Siem Reap: Angkor What Happened Last Night?

The seemingly makeshift city of Siem Reap has developed to the state it exists in today thanks, in part, to the presence of one major tourist attraction, namely the Angkor Wat temples. I am no authority on the history of the place so I won't attempt to provide any context on where the temples came from or indeed the depth of their significance. If you are interested, look it up on Wikipedia. I'm sure that can provide all the answers.

What I can tell you is the following: they are old, they are massive and they are magnificent. They combine those three things to such an extent that they almost transcend any fantasy or mythology that could be created around them. These are the kind of grand structures that the creators of Tomb Raider aspire to imagine. This much can be assured, if by no other fact than one of temples was featured in the Tomb Raider movie. The crumbling authenticity of these archaic entities is genuinely breathtaking, the sheer degree of construction that must have taken place to create them all those years ago is staggering.

You might even say the sight is unforgettable.

The thing is, in Siem Reap, that statement could almost be taken as a challenge.

I was tired, I was weary but I was in good shape. It was 5 am, I had every right to be exhausted. You see part of the joy that comes with housing such a beautiful sight in a hot country is that you get to appreciate the natural splendour of a sunrise alongside the man made wonder of the ancient temples. This of course requires an early rise but I had been sensible the night before and was ready to face it.

The same could not be said of my companion. The man who had come to be affectionately known as Texas was basking with deep peace in somewhat of a festive coma following what was intended to be his one last drink on pub street around midnight. I couldn't tell you what time he eventually got in. Neither could he.

Upon realising that our tuk-tuk driver was ready to take us to temples and that our party was incomplete by one number, I feared the worst and set off to rouse our missing patron. Sure enough, upon finding his dorm I too found the man in question unfortunately lacking the requisite consciousness for such an undertaking. He shortly awoke with an expression that spoke of anger, incomprehension and sadness. Sadness that such a fate could have befallen him on this occasion. Sadness that his carefully laid plan, and indeed carefully set alarm had somehow failed him. Sadness that cool comfort of his bed and its surrounding dormitory were about to be parted from him and replaced sweat and exertion.

We had a matter of minutes to make it downstairs though so the time for lamenting had to wait. There would be another point to wonder why there were holes in his knees equivalent to the holes in his memory. He got up, walked in to the wall with all the confidence of a man expecting to walk through it, fixed himself together to the best of his capabilities and we set off.

The temples themselves did not disappoint in the slightest. Whereas the grand temples in Bangkok stand as testimony to the capabilities of human creativity in seeking worship, the Angkor Wat temples are something else. They defy not just construction but conception.

The overwhelming scale of the establishment is all encompassing. Any one of the temples by themselves could blow the average mind as it wanders through the intricate stone corridors and trapses up and down decrepit staircases which feel as if they could either crumble beneath you or slide inwards to reveal secret chambers full of golden idols. The fact that there are so many of them in one area, each one unique yet equally mesemerising, is beyond measure.

Did I take slight advantage of some of these ancient, sacred structures and pose for amusing photos that could be seen as disrespectful to the spiritual endeavour that they stand in monument to? Perhaps. Did i disregard pretty clear instructions not to straddle the balustrade in search of an inappropriate photo opportunity? Its possible. Really though it would be rude not to bring some of my juvenile western sensibilities to bare on this mystical eastern location. And besides, I didn't even know what a balustrade was before I straddled it. Doesn't mean I wouldn't do it again but at least ignorance can be a minor excuse.

I was still doing better than Texas regardless. After what he had consumed the night before, the term 'sweating buckets' was taking on a whole new meaning. Narrowly surviving the ride over as he swayed in and out of the speeding vehicle, he somehow managed to stagger and stumble through temple after temple, turning to small animals for support in his weaker moments. Cambodian dogs are just as undiscerning as the rest of the worlds canine population when it comes to getting a scratch behind the ears.

Overtime though, the majesty won through. The blur of experience gradually came in to focus as the swelter of the ever intensifying sun cooked away the previous nights marination. There is something undeniable about an accomplisment that is so literally monumental. He turned to me at one point and genuinely asked how we had even got there in the morning. It was a journey through darkness that had ultimately been illuminated by a glorious sunrise and revealed something that defied both imagination and inebriation.

We never did find out where the wounds in his knees came from. Pub street had claimed both his physical and mental fortitude. Angkor Wat had seen fit to redeem him however and the day won through.

Well I say that, really after arriving at the temples at 5am we were finished by 12 and went back to the hostel where he subsequently slept pretty much in to the following day. At least half the day won through, and as half days go, it ceratinly was one to (almost) remember.

Siem Reap: Reaping and Pillaging

Take a moment and picture Cambodia.

Hard right? For the many of you who, like myself prior to this trip, have never been to Cambodia, it is difficult to know what to expect.

In the recent past it has been most famous for genocidal attrocities that happened just outside of my generations frame of reference. We grew up associating the name of Cambodia with that of slight unknown danger without being able to put a fine point on what the issue was. As such it seems strange that this country has become such a prominent stop of the backpacking trail. Somewhere along the line tourism started to build up and it just became accepted that this was a place to visit. Those who know me can likely attest to the amount of planning and preperation I put in to the running of my life (note: minimal at best) so it will surprise few of you to know that my first impression of Siem Reap was one of bewilerment.

Driving in to Cambodia is a trip in it self. If anyone has seen the episode of South Park in which they visit Canada only to discover that there is only one road in Canada (ala the yellow brick road) and if you follow it, eventually you will get everywhere. That is how Cambodia felt upon arrival. One looooong road. Surrounded by a vast degree of nothing. Sometimes nothing with a large dirty trench. Somtimes nothing with a few shacks. Sometimes nothing with a cow. But mostly nothing. At points there isn't even road at all.

If you follow the road far enough though, it starts to change. It is as if the country is a sparse field of cultural farmland and in certain locations they have sprinkled seeds of urban development which look like they are just starting to sprout. Siem Reap is one such area, a budding city. With very few establisments taller than two stories to be found, the buildings are the fledgling crops, the tuk-tuks are the flies.

In lieu of any kind of public transport network, a swarm of tuk-tuks choke the streets. Each man with his own bike drawn carriage, just falling over himself to transport you to your destination for a debateable price. No matter how hard you swat at them, they keep buzzing around. They provide a service of course, it just so happens that most places you wish to be are easily walkable, even in the heat. The main reason people visit Siem Reap is to witness the majesty of the ancient Angkor Wat temples, beyond that there are a number of smaller attrractions, quite a few markets and of course bars.

Lots and lots of bars.

Cambodia is striking and surprising at every turn but there was one thing that took me aback. When I first set foot in the rooftop beach bar at The Mad Monkey hostel (where I happened to be staying, great place!), it rang with the chorus of British bar banter. It was honestly like stepping back in to university. Of course you expect a lot of young Brits to be a travellin', just like myself but this was the greatest concentration I had so far witnessed and by some margin. Aside from the vocal clatter, there was also a firmly established beer pong set up and a 'Grenade' leaderboard.

What is a Grenade I hear you ask? Why a Grenade is a shot of tequilla wedged next to a shot of jaegermeister in the rim of a glass containing a small measure of red bull. The idea is that one consumes the shot of tequilla, thus causing the jaeger to fall in to the red bull, which is promptly consumed subsequently.

Why would one drink such a concoction I hear you ask? Well as far as I can tell there are two types of people. Those who would ask that question, and those the inherently know the answer. As the Red Hot Chilli Peppers would say, if you have to ask, you'll never know. It is clearly a serious business to hostel owners around Cambodia though. In every town or city there will be one bar with its own drinking challenge and a leaderboard against which you represent your country. Bazookas in Phnom Penh (absinthe and sambuca), Jaegerbombs in Sihnoukville, even the remote paradise island of Koh Rong has a bar with a beer shotgun leader board. Someone realised the most potent ingredient they can put in a cocktail is patriotism and boy is it paying dividends.

In Siem Reap once the hostel bar kicks out, you are off to Pub Street. Yes you heard that right, Pub Street. 

What is Pub Street I hear you ask.... you know exactly what Pub Street is.

It is like someone tried to force feed all the neon illumination of Soho in to the digestive tract of a developing city that couldn't stomach it. As such it was thrown back up and the resulting upheaval fell in a strip across the heart of the city. Someone then approached the mess of partially chewed razzle and half digested dazzle and decided to build bars either side of it. Thus Pub Street was born.

To be honest, it is a lot of fun. There are two main bars that are directly opposite each other along the road. One is called Angkor What?, the other is simply called Temple. They do love their temple theming over here. Given that Cambodias only temperature setting is set firmly to ' unrelenting swelter ' everyone ends up dancing in the street, flitting from one bar to another depending on which song you prefer at the time. Its energetic, its unhinged but it sure as hell doesn't feel like Cambodia. It feels like Europe.

There is an almost unsettlingly surreal feel trying to reconcile the notion that you are travelling through an undeveloped, spiritual country when you are dancing all your cares away on a road that feels like a donated limb from Magaluf. The locals are clearly cottoning on and adapting accordingly but you must kind of question whether they should have to. With the amount of Europeans passing through, it is inevitable that cultural baggage will be left behind, this lifestyle seems to be our gift to the city. 

As the urban cornfield that is Siem Reap continues to grow, you can already see that a crop of a whole different kind of sprouting up beneath. It may not be healthy for anyone but i'll be damned if it doesn't know how to show you a good time.

Break For the Border Vol. 1

So here is an aspect of travelling on a budget that takes some getting used to. Sure on a general holiday you hop a flight, board at A, disembark at B and voila, Bob is your proverbial uncle. I won't go in to the translation of that phrase or those from a non-British disposition, just trust me, it's a good thing.

It is a pricey passtime though. When you move around at the rate required to undertake a journey such as this, flying is a habit that defies boundaries of budget and practicality. Thankfully when the locations you are travelling between do not find themselves divided by vast oceans, overland travel becomes an entirely viable means of transportation. I mean, you can just drive between countries! All you have to do is make a little stop at the border to get your visa and you are on your way once more. So as you all know, I, at this point in the journey, am now an intrepid and established traveller. I am ready to embrace inter-country journies and all the border burdens that go along with the process. How hard can it be? And at only 300 baht, why that is hardly more than a 5 pounds! What a bargain.....

Soooooo this is the story of my exodus from Thailand to Cambodia.

Wake up. Its 6 am. Bus leaves at 6.30. Perfect. Finish packing, shower, dress, refresh. Off to a good start.

Its 7 am. The bus arrives. My fellow travel buddy for this journey is already on board. We get on our way. A brief snack stop ensues before the ferry crossing. The morning breeze aboard the ship wafts us gently onwards. The island disappears as the mainland draws ever closer.

I sleep for a large chunk of the ensuing journey. A couple of hours through the Thai countryside, passing fields, mountains and oddly frequent groups of small Thai children surrounding one chubby child. There seems to be one in every community. No idea why.

So we keep going and before we know, the bus pulls over and the driver announces that we are here. And in such good time. We're here! We're at the border! We're at...wait....isn't that a cafe? The border is a cafe? Between two big countries? Seems kinda informal...

So we are in fact not at the border. We are near the border. The bus has gone. But we need not fear. We are in safe hands. He explains that these are his friends. He seems like a nice guy, im sure they will look after us. I mean look at all those other confused looking western faces eating small plates of over priced Pad Thai. This is clearly a caring bunch.

Turns out they will even sort our visa out for us. We simply fill in the immigration forms and they take care of the rest for us and all for the low, low price of...Forty dollars? Isn't that double the normal price of a visa? But It makes the process quicker though apparently. But I am not in a rush. But the new tour operator is. But I can just be dropped at the border, sort my own visa out and meet the bus on the other side. But the bus may not wait for me on the other side. And I don't want to be left at the border. I may have been under the impression that my transportation from this point to my ultimate destination is his problem but he assures me, it is not.

I eventually get it down to thirty dollars which is hardly breaking the bank and genuinely does expedite the process. There is no longer a long wait on the Thai side of the border. So we get on another bus and drive 10 minutes down the road to the actual border. The official, not-at-all-resembling-a-cafe border. Here we meet our guide. He will take us on our way. He takes us past the long line of people waiting. And through the car park. And past the barbed wire. And around the murkey sewage strewn trench. And...where the hell are we actually going?

Well me make it to the passport office. Safe and sound. We get another fantastic bargain of an offer. Apparently in Cambodia, they are a mean country. They like to rip off tourists for currency exchange. Not like this kind fellow. He wants us all to have the opportunity of making a great deal. We can change all our horrible old Thai baht in to delightful Cambodian riehl. And wouldn't you know it, he has a friend just over the road operating a currency exchange service with the best rates in town. What are the odds? These Thai people sure do have a lot of friends.

Already safe in the knowledge that Cambodia operates almost entirely on the currency of the US dollar and that, as it happens, Cambodian riehl is one of the few world currencies less valuable than monopoly money, I politely declined his offer. So once more we move on, get through the Thai immigration control and cross the bridge in to no mans land.

No mans land I believe is Latin for Do Whatever The Hell You Want, so you find yourself passing liquor, casinos and hookers in abundance. Kinda like Vegas when you think about it. Taking another bus across this landscape, we find ourselves at the Cambodian side of the border. Here the lines are longer and the officials even less enthusiastic to welcome us to their country. We continue diligently through the line, I have lost all sense of what time it is. It is very hot. I have made it though. I am actually in Cambodia! I have...no I don't want to buy cigarettes off you. No, honestly i'm fine. Yes im sure its a great deal. No I don't want to buy your liquor either. No, look please I am just waiting for my bus. I don't want to buy anything. Honestly.

5 minutes of hassle later. We board our next bus. For anyone who wonders where their ancient school busses go to die after they are ruled unfit for human transportation, the answer is Cambodia. We are once more on our way, finally heading for our destination and...oh wait, we have stopped again.

Another bus station, another bus, another start, another stop. The final stop before our destination. This time at another cafe. For an hour. If anyone is wondering where to find it, just look between the 56th billboard for Angkor beer and the 27th mini mart with no customers in it, the one surrounded by empty wildernes, just next to the half naked cambodian child trying to get his partially sunk bike out of the water logged crater. You can't miss it.

We eventually set off for the last time along the same long road/sand and gravel track where a road might one day be, and set a course for Siem Reap. Half delerious from heat and culture shock we entered the city limits, got off the bus, changed transportation once more and boarded a tuk-tuk (think the bastard offspring forged in an illicit menage-au-tois between a motorbike, a horse cart and an enthusiastic street vendor) and finally reached the heart of the city and our hostel.

We disembarked, I surveyed my surroundings, breathed a huge sigh of relief and thought

'We have made it!'

'What the hell do we now...??'

Koh Chang: Lost In the Sunset

So island life can be intoxicating. The tide seems to wash time off your shoulders and sweep it out to sea, relieving you of a burden that you weren't even aware was there in the first place.

A typical day on Koh Chang could start with waking up alongside the sun as it shines through the cracks in your wall. You might slip back in to a peaceful slumber once your skin readjusts to the rhythm of sweat and relief that follows the undulations of the asthmatic wall fan. When the feeling strikes you, stroll down to the bar. The morning sea breeze invites you to relax. You come for the ambience, you stay for the banana pancakes.

Seriously, the banana pancakes. You only need one. The diameter of a cereal bowl, the thickness of a large matchbox, the consistency of a perfect hug from someone that knows how to hold you. Hot and fluffy, pockets of gooey melted banana and smothered with honey and chocolate sauce on top. You don't 'need' to have a shower after but no one would blame you if you did.

Its a good place to sit and think but eventually someone you know will come along and you can chat the day away. When the mood takes you can shell out a whole 100 baht (less than 1 pound) for your lunch, maybe some fried rice with pork or chicken? You can take intermittent dips in the pool as the midday sun cooks the world around you but eventually you are heading down to the beach.

Stroll along, keep an eye out for anyone you may have met the night before, if you do, stop and chat for a while. Find a spot, chill out and swim in the sea. At some point during this journey I will write a whole entry about why I love to swim in the sea. I always have done and it certainly doesn't need to be tropical although that does help. This is not that entry though. I don't think I can fully articulate it right now. I will think about it and get back to you.

You can opt as to whether you want to witness the days transition in to night on the beach or to sit by the bar and have a beer cool your body just as the ocean cools the sinking sun. Thats a wanky way or saying, start the night off as you mean to continue. You could always go for a massage first though. I had my first thai massage at a small place just down the road from the beach with some friends upon their recommendation and believe me, it will be the first of many!

Finally the night is set, you shower, refresh and head out for some barbecue. For roughly one pound fifty you can have your choice of barbecued meats or seafood along with salad, baked potato, corn and garlic bread. You wash it down and you go out. There are plenty of beach bars starting the evening with established chart hits and transitioning in to electronic music as the night progresses and these places are always a reliable location to dance your cares away with a bucket in hand. There was one spot that held a special place in my heart though.

Stone Free is a bar and guesthouse in the Lonely Beach area of Koh Chang. It is run by a group of old Thai hippies with long grey hair and grey beards. They greet you every night with a dopey enthusiasm which is at once entertaining and comforting. You can get food and drink out the front but the back is where you want to be. Amongst tables, chairs, mats and hammocks you will find The Sticky Rice Blues. The band plays every night and have done for longer than any of them can likely remember. They are all Thai and it seems the nominal english they speak is learnt mostly from their endless catalogue of Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, Neil Young, Beatles and other old blues and rock standards. This is not kareoke though. They just refer to it as jamming but they play at the tempo and cadence that best suits their mood, never pandering to accent. You can make out half of what is being sung and follow even less of how it is being played. It is glorious, trust me on that.

Don't be fooled for a moment though. This is not reality. It can so easily seem like it, but it is not. It can be a great trip, a sweet breezy respite as you run along the rollercoaster tracks, sandwiched between the urban loops and dips that stand either side. It can also suck you in.

You see it everywhere, young people who arrive on the island and decice to stay. Their blonde and brunette dreadlocks serving as a self styled division from the culture they left behind, forgetting that a seperation from one does not automatically equal an invitation to another. The girls who stroll along the beach during the day with the local firedancers, handing out fliers for the bars they now work at in a 'promotional capacity'. They know they are a long way from Norway, they just don't realise quite how far.

It is a nice life out here but you have to move on. Following my last night I would remove myself from this experience in pretty much every conceivable way, not because I wanted to leave it behind but because it is what the next stage of my journey called for. I can never see myself getting hooked on sunset in the way that many of the islands collection of gathered souls have done but being there, you can hardly blame them for it. The problem is they seem to think they are home, but from where I sat, it looked like they had never been more lost in their lives.

Koh Chang: Aka Little Sweden

Travelling brings people together from all over the world. As I have previously stated, the selection of nationalites that I have encountered and embraced along my relatively short journey thus far has been as varied as it has been delightful. Prior to Koh Chang the main ratio had been pretty evenly split between Canadians, Germans, Dutch, Americans, Brits and Swedes. This place was bout to swing it though, and It wasn't even going to be close.

I will go out on a limb and say I have never seen so many Swedish people in one place.

And I have been to Sweden.

There came a point when it became easier to assume someone was Swedish before even asking what other geographic locality may have spawned them. Luckilly I have a lot of affection for the Swedish. This experience forces you to find ways to establish common ground with any individual that crosses your path. Whether its discussing the minutae of the small local geographic knowledge you have for remote countries, or whether it is being greeted by a Cambodian tuk-tuk driver with the phrase 'lovely jubbly' upon discovering your British identity, everyone manages some form of connection. With the Swedish though, it comes pretty easily.

From my respect for burgeoning UFC star Alexander Gustaffson to the fact that I spent a significant portion of my life being raised by a fleet of Swedish au-pairs, there is always something to say. Being taken to task on my table manners and eating habits by a 19 year old swedish girl took me back in an entirely unexpected manner of nostalgia.

One individual stood out though. I think he is my new personal hero.

When we first got off the ferry to Koh Chang, we were tired, hot, confused and stuck. Being the last people on to dry land, all the previous taxis had departed and the one awaiting us was only half full. It clearly served the drivers financial ends to make us wait for the next ferry to arrive, providing him with a greater passenger load and a fatter pay off. The problem was the next ferry wasn't due for over an hour and we were getting increasingly worn out.

When the heavy set, middle aged guy with the closely cropped slightly greying hair stood up to talk to the driver and get us going I was relieved. When he returned a few minutes later with a smile on his face and a bag full of beer I was impressed. When he informed me that my journey was now going to cost less then it was before, I was amazed. When he introduced himself as Bjorn, I was in love.

Bjorn and his wife Tris were holiday makers. He was a removals truck driver from an area of rural Sweden with a name I could hardly pronounce, let alone remember. They took one big holiday a year to a Thai island to relax, drink, party and re-embrace their inner youth.

Having found themselves in an equally remote and antisocial part of the island as the one I had ended up, they coincidentally moved to the same location as I did the following day. Finding my way solo to a local bar on my second night, I established a fun conversation with a pair of fellow British travellers who had to excuse themselves due to early on-set dissentary or something of the like. Looking across the bar I suddenly saw Bjorn and Tris sitting happily with a beer and a bucket in their respective hands.

I made my way over, intending to make light chit chat whilst I finished off the last of my current drink. Many hours later when we all stumbled home together, the world had been put to rights and as much as I could be sure of anything at that point in time, I knew that boundaries of generation of geography meant less to me than they ever had previously.

In the following days we watched a Thai blues band make unique art of Clapton and Hendrix, we occasionally met each other lounging by the pool and eventually we both moved on without getting to exchange parting pleasantries. Company round here can be many things but it is certainly fleeting. The beauty of it all is that there is still a whole world of other people to meet along the way. Any bets of who they will be next are firmly off.

Koh Chang: Island Living

So as I sit in a Cambodian restaurant trying to absorb the mixture of madness and horror that was a trip through Phnom Penh to visit the killing fields, now seems as good a time as any to take a mental trip back to the island paradise that was Koh Chang.

It didnt start off as paradise though. If there is one common factor I can link between all the disparate locations I have been so far, it is that everywhere seems scary, overwhelming and significantly disconnected from any kind of relatable reality on the first night of arrival. It should of course be noted that the only thing easier than feeling out of your depth here is finding a way to suddenly discover comfort and feel once more at home in an entirely foreign climate when you meet people in a good place.

That doesn't stop the initial shakes though.

Although I would feel this even more through ensuing experiences, when riding in the back of pick up truck come taxi along the steep, winding, jungle surrounded roads of Koh Chang island, I had never felt further from home in my life.

I could tell I was not entirely alone given the abundance of intrepid westerners riding their scooters around our driving position but it seemed without question that in this location, my previous notion of civilastion existed in the islands pockets, not in its body.

As the rest of my fellow passengers were dropped off  at various comfortable looking deposits of touristic frivolity, I found myself being driven further and further towards the end of the island. Eventually I was dropped off at the hostel I had booked my nights in. Built from the side of the road in to recently chopped down portion of jungle, it was still under construction but the owner was an effusive Brit whose laid back attitude couldn't help but make me think that their must be ease to be found somewhere.

See the thing is, it wasn't a bad place. It was a remote place. There was a small fishing village nearby which was in the process of gentrification through the medium of souveneir shops and seafood restaurants serving to placate the russian tourist masses staying in stand alone resorts the dotted the local landscape. The nearest town with any sense of life was a long, dark walk away.

I resolved to bunker down for the night. My bed was clean, I had secure storage for my belongings and I had a wifi connection (hashtag first world concerns y'all). I hoped that if I set off in the morning to the next town, I would find salvation down the road for my almost week in this place.

I was right.

The following morning I awoke to a message from my Canadian cohort from the previous days bus journey. He was staying in the Siam Huts. Located in the ironically titled Lonely Beach area of the island, they were a selection of beach huts with a pool and a bar. They were basic, they were shabby, the bed linen looked older than me, there was no hot water, there was no air conditioning beyond a stuttering fan loosely connected to the wall and there were holes in the ceiling. It was heaven.

Location, location, location. I was connected once more. Suddenly the beach that drew people in was meters from my doorstep. Through establishing a location, knowing that people would gather because of an unbeatable view of the sunset, they had developed their own form of utility, catering less for what people had left behind and more what they had come for. The food was delicious, the beer was abundant and both were cheap enough to make Ebenezer Scrooge feel like he was getting a bargain.

It was a far cry from anywhere I could have imagined myself staying when I first set out. Mere weeks before I had been sitting on my bed in West Hampsted, decrying the lifestyle I may be setting off for with its lack of western comforts and yet from the moment I stepped in to my shack, I felt entirely like I was where I was meant to be.

The night before I had felt as helpless and lost and the gigantic, unidentifiable insect I had found rolling around on its back in the hostels bathroom sink but now I was on track. The towns ameninties were a short stroll away and I was back in control.

The ingredients were all set in the bowl for a good time. Now it was up to me to mix them together!

Baby Steps to the Beach

I'm not one to look too much for a 'point' in things. You get up, live your life and go about your business. There doesn't have to be a deeper point than that. However if I was look to look for a point in travelling it would be this:

To travel!

Whilst this may seem to some like a stating of the obvious, it was something that was weighing on my mind as my time in Bangkok drew to a close. The plan had always been to start my journey there but I had only booked a few nights and had assumed I would figure out the rest. The problem was, it had been 4 days and I was no closer to a second destination, figuratively and literally.

I had made plans for a later date though. I was meeting a friend from my dorm in Cambodia on April 1st. As I write this it has only just occured to me that this plan may be part of spectacularly elaborate april fools joke on his part. I may arrive to meet him at the hostel in Siem Reap to find a message awaiting me saying 'Jokes on you, I'm actually in Singapore. Lol.' I certainly hope not, I guess I will find out later.

Anyways, this gave me a week to fill between Bangkok and Siem Reap. The route to the border was to the east, meaning practicality ruled out Chang Mai in the north and Phuket in the south which are two of the most common destinations to progress to. I was starting to feel lost but I knew I needed to get out of the city.

Thankfully some sage like advice came from back home. A friend of mine who had done the same route before said that I should check out an island on the gulf coast called Koh Chang (my thanks go out Anka for this call!). It seemed like the perfect place to unwind between the bustle of Bangkok and the sites of Cambodia. The only problem was, I had no idea how to get there.

After checking with the travel advisor working in the hostel, I discovered that if I went to victory monument I could catch a mini bus. Seemed simple enough. So with my backpack finally on my back where it belonged I set off for the sky train. This is one of the main public transport services in Bangkok and is quite a convenient way of getting around. Kinda crowded though. Feeling like I was carrying a baby elephant on my back, I somehow squeezed my way on to the train, no doubt concussing a few locals on the way, but needs must and I had a bus to catch.

Any sense of bravado I had from using real public transport on my own for the first time, soon evaporated when I reached victory monument. Anyone who has been to a big, official bus station in their home city can get that idea out of their head. After wandering the streets trying to figure out where anything was that could transport me forward, I saw a guy with a sign saying 'Koh Chang'. As I approached him, he pointed to a woman sitting behind a table and told me to pay her 300 Baht. She in turn told me to go and wait and I would be told when my bus was ready to depart.

I waited in what can best be described as a yard. It was covered in an array of different mini busses, some broken television sets, an old motorbike, what I think was a fridge and some complacent looking Thai tourists. I felt completely out of place and I was just waiting. And waiting. And Hoping.  Eventually I was joined by a pair of Canadians who said they too were going to Koh Chang which inspired me a little more and sure enough, we were eventually approached by a guy in some kind of makeshift uniform who told us to get on his bus. We duly obliged and shortly after, we were on our way!

Performing the sardine shuffle amongst the assorted locals also using this bus, we were certainly cosy but we were moving. I got chatting to one of the Canadians who turned out to be a proffesional rapper and muay thai kickboxer. We discussed all manner of things and bonded over a mutual affection for hip hop. We both recounted the moment we first heard The Real Slim Shady, mine was on a similar mini bus on a school trip to wales, his was in jail.

As the miles and hours melted away, the destination drew ever closer. I saw a variety of sites along the way, including a legitimate ' elephant crossing ' sign and a monk of a motorbike. It was weird, it was new and it was exhilarating. I would later come to realise that this trip was a walk in the park compared to the next journey I would be making to Siem Reap but at this point I didnt care. I had done it. I had made a call and seen it through. I was finally travelling.