Here are some facts and figures from our time cycle touring in Thailand:

• 566 km cycled (longest day 122km, shortest 43km) in final six days of cycling
• 124 portraits of the King counted as we cycled from the border to Bangkok
• 79.5 kg of baggage packed for flight back to New Zealand
• 13 nights in hotel beds
• 8 job applications written and submitted
• 3 international cycle tourists met (including a meal with our old mate Fred)
• 2 meals of “thai” style curries among countless other memorable meals
• 2 bicycles cleaned and pulled apart
• 2 boat rides
• 1 swim in the ocean enjoyed
• 1 night side of the road hospitality (thanks Nic)
• 1 mall overwhelmed by massive amount on sale in (but civilian clothes brought!)
• 1 crab farm visited
• 0 mechanical failures (not counting worn chainsets and chains)
• 0 punctures

Justin’s most memorable ocean swim: I hadn’t swum in the ocean since we had cycled the coast of Croatia and had been looking forward to reaching a decent beach in South East Asia. The beaches of Cambodia were a little disappointing but in Thailand we found a stretch of beach with deserted tourist trappings and had a sunset dip.

Emma’s top Thai ride: The “scenic route” which in signposted, green bike path separated bliss took us along back roads and undeveloped beach fronts for a mere 80km before spitting us out onto the increasingly busy highway towards Bangkok.

Turning left onto the multi-lane highway which will lead like an arrow into the heart of Bangkok, we have almost an hour before the sun will pull above the skyline. The sky starts to lighten on the scruffy edges of urban sprawl. Justin stops to capture light trails of buses and trucks. There is a delicious coolness to the air and it reminds me of many other pre-dawn adventures.

A few hours later I call us to a stop at a roadside stall, even though I suspect Justin would ride the entire 95km to our hotel without breakfast if I let him. I’ve spied a vendor making the gold elixir of Asian breakfast – rice porridge – and its with the finely honed instincts of a seasoned cycle tourist that my brakes are pulled. As we sit down we’re offered ice in big stainless steel mugs in which we pour weak brewed tea. The ice melts instantly.

Our chosen dining establishment is set against a drainage ditch filled with dirty water. A swarm of mosquitoes is barely kept away by burning coils placed at our feet and the benches have a thick layer of grime. We watch the cook crack an egg into Justin’s bowl and are a little surprised that it appears to slide out perfectly poached. We too are feeling a little poached, our foreheads are already slick with sweat before we bend to the task of eating our boiling hot meal.

After nailing a few more kilometres we stop for one last roadside coffee at a coffee shack incongruously placed across the parking lot from a strip joint. We sit in the shade to drink luxurious blended ice drinks while playing a game of quick fire ‘remember when?’ about the past two years. We’re a long way from the wobbly exit from London, the freezing cold passes we climbed in Spain or those amazing moon-like landscapes of Turkey. Today we’re thankful to have easy access to water and to no longer be concerned about our bicycles falling to pieces. I can’t believe that we’ll be done by lunch time.

Before long we’re in the middle of Bangkok, seemingly one big wall of high rises and concrete overpasses. To us the city is a blur as we concentrate on a road fraught with danger – the worst are drainage grates running parallel to the road which look like they might just be able to jam bike tires. Aided by our GPS, Justin leads us towards our hotel via gated roads and back streets where traffic is surprisingly light.

I’m wise enough not to expect ticker tape lining the streets or a marching band heralding our arrival but I can’t help but feel a little bit of elation when we finally turn into the road to Shanti Lodge. This will be our base until our flights back to New Zealand in just over a week. We lean our bikes up, then I slip off my sandals and go in search of reception. Aside from a week of clothes buying, bag packing and preparations for our return to New Zealand, we’re finished. That’s it. We’re done.

Even glimpsed in a small 500km strip from the border, immediately Thailand seemed a very different country to its neighbours. The tarmac was better, and although the much flasher cars went significantly faster, for a change us cyclists were granted a decent shoulder to ride on. We stopped at a mobile steamed bun van surrounded by lunching labourers and the first time we saw a 7/11 convenience store we considered taking photos to commemorate this air-conditioned modern marvel.

The same day we met Nic and Son, we stopped for the night in Trat, just outpacing a thunderstorm which rolled into town directly after us. A second lunch of Thai curries barely filled hungry stomachs, so we soon headed for Trat’s night market, ducking the rain by diving from one awning to the next. From a huge selection of eats we picked a feast of curries, rice and sweet dishes to haul back to our hotel room.

The next day we spied Nic’s motorcycle outside his house just before lunch time. He answered the door in work clothes and invited us to check out the bird room above us and the roof above while he showered. The view from his huge empty deck almost stretched to the sea and directly below the third floor of the house was in the process of being converted to an attractive home for swallows.

Bird houses are big business in Thailand, and Nic explained the ins and outs of bird nest harvesting, pointing out numerous empty buildings in the town which have been converted to swallow nesting grounds. The business nous was unclear to us until he explains the huge profits to be made. The most prized nests formed from swallow spit fetch up to $10,000 USD a kilogram and are destined for use in Chinese bird’s nest soup. I’m sorry to say we didn’t get a chance to try this expensive delicacy.

With energy which outshined both of us, retirement-aged Nic gave us a motorcycle tour of the town, took us out by boat past mangroves to a nearby crab farm, walked with us through two pieces of his land showing us tropical fruits ripening on trees. He has tried to tame nature through these farms, carving paths and swimming pools, elaborately re-routing rivers to run below cabins and through man-made caves as part of an epic plan for a picnic, accommodation and camping resort.

After helping a team of workers move wood from one site to another for more accommodation, Nic expressed his disappointment that it is too late to take us to a huge tropical fruit tree museum. Instead he offered to give us a tour of the local Buddha park. The almost empty grounds were filled with an extraordinary collection of brightly painted sculptures funded by pious individuals. He pointed out the mysterious beard on the largest Buddha – it was where a swarm of bees have decided to form their hive.

With Nic, we ate like the locals, at unassuming small roadside eateries which each have their own speciality. He explained that he doesn’t keep any food at home because he simply doesn’t have time to cook. We weren’t surprised – by the time we leave at 6am the next morning Nic has already been up for hours carting his daily load of coconut husks back from the market using a specially commissioned trailer attached to the motorcycle.

With our eye on the coast, we cycle away from the security of the main highway to a string of minor roads which aren’t on our high level map. We had been advised that we won’t go wrong if we follow the sea, although we find that a few roads peter out into dead-end cul-de-sacs. The signposted ‘Scenic Route’ lives up to its name as it stretches out along a relatively quiet coast and even has a dedicated cycle path most of the way. In the late afternoon we detour to Cape Mae Phim, recommended by some cyclists we’d met a few days earlier. Its warm enough for a late afternoon swim and we find it hard to tear ourselves away from the sea the next morning.

Back on the main highway which is increasingly busy, we get a little put off exploring the towns we pass because of the constant bombardment of billboards lined across the highway. If the ads are anything to go by the waterfront is a strip of time share resorts and exclusive hotels, and the coastal roads seem to be just small loops off the highway. The few beaches we pass have views down the coast to the biggest tourist beach towns complete with gleaming high rise buildings a la Australia’s Gold Coast and we spend an unmemorable night in one strange expat-filled town. When we’re cycling its often too loud to hear each other over the din of traffic and we escape from the noise at regular intervals in petrol station convenience stores.

Wanting to avoid the most popular beach towns before Bangkok, we find ourselves just 95km from Bangkok with a day to spare before we’re due there. In the town of Chonburi, it already feels like we’re back in the modern world with a cafe across the road from our tiny hotel, posh restaurants and hotels just streets away, and a six lane motorway which we need to cross to get to a busy street-side restaurant.

Realising that the next day is a Sunday, leaving us to ride into Bangkok on a Monday morning, its a no brainer to give up a break day that we scarcely need so we can arrive in Bangkok a day earlier. We go to sleep early, anticipating an early alarm call in an effort to beat Bangkok’s notorious traffic. It sinks in that we’ve got just one day left to cycle before we are done.

On this day of food we started from the seaside town of Bang Sare and cycled a fast 75km arriving in our destination Chon Buri in time for lunch. The below documents what two hungry cyclists ate in one day in Thailand.

Breakfast

A very European looking breakfast of oats, fresh papaya and strawberry yoghurt.

Snack

With air conditioned 7/11 stores at regular intervals we have been able to return to eating chocolate bars including our all time favourite Snickers.

Lunch

Blueberry and mango “Fruit” (or at least fruit flavoured) shakes in a cafe while we used WiFi. Switching to a nearby restaurant we had soup with minced pork rolled in cabbage leaves and prawns, sweet sausage, rice and a spicy Papaya side salad.

Dinner

In a busy street side stall we sipped on a fresh lime shake and an iced coffee to accompany our dishes of broccoli and crispy pork, crispy duck and vegetables with tofu, all of course served with rice.

Here are some facts and figures from our time cycle touring in Cambodia:

• 1334 km cycled (longest day 151km, shortest 18km to Angkor Wat)
• 27 nights in hotel beds
• 500 grams of crabs inexpertly shelled (with one cut finger along the way)
• 360 shouts of hello replied to each day (based on average per hour calculation)
• 17 temples visited including Angkor Wat, Koh Ker and Beng Mealea
• 10 international cycle tourists met (just one cycled with)
• 7 Fresh coconuts drunk
• 5 instant noodle meals consumed
• 4 Cambodian dishes added to Emma’s culinary expertise
• 4 troops of monkeys spotted (3 in Angkor Wat complex)
• 2 tuk-tuk rides (squeezing 6 travellers in Cambodian style)
• 1 sea waded in
• 1 Chinese New Year celebrated
• 1 domestic elephant spotted carrying cement down a national highway
• 1 bottom bracket replaced (Justin)
• 1 headset re-greased (Emma)
• 0 punctures (even Em’s cheap Chinese tire still holding up!)

Justin’s most adventurous temple exploration: Following a stream of children clambering over, under and between the ruins of Beng Mealea.

Emma’s fondest memory: A troupe of children all dressed in brightly coloured pyjama sets starting an impromptu conga line outside a restaurant we were eating breakfast in. On reflection, they were probably copying the dragon dances which saw in the New Year along the Cambodian coast.

Our arrival coincided with that of Matthew, a UK cyclist we had met in back in Laos. Much eating, cycle touring and IT talk ensued, including a particularly indulgent dinner of barbequed ribs which had other restaurant goers looking at the three of us a little quizzically. I wondered if I should have explained that we were cycle-tourists so it was imperative that we ate a large percentage of our body weight in meat. Iron levels reinstated, we moved onto another bar for dessert pie and beer. The boys ended staying out so long that they had to vault the fence to get back into our guesthouse.

To escape Cambodia’s oppressive heat, Justin and I took a tour up to Bokor National Park, where a disused 1930s’ French hilltop town had a glowing write up in our guidebook. It seems that modern times have come across this old ghost town at a rapid pace. A huge almost completed resort-style hotel now dominates the hill top, while ruins of older structures (including a church) now house workers and the associated rubbish of a construction site.

Unfortunately the main attraction of a decrepit casino was inaccessible as it was being reinforced to ensure it was structurally sound – it was due to be reopened a few days after our visit. We enjoyed the vast view over untamed forest out to sea, cool breeze and relative quiet but wondered how plans for at least one further hotel and a couple of golf courses would alter the ambience of the place.

A few days later we cycled out to Kep, the nearest beach to Kampot and an area famous for crustaceans. Its so famous that there’s a large crab statue in the centre of the town. Kampot, in contrast has a very large Durian fruit statue. Having cycled the length of the beach and through a desolate grid of streets filled with overgrown lots and abandoned French villas, we gamely waded in the murky water before looking for lunch.

Originally planning to dine at a restaurant, we were fascinated to see Cambodian families set up big colourful mats in close proximity to a lively food market presumably set up for the Chinese New Year holidays. Vast quantities of prawns, fish and crab were being boiled and grilled over wood fires and people were spread out in a huge square with their fresh feasts. We joined the festive atmosphere, buying a huge bag of crabs and sugarcane juices. Fully sated we biked back, on a road now much busier with traffic returning from a day at the sea.

With an abundance of chocolate pies, coffee shops and a pleasant waterfront promenade, Kampot was an easy place to hang out in. Eventually we ran out of excuses and set off for the border town of Koh Kong, where we would cross into Thailand for the last leg of our journey. Anticipating a four day ride, we struggled to find accommodation and ended up completing the ride in a less than leisurely two day stint.

Cambodian weddings have been a dominant force over much of our cycling in the country, with loud sound systems blaring out of gaudy coloured tents in most villages we pass. We’ve seen sedate groups nibbling at feasts, workers setting up chairs and testing PAs and the washing of a thousand bright pink table clothes and chair covers, but most days we’ve heard the party before we’ve seen it, with music played loud enough to drown out any conversation in the town seeming to be the norm.

Unfortunately after a very hilly 150km day to Andoung Tuek, we find a wedding is taking place right beside the only guesthouse in town. At least the music is switched off at 9pm, but any thoughts of hanging out outside our very hot, dark and dingy room are quashed as it seems a large percentage of the wedding party is camped in the communal hall.

We had planned to trek in the nearby national park, but both feeling frazzled after a very hot and sticky night in less than pleasant surrounds, we opted to cycle on instead. Though we’d been back into the hills since turning off route 4 the day before, a few wildlife encounters make me wonder just how special the forest walk might have been. Among a lot of small birds I spotted a troupe of macaw monkeys in the trees, small multicoloured lizards and a flock of huge birds with wings that made a helicopter-like whooshing sound in the first 40km of the day.

Cambodia is the first country where the heat has really beaten us. Sweat drips off elbows while we’re eating. Walking anywhere we get uncomfortably hot instantly and our cycling gear is consistently damp with sweat. Having climbed hills in the heat for the best part of two days, we were sapped of energy by the time we reach Koh Kong town. The owner of our guesthouse asked if we wanted to go on a tour to a nearby island and we looked at him in exhaustion. A few days later a torrential downpour started up and cooled the air for a few hours. We can’t wait for the temperate climates of New Zealand.

Tourism hasn’t really taken off in Koh Kong, with a pleasant waterfront marred by piles of litter. Sitting down to watch the sunset, we spot Daniel, a Belgium traveller we’d spoken to briefly in Kampot. Already a self-confessed slow traveller, his progress has been impeded by a leg infection. During the course of the evening that we spend with him, he decides to fast track to Bangkok to get it some proper hospital attention.

The same evening we’re introduced to a French traveller, both ship captain and lay philosopher. This man aspires to walk the 10km to the Thai border in a few days, wheeling his suitcase behind him. Us who have cycled from London think this plan of walking, in Cambodia’s unbearable heat, is madder than ours.

On this day of food we said farewell to a comfortable guesthouse in Kampot with one last Western breakfast, stopped for a snack just before 12pm which made do for lunch, cycled almost 150km when we’d intended to do 100km and ate dinner in near darkness. As you do.

The below documents what two hungry cyclists ate in one day in Cambodia.

Breakfast

Two banana pancakes each (sold at a bargain US$1.75) and we figured that we also needed the omelette and potatoes (Justin) and peanut butter and toast (Emma).

Drinks

Sugar cane juice in crushed ice, and iced coffees – typical of our on the road fuelling in Cambodia’s heat.

Lunch

Fried rice with pork and vegetables with both brown and chilli sauce.

Snack

Sour mango and plain muffins (pictured half devoured).

Dinner

Sour fish soup (tastes better than it looks), chilli and fish sauce dipping sauce and steamed rice plus remaining muffin and packet of wafers. Dessert consisted of shaved ice, condensed milk and random jelly stuff not pictured as it melted too quickly!

Heading south from Siem Reap there are just over 300km of almost completely flat riding which we start with a tough but manageable 150km day (our longest day of the trip so far). The towns along the route are small and dusty but always filled with smiling faces and shouts of “Hello” from the children. For one of the country’s main highways the road is narrow and the often heavy traffic gives us good reason to cover the distance quickly. The cold water bucket showers on offer at the guesthouses we find en-route provide a welcome relief from the road dust and heat.

In Kampong Thom we store our bikes overnight next to an ice factory which roars day and night to produce the ingredient vital for refrigeration in a country without reliable electricity. In Skuon we pass a vendor balancing a plate of deep fried spiders (a local delicacy) on her head. With her back towards us we are not quite quick enough to attract her attention to sample a few. “Oh well, maybe next time” I tell Emma. Overnight we wake to the sound of rain hammering on the tin roof outside our room. It is the first rain I have heard in around three months. The sound lulls me to sleep.

Approaching Phnom Penh on a narrowing road with no hard shoulder I cycle behind and slightly to the traffic side of Emma. With our wide fully laden bikes we occupy well over half a lane giving cars no room to squeeze by us. Surprisingly drivers who previously raced past us tooting and flashing their lights, now wait patiently behind us and pass slowly when I move aside to give them space. My opinion of Cambodian drivers as maybe the most dangerous we have encountered on our trip to date is slightly improved.

Following advice from Dutch cyclists Bauke and Elske we head to a cheap hotel near the centre of town. The next day we meet with them for lunch at their regular haunt, a vegetarian cafe with a truly mouth-watering menu. Outside is an impressive array of touring bicycles while inside a throng of cyclists sit eating and chatting. With the conversation and food flowing freely we feel transported into a busy social scene that seems a world away from how we spent our morning.

Before lunch we had visited the Tuol Sleng or S-21 Museum with a Dutch cycling couple and their backpacker friends from a neighbouring hotel. The museum courtyards were filled with sunshine and birdsong as visitors walked sombrely along passageways all too recently filled with horror. From the detention rooms you catch incongruous glimpses of bustling city streets and colourful flower filled balconies. The details of the inmates were meticulously recorded by the Khmer Rouge regime and looking at row after row of their photographs is almost too much to absorb. Its easy to forget that each face bears its own individual story of suffering and yet remains largely a mystery to me.

The following day we visit the Choeung Ek memorial site the best known of a number of sites collectively known as The Killing Fields. The grassy site surrounds a tranquil pond with views across rice paddies in stark contrast to the sombre concentration displayed by the visitors. Proceeding between small numbered markers the excellent audio guide provides an insight into the events that took place. With personal commentary from inmates, their family members and former Khmer Rouge soldiers, the emotion behind how the regime impacted the lives of the Cambodian people can be forcibly felt.

Our neighbouring cyclists, Martje and Frank are heading northwards and while I enthusiastically talk through our Laos and China cycling route, Emma spends her day on a cooking course learning the secrets of Cambodian cuisine (thanks to a kind donation from reader Gayle). Between adding Pumpkin Custard, Banana Leaf Fish Sausages and Fish Amok to her repertoire, she chats with the tutor and fellow students about Cambodian life. Emma ends the day feeling a little under the weather and despite her firm protestations, I lay the blame with a full day of eating and cooking.

Heading south to Kampot via national route two then switching to route three the roads continue to be narrow and busy with traffic. We are again racing through the flat coconut palm-strewn countryside and realise that with an earlier start we could have been in Kampot in just a single day. A fellow cyclist had told us that rooms in Kampot could be hard to find thanks to what he described as their “we don’t know who is checking out today non-system”. Finding a decent room at our early arrival time of 9:30am, we grab it and settle in for internet chores and a selection from their fine breakfast menu.

At 5:30am we’re at the Angkor Wat Archaeological Park ticket office, blurry-eyed as we’re directed where to stand to get our obligatory mug shot snapped by the incredibly bright-eyed early morning staff. We opt for a three day ticket which we can use over a seven day period. Its still pitch black as we take the left fork towards Angkor Wat. The traffic has picked up with motorcycle drawn tuk-tuks and buses heading the same direction as us while a steady street of Cambodian commuters pedal bicycles in the opposite direction. Most tourists are racing towards Angkor Wat for sunrise but we pass without even a glimpse of its famous silhouette as it is still shroud in darkness.

We’re on a mission to climb the only hill in the area for what promises to be a quieter sunrise over ancient Khmer architecture. Two kilometres later we arrive at the gates to Angkor Thom meaning we missed our temple. Another cyclist. from Spain, hails us in the dark and joins our Indiana Jones-inspired temple hunting. We return the way we’d arrived and peer into the dark forest on the side of the road, wishing for such tourist amenities as information boards.

Spying a promising dark shape in the distance we lock up bicycles and follow a forest trail, climbing up a short steep stairs to the top with only head torches to light our way. Swarmed immediately by mosquitoes, we look out from our precarious view point as the sky slowly lightens. A canopy of trees towers us on all sides and we’re clearly not on a hill. Its becoming very apparent that we’re in the wrong place.

Back on the road we cut our losses and enjoy watching colour enter the sky at the gates to Angkor Thom, one of the most impressive cities of the ancient world. Dawn is still breaking as we pass through the middle of Angkor Thom, leaving our Spanish companion to explore the central ruins of the city while we continue in the still absurdly early morning to the city’s Northern gate.

Our first temple stop is Preah Khan, where we resist the enticements from a row of breakfast vendors in order to make the most of the early morning cool. A few minutes walk across a moat and into the temple complex we’re the only visitors in a maze of corridors seemingly made for shorter people than us. I try to imagine Kings of diminutive stature striding through the rooms, wearing down the uneven slabs of stone beneath our feet. We’re absorbed by small details in carvings still visible on walls, stains of colour growing on rock faces and a state of disrepair which makes me think of a giant’s Lego set. Its only as we’re leaving that other tourists begin to arrive.

We continue clockwise around what is known as Angkor Wat’s “big circuit”, stopping in front of each temple to read up on what’s in front of us and invariably deciding that each is worth a visit. The huge towers of the Eastern Mebon, a Hindu temple made of red bricks with elephant statues at each corner is an unexpected highlight.

At the top of Eastern Mebon we peer into the dim of each tower. At one, a guardian catches us unaware and beckons us into one adorned with a Buddhist shrine. He shows us the echo that sounds if you thump your heart and directs Justin to take a photo of the sky through the hole in the ceiling. We’re offered incense sticks, which we place into a pit of ash and told this is for luck in Cambodia. He indicates where we should make a donation for this service and, charmed by his sales technique, I pull a few small notes out of my wallet.

Its great having the bikes out with us, as the temple grounds are well shaded for cycling and traffic is fairly slow moving. It only gets busy as we turn back towards the centre to visit a well-known temple called Ta Prohm which the jungle had once almost completely reclaimed. Just before lunch it appears we’ve timed our visit with the tour buses, coming across a car park swarming with traffic and wily restaurant owners making us promise to visit them at their numbered cafes.

We do our best to give Ta Prohm a chance to woo us but our eyes are a little glazed over as we sit in the shade to eat peanuts halfway through our visit. Its not long before the hordes of visitors disappear to their waiting transport and we tackle the slightly quieter main buildings with just a few independent travellers. We have managed to wander around six temples in just as many hours so it is clearly time for lunch ourselves. Two hours and one monkey watching episode later we head out of the temple complex having visited at total of 8 temples in 10 hours.

Unfortunately we head back into the park that evening somewhat sooner than planned, as I’d lost my ticket on the way out. We retrace our steps until Justin spots it along the side of the road. I suspect that finding the ticket was the extent of our good fortune purchased from the temple guardian. We wisely take the next day off.

We planned to see best bits last, visiting Angkor Thom and the surrounding buildings on one day and and the main attraction, Angkor Wat, on another. Our Ankgor Thom morning doesn’t start so early, but visitors are still light on the ground as we climb up into the many-faced temple of Bayon. On the lower levels bas-relief fatigue quickly sets in, but while I could kill for a coffee, I struggle around the entire 1.2km of carvings looking for oddities such as men juggling monkeys and picking nits out of each other’s hair.

Justin climbs the steep steps to a library room while I quickly get bored of the low levels and climb to the top of the central temple, losing him for half an hour in the process. Reunited we find a place to sit and contemplate the oddity of carving the same giant face 214 times in one building. Continuing our tour of the ancient city, we avoid the tour group crowds by following well-trodden forest paths between less popular sites, including Baphoun and Phimeanakas temples.

After coffee, exploring the well-named Terrace of the Leper King and Terrace of Elephants doesn’t take long as we had already seen them from the road. We pick up our bicycles to head East. After an unplanned detour to the little used East gate (which featured in the movie Tomb Raider) we rejoin the main road for a few final sites. Most of these we find underwhelming and over-run by trinket sellers. The last temple, Ta Keo, is impressive solely because of how high you can scramble up without any real protection and how high you suddenly feel when you’re about to climb down.

The next day we’re eating a late lunch in a cafe in Siem Reap township when a Dutch cyclist starts chatting to us. As we wrap up and pay we apologise for excusing ourselves rapidly. We’re on our way to Angkor Wat. He gives us a second look as we wave goodbye, clearly thinking that we’re mad to enter the park with just three hours until closing.

After two full days of temple gazing, a time limit at the top attraction is just right for us. Its predictably crowded with tour groups and photographers almost everywhere, but we sneak in a little education listening to English-speaking guides before we take a close up parade around the inner courtyard.  We muster enough excitement to pull ourselves up one last staircase to the mother of all towers and look at those incredibly carved turrets from all angles. We old temple-hands can’t help but think that the view is a little lessoned by the scaffolding covering some of the front and the size of the main building is hard to grasp, but regardless it is a beautiful piece of history.

Having read that when Angkor Wat was ‘discovered’ in the 1860s there was a working monastery inside, we’re not surprised when we turn a corner to find a young monk silhouetted against a doorway opening to a steep outdoor staircase. We join him to catch the breeze which has cooled the afternoon significantly and chat idly for a few minutes about our respective journeys. Its here I kind of get the point of building a temple on such a huge scale, as even with the huge volume of visitors, there is still room for quiet contemplation.