From Phnom Penh, with Silver safely back with his family, we headed further south to the coast. Sihanoukville, one of Cambodia’s leading tourist destinations, sits on the Gulf of Thailand and is blessed with a number of pretty beaches. We had originally thought about heading offshore to the island resorts that have recently opened up there, but lack of availability and our lack of confidence about what exactly awaited us in terms of childrens parks in the middle of an eco-reserve meant we took the safe option of the beachside hotel.
We passed an awkward, silent couple of minutes waiting to see if someone else on our flight had the surname password to get onboard Niel’s tuk-tuk while the other drivers progressively moved off with their various human cargoes. Once it became clear that there wasn’t anyone else left to take into Siem Reap, we laughed, gave up on our reluctant standoff, and were installed in his taxi. To Rosy GuestHouse. How could we resist the charms of a guest house called Rosy? “G”, the French chef/administrator, met us at the door and got straight down to business with an introduction to what lay ahead in the temple complex of Angkor Wat. We negotiated a day rate with Niel, and if there was a hustle here we couldn’t see it – he quoted what the hotel said would be the rate for a day’s driving and waiting around the enormous site, and his gentle nature deterred me from the formulaic haggling so beloved of wealthy backpackers. After a half-hearted wander round the centre of Siem Reap, with our hearts sinking at the idea that the town possesses a thoroughfare called “Pub Street”, we retired to our Rosy room, to the utter luxury of brilliant, crisp white sheets, more pillows than we could use, a flat screen television and a borrowed DVD of Spirited Away. Oisin was obsessed with the pool table in the bar, and the staff even treated him to his first ever pool lesson – plonked on top of the (already battered) table itself, pushing balls into the pockets with his hands, roaring with delight.
