M-whY

"Here, use this," he said, giving me some sort of cream that would soothe my aches. I rubbed generous amounts of it on my shoulder, hoping it would do the trick. I had another long day of temple exploring in front of me, and the last thing I needed was to be sore because of some stupid arm wrestling match.

We made a quick stop at Preah Rup, who's name, when translated, implies that the temple was used for cremation purposes. A 25km drive out to Banteay Srei was next. Two-thirds of the way down the road, a uniformed police officer was motioned for all vehicles to pull over and stop. Backpackers and packaged tourists alike stood around on the side of the road. Khorn went off to find out what the holdup was.

"I think the king is coming," he said when he returned. Apparently the king had decided to hold some sort of ceremony outside Banteay Srei.

"How long do we have to wait?"

"Don't know..."

A short while later, a procession of cars came down the road.

"The king's car is a Lexus," Khorn told me, as I kept my camera poised to take pictures. A quick trigger finger helped me capture the moment as Cambodian royalty drove past.

Being on the back of a motorbike allowed us to get moving again as soon as the road was reopened, allowing me a few minutes to explore Banteay Srei before the tour buses rolled up. Not that I have anything against package tourists personally. They just get in the way of all my pictures. Also known as the 'pink temple', Banteay Srei made up for its small size with some of the most elaborate stone carvings found in the area.

We went back on the same road, to East Mebon, refueling at a crude gas station which was nothing more than a few bottles of gasoline on the side of the road. I took a break under the shade at one of the restaurants, glugging water to cool off. A young girl came up and began her sales pitch.

"You buy postcard, mister? Ten for one dollar. One, two, three..." She counted them off one by one to show off her english. It's been a while since I last sent a batch, so I figured I'd purchase some. By showing interest, I soon had half a dozen kids trying to sell me postcards. I picked out a set from the original girl and handed her a dollar.

"You look at my postcards but don't buy," began the others, laying on the guilt. Well, I couldn't buy from everyone. I don't have THAT many friends.

My visit at Ta Som was brief. Through the west gate and a series of stone doorways to see the overgrown east gate, and that was it. Neak Prean followed. Probably intended as a spa for the ancient Khmers, it is named after the two serpents coiled around its base. In front of the pool was the five headed horse Balaha, which, according to Angkor lore, the manifestation of bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara when rescued a group of shipwrecked sailors from man eating ogresses. Described by Zhou Daguan as "a rich mirror, colored by the stones, the gold, and the garlands", it must've been an impressive sight way back when. Unfortunately, on this particular day, it was filled with grass, not water.

The last temple of the day would be Preah Khan, supposedly built on the site where a fierce battle was fought. I had some fried tomatoes for lunch first, shrugging off more postcard offers, before walking down the approach lined with decapitated sentinels. Like Ta Prohm from the day before, much of the temple remained in ruins, overtaken by the jungle. In the central sanctuary was a stupa, which local Buddhists believe has the power to grant wishes. I continued through to the other side, through Hall of Dancers, which gets its name from the apsara carvings on the lintels. Nearby was a curious two story building, with architecture that had more of a western than Angkor feel. This pavilion was where the 'sacred sword' was supposedly housed. Mythical steeds, legendary weapons, wish-granting relics... man, this felt like some sort of fairy tale.

"Ready to go," I told Khorn back at the food stand where he had been napping.

"Okay," he said, and went off in search for his key. It seemed whenever I stayed at a site for more than an hour, he would manage to misplace his key. It usually turned up quickly, and so I took a seat and waited patiently. Twenty minutes later, he had his bike running.

"You found it?"

"No," he grinned.

Then how had he managed to start his bike? He had fiddled with the wires and managed to hotwire it.

"Where did you learn to do that??"

"My brother is a bike mechanic."

"So you can start any bike without a key?"

"Yeah."

That's a skill that I'd like to learn!

Thanks to everyone for their support and comments! Knowing people are reading keeps me motivated to continue the updates!