Bad Case of Wanderlust (My Trip Around the World): Siem Reap and the Temples of Angkor, Days 5-6 (May 12-13th)

Following our day of rest at the pool, we thought to set off for the pre-Angkor pack of pagodas known as the Rolous Group bright and early on Friday. But rather than refreshed, we felt sluggish and stayed in bed longer and set off later than advisable when biking in the Cambodian summer. (Part of me wanted to take an elephant, but I didn't like the look of those heavy metal seats on their tender backs.)

The ride proved longer than we'd estimated, but we enjoyed it nonetheless. Somehow, the unrelenting heat didn't seem to bother either of us as much as it had when biking to Aqua the previous day, although I did miss the delightfully refreshing rush of air on our skin as we'd motored between sites; we'd started calling it tuk-tuk a/c.

After stopping twice for water and cashew breaks, we made it to Preah Ko, a small set of orange-stoned towers guarded by petrified lions.

Along the walls, someone had made dozens of neat little piles of stone, calling to mind the many rock collages I'd seen in South America.

We stayed only a short while before biking on to Bakong. We locked up our bikes by the ticket taker and proceeded across the dirt pathway, on which we passed three adolescent monks returning from some sight-seeing of their own.

(Perhaps it's the traditionalist in me, but I'll never quite get over the sight of a monk on his Iphone.)

No sooner had we crossed the threshold than a pair of irresistibly adorable little girls approached us, the older sticking by our sides stubbornly for the next half an hour.

As they had at so many of the temples, disabled musicians serenaded us at the foot of the first staircase. We offered a few Riel in thanks, but no sooner had the bills hit the basket than they stopped playing!

Inside the temple, hundreds of lines of Khmer-- no different from its modern-day form-- were scrawled upon the walls. I loved knowing that any literate Cambodian could walk into any temple in Siem Reap and read a piece of history for themselves.

We paused for a time atop the temple, sharing some snacks with our young Cambodian shadow and indulging in the cool breeze.

But as we descended, my stomach began to rumble uncomfortably.

We took a stroll around the rear of the grounds, but I could hardly appreciate the view, so quickly had my stomach turned on me. I tried to hurry our exit along subtly, but when Tayler didn't take the hint, I told him outright that I needed a bathroom immediately, and we hopped on our bikes. I could barely pedal, but somehow we made it the kilometer's distance to the WC.

Bear with me, while I take a moment to praise the unexpectedly pristine public bathrooms of the Angkor temples. The temple ticket fees weren't cheap, but they were well worth it, if only for the relief of being sick in a bathroom whose state didn't worsen my own.

I was struck with a sudden fever, which hit me and broke, covering me with sweat, all within the 30 minutes spent inside the cool walls of the restroom. When I emerged, Tayler sat grinning at me and devilishly began asking foul questions about what ailed me. Despite my best attempts at ladylike discretion, his goofy persistence got me talking and distracted me, and soon we'd hopped back on the bikes.

We stopped at the last of the Rolous temples, where I let him do the sight-seeing for both of us while I rehydrated with water and coconut juice in the shade of a vendor stall.

Again, I must make an aside, this one a shout-out to the hawkers of Siem Reap. They are everywhere. Soda salesgirls outside the temples. Artists inside. Little kids begging for food or proffering postcards. Young students offering a plethora of facts about the temples and about the home countries of Westerners, in hopes of procuring a donation for their tuition. The amputee musicians. Monks and nuns with their incense sticks.

But by far, those who set up shop just outside the entrances take the cake, as far as insistence and persistence. The minute we set foot to ground, be it from bike or tuk-tuk, young girls swarmed us shouting, "Water! One dollar! Cold drink, cold drink! You buy coconut! You buy from me, you have good luck, bring good luck for me and my family." If you had the inclination and fortitude to make it into the temple without having purchased something, they would simply try another tack, shouting at your back, "You come out, you buy from me, yes? You promise." Sometimes they would even grab your finger and twist it into an involuntary pinky swear of future loyalty.

Some, however, did not react so well to refusal. Invocations of good fortune withered into curses. One girl swiped the air in Tayler's direction, shouting, "Bad luck! Bad luck to you!" Another threw up her hands and heaved frustratedly, "GOD!"

But as long as you bought something, you fell into their good graces, so I sat quite contentedly sipping my coconut as I waited for Tayler to return from the final temple visit. He had offered to find us a ride back, but I felt the need to at least attempt to bike some of the way. Thank goodness I did because the ride did me good. By the time we'd returned our bikes to the rental shop, I felt like a new person.

That night we returned to the tourist mecca of Pub Street.

We ate at the market at the stall of a riotously funny little woman who ruled over her family/servers with an iron fist. (She's the one waving in the background.)

We tried to get to Dee the lady-boy's show, as we'd promised when we'd met him earlier in the week, but we confused the time and missed it. We also waited too long to shop the market itself, so I left town with much lighter bags than if I'd gone on the dress-hunt I'd intended.

The following morning, we called our moms and grandmas for Mother's Day, said our goodbyes to the staff at Palm Lodge, and bid farewell to the clamor of Siem Reap.