The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight

The temple complex at Preah Vihear is stunning. Not for the temple itself. No, that sort of grandeur comes from the behemoths of ancient architecture at Angkor Wat.

At only a mile long, Preah Vihear is dwarfed by the towering faces of Angkor, but they say sometimes it’s not the destination it’s the journey, and in this case it’s the truth.

Situated on a sheer cliff of the Dangrek mountains, skirting the Thai-Cambodian border, Preah Vihear has easily the most stunning view of any ancient fortification save for perhaps the Parthenon.  Unfortunately, the position of the temple complex, directly on the disputed border area brings with it cause for concern, namely gunfire.

And mines…

The ancient Khmer’s would make a winding pilgrimage to the mountaintop site. A pilgrimage it must have been considering the remoteness and intensity of the surrounding jungle. Our pilgrimage was different. No religious overtones, simply a desire to see all and do all along the roads we went.

290 kilometer’s. A stones throw by modern cars on modern highways. In the parlance of Cambodian nether-reaches, it’s like going to the moon. On a scooter, every inch of road, every hole, every rock, is felt from the coccyx on up.

290 from Stung Treng to the base of the Dangrek mountains. Every muscle sore, rattled, and dusty – we modern day pilgrims simply sought a hot shower, and maybe a cold Coke.

Having bunked for the night in a small military town called Sra’Em we decide to set out early for the temple in the morning. After a abortive start, kicking the bike a hundred times surrounded by laughing Khmer monks, we humbly set off through a plume of oilsmoke.

At the ticket booth at the bottom we have our passports checked (red flag), and are not charged an entrance fee (huge red flag). On the ticket, the friendly girl behind the desk checks the ‘transport by truck’ box.

‘No, thanks’ I say, ‘we have a moto’.

She cocks her head at me as if I’ve just tried to explain the end of Inception.

‘Moto At La’o’ – Motorbike no good, she says.

‘Klang chiran’ (very strong), I laugh and pat Scoots lovingly.

‘If it’s a no-go we’ll backtrack and take a truck.’, knowing full well this will happen over my cold dead body.

So we began up the steep, but thankfully paved, road leading up into the clouds.

This region was one of the last holdouts of the defeated Khmer Rouge. One of the last pockets of resistance of a genocidal regime, determined to keep one foot in the door of Cambodian politics. The entire region has a hauntingly militant feel. Like the Nazis in Nurenburg, this feels like a ‘party town’ and not in the good way. Sandbag bunkers and rusting machine guns line our route as we roll past their camouflage netting.

Now, Cambodia loves camo about as much as the rednecks in the South. These Alabama Tuxedos are practical. It suits the rough country life and is available in sizes from ‘Child Solider’ on up.

The road jumps from an incline of 20° to about 35° and Scoots slows against the grade. We’re now at full throttle, yet only moving about walking pace. Finally we level off, and I’m able to open her up a bit, letting lose a 125cc ROAR due to the exhaust having been sheared off on the previous jaunt.

To our left a sheer drop into the valley between Thailand and Cambodia. To our right a rock face into which has been cut a warren of small huts and bomb shelters. In these ramshackle homes live soldiers, young and old, ready to hold off the invading Thai army should they try to retake the temple that the Khmer hold so dear.

There’s a scene in Apocalypse Now, as Willard is entering Kurtz’s Cambodian jungle camp. Rows of painted soldiers in various stages of uniform undress, staring menacingly at the camera, AK’s slung lazily over the shoulder. 

I couldn’t have felt more like Willard unless I’d arrived by PT boat.

It is now 9am, and half the barracks is sitting along the edges of the road smoking cigarettes, cooking breakfast, and quietly eyeing the Thais on the other ridge. In one of the most uncomfortable rides of my life, we slowly buzz past hundreds and hundreds of armed, bored, poorly paid, possibly fomer Khmer Rouge, soldiers.

Guns? Check. Tea? Check. Let’s roll.

Their looks range from the bemused ‘how did you get here on that!?’ To ‘you should get back on your shitty little bike and turn around and go home’. We do neither. Cassie waves and yells ‘Soksabai’ (hello) from the back, ever the ambassador. I pray the bike holds and try to console myself in the knowledge that each rifle only has at most three rounds.

It feels like we’re nearing the top of the endless mountain but can’t yet see the summit. A set of near vertical roads lays out before us, hemmed on either side by soldiers. There is nowhere to go but up.

I subconsciously begin humming ‘Into the Wild Blue Yonder’ to ease the tension. This quickly turns into a full on karaoke scream as we whip up a straightaway to gain speed.

Hitting the incline with all the momentum I can rend from the tiny engine, we barely make it half way before we begin to backslide. Cassie offers to jump off and I continue on alone, only slightly lighter.

Cresting the hill, I pause to wait for Cassie. Unwilling to take my hand off the gas for fear of it never coming back on, the roar is deafening. Rattling engine parts echo off the rocks to my right and roll down into the deep valley to my left. The view is beautiful and worth the effort, but a bus ticket might have been the way to go this one time.

Suddenly from my right I hear a rustling from the jungle.  Out of the brush steps three military men bristling with rifles, webbing and sidearms.  They beeline for me, guns in hand, bemused smiles on their faces. The kind I’ve seen before, the type of smile that always ends up costing.

In an epic moment of timing, as the armed men approach silently, Scoots McGoots, my once proud beach bike, breathes it’s last breath of thin mountain air and dies.

‘Moto At Lao’ I laugh and give the open handed wrist twist, universal sign language in Asia for ‘no go’. This gets a slight laugh from the brigade now forming in my path.

Cassie crests the hill and, noticing the soliders, pauses in her tracks. A combination of thoughts I’m sure. From ‘where’s my money hidden’, to ‘It’s not too late to run’.

Or join up…

A kick start does nothing for Scoots, but my hope is that the gasoline has simply shifted to the back of the tank and the carb has run dry. I pray that flatter land and a few more kicks will get her back, but this is as far as she’s willing to go.

I ask the soldier in charge, who speaks some English, if we’re very far from the temple. He laughs saying we almost made it, just around the corner.

The crowd that forms does the usual Khmer look-and-poke on my bike. As opposed to the usual onlookers who I shoe away, these dudes have guns, big fuck off scary old AK47’s. They may only be issued three bullets a piece by the underfunded and paranoid military, but that’s more than I’ve got so they get to touch what they like.

They point out the small log that I’ve drilled into the floorboard. I explain that I use it to rest my bag between my legs, so it doesn’t block the engine vents. The translation gets a laugh. The wood block always gets a laugh.

Then the emergency peanut butter, which has ridden the whole ride in my cupholder, gets brought out and passed around. I can’t help but imagine that to most of these hardened mountain guerillas peanut butter may be about as alien a foodstuff as Prahok is to me.

After the usual, ‘where are you from?’, ‘what do you think of Cambodia?’, ‘do you want to hold my gun?’, chit chat. I inquire as to whether or not Bong Tom (Mr.Big – my go-to honorific when dealing with the head cop in a group) would be able to safeguard our bike while we proceeded up the mountain on foot. They certainly had the hardware to keep Scoots safe from everything but a Navy SEAL raid. He agrees, patting his rifle, and says he will guard it with his life. I wonder what that will cost me.

We say our goodbye’s, I reiterate my offer to go ahead and finish the peanut butter in the cupholder, and we take off on foot up the mountain.

Preah Vihear Temple Next…