Current location:	Siem Reap
Current mood:	relaxed
Current music:	Lou Reed - Take a Walk on the Wild Side

Compared with the other parts of Cambodia I have visited, Siem Reap is charmless and expensive. It is also brash and ugly, with one very loud street full of bars, aptly known as Bar St., that's particularly unpleasant to walk down at night. There are also more malnourished street children here than anywhere else I've been, walking the streets and trying to flog their wares to tourists who usually ignore them. Seeing such widespread and severe poverty at such close range can have the effect of making you feel ashamed of your relative opulence, and troubled by the kind of ethical questions about charity, privilege and responsibility I've been dwelling on ever since this trip began.

Although it's not the nicest town in Asia, Siem Reap is not a bad place to hang around for a few days. Moreover, I've found a great guesthouse that is an exception to the rule of priciness that prevails in the accomodation and restaurants of this town. Run by an Arnold Schwartzenagger-accented Austrian and his Khmer girlfriend, the 'Queen House Villa' offers free breakfast from 4 a.m. and free bicycles, both of which are very useful bonuses to me. The rooms are nice and the price is low; definitely one of the best value places I've stayed.

I finally made it out to Angkor yesterday, buying a three day ticket for forty dollars. The Angkor Temples are the reason why people come to Siem Reap (Dave, however, who should have arrived here by now and who I hope to track down later this evening, has decided to bypass a visit to the monumental ruins. This I find perversely admirable). I cycled out there at 5 a.m. yesterday morning with Claudia, my travelling companion since Kratie. We intended to get there for the sunrise, but it was an overcast dawn so we were denied that reportedly magnificent sight. Still, there was a wonderful pale glow in those early hours.

We explored the largest and most famous temple, Angkor Wat, at a very leisurely pace. Actually, I didn't even enter it for nearly an hour, preferring to sit by the side of the stone causeway leading across a huge moat to the imposing structure. There, I took advantage of the dawn's serenity to meditate for a little while, though my efforts were largely futile in the face of alternating drowsiness and caffeinated-giddiness.

I had been led to believe that the temples were always crowded with tourists, but the hordes didn't really start swarming in until late afternoon, after lunchtime. Though I was very tired from our early start, I was chirpy and relaxed all day, strolling about and admiring the gigantic temples many interesting features; 800 metres of walls carved with enormous carvings representing episodes from the Hindu Ramayana; courtyards flanked by symettrical grass areas and small, moist forests; and sheerly ascending stone-stairways leading to the blunt-topped towers at the heart of the temple, from which you could survey the jungle that besieges it from all sides.

When I was making my way back down from the top of the tower, I was pleaded with for assistance by a panic-stricken American woman. She had climbed the tower with her teenage daughter, who now stood by, clearly embarrased by her mother's behaviour and angrily demanding that she calm down and stop making a scene. But I sympathised with the older woman; we all have our irrational fears. When we finally reached the bottom of the steps after some gentle cajoling and reassuringly lighthearted remarks on my part, the woman's fright naturally transmuted into relief, causing her irate daughter further embarrasment as she insisted on hugging me out of gratitude for guiding her down. Then she told me something completely unexpected; "I used to be a mountain climber".

Though I was perplexed by this revelation, she then said something that I nonetheless immediately perceived as ominous; with her voice still trembling, she said, "Y'know, I think I've just developed a height thing". Spotting the danger, I tried to argue that in my eyes, she had just gotten over a height thing, and that she should try to focus on the fact that she had scaled the stairway and come back down again safely, earning the fine vantage point that afforded, instead of dwelling on the very uncomfortable feelings of fear and panic that had gripped her so suddenly before her descent. I know, from study as well as from experience, that that kind of thinking is precisely how phobias arise and ensnare reason so steadfastly. I felt like chasing after her as she walked away with her daughter, still shaken by the experience, and telling her that the best thing for her to do would be to climb back up the stairs and down again right away, to prove to herself that she can do such a thing, even if it causes her anxiety. But I didn't. I'm almost certain that from now on, the woman will recall that anxiety every time she is confronted with the possibility of having to climb something high, and the desire to avoid a repeat of those painful sensations at any cost will convince her that she is incapable of doing it. She may suffer greatly.