tourist-trap

tourist-trap
Originally uploaded by honeybeealtman.

Yesterday we focused on temples in the jungle. One, a popular location, called Preah Kahn, is known for the huge trees which had taken root hundreds of years ago, atop the temples and walls. Their vast root systems, stretching out in search of the soil far below, engulfed entire structures in the process. It was interesting, but the experience was filtered through crowds of both tourists and vendors.

In the evening, we visited Ta Prohm, my favorite temple complex so far. Firstly, it hasn't been totally reclaimed from the jungle. Many people don't go there for fear of being eaten by a tiger. So walking through unmolested by other tourists or vendors, or begging children, with the steady cacophony of the jungle--ee ee ah ah ah ah, and whoop, whoop, as well as the piles of rubble that block many long passages, makes one feel like Indiana Jones. Where's my whip? The aunties were totally creeped-out by the place. As soon as the light began to fade, they ran back to the main entrance insistently calling CHREEEEST...CHREEEEEEEST!

But I didn't want to leave, because when the light faded, the bats came out of every passage, chink and crack. I first felt the echo-location pressure in my ears, and then I looked and they were climbing all over the walls, dropping off to flop around in the air. I was trying to get them on tape, which was difficult in the dark, but I probably have some good footage of them swarming around my head. One aimed for my head, but missed it by a few inches. I was wearing a grass hat so I didn't care.
I liked it there so much, we returned this morning. It wasn't as nice in the daytime. There were more people, I clocked my head pretty hard against a low archway that I didn't see above the brim of my hat, and there was a flock of children trained in the fine art of high pressure sales.

"Madam, ten bracelets foa two dollah, you buy from me? How much you pay Madam? You want buy bag, look bag, very niiii." It started when we met a young boy on a bicycle. He asked if I had a pen for him, I thought, "that's refreshing, he's not asking for money," so I found Amy and said give this kid a pen. She did. We chatted for a little while, introducing ourselves and asking about his schooling. His name was Ban Tuen. He was a pleasant, smiley fellow. Finally, we all went on our way, he, in an opposite direction from us. We crossed a bridge and on the other side, emerging from the jungle were all these little kids. They wanted to sell us a bunch of tourist crap. We didn't want any of it. After a while, we gave them each a bill of money, the equivalent of 25 cents. BIG mistake. Give and inch...

Once they saw the money, the pressure was on. I felt like the mama bird returning to my nest with a caterpiller. They followed us, walking backwards, under our feet, in our faces and who did I spot among them, with the saddest most hungry face? None other than Ban Tuen, who had doubled back to inform the village of the presence of Americans. One girl said to Bill, "Where you from?"
"US," he replied.
"That America?"
"Yes"
"Oh, you got money--big, big."
Ban Tuen acted as if we hadn't met him ten minutes earlier. I kept trying to talk to him like we had before, but he just kept asking me to buy a bag.
"OK kids, that's it. No more money big big. Bye-bye."
"But Madame, you didn't buy from mee-eee!"