“Travel is only glamorous in retrospect” – Part the First

Sneak out of school early. Spend five minutes searching for bike; curse students for having moved it. Eventually remember it has a puncture and was left at home. Forced to walk. Arrive home with the intention of packing. Get distracted by recently acquired pop-up Star Wars book. Feel inspired. Watch Star Wars DVD. Go to dinner, get home, realise I have to leave for the ferry port in an hour. Put remainder of Star Wars DVD on in background, check email, browse Facebook, change light bulb, read magazine, start packing. Frantically cram clothes, toothbrush, etc., into suitcase. Run out the door, leaving apartment in a calamitous state: remaining contents of wardrobe spread over bed, sink full of dishes, half eaten apple sitting on laptop.

Spend reasonably comfortable night on ferry. Happily avoid repeat of events of last night-ferry trip, namely waking up at 3am confused and disorientated by enclosed and cramped conditions of bunk, and hyperventilating due to sense of having been buried alive. Informed by travelling companion excessively averse to snoring, that I have passed first night’s test . Moderately auspicious start to trip.

Arrive at Osaka airport. Consume enjoyably moist cookie and disappointingly minuscule orange juice at Starbucks. Purchase low cut socks, suitable for wear with shorts. Subsequently spend significant periods of trip worrying that socks are too feminine-looking. Especially yellow-trimmed pair.

Endure 6 hour plane ride aboard swankiest plane yet encountered. Play Super Mario Bros. on in flight entertainment system. Get bored by second level and realise games were harder in those days. Watch Enchanted. Get bored by half hour mark and realise it is actually a children’s film.

Arrive in Singapore. Make way through swankiest airport yet encountered. Admire indoor waterfall. Covet bowls of candy on immigration staff’s desks, but am not offered any. Consider taking a piece anyway but reconsider after catching sight of soldiers with massive machine guns stationed nearby. Think back to “Death to drug traffickers” warning on immigration documents.

Deposit bags in hotel room. Avail ourselves of free chocolates. Eat dinner at restaurant with seemingly hundreds of dishes. Suspect that most of them taste the same. Make light banter with slightly over-familiar waiter. Refrain from commenting on his Manchester United shirt, but secretly spit in disgust upon leaving.

Head to night safari park. Marvel at manner in which it has become even more a monument to tacky tourism in seven years since last visit. Take seats for animal stage show. Gaze in awe at lone wolf that appears at start of show, and silently bemoan failure of everything else that follows to live up to it. Leave show early. Take bus tour through park. See host of incredible creatures, but regrettably not capybara. Get off bus and wander through darkened pathways. Feel a bit Jurassic Park-ish. See more wolves. Go home happy.

Wake up at 5am, brain and body screaming in anguish for more sleep. Check out. Arrive at airport. Heed machine guns once more and board plane.

Land in the fiery heat of Cambodia. Make first of many references/complaints about said fiery heat. Change dollars into local currency: riel. Leave with dense wedge of riel due to largest bill being worth mere two and a half dollars. Soon realise dollars are what everyone wants anyway. Spend rest of trip trying to disencumber ourselves of riel.

Overwhelmed by clamour of tuk-tuk drivers. Decide to ease into tuk-tuk experience by taking a taxi instead. Drive into Phnom Penh and locate hotel. Rebuff taxi driver’s attempts to take us to hotel of his choosing. Have brunch while waiting for room to be prepared. Make best possible start to culinary tour of Cambodia by ordering hamburger. See first orange monks of trip. Witness start of what will become travel companion’s pattern of beguilement when dealing with orange monks.

Get access to very posh hotel room. Open curtains. Swiftly close them again due to preponderance of tuk-tuk drivers immediately outside window. Put valuables in safe. Lock safe without knowing code. Call hotel staff to open safe. Relieved to have valuables back. Simultaneously slightly weary of the fact that hotel staff can open safe at will.

Set out to explore. Ask shop assistant to point us in right direction for national museum. Told to turn around and look behind us. Spend an hour or so wandering museum. Come to largely unfounded conclusion that every piece on display contains either reference to Hanuman, the monkey god, or phallic symbolism, or both.

Move next door to royal palace. Traipse massive grounds, see countless impressive buildings. All of a nevertheless very similar ilk. Leave silver pagoda and its silver floor disappointed, due to nine tenths of said floor being covered in tatty carpet.

Escape torrid heat and return to hotel for shower and nap. Delay Cambodian culinary experience yet further by having tapas for dinner. Fail to regret decision as they are superb. Return to hotel. Collapse in heap. Sleep.

Wake up to breakfast in bed. Question inability or unwillingness of all hotels to provide this service. Once more bemoan personal aversion to eggs and eye companion’s cooked breakfast with some envy. Nibble rolls and croissants. Leave bed coated in crumbs.

Embark on Lonely Planet approved walking tour. Decide, for later unfathomable reason, to do it backwards. Stroll along deserted French-style boulevard towards Independence Monument. Marvel at it’s size and shade of red. Continue winding through Phnom Penh. Pause for orange monk photographs as opportunities arise. Walk on roads due to pavements’ priority as base for tuk-tuks, food stalls and building materials above actual pedestrians. Put trust in travel companion’s years of honed New York street-traversing and blindly follow into traffic on numerous occasions.

Visit huge domed market. Resist urge to be ripped off by fake watch sellers. Plump instead for assortment of novelty t-shirts. Visit Wat atop city’s only hill. On descent, traipse around and around hill looking for elephants and monkeys. Pass same tuk-tuk drivers and street merchants numerous times, each time increasing their determination to ensnare us. Approached by driver who enquires as to country of origin. Reply with “England”. Am informed that journey in his tuk-tuk would be opportune due to policy of only taking English passengers. Point out that travel companion’s American heritage therefore precludes us from employing his services. Informed as to immediate change in vehicle policy. Politely decline offer.

Visit S21 prison camp, as used by Khmer Rouge regime. Observe redundancy of “No smiling” signs and leave thoroughly depressed and appalled.

Return to hotel, freshen up and meet for dinner with old friend from back home, now living in Phnom Penh. Impressed by his apparent sense of expertise in all things Cambodian, despite having only relocated there two weeks ago. Move on to bar where, we are assured, the young, eager and provocatively dressed staff are almost certainly not prostitutes. Have a few drinks and play some pool, all the while under the constant and careful watch of one such non-prostitute. Dash back to hotel through torrential rain, which even seems to have chased away tuk tuk drivers. Go to bed cursing missed deadline for ordering breakfast in bed.

(To be continued)