Bus Rides and Taxis (Siem Reap)

Siem Reap, eh? This is the town where everyone who comes to Cambodia comes here. It's the gateway town to Angkor Wat and it's a dust bowl. Most locals have taken to wearing a surgical face mask. it's a weird thing to see, all these guys driving rickshaws and motorbikes are wearing them. They look like they've escaped from a horror movie. Though i haven't seen much of the town yet.

But I love Asia, there's no other place like it. You can do anything. Say anything. Drink anything. Buy anything. And on the bus they play karaoke music the whole time. Most of the time this music sucks.

But i tell you, if i could read Cambodian it'd be the best. For six hours while no one sung, we listened to that machine and i dreamed of fulfilling my dreams of not only being a cabaret singer but doing it while travelling. I tell you, me and Sandy up there, on that aisle doing our duets, we could've rocked it rocked the bus in a whole new style. Though it would've been loads better if the music was in English because while i might sound like a cultural fool, i think Cambodian pop sucks! They're got lovely countryside though.

So as the bus is pulling into our final stop at Siem Reap, hundreds of young lads as running along side of the bus as we slowed. Dust is everywhere. Surgical masked teenagers are slapping our windows waving at us. Friendly, you might think. It might almost be an Indiana Jones scene, except these guys are worse than those crazy Indians that chased Harrison Ford down to the river with their blow guns and spears. These guys are taxi drivers, moto drivers, rickshaw drivers, and whatever you wanna call them, they're calling for you.

So stepping down the steps of the bus there's hundreds of these lads, yelling for attention. They're all holding up signs and screaming, their signs read ''the best guesthouse,'' ''The greatest guesthouse,'' or ''The most superlative guesthouse.'' and They're screaming, 'Hey! Come my Guesthouse!" or "Hey, Mr free ride for you!'' all while they're trying smile, because they don't wanna appear rude, and shoving and pushing each other to get to the front row. Its like stepping down into flock of giant turkeys, all squabbling and hungry. They want your money.

I feel like a rock star!

They're pulling and grabbing. I'm lucky because I've got a loud booming voice. "Get out of my way!'' i yell

The westerner has spoken.

They stop. Look.

For a second.

Then they're pulling and grabbing. ''Where you go mister?' Come my guesthouse. cheap Cheap. good Deal. You smoke? We went to a place Mook knew and its tops. Tomorrow we'll go see Angkor Wat.

Nepal, I nearly died!!!!!

I nearly died because I caught Sandy's sickness. I had my money riding
on it being different and being the dreaded chicken flu only because i
think it sounds funny, but I'm such a wimp when it comes to being
sick. I turn into the biggest souk and previously I'd been telling her
to stop being such a baby about it and get over it - she'd only had to
go to hospital once!.

'I'm sure the rooms are much cleaner inside.' I kept telling as we walked
into the hospital. 'They have to be educated about these things. Much cleaner
inside.'

We got shoved in a waiting room full of about a hundred curious yet
pale faces all staring at us while we all waited to be next to see the
only doctor available. Anyway Sandy was fine, he just gave her some
antibiotics and gave me some very serious conversation while he
managed to ignore the existence of his patient, Sandy, all together.

'The reason there is so much corruption in Nepal is because the
politicians want to drive cars like mine. I have a BMW. They're
trying to keep up with me.'

'uh huh'

'How could they possibly afford a house like mine without their bribes.'

'Thanks, mate. You've been truly fascinating.'

The pills he gave her seemed to work. I stole them off her when i got it.

Imagine your face heavy and feeling like it's sliding off - a cough so
deep it touches hell and makes you talk like the devil and a fever to
match the inferno of hell where you feel like you're heading.

Yeah, cool i think I'm up for walking, i said, 'I'm a bloke.'

A day latter I'm vomiting on the beautiful scenery of the Himalayas.
This is where i feel like I'm going to die.

'Just a bit further,' Sandy says, 'We've only got to another 10kms to go.'

The mountains are vertigo above and below me. Clouds are in the
valleys and blues skys above. Another puke shoots from my guts. The
yaks are bleating and conversation is starting to make sense.

I've got a list of places I've puked on now, my first and personal
favourite is Ullaru -Ayers Rock - when i climbed it stoned, in the
middle of the day, and bare footed - a good way to get heat stroke and
blow chunks on the sacred site.

So if i get a few more natural wonders under my belt (or is that out
from under my belt?) i might be setting some kind of new record.

It was then I did decided to steal Sandy's pills.

You can hire Sherpas up there to carry your stuff, and of course I
considered this but there's a whole bunch of philosophies that go with
this

- I'm giving someone a job/I'm encouraging slavery -
- it's giving them something to do/I'm a lazy bastard -

On the whole though the reason i didn't go with the Sherpa (because i
am a lazy bastard) is that the Euros I'd seen marching down the hill
holding their professional walking sticks (pointy ones), dressed in
their skintight Lycra shorts with their ball sack bouncing (or a nice
firm camel's foot bulging for the ladies) while a tiny man stumbling
behind them carrying their lorry load of packs. He'd be all bundled
together with ropes and bags and have then all strapped to his
forehead. The package would be bigger than him and he'd look like an
ant carrying a boulder on its head from a distance with two glamour
queens marching in front of him discussing the latest prices of fake
Gucci handbags.

I guess, somehow, I'd feel like a little uncomfortable letting a
little man carry my load, I'm too proud, but looking back i should
have. I might not have puked on the mountain and had some pair of
glamorous Euros turn their noses up at me as I was doubled over
emptying my guts into the most scenic place on the earth. The Sherpa
said, hello.

So i got better, i even gave up smoking, it's been a whole week
without a ciggie, and we had a lovely walk down the hill. Very nice
views.

Anyway, just though i'd add the little bit about how i nearly died!!!!!

Hey From Bombay

Bombay or Mumbai is weird city, the name you use depends on which side
of the religious fence you sit on. I like calling Bombai or Mumbay.

It's weird living here though, not like my previous travels through
Asia because i never spent this amount of time in the one spot. But
let me tell you about the culture shock? The one that everyone whose
been to India tries to prepare you for? With the suffering, the people
dying on the street in piles of boney bodies, the lepers, the beggars,
the etc, the etc... you know the one what people say, when you go
there you'll have a spiritual experience from seeing masses of people
suffering for no other reason than being poor and you'll be
spiritual-ised because there's no way you can help them, there's just
too many of the buggers you just have to learn to deal with
it.

I don't think so! I've suffered more! Well, maybe not, but don't get
me wrong some of best freinds are people.

But the culture shock I'm experiencing is from being an Aussie. People
are constantly talking to me about the cricket! I've had to start
reading one article a fortnight about the sport so i can contribute to
their bloody conversations, but i can't bring myself to read or learn
anymore than necessary.

But that's not it. The culture shock is this...

Being an Aussie i naturally reject authority, it may be from the
flow-over of the convict era with our generations of rejecting our
colonial oppressors, or you could call it our socially inbuilt
tall-poppy syndrome, whatever, i don't care, i know i don't like
authority and there's thousands of others like me back home that feel
the same way.

So staying in the Marriott, I constantly have these little men coming
up to me
they grin up at me, asking, 'How can I be helping your service, sir?'

'What?'

'Is there anything you will be needing? Another gin and tonic, perhaps sir?

Naturally I've grown accustom to the free drinks. Admittedly, that's
pretty lush. But i feel weird telling the guys, who are actually
begging for it, what to do.

Sandy goes to work at 9am and doesn't get back til 7 at night and
because i was sick when i first got here I spent my first week in bed,
food poisoned by my servants i might add, i didn't get out much in
that first week or two. I even had a doctor visit me in my room.

It was about 1am in the morning, outside out hotel room it was 33
degrees and my body was freezing. I'd put all my clothes on and still
couldn't get warm. Sandy was giving me weird looks, she decided to
make the call even though i was doing my best to persuade her that i
would get over it.

We'd been waiting for about two hours for the doc to show up, i
decided to complain to the hotel by calling the front desk and deal
with it in the morning. but no sooner i had i hung up the phone was
our door bell ringing.

'You called for a doctor?' she asked.

I'm already feeling guilty about complaining before she begans to tell
me why she's late. Another guest had to rushed to hospital.
'You have food poisoning,' she says, checking me out. 'Your tempreture
is high, but there is no reason to worry.'
Then she gets a call from the front desk.
Sorry about that.' i say trying to look innocent and sweaty.
'No problem.' She says. 'I'm going to have to give you an injection
to take away your fevour.'
I roll up my sleave.
'No, sir. This one has to go into your behind.'
The needles like a sword and I know she's grinning like a demon as she
penetrates my arse.

Now though, I've been out heaps and working on that documentary idea,
i might have told you about it, not the Mockumentary, this ones a
travel one with sort of short off the beaten track stories. I've been
working on a 'How to be a Bollywood Extra' story.

I've been interviewing all kinds of different people who are involved
in the recruitment of western tourists/backpackers.

Yesterday, i went to chat with this old Jesuit priest, he's about 70+
and been doing mission work here all his life. He's constantly being
used as an extra in movies and he knows a lot of the horror stories
about people (westerners) being exploited. That and he breeds snakes.

So i got off the topic with him a fair bit and he told me what he
thought and knew about the British rule. 'I'm one of the few who
stayed behind,' he said.

He was even here when Ghandi was shot in Delhi, 1948. So as I said,
he's an old guy and we got off the topic, but very likable and he gave
some great ideas, say if i ever manage to get some funding from an
Aus. Arts Council grant, I'd like to make that doco, 'The ones that
stayed behind', a series on different messed up countries (mostly
under British rule - That's your fault Steve!) where the whiteys have
fled except for a few.

I invited him out for a beer, but he doesn't drink and his diet, 'cos
he's old, is mostly mashed up stuff. 'That's gotta suck,' I told him.
'Yes,' He agreed, 'But i'm going to live to 105.'
I'm going back to chat with him next week.

Anyway, the other doco is going good, i'm going to be following around
a recruiter next week as they scout for westerners. Hopefully i can
get some before/after interviews with them.

Anyway I'll leave it there .