Sneaking into Cambodia…

It’s February 1994 and we arrived in Thailand without reservations, knowing that the only certainty of the trip was that in 5 weeks we were flying home from Singapore. Everything in between, including how to get to Singapore, we would figure out as we went.

A chance encounter in the Bangkok train station would lead us to detour to Cambodia along the way. Operating out of a hole-in-the-wall office in the station was a Thai tour operator listing Cambodia as one of their destinations. We didn’t know that was possible - sign us up! At this time Cambodia is still officially closed to tourism but the Thai office says they know a way.

Turns out we were “smuggled” in by the tour operator. Rush visas were issued by the consulate in Bangkok, but they were on a separate card and not attached to our passports. Our group was small, at just 7 adventures; Mike and I, a single older man from England, another man from Hong Kong, and a Thai family of 3. Transport from Bangkok to near the border was by 3rd class train. On this Friday afternoon the train was packed with commuters and huge groups of school children returning home for the weekend. As the shock of our presence wore off, a few of the kids got up the nerve to practice their English on us, amid much laughter from their friends! Our first night was spent in a border town in Thailand.

The next day, after several delays and much uncertainty (something about the regular border guards having been replaced), we crossed into Cambodia traveling by mini van, complete with a Red Cross inspector insignia on the smoked windows. Our driver was joined in the front by a Cambodian military officer (able to pull rank on most military we might come across along the way). We also had an escort vehicle - a ratty little pickup truck loaded with teenage boys with a rocket launcher - sort of Cambodian Eagle Scouts with a big gun! Despite these protections there was a sense of urgency as there were many miles to cover and the area was unsafe after dark - the Khmer Rouge still having an unspoken presence in this part of the country.

Mike guesses that he was one of the last to see Angkor Wat in the late 60's (at the age of 12), as his family vacationed there just weeks before the country fell. By going in early ‘94 he was also one of the first westerners to see Angkor again. The changes were stark. The once bustling city of Siem Riep was now devastated. Evidence of the war was everywhere you looked, with entire blocks blasted away, while the next block over was dusty, but more-or-less intact - a bit like I have always envisioned the path of a tornado. The roads were more dirt than asphalt. The majority of the bridges were out. The people didn't want to use their own currency - the US Dollar was preferred, followed by the Thai Bhat. There were few hotels, restaurants or shops. We didn't see a bank, and there were certainly no ATM's.

Warning signs along the roads outside of town were red, showing a skull and cross-bones, and the words "land mines" - a very effective way of keeping you on the roads and out of the jungle. Most entrepreneurs operated out of either street stalls or wheeled carts. The work ethic was clearly very strong, the people resourceful, and unwaveringly friendly.

Almost immediately upon arriving in Siem Reap it became obvious that our tour operator didn't understand why people came to the area, nor did our Thai guide know much about the area. We had a brief tour of one of the temple complexes where highlights of the guide’s interpretation included pointing out one of the more intricately carved stone panels, and telling us it was a monkey. We were left to wonder as to the significance of the carvings, let alone the relevance of the monkey.

Virtually the only other tourists we saw were an occasional wealthy older French women, usually wearing a huge colorful sun hat, heels, and being chauffeured around. By all appearances they were revisiting places they remembered from when Cambodia was a French colony.

Soon we were dropped at the simple (but fine) hotel and told to rest until dinner that evening (at the hotel). With such limited time here there’s no time for resting during daylight! Almost immediately we set out on foot to explore more of the town. We soon came to the once beautiful, although now decrepit Grand Hotel (which I gather has been lovingly restored again at this time). Here we met a couple of young local guys who had a small new motorcycle (an extraordinary show of wealth amongst the locals). They were rather surprised by our offer to rent it out from underneath them, but also found the small sum (probably $20-$30) we offered too great to resist. With some hesitation on their parts, as well as our own, we set off to explore by motorbike. I should clarify here, we neither ride a motorcycle at home, nor speak either Cambodian or French - the two languages of the country. No point in letting these little inconveniences slow us down in our explorations. Off we wobbled, with Mike driving and me clinging to the back of the bike, cameras around our necks and one small guidebook in hand.

Our first obstacle once outside of town (the roads were thankfully empty, so there was no traffic to dodge) was when we came to an army check-point / road block. As we approached the young guards’ jaws dropped at the sight of two young white guys on a motor bike. Taking advantage of their surprise we slowed, smiled, waved and yelled hello, all as we kept rolling right around the road block and on our way! We left them staring after us and tentatively waving as we rode into the jungle andtowards the ruins.

I won’t attempt to describe the ruins themselves, except to say that they are everything that everyone always says; enormous, mysterious, magical & mystical. You can not help being awed when standing in front of these temple complexes surrounded by jungle.

Our first stop was Angkor Wat, and this being the days before tourism hit, it was nearly deserted. No busses and no tour leaders holding up little flags so their charges could keep track of their group. Almost no vendors (although I still have a T-shirt bought from a young boy selling them out of his backpack as he roamed around in search of tourists). We saw maybe 20 locals at Angkor (it is again a revered religious complex), and less tourists. After a couple of amazing hours we walked back across the moat bridge to the main entrance. Mike remembered staying in a hotel directly across the street from Angkor, but now there was only jungle. Some of the trees seemed more aligned than random though, so we explored a bit. After a few minutes of tromping about in the high weeds and brush (not thinking about the dangers of snakes) we found the old foundations for this special hotel. Nothing but the concrete and stone foundations and patios remained following the years of war. There were in fact absolutely no buildings of any type within sight of Angkor (Siem Reap is several miles distant).

The ruins themselves came through the years-long conflict with minimal destruction. In some cases the intricately carved walls were clearly used for target practice, with many bullet marks chipping the figures, but this was fairly rare. In a few, but not many cases, sections of the ruins had been raided, with whole panels removed (or damaged in the process).

The greatest destruction has been wrought by time and the jungle. Over the centuries the strangler figs and vines have crept in and dislodged huge blocks and even entire walls. In some cases the roots are so dense they form a “curtain” obscuring all traces of what is behind them. In other cases there will be a huge tree growing next to a wall, which is now nothing more than a mass of blocks

that have been toppled by the roots. At Ta Prohm the ruins have only partially been freed from the grip of the forest. Here you can get the greatest sense of both the strength of the jungle, and also what the area must have looked like when it was rediscovered.

All too soon the sun began to set over Angkor, and it was time to return to town, to our tour group, and to the anxious boys who had given up their new ride for the day. We again waved as we approached the checkpoint. The guards were not as surprised this time though - they raised the roadblock and yelled hello as we puttered by (probably happy to know that 2 unnamed tourists hadn’t been lost in the jungle on their watch).

Back in town the motorcycle owners were so delighted to see us return, with their bike unharmed, that they immediately wanted to know if we’d like it again the next day! Yes! No time for rest on a 3 day tour of

travel journal text and photography by Mark Grantham