, and two I wouldn't care to visit again. But I wouldn't say that I hated any of them or the country or the people as a whole. A few bad apples don't spoil the whole bunch, right?

The bus ride into Vietnam goes as smoothly as one could hope. We stop once for a break and are asked to show our visa credentials. A woman aboard has no visa. While we are stopped she and the bus disappear. When the bus reappears and we get back on she has vanished. I assume she's been shipped back to Phnom Penh. As we roll to the border control station I'm already looking forward to the days when we can eschew long-distance bus travel for long-distance train travel.

At the border a flurry of nerves hit me. What if they look at the wrong visas? What if they see two and are confused and detain us? I don't want to spend the night in a Vietnamese detention center! And it's not set up like a typical immigration where each person goes at once. We stand, about 45 of us, in a giant sweltering cluster holding our bags and waiting for the agent to get to our passport, call our name and ask us up. It's absurd, inefficient, and frankly... unsettling. Jon and I are two of the last people from our bus to get called. We get through- everything seems fine.

We get back on the bus and I'll be damned if that woman from before isn't back in her seat. Apparently all that trouble we went to for the visas was a waste of time- we could have just bribed some officials. A few hours later the bus drops us off on one end of a large rectangular park. We're told this is the final stop in Saigon. Thankfully we met people who had taken this exact bus company and gave us the lowdown for how to get to the hostel from the drop off point. Within short order we're checked into a seemingly very nice hostel, showered, and ready for dinner which we would enjoy from the rooftop overlooking Saigon at night.

'Oh, that skyline seems nice. Saigon must be a reasonable city,' I think as I drink my beer. Oh you young fool, you silly young fool. And just for the record, no one calls it Ho Chi Minh City. No offense to Uncle Ho but not even the locals call it that. Perhaps it's too much of a mouthful. Perhaps old habits die hard. Perhaps no one cares enough to think about it. But since everyone there calls it Saigon- so will I.

The next morning we launch phase one of our assault on Saigon. Appropriately our first stop is the Reunification Palace. But before we can even walk there we are shaken down with our initial taste of what I like to call the "Vietnamese Swap." In this particular scam the other party engages you in an exceptionally friendly manner and either offers you something as a token of goodwill (which they will later charge you for) or offers you a legit product at a reasonable price (which they will then swap for a fake after you have paid). I suppose this is better than simply being robbed but at least I can appreciate the honesty in a straightforward theft.

In this case we encounter a man carrying two buckets of coconuts on his shoulders with a stick, employing the age-old "scales-of-justice" method of transport. He spots us and starts to chat as we walk. He asks us where we are from and seems to be a generally nice guy. We joke about the stick and he offers for us to carry it a bit for the show (we are filming at the time he spots us). After that, he offers each of us a coconut, no charge. He cuts them, puts in straws, and walks off. 

We feel bad- surely we can't let this guy just walk off with nothing for his coconuts. So we approach him and offer to pay him a reasonable amount. He suddenly turns on us and demands more than $4 a coconut- an outrageous price for such an item in Vietnam. We, of course, object and protest offering him a reasonable sum. At this point get gets very angry and begins to yell at us. We are both thinking, dude- you would have gotten nothing, we wanted to be nice. 

Finally, after his racket is drawing the attention of local police, we offer him $5 for both coconuts (still a beyond-reasonable price) and he accepts. The old "Vietnamese Swap." This is our first and least expensive taste of this scam during our two weeks in Vietnam. It also marks the first and last time we identify ourselves as Americans in that country (even the southern part which I had mistakenly assumed would be more pro-US).

Using our overpriced coconuts to wash the bad taste out of our mouths, we eventually reach the Reunification Palace. There was once a French colonial government building here. But that was destroyed and rebuilt in the current form in 1966. It served as the HQ for the US-led military operations during the Vietnam War or "War of American Aggression" as we would come to learn it is called there. After the war, it was used briefly for state operations until it was eventually opened to the public.

The coolest part of this building is that all of the interior was left basically as it was when the US pulled out of Saigon in 1975. Which makes the decor of this place look... well, totally awesome. Maybe it's because I'm old or because I was born in the wrong generation but I love the vintage and throwback. And as we tour the interior of this building I'm having an eye-gasm.

Is that from the set of Dr. Strangelove? If you like that, peep the President's office:

Is that a taxidermy cheetah!? And the main staircase? Come on.

I want to replicate this entire building as my house but add all kinds of awesome gizmos and secret passages and stuff. Also, I'd want a Get Smart shoe-phone. You know, just to have it. This mod-style officer's commons complete with bar and conversation nook is perhaps my favorite. I think I've seen a picture somewhere of my parents hanging out in a room strikingly similar to this one "not" being on any type of illegal substances. Oh 60's teens.

'Enough architecture already you idiot- no one cares about that!' I yell to myself before we're even out of the building. How prophetic of me. Wave two of our assault on Saigon comes at the infamous War Remnants Museum. Outside the museum we find relics left from the Vietnam War as well as the French occupation. To the former, a host of mothballed war machines, and to the latter, this creepy diorama of prisoner conditions:

The inside of the museum is much more macabre. I'm all for perspective but as we make our way through the museum I'm stricken by how one-sided and biased the information is presented. Even just little things like calling an infantry battalion "the glorious liberating battalion." I read a wealth of great information but the method in which it is presented makes me instantly suspicious of the truth behind the content- whether such suspicion is warranted or not. Finally we wince through the grotesque Agent Orange exhibit. We're ready to leave.

We walk back toward the old part of town and come across the Notre Dame Cathedral. Despite knowing that Vietnam was colonized by the French, I'm not really prepared for such an imposing Christian structure. 

We check out the interior of the cathedral and begin our journey back to the hostel. Along the way we spot what appears to be a Japanese-styled beer-bar offering a happy hour special. It's something like $10 for all you could drink Tiger draught beers from 1pm-6pm. We check the time- it's 5:05pm. The going price of a Tiger draught beer is about $2. I look at Jon and he looks at me as if to ask the exact same question: can we drink at least 5 pints of Tiger beer in the next 55 minutes?

Challenge accepted! We dash inside and make our intentions known to the barman. He antes us up immediately. He's in a cheerful mood and is thrilled to oblige our request. We start filming and drinking; drinking and filming. They go down- one, two, three, four. By the time Jon takes a time out to drop a deuce we've pounded four pints of Tiger and the clock only reads 5:30. 

He returns and we resume- five and six down. We've gotten our money's worth! But the beer is so cold and we're running out of time. We want to take down at least one more. We order number 7 and start to chug. We finish just after the 6pm margin. Our barman looks at us, clearly impressed. "One more, on the house," he says. I feel a slight flutter in my heart for this great kindred soul. We take our time with our free beer and tip our barman heavily. Notably when we would return on subsequent day the deal is no longer offered. Oops. America.

We stand to leave and Jon is already struggling. I can tell we're going to need to make a mad dash back to the hostel before he goes from drunk to useless. We pound sand. I'm frantically checking the jackleg map provided by our hostel trying to figure out how in the hell to get us back to. We arrive at one of Saigon's main veins- the major indoor market (where I had been chastised earlier in the day for gesturing at a fake watch with my foot- and just for the record- I know what that means and I did it deliberately as the watch was a "bonafide" piece of shit).

From this intersection I knew exactly how to get us home. The only problem is that it's the epicenter of seven main streets. There is no time to delay- I take the camcorder, hit record and grab Jon by the arm. "Come on, we're making a run for it!" I scream as we dash headlong into the intersection. Everything is swirling and we're sprinting at a breakneck pace across numerous lanes of oncoming traffic in all directions. It's bedlam and I'm laughing mechanically. Horns sound and we run on. I think back to someone telling me that in Vietnam I just need to ignore the cars and move at a steady pace. We aren't steady but we're moving. 

Finally we reach the other side- the corner of the park. I can't believe we weren't hit by a scooter at least. Either the Vietnamese are excellent drivers or we're more nimble than we anticipated. Regardless, we're safe and alive but the night is more or less toast. Jon passes out at the hostel. I have a few beers on the roof and contemplate our state of affairs.

A brief aside: you may be wondering why I have no pictures of these absurd events. The truth is I didn't bother to take any as I anticipated all of these antics making (and likely highlighting) the DI episodes. Since we were filming all of them I saw little need to double up with photo duty. You'll just have to use your imagination.

The next morning finds me ready to test out Vietnam's signature dish: pho (pronounced "f" + the sound you make when someone punches you in the stomach). It's one of my favorite post-drinking dishes as it provides nearly everything you need to treat a hangover: water, salty soup broth, easily digestible noodles and meat, and some serious heat to get you sweating out those toxins. Combo this with a coke (or a beer if you're emboldened) and you've got a damn-near perfect hangover cure. 

Jon opts for vegetarian and I applaud his decision with a Bronx cheer. As a man of considerable bravado, I'm down for some meatballs of unknown origin, however, not quite ready to dive headlong into tripe (intestine). I figure there is plenty of time for that. We slurp down our spicy noodles and broth and balls and hit the streets. My plan is a walk along the river and up into the residential districts to see what we can find. It's a poorly conceived plan from a sight-seeing perspective. The most scenic thing we get is this:

Eventually we wind our way all the way into some obscure residential neighborhood when we notice an oncoming rainstorm. We dive into a cab and head back. That night some of our fellow hostel-dwellers invite us out to drink in the infamous Pham Ngu Lao. This street is known for three things: (1) a raucous young backpacker crowd; (2) cheap beers available to be consumed on little plastic stools outside "snack" shops; and (3) an increasing permeation of pick-pockets and rip off artists as the night hours roll on.

We pull up to a corner shop and immediately pour down a few 25 cent mugs of bia hoi (fresh beer). From there we move down a few stores and set up shop at one of the guy's favorite places. Nearly every beer on the menu is less than $2 and they wheel them right out of the fridge, plunk them down on our midget table, and crack them open. At some point I find myself chatting with a girl from London named Hannah. We're discussing the typical nonsense one might get into while drinking $1 Vietnamese beers on a plastic stool in Saigon when pictures start being taken. We act a fool. This is my favorite.

I'm still laughing at this. The rest of the night is a blur. Things unravel back at the hostel- Jon disappears for a while. Apparently so do I. There is a ruckus in the room and some sort of beef goes down and is resolved. Typical hostel rabble-rousing. Eventually I pass out. 

The next morning Jon and I are slated to do a tour of the Vietcong tunnels leaving at 6am. Considering we didn't go to bed until the wee hours of the morning and I have absolutely zero desire to look at mud tunnels save for documenting it as "good for the show" (our omnipresent battle cry), I'm in no mood for this activity. For the first time on the trip I put my foot down- F this noise. Jon, who is slightly better off than me but way more claustrophobic is, I think, relieved that I decide we should bail on this excursion. It costs us something like $12 each. That morning I find myself thinking I would have gladly paid $50 to NOT crawl through dirt tunnels in 100 degree heat and humidity.

By opting out of the tunnels to sleep in and because we had seen nearly every other item of interest to us in Saigon, we accomplish only two things of note. First, we make our way back to our favorite happy-hour bar for a stabilizing beer and some internet access. We've finally decided to plan out our remaining time in Vietnam and it's time I start putting the pieces together for exactly how we plan on getting to China. Meanwhile, Jon's mustache is in fine form. I snap a number of shots of him in various ludicrous poses. My two favorites have to be Disastro the Diabolical...

...and Gay Luigi.

Here we gooooo! 

The second thing we manage to accomplish is at Gay Luigi's behest. At some point he spots a Pizza Inn in Saigon. I know I'll never hear the end of it if we don't try out Pizza Inn in Vietnam and, to be fair, I'm at least marginally curious as to what a Pizza Inn in Vietnam would entail. I can barely remember what it tasted like back in the States considering I haven't eaten at one since sometime in the mid 1990's. It proves to be our last task in Saigon. 

After putting on a show for the poor girls operating that Pizza Inn (which tasted more or less what I remember a Pizza Inn to taste like, not great, although my antics were exceptional), we boarded our night bus bound for Nha Trang, a highly touted beach-side tourist destination. At this point the only thing I want to do less than board another fighter-cockpit-oriented night bus is to spend another night in Saigon. So I think, 'fuck it, turn on those weird pink lights, blast the Vietnamese music, and lets get this 10 hour bus-ride-freak-show on the road.' And that's just what we do.

At 6:30am the following morning we find ourselves being dumped along an nondescript sidewalk in Nha Trang. "Do you know how to get to our hostel?" an exhausted and weary Jon asks me. "Vaguely." I reply, and strapping on my pack start walking in the direction I assume (and hope) our lodging to be.

We eventually locate it but we are far to early to check in. All I really want to do is take a quick shower, change into a swimsuit and crash on the beach. But it's even too early to use the common area shower. Discouraged, we head out to the main drag and spot a sports bar offering a breakfast special. "Kegs and eggs?" I ask Jon. "Yeah, I could go for a beer and some eggs," he replies. And so at 7:30am Jon and I find our selves onto an outdoor patio of a sports bar in Nha Trang (by ourselves) having eggs, toast, and a frosty pint of beer. 'What in the hell has my life become?' I think. I can't decide whether I'm living the dream or a complete degenerate.

As I'm contemplating these matters over my eggs and beer, a motorcycle pulls up. Twist my titties if it's not our Dutch buddy from back at the bowling alley in Luang Prabang, Laos! Since we last saw them he and his girlfriend apparently rented motorcycles and had been overlanding through Vietnam down from Ha Noi. The SE Asian backpacker community is smaller than one might anticipate. We catch up and hope to see each other in the bars knowing that, on the road, nothing is ever for certain.

We spend the next three days essentially just lying on the beach and drinking beer. One day we pay homage to the French colonial period and have wine, cheese, and baguettes at the beach. Another day we post up at a beer garden on the beach. I get sunburned one day (no surprise) and then somehow get MORE sunburned the following day while sitting UNDER an umbrella! What the hell!? Obviously I underestimated the spf capabilities of the umbrella. The food and bar scene in Nha Trang is good and there are lots of Russian tourists spending hefty sums and strutting around in borderline obscene swimsuits.

In fact, I think to myself how much I would really love Nha Trang if it weren't for one thing: theft is out of control. Even the people managing our hostel repeatedly tell us not to take our phones, cameras, or wallets out of the hostel. One guy tells us that he and his buddy left a beach bag on the edge of the tide and went for a swim. In that brief interim a guy ran by, grabbed it, and jumped on a motorcycle speeding off. F- Vietnam.

What's the point of going to the beach if I can't relax? Plus there were constantly women coming by carrying junk to sell over their shoulders. They position themselves so they are right in your eyeline and then scream at you "HELLLLLLLOOOOOOO!" But actually, because of the distance and accent, it sounds more like "HARRRRRRRRRROOOOO!" Anyway, because of all this, here is the only photo I was able to get during our first three days in Nha Trang:

Nice views though right? Heh. Our last day in Nha Trang (before another night bus to Hoi An... awesome) we decide to check out the Vinpearl water and theme park you can sort of see in the distance in the photo above. We're joined by fellow hostel-mate James at breakfast where I got a shot of the city from the roof just for some context.

After breakfast we catch the bus down to the entrance to Vinpearl. Since I wasn't able to before, I snapped a few photos of the streets of Nha Trang.

Because the park is on a separate island there is a gigantic cable car system built across the water. It was one of the main things we were looking forward to about Vinpearl. In perfect Nha Trang fashion, however, it was mysteriously closed this particular day and we had to take a ferry instead.

On the island we make our way to the water park portion to try out the slides. It has to be the weirdest water park set up I've ever experienced. In what I can only assume is an effort to conserve water, each slide is only open for certain times of the day. So we run back and forth across the park trying to time all of the slides for their allotted opening times. Despite this odd set up the slides are pretty good and the lazy river is solid.

We dry off and head back to the main part of the park. It's here we board the "alpine coaster," essentially a sled affixed to a steel track that you can control the speed of. I did one of these in China back in 2005 with hilarious results. I'm pretty amped to give it another try. The lift takes us up a massive hill on the island... it seems like we're going up forever. I take a selfie photo and take a look. 'Holy crap we're high!' I think.

We careen down the hill as out of control as our sleds will let us. Unfortunately they are more strict about photos being taken on the way down. At the bottom we realize that given our time constraints we need to head to the ferry and ultimately back to the hostel. On the ferry we get some nice views of the Pacific Ocean at dusk.

Somewhere across the bay I murder this man, steal his hat, and toss him overboard. It's a cool hat. Once I've evaded the police and we're back in town we collect our belongings. James and I decide to spring for the oft lauded burritos being slung up the street from the hostel. Meanwhile, Jon elects to go for a massage. The burritos are fairly tasty and in short order our bus has arrived to take us on another overnight voyage- this time to Hoi An in the north. Only... we can't locate Jon.

I tell the hostel owner to hold the bus and dart up and down the streets shouting for him. Finally I find him a few buildings down still in the midst of his massage. He throws on his garb and we shag ass back to the hostel. We do both make the bus, albeit by the slimmest of margins, and then we're on our way north again. Considering that I initially anticipated I would enjoy the south of Vietnam way more than the north, I'm not as excited as I could be. It causes my stomach to churn... or maybe that's the pre-bus burrito. Before we even pull out of Nha Trang, I regret that decision already.

Siem Reap & Phnom Penh, Cambodia: New Dogs, Old Tricks

The bus rolls us to the Cambodian border around 7PM. From there I'm a little suspicious about how this whole "walking-across-the-border-getting-a-visa-and-eventually-transport-to-Siem-Reap" thing is going to work. But we are met immediately by a man who seems to work for, or with, or related in some capacity to the border patrol. He helps us acquire and fill out our Cambodian entry forms and then walks us through each step of the process- getting out of Thailand, getting the Cambodian visas, then entering Cambodia.

We, of course, know that there is going to be a rub. But that doesn't really matter much as we're trying to get through to the international passenger terminal on the other side of the border before it closes and the last bus leaves. Unfortunately we're too late by about 10 minutes. So our only option is to take a private car. It's Jon and I and a Japanese guy. The car seats 4 passengers. The Japanese guy has paid a bit extra for the front seat. Our "friend" tells us we could pay for 2 seats for something like $15 a piece or buy all three seats in the back for the $45 for the ride.

We think it's absurd to be shaken down for an empty seat so we keep saying we'll wait for someone else to show up. This flabbergasts our guide. Finally we negotiate to pay $40 which will include his "tip" for helping us out through the customs etc. By this point it's 8:45 and we're pretty exhausted and in no mood to continue negotiations, especially in light of the 2.5-3 hour drive we have to Siem Reap ahead of us.

The fee is paid and the car takes off into the night. It's dark, immeasurably dark. The roads have no lights and with the exception of the headlamps of passers-by there is nothing illuminating the landscape. It appears bleak- desolate blackness. Then, after a few dozen miles we start to notice something- fields of what appears to be fluorescent lights, casting an ominous glow on the barren fields. An alien encounter? Some sort of strange Cambodian raves? Hardly. It would turn out these lights are part of a local bug trap for crop pests. The bugs fly toward the light, hit a barrier and then fall into a pool of water where they drown. While a crafty solution for pests, these traps are also a huge breeding ground for mosquitoes.

The taxi tears on through the night, ducking and weaving around traffic like a prize fighter dodging jabs. A thunderstorm looms in the distance- lighting up the once impenetrably dark sky with terrific bolts. The car charges into the fray trading no speed for safety despite the downpour. After some time we emerge and close to Siem Reap. Just outside town we are transferred to a tuk tuk. Somewhere during this process my water purifying bottle and the "Where the fuck is Bratislava?" button on my pack are stolen. There are many thieves in Cambodia- a lesson I'd learn in a much harder way later on.

We finally arrive and check into the hostel. I refuse to give up our passports. No way Jose. The rooftop has a bar and the floor is covered in sand. Let's have some beers. I'm struck by the tastiness of the Cambodian Angkor beer on draught. Jon is still on antibiotics so he gets a pop. Time for sleep. Big day coming up- the long awaited trip to Angkor Wat.

I wanted to visit the Angkor Wat temple complex, built in the early 12th century, since I was a kid and saw it on a poster hanging in the school library. When I visited SE Asia many years before I was unable to make it Cambodia and will still kicking myself for it. It was high time to make good on those childhood dreams. 

We awake early and hire a tuk tuk driver for the day for $12, approximately the going rate. It's Jon, myself, and new friend Ania. First up: Angkor Wat itself. I'm filled with immense anticipation as we cross the bridge over the moat into the complex itself.

After walking through the first series of gates, my initial impression is of how huge the interior space is. I was expecting mostly temple and ruin but within the walls of Angkor Wat is an incredible amount of open area. It takes an eternity to make our way from the entrance to the main temple buildings.

I eventually to get close enough to snap a shot of the front entrance to the temple complex, however, because of the trees and preservation work on the front side, my best pictures of this phenomenal structure are from the rear.

We slowly circumnavigate the structure and Flange poses for what might arguably be the best shot I get of the old Wat from the back.

After wandering around the rear-gate, we penetrate the temple and make our way up the stairs. The inside area is remarkable and the stairs are treacherous. Jon is nervous about going up and outright hesitant about coming back down. Ania sits it out.

Inside are ancient Hindu images that have largely been altered or outright replaced into Buddhist ones. From the top of the main tower you can see out over the entire complex.

After soaking in the views, history, and artifacts we make our way gingerly down the stairs and out of the complex. Our next stop is Prasat Bayon of Angkor Thom, built in the late 12th century and home of the infamous giant stone faces. This temple isn't as grandiose as Angkor Wat but the attention to detail is incredible.

We all stop to have our photos taken.

Even Jon and Flange are excited.

Unfortunately our compatriot is a bit of a bummer. Fun enough to walk and talk with but when it comes to cultural appreciation she falls tragically short. Tthe most culturally relevant thing to erupt from her mouth during the entire day is "I don't like that statue, it's creepy." History, I suppose, isn't for everyone.

Next stop is Ta Keo at Angkor Thom, completed around 1000 AD. Preceeding Angkor Wat, this was intended to be the main capital of the Khmer civilization until there was a bad omen with one of the kings and construction was abandoned and eventually begun anew at Angkor Wat. That said, the temple structure itself is impressive, the most noticable feature of which being the incredibly steep and slippery stairs one must scale to catch a glimpse from the top.

At the top an attending monk tells Jon and I the story of the temple. He informs us the stairs were built steep so that it took the much shorter people of that era an incredibly long time to climb them. That, he said, made them appreciate the deities and the climb even more.

Before descending down the slightly less-treacherous south side, I snap a photo from the top looking down at the stairs. Maybe it's the angle, maybe it's the color of the stairs and the dirt, but I love the shot immediately. And here it is for you.

Our fourth stop of the day brings us to the "Tomb Raider Temple" otherwise known as Ta Prohm. It's known as the former because it was used in filming for the Tomb Raider movie starring Angelina Jolie, but is most famous for dramatic way in which the forest has seemed to reclaim, or at least attempt to reclaim, the temple itself.

The roots of these trees snake across the temple structures like ancient white anacondas, seemingly attempting to choke the life from the stones themselves.

Feeling the heat and the jungle, I transition my black scarf acquired in Malaysia into a headband of sorts. I start to feel like a young Snake Pliskin. Who is that clown behind me?

We weave our way around toward the back of the temple where a large portion of it lies in piles of rubble. There is a current project to rebuilt parts of it to make it more tourist friendly. Personally I like it tree-like and ruinous as it currently stands.

We emerge from the other side of the temple complex and our driver intercepts us and deposits us at the last of five temples on our itinerary, Banteay Kdei. This is the least impressive of the five. However, as we make our way to the entrance through the trees we are ambushed by a host of youths attempting to sell wares.

A young girl approaches me. "1 flute, 1 dollar," she says. "No, I don't need any flutes." "You can give them to your friends," she replies. "They don't know how to play the flute and neither do I," "Ok, 2 flutes for 1 dollar," she deftly responds. This exchange continues for the duration of our walk, probably 10 minutes or so, until finally we have arrived at the temple. She tugs on my arm. One final offer, "3 flues for 1 dollar," she boldly declares. It's an offer so good I nearly cave. But I hold my ground- there will be no flutes today.

The most impressive parts of this temple are the shrine/altar located in the direct center:

And the exit which, in an understated way, exudes a simple elegance most of the other temples lack.

That night the festivities continue at the infamous "pub street" in Siem Reap where all draught beers are 50 cents and hustlers and women of all description promise your wildest dreams. I'm approached by a taxi driver. He's hassling me for a ride somewhere. I tell him I won't take a ride with him but I'd gladly buy him a beer. We proceed to his favorite bar and I purchase several libations which we consume with considerable haste. He teaches me how to say "you are very beautiful, I love you" to a Cambodian girl. It's not as well received as I would have hoped but we laugh heartily in the wake of failure.

After a few beers he disappears, hopefully not to continue driving for the night but if I was a betting man I would say he was. The night roars forth. Considering seeing Angkor Wat and the surrounding temples was a bucket list item for me, I'm in fine spirits. And the spirits, we'll they're fine too. Imbibing and other absurdities continues into the wee hours. Finally it's time to make our way back.

Along the streets Jon and I are approached by two ladies of the evening, so to speak. Jon immediately runs away. Me, in my typical jovial I-will-mix-it-up-with-anyone sort of way, engage them in a ridiculous conversation spanning a few blocks. When we reach the corner where our hostel is located, I try to walk down the alley. One of them begins to grab me in a not-conventionally-appropriate manner. I try to rebuke her advances but she gets frantic and more aggressive.

I'm backpedaling yet trying to be as fun about it as I can. Eventually she backs off and like that she's disappeared. I turn around and make my way to the hostel a bit shaken. It's at this point I check my pockets. Son-of-a-bitch! My iphone, THE iphone, that survived 8 booze-addled months on the road in Europe, is gone. Swiped by a common Cambodian street hooker/thief. I turn and attempt to give chase but it's no use. I search around the streets and ask other prostitutes but to no avail. She has her prize for the night and I am the sucker.

It's a lesson hard learned but one probably overdue. As I tell Jon the next day, it is a lesson that sadly, I feel, makes me a worse person. It robs me of my straightforward innocence- that I'll always have my guard down and trust people. That I'm willing to give everyone a fair shake right from the jump. I never was much of a trusting person so it has taken me a long time to get to where I could mix it up with strangers like that and not suspect something from them.

And while this particular occasion was just extreme stupidity on my part, I know that for the rest of my time in Asia I'll regard every person who approaches me as a potential threat to some degree. I hate the thought of that being my first instinct when being approached- even if I'm suspecting the rub. I think my trusting nature is one of my most endearing personality traits. Jon claims it's one of my worst. I tell him he's an idiot. But I guess maybe in a way he's right.

It is the systematic death of our innocence that makes us doubt, and ultimately hate, the world. It's why we start seeing it for what it is and stop seeing it for what it could be. Most of us begin as optimists and are slowly beaten into realists or even pessimists. I started out the opposite and have been gradually working my way up to optimism. This incident, as minor as it may seem in the grand scheme of things, strips me of that base level of innocence, or naivete, or even gullibility if you like. But that's all it ever takes; one tiny incident and your whole world shifts on its axis. And as I awake the next morning I know it will be that way for me for the rest of Asia. It's easy to be hard, it's infinitely more difficult to be pliable.

The next morning comes on as anticipated. And per standard operating procedure the first thing on the agenda is to report the theft to the local tourist police who I know are going to be absolutely useless in finding this phone. It happens so often in Cambodia that the police don't like to acknowledge it as a real crime because they don't want their crime statistics against tourists going up. In our 6 bed dorm room we had 1 other guy get his phone stolen on the same night coming from the same place. That said, we ride up and attempt to fill out the paper work at the tourist police station. They tell me to return later in the day.

Our tuk tuk driver is a funny guy who is training to be a Cambodian body-builder. He takes us back to the hostel and promises to return for us in 2 hours when we have to go back to the station. He does and we do. Things go administratively. They don't seem to believe me and won't give me a copy of the "police report." This was a waste of time. Somehow sensing our mood, our tuk tuk driver suggests taking us to the Tonle Sap lake where they have the floating houses.

Originally we had wanted to take the river boat from Siem Reap down across Tonle Sap to Phnom Penh but because we are in Cambodia during the dry season the average depth on the lake is only a few meters so it's impossible to make the boat trip. We figure, fuck it. Nothing better to do. So he speeds us down to the "river bed" where there are dozens of boats barely afloat in the 2-3 foot deep water.

It takes us a long time to traverse the shallow waterways of the river inlet but once we are on the lake, the houses are incredible. Each house is docked to a piling made of sticks which anchors it against any significant currents. When the water levels rise, our children guides tell us, the houses move off the lake and anchor against the side of the river.

There is even a floating school and floating church. Something like 40,000 people live on the lake itself and several million live in cities around it. As we cruised around in our boat I couldn't help but think how much my Dad would love this program. He's always wanted to live AT the lake... here he could literally live ON it. And for pennies on the dollar. Phone and TV reception might be a problem though.

We return to the hostel from the lake and invite our tuk tuk driving friend inside for a few beers. We teach him to play beer pong and we're all having a jolly time. Only, after a few hours and rounds, he won't take the hint to leave. Ordinarily I wouldn't care except that he's pounding beers on our tab without a sole gesture to return the favor. Time to employ the old Irish-goodbye.

After ordering what will be the last round of beers, I close the tab and inform Jon of the plan. I hastily dispatch my beer and feigning a trip to the bathroom, depart. A few minutes later Jon follows suit. We meet on the landing and head out into the night to acquire food, worried that our driver may cruise ngrily past us at any moment. Instead we are lucky and enjoy a peaceful and delicious vegetarian dinner. I should note that for no real reason I declared myself a vegetarian for the seven days we were planning to spend in Cambodia. This being our third day, I was now three for three.

The next day, as the boat is unavailable, we strike out on an early bus to Phnom Penh. The landscape is at first bleak and arid- not at all what I was expecting.

This eventually gives way to settlements of houses raised on stilts to combat the inevitable flood waters of the rainy season. The roads are rough; we bounce along relentlessly. There is a wreck ahead- Jon claims he sees a dead man along the side of the road. Later we see a tour bus that looks strikingly like ours only flipped on its side. Tourism!

I'm thankful when the bus eventually pulls into the garage in Phnom Penh. We flag a tuk tuk and make our way to the hostel. As it's still relatively early there is enough daylight to sneak in the National Museum and possibly the Royal Palace.

Unfortunately they don't allow you to take photos inside the museum. Fortunately, they do allow you to take photos of the courtyard of the museum which, in my opinion, is the best part of the museum anyway.

After perusing hundreds of ancient Cambodian artifacts we stroll the few blocks down the street to the Royal Palace. It's a bit pricey but the main throne hall and grounds are very impressive.

Perhaps even more impressive, however, is that Jon and I are able to visit the entire palace grounds, film for the show, and still escape an impending and very threatening thunderstorm looming large in the immediate horizon. We make it out of the palace and into a tuk tuk literally seconds before the deluge.

The rain begins to fall. Then it begins to pour. The driver deftly unfurls some flaps that he zips together to form a protective shielding from the rain. Back at the hostel we take much needed showers and procure beers. We engage in another bet. I lose, again. It appears I'll now be required to have a mustache for the next two weeks. Awesome.

The following day is one for errands. Both of us have some places we need to go and we hit them as we slowly make our way on foot toward the river. We walk around the main drag trying to decide where to eat lunch. Eventually I spot a place boasting something I had heard tale of since our early nights out in Thailand: Cambodian "happy pizza." We scope out the menu- $3 for a small "happy pizza."

"That can't be accurate." I boldly declare. We decide to venture in and give it a try. I'm fully anticipating getting nothing other than ripped off for a bland tasting pizza but I figure for $3 it's worth a try, especially since it could be great fodder for the show. Since Jon is still on antibiotics and we want one of us to maintain a sense of normalcy should this pizza work as advertised, I graciously volunteer to eat it myself.

As soon as it comes out I can smell something is definitely "happy" about this pie and it wasn't the sauce, cheese, or crust. Underneath the cheese and intermingled with the sauce was a green mass that looked like an overdose of raw basil. It, obviously, was not. Even as I'm eating it I'm thinking that for $3 and given the limited amount of time this pie had cooked, there is no way it was going to make me as "happy" as what we had been told. I eat it, we pay, and we walk out to the river to film for a while. I feel perfectly normal.

After a few minutes the heat has us running for cover and we spot the Foreign Correspondents Club (FCC), the old bar/lounge once frequented by foreign journalists, dignitaries, and other people I imagine would rather spit on you than say hello. These days it's just a tourist bar/restaurant so we swing in for a beer. Our beers arrive and we look out over the terrace at the main drag of Phnom Penh, at the river, at the people passing by. It's very relaxing. The fans drone on overhead at a paced measure. Birds beat their dark wings over the river, traffic inches by at a crawl. Time seems to have stopped.

I look up at Jon, "how long have we been sitting here?" He replies, "about ten minutes..."

"My god," I say increasingly slowly, "it feels like we've been here at least an hour." It is at this exact moment I realize the "happy" pizza I thought I had been duped for... was indeed working as anticipated. More than anticipated. "Are you ok?" Jon asks. I look at him as if it's the first time I've seen him sitting there. "Yeah... I think that pizza is starting to hit me." I notice I have hardly touched my beer. "I don't think I can drink this," I say, and even as the words come out of my mouth I can't believe I'm the one saying them.

Then another more horrifying thought follows. "Dude..." I articulate as best I can, "what if that guy thought we were both eating the pizza and doubled up?" Jon looks at me and half-laughs. "Yeah, he could have," he replies. "We need to go... now." I say as I attempt to stand. Everything is moving in slow motion yet I can't keep pace. 'Where is Korean James Bond when you need him?' I think to myself. 'Surely he would have a solution to this!'

Jon looks at me. I look back. "What? Why are we still standing here? Can we leave now!?" I half-ask half-yell.  Jon looks at me as if he's just stood up- but I know better. We've been standing here for at least ten minutes... haven't we? I... wait. We take the stairs gingerly and Jon hails a tuk tuk. We give the driver the address and we're on our way.

"Jesus Christ! Slow this thing down, you'll kill us all!!" I scream as other tuk tuks go rocketing past at astronomical speeds. "Dude we're going, like, maybe eight miles an hour," Jon says to me. "Bullshit! This tuk tuk is careening out of control!! Dear god help us, we're going to die a fiery death!!" I scream.

Later, back at the hostel- after I've watched some Mad Men and had a long nap- Jon shows me the video footage of the tuk tuk ride. At some point I swear a dude walks past our tuk tuk as I'm screaming about our driver taking us to "ludicrous speed." Lesson: do NOT underestimate the "happy pizzas." And if you plan to give it a try, eat it within walking distance of your domicile. Having learned my lesson I decide to take it easy for the rest of the night.

The next day is a somber one. We sign on with the hostel for their tour of the killing fields and the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum where political prisoners were tortured before being sent to their deaths under the Khmer Rouge Regime. What was once the mass-graves of the Choeung Ek killing fields near Phnom Penh are now large pits in the ground- the burial place of thousands of innocent people.

But the most horrifying thing you will come across is the tree whereby soldiers would hold infants by the feet and smash their heads against the tree to kill them before tossing the bodies into a mass grave. Even more horrifying than the tree itself, however, is the depiction we would see later in the day but I'll spare you that.

Since I was in Bulgaria I've been wearing the martenitsa. As described in the Bulgaria post, according to custom one must wear the bracelet until they see a crane (animal not construction) and then they can remove the bracelet and tie it on a fruit tree. As there is a fruit tree in the killing fields and I had just recently seen a crane in Thailand, I figured it was as good of a place as any to tie it and make a wish for the future.

After walking the killing fields, you proceed to a monument where inside is housed the skulls and bones of many of the thousands of victims found at that site. It's a macabre and sobering display- one that reminds me of the Skull Tower in Nis and the assuary in Kutna Hora. I think I've seen enough stacks of human skulls for a lifetime.

Next we proceed to the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, the horrible and legendary former school-turned-torture prison. The exterior, apart from the barbed wire, looks relatively normal.

The interior, however, reveals the grim truth. Impossibly cramped cells and murals of the types of torture administered to the prisoners to force confessions brings the prison horrifically to life.

Needless to say, after viewing these items we proceed back to the hostel and I commence to hoist a few for the many many fallen during the Khmer Rouge. It's a terrible thing to have happened and a horrible thing to have born witness to even so many years later. But it's important to remember these atrocities, even if they are hard to stomach and incite many an alcoholic beverage to dull the all-too-sobering images.

After such a grim day, on the following morning it was time for a bit of fun. Specifically, it was time to collect on the only one bet I have won on the trip. Originally Jon was required to rent a motorcycle with a side car and drive me around to my heart's content for a day. However, after multiple attempts and three different countries we found it virtually impossible to make that happen- at least at a reasonable price. So, in lieu of that idea we compromise and hire a tuk-tuk driver to escort us around for an entire day.

What results is actually one of the most fun days we have had so far. He careens us about town in a perfectly reckless manner. I don't really know what else there is to see so I gesture wildly at sections of the map and he takes off in that direction. We pass by a temple high on a hill (turns out to Wat Phnom- the temple the city is named after) and stop in for a brief perusal.

And then we're off again. Each time we need a new beer we simply say, "beer mart!" and our gracious driver will pull the vehicle over at the closest establishment. After a few rounds we decide to buy a beer or two for our salty captain and he downs them with speed, ease, and grace.

Eventually we have him swing us by a German-style beer garden we spotted on our first day and wait for us while we pound a few delicious German beers. As dusk begins to settle, we rip back through the city with exceptional haste. We make a pit stop at the "Olympic Stadium" to see what all the fuss (or lack thereof) is about.

Soon it is dark- traffic suddenly jams the streets but it slows our intrepid (and now largely tipsy) commandant none. He hurtles us forward, weaving past cars and through pedestrians. If one were to ask us what we were hauling, I'm sure he would cheerfully reply that we were "hauling ass." It's a grand night and I feel capital. As he drops us off at the hostel after several hours of chauffeuring, drinking, and general tuk tuk hell-raising, we tip him kindly with an extra large beer.

It's been a phenomenal day and has brought about a great end to our Cambodian tour. The next day we will leave for Vietnam. Cambodia is a fascinating place. Clearly the most wild-west of the SE Asian countries so far, Cambodia offers what most of the tigers could only proffer years ago. Yet it also suffers from many of the drawbacks that plagued those lands for decades past. But even despite the tendency to smash and grab, I find the Cambodians a warm and cheerful people, an inviting folk in a land on the rise. Of the countries we've visited so far, I find myself looking forward to returning to Cambodia the most.

But for now, Vietnam calls. And for the amount I've paid to sort these visas, she has quite the hole to dig herself out of. Only time will tell if she's able.