Surly They Won't Make It

9/4/25

We woke at 4am. Crazy early, even for us. We felt a bit like death. We’d prepped everything the night before so we had a quick cup of coffee, grabbed our bags and were ready to go. As we cycled towards the temple complex it was amazing to see how many people were already awake. Having to get up so early every single day must surely be taxing.

As we got closer we were were passed by more and more tuk tuks with tourists inside. Sunrise is a bit of a tradition at Angkor Wat and we thought we’d partake. It was about 8km and when we arrived we were able to go a little further on wheels than the people who’d taken motorised transport. At the entrance to the temple we were told to dismount. But there was absolutely nowhere to put our bikes. Not one bike rack. A hard pass.

We did an about turn. The sheer number of people was overwhelming. It was low season and there were still thousands of people descending. Some with tour guides getting off buses undisturbed. We had already been apprehended for our tickets twice. 

We headed east. It was still pitch black. Only Frankie had a rear light, including the tuk tuks. The road became less busy. Suddenly, a peloton of road cyclists passed us. It made us feel slow. Even without luggage our bikes were heavy machines. As the Sun rose and we were surrounded by trees, it dawned on us that we wouldn’t be enjoying a sunrise anywhere. Instead we ‘stumbled’ upon Banteay Kdei. 

Our first temple was deserted. Not technically an option as it wasn’t open, but it was unguarded. We walked our bikes in and started to explore. The walkways through the temple had big stone steps. A relatively recent statue of a Buddha sat in the middle. It was a grand structure surrounded by jungle. The root of a large tree was exposed, extending ten metres and displacing stone blocks.

A woman arrived on a scooter. As she started taking photos we presumed she was exploring herself, but she muttered something about parking the bikes outside. Her sleeve had an official badge. We mistakenly tried to leave by the north gate but it was impenetrable and we left the way we came. Guards now hung about outside, insisting we leave our bicycles on the side of the road. We struggled not to argue. We’d just watched one of them mash their scooter through the ruins. Were they daft?

Keen to make the most of the preoccupation with Angkor Wat we went next to Ta Prohm. A guard waited outside and insisted we left our bikes next to the ‘motos’. There were no bike racks and we were stopped from locking them to a sign. Another ticket check.

Ta Prohm had been made famous by the 2001 film Tomb Raider, but it was unrecognisable to us where it had been filmed despite watching most of it the day before. It was exciting for the hundreds of years old trees that had grown atop the crumbling buildings. There was also a set of stone carved animals, each one perhaps 4 inches long. Puzzlingly, one of them looks like a stegosaurus. 

When we left we were confused for a moment. Jonathan’s bike had been moved. We wondered if we were crazy for a second, then straight up asked the guard. It wasn’t the same guy. He said it had been in the way of his spot. There was so much room it was bewildering why he hadn’t waited. He didn’t seem to think he had any need to ask before touching something that wasn’t his. We were starting to get a little annoyed. 

Keen to see as much as possible we headed back to the ‘grand circuit’. A longer tour of temples. It was several kilometres further to reach Pre Rup. Another ticket check. This time we were forced to put the bicycles even further away. We were sure to lock them together this time. The guard randomly asked us to identify a coin. On it was printed something like ‘Q…stan tenge’. We had no internet to double check it was from Kazakhstan. It was a different sort of temple. No jungle. A steep staircase to the top. We confirmed the coins providence and the fact it was worth 20 cents. The guard was predictably disappointed.

We cycled straight past East Mebon. It looked the same as Pre Rup. Interestingly it was in the middle of what was East Baray. One of the largest hand built reservoirs in the world, now dry. Ta Som was next to a filled baray. It looked similar in style to the first two temples we’d seen. At the back was supposed to be a tree growing atop a gate. But they’d cut the tree down. 

It was 8:30am. We had an ambition to get back to the hotel before 10am and eat our delicious breakfast. The main route back is one way only until 11:30am. We sought an alternative route, a track through the jungle. It wasn’t a track. It was mainly soft sand. Just about rideable, for 75% of it anyway. It was while fighting our way along the 5km of ruts that our already thin patience ran out. 

We had made the whole experience far too stressful for ourselves. From trying to see the sunrise, pedalling where ICE’s dominate, and thinking we could get back for our breakfast. Our composure waned as we failed to be good humans. Eventually we reached Preah Khan and were subjected to another ticket check by a bicycle curious guard. Once we accepted that our lofty goals were a pipe dream we started to calm down.

We approached Preah Kahn from the east. Most people come from the west. The long entrance way was flanked by stone obelisks. High up in a tree a surgeon was hacking ruthlessly. A large group of people were holding a thick rope down below. Not for the man’s safety, but to attach to the dense foliage that was being pulled off. 

We crossed a bridge with beautiful stone balustrades, made to look like figures were tugging on a rope. Like a game of tug of war. The temple was like a large cross. In the centre of which the tunnels extended out away from us in every direction. It was like the Droste effect. 

Finally we were on tarmac. The nearby toilets, which were very modern, had a small gazebo and chillers outside. “Sir, coconut sir?” We’d heard some variation of it all day. We hated ignoring people but it was so frequent and annoying. We’d been taken aback by the number of restaurants that sat inside the archaeological park. To be fair it does total 400km2. 

Now though we accepted their offer. Two large, but barely cold, coconuts were hacked open for us. The liquid rehydrating but not as tasty as we’d had before. Some more hacking and we spooned out the more delicious flesh. We also asked for a large bottle of water. Three dollars. We immediately declined the offer of paying 6 times the usual price. “12000”, Jonathan exclaimed. It was almost immediately reduced to 4000. A dollar. They definitely l use dollars to make it sound cheap. 

We’d stopped for refreshments because of our change of mind. Instead of splitting our trip over two days, we would now visit the focal points today. The road continued to get busier. Worse, there was a “construction detour”. A dusty track with raging idiots ploughing along, clouds of debris following them. When we reached the tarmac again, a man called out to us from across the busy stream of traffic. Ticket check again. We couldn’t see another soul being asked. The bikes were just a target. Like we were trying to dodge payment. It was hard not to feel discriminated against.

As we ride towards the bayon the scale of the automotive based destruction became more depressing. The monumental site, just like the rest of the world, was treated as ripe for destruction in the name of convenience. The Bayon was in the centre of a ‘one way’ – it wasn’t entirely observed – system. We parked the bikes to explore. The most eye-drawing part being the beautiful carved heads atop towers looking down on us. Closely followed by the wonderful carvings that adorned the outer walls. 

We headed back north and found a quiet spot to leave the bikes near the terrace of the Leper King. We didn’t bother climbing Phimeanakas, a pyramid temple, and carried onto Baphuon. We didn’t climb to the top of that either. Our legs were already burning. The scale was awe inspiring. We finally walked along the elevated path to the terrace of the elephants.

Exhausted, we travelled south to the final sight of our tour, skipping the climb of Bakheng. It would take weeks to fully explore just this site. Given the existence of more than 1000 temples in the park it would be just scraping the sides. Another ticket check. The guard admitted they don’t check anyone on a bus or tuk tuk. So just us then. 

Angkor Wat is just one temple, despite commonly being used to refer to the whole complex. Its grand demeanour is on another scale to the other temples. Approached by crossing a huge moat on a stone bridge, then passing through the outer gate, only to still be hundreds of metres from its centre. Enormous lawns, with stone libraries at their centre, flank the elevated walkway. We then passed the reflection ponds, went through the terrace of honour and were finally in the centrepiece. 

Cambodian people pay nothing to visit. For everyone else it’s $37 for the day. Despite the government insisting they want everyone to use Riels, charging for an attraction, that draws 2 million people a year, in dollars doesn’t seem to align with their objectives. The people make good use of their free entry and outnumbered the tourists. Inside the temple were miniature shrines and people praying. We couldn’t help but worry about a focus on religion. It’s not science. It won’t stop this place becoming ever hotter. 

We climbed to the upper terrace. Though we’d brought trousers just in case, we didn’t need them. The ‘no hat’ sign was more prominent so we followed that. We don’t really see how a 12th century ancient structure needs us to cover ourselves, anymore than the churches of Italy. The guards didn’t care either. The views were far reaching and brought the grandeur of the site to our attention even more. It is a ridiculous place. To have been built by hand is just insane. No one would ever try nowadays. Maybe it’s to our downfall that we aren’t willing to take on such big challenges without machines anymore.

We were completely finished. The humidity was insane. We’d been moving around for the last 8 hours. And it was only 1pm. We struggled to cycle fast home. Our legs were crying. Not a rest day in anyones book. When we got back we just put our swimsuits on and went straight in the pool to cool down. 

For dinner we lazily took a tuk tuk to Peace Cafe. A vegetarian restaurant a couple of kilometres away. We wished there was public transport here but it doesn’t seem to be a familiar concept. It was a quiet place to eat with a large outdoor seating area. Organic vegetables and rice. There was a water purifier affixed to the wall inside. A sign claimed they washed all the vegetables with it.

We ordered two different curries and a pomelo salad. They brought over wet cloths to wash our hands and faces. Mosquito repellent too. Not a good sign. The food was delicious. Just not that spicy. Cambodians weren’t as spice hungry we started to realise. We’d got very used to burning lips, addicted almost. Well Jonathan anyway. Our dinner was $10 + 14000 Rial.

After dinner we walked to a cafe called The Muffin Man. The Sun had almost entirely disappeared and the people were swarming the streets. Walking, cycling and sitting by the river. The new year decorations were in full bloom. Trees wrapped in coloured cloths. Lights and ornaments all around. It looked to be quite a lively affair. The traffic was manic too. Despite police standing by the busy junctions with orange sticks, there was zero enforcement. 

They were supposed to be vegan friendly but only had blueberry muffins for us. Much to Frankie’s surprise and joy, Jonathan had specially ordered a vegan chocolate cake for her birthday that was in a few days. It even had writing on it. Barely visible, because white chocolate isn’t vegan, but it was there. Big box of cake in hand we took a tuk tuk back to the hotel. A detour was in place because of the coming celebrations. 

We were really tired. Our eyes barely open we still managed to eat a couple of slices of cake. It was just as delicious as it looked. We watched the first episode of The Shield. Jonathan had watched it a long time ago. There would be no early start tomorrow. Thank god.