Midnight flight to Cambodia – January 1-3
John and I successfully sleep much of the way between S.F.O. and Taipei. Our China Airline flight departs from S.F.O. at 12:05 A.M. on January 2nd so after three long and tedious hours in the terminal we are exhausted when we board and both John and I fall asleep prior to take off. Our seats, two rows from the back of the plane are surprisingly comfortable. The body of the plane narrows towards the rear of the plane and there are only two seats abreast, instead of the usual three. This gives John an extra 10” along one side and he is able to extend one of his legs completely. Our seats truly recline; further than we have experienced in economy seats on other airlines and we cocoon ourselves in thick and silky blankets and prop our heads against agreeable pillows and sleep.
As nice as the seats are, the food on the flight is awful. Twice, gracious and pretty stewardess, wake us; once at 2:00 A.M. for a nearly inedible dinner of chicken and rice and then again for a breakfast omelet, cold and soggy with coagulated grease. John pushes his omelet aside immediately and after one bite, I follow suit. Neither of us dare to bite into the flaccid grey chicken sausage curling along side. I drink two cups of bitter coffee only to put a stop the a coffee deprived headache that is threatening to worsen. We land in Taipei in one hour and I must be alert to navigate the terminal and make tight change connections for our flight to Phnom Penh, Cambodia.
Taipei Airport 
Taipei Airport
It is only 6:00 A.M. when we arrive in the Taipei airport and the terminal is a glitter with name brand stores and cafes. The signage is good and we head directly to the change counter where a robotic man scrawls gate A5 onto our boarding passes and points us down a flight of stairs to the platform for the train connecting the various terminals. We crowd into the train and with a whoosh of closing doors are jetted off towards the A gates. Two minutes later we emerge from our pneumatic tube into another sparkling and busy wing of this immense terminal. We check John’s watch (when did he get a watch?) can see A5 in the distance and with time to spare we walk in the opposite direction in search of decent coffee. We verve into Illi café and after scanning the illegible menu, I whisper to John that this cup of coffee may be almost as expensive as our coffees in the Abu Daubi terminal. A woman in line ahead of us signs a credit card slip and asks the exchange rate and I relax when the stylish barista tells her that her latte is just $4.00.
We savor our two Illi cappuccinos, smooth, intense and delicious. The cobwebs of my brain clear somewhat and we head to our gate to find both a high tech charging station and free wifi and John connects to Facebook while we wait for our plane to board.
The China Airline flight between Taipei and Phnom Penh is nearly 4 hours. Once airborne, we are offered another breakfast but since we are still on China Airlines both John and I steer clear of the omelet option, choosing instead the fish noodle breakfast entrée. We grimace when we peel back the tinfoil covers and look down on the slimy concoction of oily brown mystery sauce with chunks of composite translucent fish. John tells me he cannot eat it, but I cautiously push some of the slime away and take a bite of noodles. It is not awful and hunger gets the better of both of us and we nibble around the mystery chunks of gelatinous fish to fill our growling bellies.
We will need to get “on arrival visas” in Phnom Penh and I am anxious. Happily the visa line is short and I grab two applications and both John and I set to filling them out. There is a blank square for a visa photo, which we do not have and my blood pressure rises as the young man beside us tells me that he has brought his photos with him. We head to the counter and the dour face official tells me that it will cost more without the photos. I ask how much, waiting for the ax to fall but he tells me $2.00 each. Relieved, I whip out $4 dollars and the young man with his U.S.A. photos smiles sheepishly and tells us that he spent $12 for his photos back home.
We head towards immigration and John and I are directed to two different kiosks where an unsmiling official orders me to put the 4 fingers of my right hand on a glowing green scanner. I obediently oblige, following with my thumb and then a repeat performance of my left hand. I pass through and wait anxiously as John is scanned and allowed entry. We collect our baggage which has happily arrived with us and I do a quick change act, shoving my shoes and coat into my bag and slipping on my sandals. The couple in front of us have their baggage opened and searched but John and I are waved through and step out into an open breezeway with a series of exchange kiosks, phone card kiosks and tour kiosks to navigate. I exchange $200 at the rate of 380 per dollar and know that Art would really hate this, not knowing if the rate was a good one. The woman counts out a huge pile of bills and both John and I cautiously check the many zeros against the official receipt to ascertain that the amount is correct. I shove half of the thick stack at John and the other half into my wallet and we exit the terminal.
A petite woman is holding up a sign printed Marthalynn Bobroskie. We make eye contact and she puts her hands together, fingers pointed upward and bows slightly. She introduces herself as Maria and we follow her to a waiting car alongside the curb. We surmise that Maria is about 26 years old, perky and pretty but with an accent that will be challenging to comprehend. Our driver is also in his mid 20’s and we learn that these two will be our guide and driver for the next several days, until we reach Sim Reap. As we drive, Maria chatters nervously and incomprehensible about the history and government of Cambodia. Her English is passable, but her intonations are wrong and I stop her frequently and ask her to repeat herself. Mostly John and I just wish she would be quiet and allow us to gaze out the window and watch Cambodia scroll past. There are the usual scooters and tut tuts but traffic is tame compared to India and understandably so with Cambodia’s total population at just 15 million. John reminds me that there were 22 million people in New Deli alone.
A 30 minute drive from the airport brings us to our hotel, two blocks from the Tonle Sap River. Three star, Hotel Cara is centrally located and our room is spacious and clean but without a view as the only small window faces out under the overhang of the roof. It is noon when we arrive at our hotel and Maria advises us to rest and take a tut tut to the riverside for dinner later on. Within 30 minutes, John and I are showered and we walk along the bustling street in the direction of the riverside; or so we hope. It is hot and humid and the tourist map is vague and after several blocks we retrace our steps and ask for better directions. Although we are only two blocks inland from the river, we opt to take a tut tut to the heart of the “Riverside” and negotiate our ride down from $4 to 10,000 Riel, about $2.80.
The “Riverside” district is lined with tourist restaurants, tiny shops and massage parlors. We are ravenous and choose a corner restaurant quickly, sitting at an outside table facing the trafficked street. (The river is just across but all of the restaurants are on the inland side.) We each order a $2 bottle of beer; John a dark Angkor and I opt for Cambodian beer. John foolishly orders a club sandwich, the bread like cardboard, but I choose Khmer curried chicken which is excellent. Our food takes a long time to arrive but we are content to sit and watch the world pass by. We laugh incredulously when we see three motor scooters zip by, their drivers and rear passengers sandwiching 4 x 8 foot sheets of glass between them, the glass sheets pointing high into the air. What a terrible accident waiting to happen. Street children approach us selling woven bracelets strung on wire coat hangers. A few crippled and deformed men scoot along on makeshift wheeled boards and John gives each of them a 1000 note bill, equivalent to .38 cents.
After lunch, John and I cross the busy trafficked street. John grabs my hand and it is an easy game of “Frogger” and we reach the other side without incident and walk along the river bank, gazing down at the piles of garbage along the river’s edge. There are numerous large round gilded floating objects and John climbs down the steep steps to the to examine them. He yells up to report that they are gilded floating coconut decorations and that there is a small water dragon basking on the rocks.
We stroll inland towards the Wat Phnom Stupa, situated on a knoll, a lush and lovely tropical garden surrounding it. This will be the first of many temple steps that I will climb up over the next three weeks and and we ascend the stairs up to the pagodas terrace. Several wooden bird cages rest on the stone walkway, crowded with tiny fluttering brown songbirds. For a price, one can pay the attendee to set one free but we soon surmise that the birds will be caught again, caged and their freedom resold. We remove our shoes and John drops the suggested offering into the box at the entrance to the pagoda. We preamble slowly across the cool stone floor inhaling the incense and the gilded statues surrounded by offerings of fruits and flowers. Many spirit houses surround the Stupa’s terrace, each adorned with flowers and sticks of incense.
Jet lag has caught up with me and at 4:00 P.M. we return to our hotel where I attempt to nap for an hour. Although I don’t feel badly, I have been fighting a cold for the past two weeks and my sinuses are still streaming bloody mucus. Although I cannot sleep, an hour and a half later, I am somewhat revived and we make a plan for our evening. There is a night market on Friday, Saturday and Sunday and we take a tut tut to the market at the riverside. It is 5:50 when we arrive and the fading light is magical and a sliver of moon hangs in the sky. Music blares from a loud speaker above an empty stage and surrounding food stalls stir up delicious smelling concoctions that we choose not to risk. Families picnic on mats and blankets spread out on the ground in the center of it all. A maze of lighted stalls sell cheap souvenirs and clothing and John is enthralled with it all. He examines counterfeit sunglasses and wallets and I patiently stand back and watch, catching his enthusiasm and enjoying the sights and the smells of the market, all the time holding tightly to my back pack and checking frequently that the hidden zipper is always closed.
My guide book recommends a restaurant in a different part of town and we hire a tut tut to take us there but the restaurant no longer exists. John is hungry and a bit impatient with me so we tut tut back to the strip of touristy restaurants along the riverside and quickly choose one, not for it’s menu but because it has a vacant sidewalk table. Dinner is not especially good but we are contented and happy, sipping our drinks and people watching. Four young boys approach John selling woven friendship bracelets. The oldest boy of about ten wants one dollar for three bracelets but John only has a five dollar bill. The boy urges John to go and get change but John does is not motivated to do this. Thirty minute later, the boys return with change for a five dollar bill and John, having consumed several beers, ends up buying 3 bracelets each from each of the 4 young entrepreneurs.