Before we left Siem
Reap, I bought another bottle of the Riesling that we had so enjoyed,
but this morning as we were getting ready to go out, it smashed on
the floor (sob). I went outside to reception and asked for a mop to
clean u the mess and the guy asked if I wanted chicken or beef (he
thought I was ordering an amok curry).
Out on the street,
we haggled with a tuk-tuk driver and then set off for the Myanmar
embassy. When we got there we filled in the various forms and handed
over the fee and our passports and crossed our fingers. We've read
that the Burmese government isn't keen on letting in journalists of
any sort, and I refused to lie on the forms, so when they asked about
my previous employment, I wrote that I had been the editor of
Geographical. Here's hoping they don't feel threatened by the
magazine of the Royal Geographical Society! Back out on the street we
hailed another tuk-tuk to take us to the so-called Russian market.
The driver didn't understand where we meant – which seemed a little
odd as it's one of the main tourist attractions in Phnom Penh – but
another tuk-tuk driver who was stopped in traffic nearby translated
for him and we were soon on our way.
At the market we
walked into the gloom and slowly browsed our way through to the other
side without buying anything – and then went across the street to a
cafe for some eggs and French toast for breakfast. On the way back to
the market we stopped in at a few clothes shops and I managed to find
a nice Zara shirt and then picked up a back-up pair of sunglasses and
a pair of Converse shoes to wear in the jungle at our next
destination – we'll be having our luxury resort stay straight
after, so I want to keep my nice new Vans looking nice and new. We
went into a few more clothes shops and finally hit the mother lode,
buying three 'resort dresses' for Kate. As we were leaving the shop,
I spotted a tuk-tuk driver I liked the look of and sure enough, when
we enquired about the price of a ride back to our hostel, instead of
quoting a ridiculously inflated price, he replied, 'How much do you
want to pay?', and in one fell swoop restored my faith in human
nature (well, almost).
For lunch we went
back to last night's restaurant, but this was a meal too far. We
ordered pad Thai, but what came out was barely edible. Kate was so
offended by the dish that she later told the waiter that it should be
taken off the menu and he graciously took it off our bill.
After lunch, we
walked back to the hostel, passing the street-side barbers I had seen
yesterday – and they again offered to give me a trim. As it had
been quite some time since my last haircut, I decided to take one of
them up on the offer and after dropping the girls off at the hostel,
Kate and I went back out – me for the cut, Kate to record it for
posterity. There was someone else in the chair when we got there so I
sat down to wait, watching in fascination as a well-dressed man rode
up on his motorbike, sat down without a word in the adjacent barber's
chair, and received a shave, before hopping back on his bike and
riding away. Eventually it was my turn and my barber set to work with
practised efficiency, giving me a pretty good cut and a quick (and
rather violent) massage for a mere $3 (plus a $1 tip).
When it was time for
dinner, we found a very local place with a big BBQ grill. When Kate
was investigating it, she got the impression that the staff weren't
very welcoming, but we sat down and got some menus anyway. When the
waitress came over to take our order, we enquired about the barbecue
and she pointed to a beef dish on the menu. When we asked about the
chicken we could clearly see being cooked on the grill, she said,
'Only beef.' But what about that chicken, we asked. 'Only beef.' We
didn't bother asking about the prawns that were also clearly being
cooked on there - we just got up and went somewhere a bit more
welcoming.
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