mamadou

Time is a strange thing. It feels like only yesterday we were bouncing down red sand roads in the back of a pickup, eager to be underway on our Banlung trek – our first footsteps in Cambodia. Simultaneously, the more recently experienced horrors of the genocide seem to have faded into generations past; something experienced decades ago and yet remains etched – sharp focus – in the mind.

And now we are in Kep, Kampot province. In feels more like a village than a town – a small central plaza lined with huts and hammocks looks onto the ocean. Crab shacks line the east and west shores selling delicious and gloriously cheap seafood, plucked fresh from the sea, right before your eyes. We have eaten a LOT seafood.

As well as the incredible ‘fish-food’ it’s been a good couple of days without much activity. We seem to be floating through Kampot province, but to do anything else would disrupt the natural flow of things. We have wandered through the national park, which is littered with buildings abandoned since the Khmer Rouge, casting our eyes down onto the breathtaking views beyond.

We have drifted up and down the promenade, in the search for the next stupendous bite of seafood.

Sure we have eaten well… And not so well. I had my first try of durian and….

… As you can see I am not a fan. Joyce described it best, ‘its like someone has taken onion and garlic, added a lot of sugar, and made a moose’. Think we’ll stick to the mangoes!

And so it is, with a slight longing in our hearts to stay, that tomorrow we leave Cambodia. If you haven’t been to this wonderful country I urge you to come. It is beautiful. A beauty that is only excelled by the kindness of its people who have, over the last century, endured so much and yet ask for so little.

Vietnam. Good morning. You have a lot to live up to… And watch out for!

Mr Lai!

Upon our return to Cambodia on this trip, John and I speculated whether we'd be able to find Mr. Lai. There are so many Tuk-Tuks in the city and the chances of happening upon him in the street were pretty slim, so we decided to head back to our old guesthouse, River Manor Lodge, to see if they knew of his current whereabouts. The hotel has since changed owners and most staff, but the front desk girl kindly called around to some old staff and found his phone number. We were getting closer!!

She said that he would not be able to come by our hotel tonight as he was with his girlfriend, but he would be waiting for us at 7 AM on Tuesday to take us to the temples. I was particularly pleased with this news as Mr. Lai told me two years ago that he did not have a girlfriend as he was just starting out and hoped that he would get enough clients and save up enough money to find a girlfriend someday. Looks like the Tuk-Tuk business was working out for him!

All the way back to our hotel, we wondered whether: A) anyone would show up at our hotel on Tuesday, and/or B) whether it would be the Mr. Lai we remembered. I put the chances of Mr. Lai showing up at about 70%.

Tuesday dawned and like always, I was running 15 minutes late. I sent John outside to check if anyone was there and he returned to tell me that unfortunately, Mr. Lai was not outside. However, his brother-in-law Mr. Ratha was waiting for us and informed us that Mr. Lai was very sorry, but he could not come as he was getting married on Thursday and was too busy to drive us this week. If there ever was an acceptable excuse, this was it! Then, in a fun twist, Mr. Ratha told us that Mr. Lai very much wanted us to come to the wedding! It is a pretty established rule that if you're ever lucky enough to be invited to a wedding while traveling, you go, so we happily accepted. I was made even more comfortable when Mr. Ratha told us that they expected “just a few less than 1,000 people” for the wedding! What was two more at that point?

Off we go to the wedding!

Mr. Ratha proved to be a great driver and we had a very nice time exploring the temples of Angkor again. Thursday dawned and we were told we'd be picked up at 6pm to be taken to the wedding. I set out to find something to wear as everything I had was decidedly “backpacker-y” and I didn't want to be totally underdressed. I managed to find a passable dress and a wrap and made it back in time to shower, change and be in the lobby by 5:45!

The happy couple

Our driver was Mr. Thom, a friend of the family, and he took us to the bride's parent's house. This was when we realized that tonight was not the wedding, it was more close to what we'd call the rehearsal dinner in the US. Only close friends and family were in attendance…and John and I. We arrived as the monks were blessing the couple and we were told to go sit up in front. Not wanting to be terribly rude, we stayed in the back until they were finished. We were then ushered up to the happy couple to have our picture taken. They looked fabulous in their wedding garb, if not a little tired and overwhelmed. We learned they'd been doing wedding activities since 5 AM and this was their 5th formal outfit of the day. Costume changes are a big deal.

Lots of great food

Dinner was served shortly thereafter and we were placed at a table with all the brothers and brothers-in-law. Beers were promptly distributed and there were lots and lots of toasts and drinking. Not so much the wedding toasts to which we are accustomed, more the toasts of “Cheers!”, drink, pause, “Cheers!”, drink, pause… and repeat. It rapidly became clear that we were out of our drinking league and did our best to sip the ever flowing beer. Everyone was extremely nice and welcoming and John had a fun time getting to meet all the brothers. The wives that were in attendance came to say “hi” and I even had a chance to hold an adorable baby. We were invited to the more formal wedding to be held the next night, and even invited to the 6 AM family breakfast the next day at Mr. Ratha's house. We happily accepted the wedding invitation but declined the family breakfast. My sparkle rarely makes an appearance at 6AM and even less so after a night of a thousand cheers. I just hoped they would not be offended that I was going to show up to the wedding in the same outfit as I only had one appropriate dress!

Cutest baby ever

The night ended on a slightly complicated note when we left to go back to our hotel. While there were quite a few Tuk-Tuk drivers in attendance, after endless rounds of Cheers, there were not too many sober drivers around. We said that we would just walk to the main road and find a passing Tuk-Tuk, but Mr. Lai would hear nothing of it and ended up driving us home himself! What a host!

Safely back at our hotel, we discussed what we thought the next evening would hold and looked forward to the unexpected additional night of revelry. Check back in a few days to see how the reception turned out!

ចំការ នៅ រតនគីរី

I shot this last week out in the highlands in Northeast Cambodia. The ethnic minority hilltribes are all prepping their fields to prepare for planting their dryland rice next month.

It’s pretty cool to watch: they clear an acre or two of the forrest (by hand!), then burn the brush and fallen trees to return nutrients to the soil. Then they build a cozy little house out of bamboo, like the one in the photo, to live in during the 4-5 months that their rice grows.
They can normally use each plot of land for 2, maybe 3 years, until the soil gives out and they have to move on, always rotating to keep the soil rich.

They’ve done this, uninterrupted, for thousands of years. Amazing.

Please feel free to share my images—they are meant to be seen! Use them for your non-profit, on your blog, for fun and the like, but please link to http://www.ethancrowley.com and give credit to Ethan Crowley. All of my images are Creative Commons, Non-Commercial

Ratanakiri Province, Cambodia

Taken in Ratanakiri, Cambodia. Winding red-dirt road between the frontier town of Banlung, and the tiny, sleepy settlement of Taveng.

This road is so dusty. After an hour on my little motorcycle, my face was red and my shirt had turned magenta. The worst is if you come up on a truck going just a little slower than you; then you’re destined to eat dust until you can get around the guy.

Please feel free to share my images—they are meant to be seen! Use them for your non-profit, on your blog, for fun and the like, but please link to http://www.ethancrowley.com and give credit to Ethan Crowley. All of my images are Creative Commons, Non-Commercial

The estimated time for travel to Ho Chi Min City, Vietnam is approximately 6 hours. Well I had no idea what I would be in for when I hopped on the bus. About an hour and half into our journey we came to a dead stop! We were surrounded by motorbikes, vans exceeding capacity in not only the amount of passengers but luggage precariously strapped to the opened hatch, and several people on foot. As time ticked away and the afternoon rolled into evening we all started to realize that this bus ride was going to take a bit longer than anticipated. We were all waiting in several traffic “lanes” to approach the ferry dock. After 4 hours passed and we moved only a few meters, the bus/tour guide announced that the ferry dock would be closing in about 10 minutes. He spoke with one of the local policemen and made some sort of deal to get us into the “fast” lane. Well lets just call it what is was…. Good ‘ole fashion bribery! Everyone on the bus agreed to fork over $1 to expedite our journey. It didn’t exactly speed things up, but the ferry did continue to run and we eventually crossed. Had we not had our packs, we could have swam across quicker.

Now that we had crossed, the next hurdle was getting to the Cambodia/Vietnam border before it’s closing time of 10pm. Well, it was already 9:40pm and we had a good 1.5 hours to go, so lets just say this bus ride was just not shaping up to well. What do we do? Sleep at the border? Cross our fingers that they decide to stay open, so we can pass? We reached the border at midnight, the gates closed and looking very bleak. Our guide hopped out with our passports (all 50 of them) and ran to the guard house where he successfully got our exit stamps. Next stop, Vietnam entry crossing at which point he again ran in with passports in hand to get approval for entry. After I’m sure money $$$ exchanged hands, he returned and we were all asked to exit the bus with our baggage so that we could proceed through the security checkpoint and have our bags scanned. At which point our passports were returned and we could be on our merry way. Ho Chi Min City was still another 2 hours away, but at least we wouldn’t have to sleep on the bus until the border reopened the following morning.

We arrived in HCM City at 2:30am, and I’ve never been happier to find a hotel and get some sleep.
As I continue to travel I realize that the only thing I have control over is my patience & my willingness to go with the flow. It’s all in a 16 hour travel day

That’s how I spent Days 6-11.

After I spent some time in Phnom Penh I made my way to the beach town of Sihanoukville, Cambodia. A one night stop over so I could take an early morning ferry out to the island of Koh Rong. A two hour ride to the island and then I was there enjoying the basics. By basics I mean, a grass bungalow with no a/c or fan, power for just a couple hours in the evening and running water when it worked. However, the bar at my establishment did happen to have WiFi, go figure?

The 2nd day on the island, three of us gals asked a local fisherman to ferry us over to the other side of the island for an afternoon of frolicking in the sea and sand. I had heard stories and seen pictures of the magnificent beach, but I could have never imagined how beautiful it really would be. The long tail boat dropped us off several yards from shore in about waist deep water. Water so clear you could see all the way to shore and well past where we got off. It was absolutely breath taking! Upon reaching shore and stepping foot on fine, white sand I stood there in awe at the natural beauty that surrounded me. Lapping waves to my left, lush jungle to my right, virtually desolate and completely ours for the next several hours. It really was like being on a deserted island, only knowing that someone would actually be there later for a return pick up. After many hours of drifting, floating, frolicking and several reapplications of sunscreen it was time to depart. Somehow looking at the pictures now, only a fraction of the beauty was captured. The rest will forever remain in my heart and mind.

Upon returning to our bungalow I am struck with the reality that eventually great things come to an end. The pounding of hammers, the buzz of a saw and the constant busy work in the jungle behind me are reminders that the inevitable development is eminent. The Cambodian government sold the island to a developer and over the next 15 years the island will be changed to include an airport, several resorts and a much more commercial lifestyle. I’m sure glad I got to see it now in it’s natural state.

Of course not everything was glorious on the trip…. I did end up with severe heat exhaustion & dehydration. A direct result of my frolicking at the beach. Which did make for an extremely unpleasant last couple days and a not no sea worthy return trip back to the mainland. However, after a couple days of rest and LOTS of water I’ve returned to “normal”.

All in all, a fabulous adventure I’ll never forget.

We are back on the mainland, whittling and whiling away our final Cambodian days in the old French colonial town of Kampot. The quaint and sleepy riverside town has captured and embraced our mellow, unhurried mood.

The unassuming – in parts decaying – town is beautiful.

It is a beauty that extends beyond the city limits – surrounded as it is by jungle, mountains and a land world famous for its pepper and salt. Our first day here was simply spent cycling with friends through this idyllic landscape, marvelling at the salt plains that sat in front of towering mountain peaks; to the soundtrack of village children chasing the wheels of our bikes with whispers, shouts and screams of, ‘HELLO’ as we meandered past.

It was an incredible day only slightly overshadowed by the celebratory evening that followed. We were saying farewell to the awesome (and incredibly efficient) Germans – Seb and Nicole – who have been stalwart companions to our Cambodian forays… You will be missed in Vietnam! It was an evening of one too many and at the same time not quite enough margheritas, Cajun blackened fish, fajitas on a steaming sizzle plate doused in tequila, a burrito disguised as enchiladas, live music and owners who knew how to have a good time… A really good time! Needless to say we were the last to leave.

… However, I forgot to take my camera (which was probably a good thing as I would inevitably have lost it) so no pictures. Hopefully those that were there will read this and fill in the photographic gaps!

Once the alcohol escaped the system more of Kampot’s beauty was waiting to be discovered, hidden atop Bokor mountain, shrouded in mists and behind curtains of driving rain.

And so after one failed 4.30am start – due to just too much driving rain – we mounted our trusty ‘Wave scooters’ and set off for the mountain top at 6am… To be met by much more driving rain. At this point our thanks extends to 3 very kind Khmer men who took pity on the poor Westerners – soon to be drowned rats – who invited us into their makeshift tents. Thank you.

And so after a long hour cowering from rain, thunder and lighting we once again mounted (our very very very wet) scooters and rode once more into the mists. A mist so thick that you could barely make out the lights of the scooter in front. It was awesome and on good quality roads (a first since Thailand) that wound in and out, up and down the Bokor mountain side. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

After a labyrinthine search in the closing mists we finally found the old Bokor hotel. And it was… a disappointment. The hotel itself has recently been renovated and so its soul, its character has been rubbed out, to be replaced by a vacuous concrete copy. The mists, and an opportune shot of some visiting monks, made for some interesting shots…

… But the true treasure of the hilltop was to be found a km further down the road, unveiled from behind parting clouds. An untouched, ruined and decaying church.

The real fun though lay in the ride itself. And it was with hope in our hearts for no more rain, and luck on our side that we would actually make it back to town, despite our quickly emptying tanks, we turned our scooters around.

To cut what is quickly becoming a long story short we made it back (Yay!) and to an incredible brunch (including meringue lime pie, a classic breakfast staple), a visit to the flicks to see Raid Redemption (awesome recommendation from our film buff friend Britney) and more rain!

And we are still in Kampot… But we will leave tomorrow. For sure. We think. Maybe.

Honda Scoopy-i in Phnom Penh

One of the ubiquitous scooters that scurry through the streets of any Southeast Asian City; the bane of any car-driver’s existence. Very retro-looking, kinda styled to look like a Piaggio or a Vespa.

I think it’s kinda ugly.

Please feel free to share my images—they are meant to be seen! Use them for your non-profit, on your blog, for fun and the like, but please link to http://www.ethancrowley.com and give credit to Ethan Crowley. All of my images are Creative Commons, Non-Commercial

A Soviet ZIL 131 military truck.

Some classic soviet muscle in the shape of a ZIL 131. This model was rolled out in 1967, and I have no doubt that this one is that old….

It offers a general visual encapsulation of all Russian vehicles; it is both intensely practical and aesthetically horrifying.

In Khmer, they call these things a domrey tuk (ដំរីទឺក; literally a hippopotamus) because of its incredible ability to maneuver through mud. Watching these grumble down a swampy jungle track is a sight to behold, with all 6 wheels lurching through waist-deep mud. A massive PTO winch comes standard.

It’s almost impossible to get one stuck. Unless the transmission goes; so then again, maybe it’s pretty easy to get one stuck.

Back when I lived in Cambodia in the mid-90′s, a huge percentage of vehicles were from the former Soviet Union. There were UAZ jeeps and vans everywhere. Even today, old Russian trucks like this GAZ 4×4 or the venerable ZIL 130 are ubiquitous across the Cambodia countryside, a sort of glimpse into the Communist past of Cambodia.

I took this photo back in 2006, of a similar russian vehicle slogging through the muck on the highway between Pleiku Vietnam and Banlung, Cambodia.

Another soviet military truck; I took this back in summer of 2006

Please feel free to share my images—they are meant to be seen! Use them for your non-profit, on your blog, for fun and the like, but please link to http://www.ethancrowley.com and give credit to Ethan Crowley. All of my images are Creative Commons, Non-Commercial

I will share more about my trip in upcoming notes, including filling you in on the night I got completely lost  in the Night Market and fell under the spell of a magician; how the largest salt water pool in town cured my jet lag; and where to find the most amazing hot shower you will ever have in an airport without planning to have a hot shower in an airport. For now, I’d like to share some of the simpler notes that I wrote in my travel journal during my trip.  Things like:

Drink more water than you think you need.  Don’t forget to see what there is to see.  Take your time and see it all.   Try it…whatever it is.  Enjoy being out in the rain when you can, but change out of wet clothes as quickly as possible and keep your feet dry.  Say hello.  And wave at people.  Talk to children.  Wear kooky clothing combinations.  sing out loud when you feel like it.  Always carry candy.  Don’t forget where you are from.  Respect the rainy season.  Pretend like you know what you’re doing.  Figure it out.  Be certain about the path you are taking–if you’re not, nobody else will know what to do either.  Put something purely fun in your schedule.  Never take a tour bus anywhere.  Sweating every day is good for you.  Watch out for snakes and landmines.  Be nice.

Good reminders.  And not just when I happen to find myself in Cambodia.

Now, let me tell you where to get a bike and what to do in Siem Reap once you’ve got it.

“I have no worry at all, my life is like a flower”. Probably these lyrics will not ring you any bells. However, if only you were Cambodian, they may have reminded you of the beauty of a rock’n'roll scene and, instead of ringing bells, they would also have reminded you of the echo of bombs and gunshots that abruptly put an end to it.

We are in Phnom Penh, early 70s. Cambodia’s economic and cultural capital is a buzzling city where creativity is exploding into streams of electric guitars, driving drums and Khmer voices that would bring to life a mixture of western rock’n'roll and Khmer pop. A unique, tropical yet familiar sound.

Ros Sothea, was born in the northen Battambang province from a poor family. Some accounts report that her brother, Serey, would sing in the streets of the villages around Battambang to make a living. Their popularity grew day by day, show after show. The were known as Serey Sothea. Word of mouth got to them that some singers in Phnom Penh were making good money in the booming capital’s music industry. Having nothing to lose, Serey and Sothea moved to Phom Penh, they decided to give it a try. They arrivived with nothing. However luck was on their side, and after a few nights performing for free in local clubs, the duo was hired by one of these as regular singers. Having regular spotlights, their popularity grew. Serey was fast eclipsed by his sister. After a while, Sothea went on by herself, keeping her brother’s name “Serey” in her stage name, as a tribute. Ros Serey Sothea was born. From here on she rapidly became one of the most sought-after singers in Phnom Penh and, eventually, the most famous female singer of Cambodia, often singing together with Sinn Sisamouth (Khmer most famous singer). Her music started to swing more towards an electric rock’n'roll charged with synthethisers and fast drums. At the same time many other singers like Sinn Sisamouth (nicknamed the Elvis of Cambodia) and Pan Ron were hitting the bars with exotic psychedelic rock’n'roll tunes.

All of this finished on the 17^th of April 1975, when the capital fell to the Khmer Rouge. Singers, like intellectuals, teachers and others were considered pro-Western and faced harb labour, jail and even execution. The end of Ros Serey Sothea herself is also unclear. Some people claimed she was executed right away, while other report seeing her dying in labour camps in the southern provinces and other again say she endured labour camps life until the Vietnamese came and overthrew the Khmer Rouge, but she died shortly after in an hospital.

In recent times, bands like Dengue Fever brought back some attention to this music and a documentary “Don’t Think I’ve Forgotten” by John Pirozzi should be soon completed and released. Also, labels like Sublime Frequencies do a great job, releasing complilations about music scenes like the 70s Cambodian one    –> http://www.sublimefrequencies.com 

a classic from Ros Serey Sothea, maybe her most famous song. “I am 16″

another, faster, classic from Ros, ‘Wait 10 months more”

an “all star” song: Sinn Sisamouth, Ros Serey Sothea and Pan Ron

Nah, she left the bed early to snag the newspaper off the front walk. Once back inside, she’d settle back in her bed and pin her hair up in curlers, the old aluminum ones with the plastic bristles. I would wake up when I heard the screen door slam. I’d climb onto her bed and listen to her read the obituaries while her hair set.

She loved the obits. Is that weird? Yeah … ok, maybe. But Southern people like stories. And I’ve come to realize we like them the same way we like flavor. Thick and dark. Sticky and intense. The Mississippi newspaper obituaries have more maudlin, dark humor than Charles Schultz on Charlie Brown’s worst day. The good ones, anyways.

The way my grandmother read them, with her drawl and her surmising, made each one into a tiny story. We would ponder their lives out loud … their jobs and various civic joinings. We’d keep them with us all day, like a last tribute. We’d reference them over lunch or in the car … like we’d known them, these barely dead, total strangers. Is that screwball? Typing this out makes me think it’s a pretty crazy game to play with a 10-year-old, for sure. But the bizarre thing was, we were bonded by our secret dead people. We honestly felt the rest of the family had lost out by stupidly sleeping till 7 a.m.

So, yeah, I wish I’d had my Nikon when she was still alive. I’d have shot my grandmother’s hands, holding the Times Picayune. I’d have focused on the wrinkles and the veins. Blurred the words behind them. Sharpened her fingernails against 10pt font. It’s a regret I have … never having photographed those hands. Come to think of it, I should have written her own obituary, too. I’d have made it funny. Quirky. Grandiose and Southern.

I believe that eyes are the windows to the soul, but I’m also quite in love with hands. I suppose I get that from my grandmother.

Preparing lunch on Soi Rambuttri, Bangkok

Cleaning a chicken at Mine Thaut Market, Burma

Rolling spices for hard boiled eggs in a night market, Southern Cambodia

Weaving Longyi in Inle Lake, Burma

Moment of respect, New York City

Rolling betel nut for chewing, downtown Yangon

Shopping for Cauliflower, Mine Thaut in Burma

Fooling around at Otres Beach, Cambodia

inked in the lower east side, New York City

- Cubans & Cocktails at the Veuve Cliquot Polo Classic, Governor’s Island, NYC

Counting pancake change in Yangon, Burma

Thanks for lunch, happening in Sihanoukville, Cambodia

Playing peek-a-boo in Sihanoukville, Cambodia

Someone’s grandmother, shelling peas in Aguas Calientes, Peru

Emily hangin’ on the swinging bridge

Indigenous kid crossing the stream with his friend.

Last week I was working out in Taveng, a little village on a pretty big river tributary to the Mekong. This handmade suspension bridge hangs over a creek, connecting the two parts of the village.

This kid was riding on the back of his friend’s bike, and hopped off for an impromptu pose for my camera.

A wood and concrete bridge is under construction upstream, which means for the first time in history, cars and trucks will have year round access to the that part of Ratanakiri. It’ll be a ton of change, overnight. Goods will flow cheaply where they could never go before, and one more corner of rural Southeast Asia will be less remote.

But for now, this jungle bridge is pretty cool.

Please feel free to share my images—they are meant to be seen! Use them for your non-profit, on your blog, for fun and the like, but please link to http://www.ethancrowley.com and give credit to Ethan Crowley. All of my images are Creative Commons, Non-Commercial

And it was with these and a good bottle of wine (our first of the trip) we closed the chapter on Phnom Penh and opened it on Koh Rong. We’re back at the coast – an indulgence maybe but it feels so right.

The island itself is beautiful and as yet not over run with tourists. A small village greets you when you get off the ferry and apart from some secluded high end villas tucked away in odd corners of the island, that is it. Rustic bungalows line the beach alongside hammocks and lounging chairs set against a backdrop of crystalline waters and coral fine sand.

And so with this as our playground we spent 3 awesome days drinking lots of cocktails and obviously the odd beer or two…

… Diving – it was great to be back in the water again after a couple of months. The diving is very similar to Thailand – we didn’t see anything new and the visibility wasn’t fantastic – but it was good to be under the waves.

… Being caught in the crossfire of Khmer New Year. A great experience. Khmer New Year is a festival welcoming the monsoon rains (and it worked… See below). It takes place across South East Asia – in Thailand it is known as Songkran – and results in buckets of water and tons of talc being thrown around… And plenty of booze consumed. Of course.

…Dodging rainstorms (our first since Malaysia)

… And discovering an (almost) empty 7.5km stretch of beach – long beach. It had about 7 people on it… So that’s a km each then!

But this is all changing, the land is being – and has already been – bought up by outside investment. In the last 7 months prior to our arrival we learnt that most of the village had been built up from scattered bungalow resorts to a small strip and the first road is in the pipeline. This isn’t going to stop and the atmosphere is likely to go from rustic to ritzy!

If you can, go now. By next season the strip will have changed a lot and the island will be one step closer to a Thai copy. It will still be beautiful but it will have lost a bit more of its soul.

first light at Angkor Wat Temple

For some reason, when Emily & I were temple-hopping in Siem Reap a few weeks ago, we decided to try to experience experience at Angkor Wat.

Foolhardy, yes. Touristy, check. I can’t even remember why we even attempted it.

Sunrise at Angkor is a mainstay for the intrepid Temple tourist; which means that literally thousands of people show up to experience it. This fact removes nearly all awe, reverence, mystery, and quiet from Angkor, (which is quite an accomplishment). The crowds are formidable, with old rich German tourists rubbing shoulders with busloads of Chinese tourists, all jostling for a good spot to catch the reflection of Angkor in the lotus pool at dawn.

I’m allergic to tourists. So we sneaked away from the milling thousands and took our own pictures, sans the famous lotus pond. Let them have it.

We found a kind old man on a bicycle in a quiet corner of the temple, and bought some freshly baked coconut-filled buns from him for 50 cents. Later, we tried to eat breakfast at some nearby stalls near the lotus pond, and regretted the foul pork’n'rice and watery iced coffee. I guess you pay for the view, not for quality food.

Please feel free to share my images—they are meant to be seen! Use them for your non-profit, on your blog, for fun and the like, but please link to http://www.ethancrowley.com and give credit to Ethan Crowley. All of my images are Creative Commons, Non-Commercial

The main thing to do at Don Det is relax on your hammock outside your bungalow overlooking the Mekong River. At night the bungalow hosts often make small fires on the beach where the guests can sit around and chat and relax which we did on one night. Also we hired a bike to visit Khone Phapheng falls which are famous for being the obstacle preventing the upper Mekong from being navigable by the early Europeans. A railway had to be built to circumvent them.

It was on Don Det where we got the now infamous “worse meal ever served in any restaurant anywhere”. Hanging out for some pasta after being rice and noodled out, we ordered the penne bolognese from the restaurant adjoining our accommodation  Run only by locals, this should have served as a warning that maybe their western food might be a bit dodgy. Actually the pasta was inedible.  The meat in the bolognese was chunky stewed beef. It had a very strong stewy flavour, like it was fermented and salted and stewed for a month. Tomato was totally absent from the dish. Instead it was topped with grated carrots and spring onion. Nothing else. Sharni could not swallow even a single piece of pasta. Joe struggled with a few pieces, not wanting to make the chef feel too bad. But no amount of good will could have made this dish palatable. We quietly snuck out to our bungalow and went to bed a little hungry.