Singing in the rain in Siem Reap

by Yeoh Siew Hoon

I am sitting on the verandah of the Raffles Grand d’Angkor Hotel as I write this. It’s a damp, soggy morning, one of those days when the rains may have stopped but have left their moisture behind.

It hangs heavy in the air. Your skin feels clammy, your clothes hang limp on you, and your hair is plastered to your head. As I look out ahead of me, even the leaves on the coconut trees and the frangipani flowers look droopy.

But not my spirits, which never flag whenever I am in Siem Reap. There’s something about waking up in this place in the morning, that makes you instantly aware of where you are.

It goes beyond the hotel. Perhaps it’s the raw, clunky sound of the scooter engines or the big thundery roars of lorries, or perhaps it’s just the ceaseless hooting and honking, but you know you are in Siem Reap the minute you open your eyes.

Unlike urban cities where there’s just an incessant ambient noise of traffic throughout the day that you hardly notice it, here there is no between – there’s small (the bicycles and scooters) and there’s big (lorries and trucks), and few middle-of-the-road cars in between.

It’s a bit perhaps like the population – there’s the very poor and there’s the very rich, and then there’s the very small middle class.

But I am not here to get depressed about the Cambodian economy that actually looks quite healthy – certainly light years’ healthier than it was in the mid-80s when I first visited the country.

Siem Reap airport is impressive – all mod-con, its architecture reflecting local design and build. On the way to the hotel, I see the outward signs of change – signs of Korean restaurants reflecting the new wave of tourists to this city of ancient kings.

My driver says to me, “Korean, number one.” Five years ago, it was the Japanese. Perhaps in two years’ time, it will be “Chinese, number one.”

There’s a designer boutique selling brands such as Gucci, Dolce & Gabbana and Fendi. There’s a big billboard announcing Nokia’s presence.

Mobile phones work everywhere, as do Blackberrys. And on this very verandah, I am working wireless. As I enjoy my Khmer noodles (forsaking my low carb diet, I am afraid), I am receiving SMSs from New Zealand and emails from Macau.

Ah, the world is indeed flat (as Thomas Friedman says) – which makes me wonder what then happens at the edges? Do those at the fringe of the globalised world just fall off whereas in yesterday’s world, which was a rounder place, at least you could always cling on?

You could argue Siem Reap is a place on the edge of the flat world, even though it is the centre of the tourism universe.

People still struggle to get by here, even as hordes of tourists descend upon their temples every year. But the signs of progress are there. When I first stayed at the Grand Hotel in the early 90s, I slept with cockroaches. Now I sleep with feather pillows and fruit baskets.

At the Amrita Spa, I tried the aromatherapy massage and classic facial. The only giveaway of the history of this place is the hands of the masseurs – the women’s hands are rough and calloused; the men’s, strangely, are not.

I wonder why.

Catch up with Yeoh Siew Hoon at www.TheTransitCafe.com