We are now at the Cambodia/Vietnam border and it’s day something or other into our caravanserai  adventure as we watch the world slip by in air conditioned comfort. Thank you barman, you may indeed freshen up my drink and as the story goes, I have this medical condition which requires this glass to be replenished every half hour, on the half hour.

Yesterday, our second day in Phnom Pen was a great day, it has to be said. After trying to imagine what it must have been like (impossible) during the Khmer Rouge times the child bride and I decided to have the afternoon in. We were all pagoda’d out anyway. Then some of our party mates suggested a trip to a bar down town. No worries said I. Five of us piled into a tuc tuc and off we went. We found a place overlooking the river where happy hour went from 7.00am to 11.00pm, I kid you not. Icy draft beer for $0.75. We spent the afternoon there and the bill for five was less than $30.00. I am moving to this country and buying a Lexus.

Needless to say, last night (two nights ago, now) was either a write-off or a triumph, depending on how you look at it. We’ve pretty much commandeered the music situation so instead of middle of the road we now have Rolling Stones and Guns ‘N Roses and the place is jumping. It’s karaoke night tonight so that will be interesting.

It’s the morning after karaoke night and it’s been a struggle. My attention span could not extend to the intricacies of a spinning loom operated by a 12 year old girl I’m afraid. And vague memories of Wish You Were Here are swirling round my brain and bouncing off the insides of my skull. Fortunately we’re cruising this afternoon because I don’t think I need to learn any more rural Vietnamese life skills.

I decided to finish this story in the library. It’s the only public place on the ship where you can’t be tempted by alcoholic extravagance and it’s as far away from a bar as it’s possible to be.

Just spent a very confronting morning at one of the killing fields outside Phnom Pen then the Genocide Museum which is in what was a school and was used by the Khmer Rouge as a torture venue. From reading some of the so-called confessions and listening to the guides relate stories of the time you wonder whether the Khmer Rouge ever questioned how the CIA managed to employ hundreds of thousands of agents including whole families. Being good Buddhists the locals eventually forgave the bad guys whereas most of us would have been sorely tempted to exact some form of retribution, with extreme prejudice.

You’d think Cambodia would be the most anti-communist place on earth after experiencing the most perverted version of an already perverted political philosophy but there can’t be too many places with both a North Korean Embassy (next door to the Prime Minister’s house as it happens) and a Cuban Embassy as well as a street called Mao Tse Tung Boulevard. I took a picture of the North Korean embassy but we weren’t allowed to take pictures of the US embassy. I guess if you’re North Korean this is probably one of the safer places in the world to be what with The Donald’s finger hovering over The Button. That reminds me, North Korea is the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea and under Pol Pot this place was called Democratic Kampuchea. The similarity is that no one gets to or got to vote.

Time to lighten the mood. If I asked you to name the place with the largest proportion of Lexus’s (or is that Lexii) on the road in relation to the other vehicles, you might suggest Nagoya, where Toyotas are made or Geneva (no, that’s Ferraris with Arab rego plates) or Manhattan. I guarantee you wouldn’t guess Cambodia but that is in fact the case. They are everywhere. It’s like some weird parallel universe. And I still haven’t received a satisfactory explanation as to why. It’s fated to be one of those unanswerable questions like why does a women stroke her chin when she drives or why does “change up” mean “slow down” or why can’t some people see the absolute logic of all of my arguments?

Actually “Mekong” is a bit of a misnomer. We have been on the Tonle Sap River for the past 3 days and don’t reach the Mekong until this afternoon in Phnom Penh. The Tonle Sap River is highly unusual because in the dry season the Mekong pushes water north along the Tonle Sap and in the wet season there’s enough water flowing into the Tonle Sap Lake in the north to push the water south down the river. So it’s one way part of the year and the other for the rest. Wouldn’t be out of place in Hollywood.

There are 172 floating villages round the lake. Everyone lives in a relocatable home and all are connected to the same sewerage system. Needless to say of the hundreds of fish species in the lake, the most prevalent is the brown trout. Fish and rice provide most of the sustenance but like an old mate of mine from Japan, they’ll eat anything with its back to the sun, tigers and elephants excluded. Tarantula sandwich anyone?

On a more serious note, Cambodia has an awful lot of catch-up to play after the atrocities committed by the Khmer Rouge. There were about 10,000 doctors here pre-1975. By 1979 when Pol Pot and his mob were finished there were seven. SEVEN! Now families have eight or nine kids as repopulation continues apace. There are some inherent human skills that can never be eradicated even by the most determined scumbags.

This trip is quite unlike what you would imagine a river cruise to be if you’re thinking of Amsterdam to Budapest or the Loire Valley. It’s all very rural and life experience stuff. Yesterday we went for a ride in an ox cart which really loosened up the joints. I suggested to the farmer in charge of our transportation that he consider installing eight sided wheels as they’d be much more comfortable than his six sided versions.

But it’s not all killing fields and Old Macdonald’s farm. Back on the boat there’s a party group as you would expect. Yesterday was my birthday (thanks for all the good wishes) and we found a guitar so raucously worked through all of the songs I could remember. It’s amazing how good Wish You Were Here sounds with a bucket of Southern Comfort in the bag.

Off for a tuc tuc tour of the city soon. A tuc tuc is like a carriage for two or four people towed behind a vehicle with what sounds like a ride-on mower engine. Should be interesting. We’ll be stopping at some markets where the child bride will put her considerable bargaining skills to good use. So I’ll have to stop at an ATM.

In August 2017 the child Bride and I visited Cambodia and Vietnam and took a leisurely cruise down the Mekong River. Following is a 6 part opus on that epic journey.

Well the Mekong Muster, Siem Reap in Cambodia to Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam, is now well underway. We are on the boat – La Marguerite – and having done the unpacking and explored the boat the 40 degree heat and 100% humidity are doing their job. La Marguerite is very small – about 78 passengers I think – but has two bars. Having been on here all of two hours I think we’ve done well to befriend Jenny, one of the bar attendants who now knows our order. Jenny is here to mitigate the heat and humidity.

But let’s backtrack a couple of days. We flew out of Brisbane on Saturday afternoon in gorilla class but on Singapore Airlines – scant compensation I know but it could have been a whole lot worse. No….no it couldn’t – can’t think of anything worse after all of those years flying at the front on someone else’s dime. I know you’re all feeling my pain – thanks, that makes so much difference.

We had 8 hours in Singers airport and despite all of my previous travels I have never been asked to rate a toilet but there in the airport was this very opportunity. So I go for a pee and there’s a box on the wall in the loo that says “Rate our toilet” and you can tap a button of your choice. I was torn between shithouse and pissweak. But enough of that so let’s move along.

The rest of the trip to Seam Reap was uneventful but now it gets interesting. In this politically correct world we live in, if you believe cultures are unequal you are a bigot. Anyone who thinks Angkor Wat is the equivalent of a handprint on a cave wall or a poison dart blown through a hollow reed or an ability to build a mud hut that will withstand a light drizzle can call me a bigot – guilty as charged. And we’re not here to indulge in in-depth academic debates on the pros and cons of the noble savage vs the industrial revolution so let’s leave it superficial and flippant. Those temples – hundreds of them – are not only works of incredible detail and complexity but they were carved out of impenetrable jungle about 800 years ago. Of course elephants help, vis a vis the jungle bit but it still must have been an architect’s paradise.

Compare with the pharaoh’s chief architect:
“So your munificent, sun shines out of your sarcophagus, God-pharaoh, you want me to build you a tomb. May I remind you I built the sphinx, the library of Alexandria and consulted on the hanging gardens of Babylon, so it’s not another bloody pyramid is it? Oh, it is. It’s a big one, you say, with lots of secret passageways. Hoo-f..ing-ray.”

At Angkor Thom and Angkor Wat and all the others, the builders had an absolute ball it seems compared with the poor old pyramid builders.

The first day, after spending most of Saturday night in the airport, was zombie central but we did manage to drag ourselves away from the air conditioning for a few hours. Apart from visiting the aforementioned temples, a highlight was visiting a school where a program called Overseas Development in Art teaches art as well as English language, computing and a few other things to underprivileged and orphaned kids. It was started by a local artist and now extends to eight schools. He established all eight of them.

Compared to our whiney, the tax payer owes me a living, artists who produce bugger all of any redeemable or cultural value, like standing on one leg in a bucket of offal for six hours at a time, this guy is a saint and deserves the Nobel Prize. Think Mother Theresa without the leprosy. And he’s a bloke.

But last night after climbing all over a series of temples, we did what everyone does when visiting a provincial Asian city for the first time. We visited Pub Street (that’s what it’s called) and drank $1 beers in the Red Piano Bar. Well I did. Jan drank $3 wines. Secondly, I did what every male does in these places…..no, not that. I had my feet eaten. Yes, you read that right. I dangled my feet in a large tank of water and dozens of fish nibbled the dead skin off my feet.

Now it has to said, I have the ugliest feet in Christendom (which we weren’t actually in to be fair) but these little buggers gave it a red hot go and did an admirable job. But really. If you thought maggots or bacteria are at the bottom of the food chain, think again because I can’t think of anything that beats this in a disgusting race to the last link. Of course if you’re ticklish it’s almost unbearable. I lasted about 15 minutes. Another hour or two and I could have been a foot model.

For the next seven or eight days the most stressful decision will be which of the two bars to patronise, as in offer them my custom, not talk down to them. And when the intermittent wifi kicks in I’m going to find out where I can buy some of those fish.

Well I have to admit to being suitably chastened.

Bruce Springsteen was in town and while I like a lot of his music (notwithstanding the wankerish, farcical, working class pretence of a lot of his lyrics), it’s never been enough to make me want to go to one of his concerts. Why would I want to listen to a champagne socialist with a few hundred mil in the bank, houses all over the North American continent and who flies everywhere in a private jet and have to listen to typical social justice warrior hypocrisy on how we’re destroying the planet and did I mention that Trump is Satan.

Friends of ours had a spare ticket for his concert here in Brisbane and asked me if I wanted to go and naturally I jumped at the chance. Two can play this hypocrisy game. It was sensational – fair cop me! And there was little time for commentary because there were mostly no breaks between songs. Talk about relentless. His only vaguely SJW comment referred to a charity which collects unused food from restaurants etc to distribute to the homeless and they were fundraising outside the venue. He recommended contributing – fair enough. And it was Valentine’s Day so there was a massive plug for the blokes to buy flowers for loved ones even if it’s just a crumby old single rose. Incidentally, and I’ll give myself a plug here, when I was last in full time employment I used to buy a rose for the mothers on our floor on Mother’s Day. No one ever bitched about me (that I was aware of) – management in action. Oh, and being Valentine’s Day it was only fair that I be at a concert while the child bride was a home watching I’m a Celebrity – Get Me Out of Here.

Anyhow back to Bruce. He did a few things I have never seen in a concert before and I’ve been to a few. Firstly he got up close and personal with the crowd in that he actually waded into the crowd – the standing only part at the front. He let kids strum his guitar during one song. He crowd surfed – can you believe it – about 20m across the standing area back to the stage. As far as I could tell, none of the women tried to confiscate his cruet as he passed overhead. Maybe his wife’s presence on the stage as part of the band put a dampener on that. Then during “Dancing in the Dark” he inevitably (if you’ve seen the clip of the song) invited a girl on stage to dance. Then another, then another, then another, then a bloke (??) then a young girl who looked about 8. All up about nine people invited on stage with one dancing on his pianist’s grand piano (he looked a tad pissed). Then the 8 year old got to sing a few bars.

Only one word for all of this – respect. Bruce, you’re still a social justice warrior wanker but you sure can put on a show.