We paid extra to take the boat from Siem Reap down the river to Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia. Like $20 U.S. extra, which is a lot of money here.
But as we were boarding the boat, at the wee hour of 6:00 A.M., I was thinking we got duped.
Apparently, the boat company sells more tickets than they have seats within the cabin area. I don't think they really understand that it is not NORMAL to ride on the rounded roof of a speed boat. Pam and I got stuck on the roof, in the front. The front was good because we didn't get wet from the spray, but the front was bad because there wasn't a single soul to break the wind. We had an hour of massive speed as we crossed a big lake before arriving to the mouth of the river. Our hair became a matted mess, you couldn't even look into the wind due to the fact that the skin on your face would vibrate. After about an hour, Pam yells to me, "I'm going mental!"
We slithered off the roof, careful not to fall overboard (no railing), and went inside the cabin area. Pam laid down on the floor and went to sleep. I took a seat on a set of thin metal stairs that lead to the crew area where they drive the boat. I was in the way, but no one said anything to me. You could do handstands in the isles and nobody would care.
We reached the mouth of the river after about an hour and a half. The boat slowed, coming to a managable speed. Pam woke up and we both ventured back out onto the roof for a pleasant rest of the ride.
Along the way we passed a few villages floating on the river. We passed many canoes; makeshift fishing boats with men aboard (sometimes entire families aboard) performing their trade. The little kids on the banks of the river would jump up and down and scream and wave to us. Everyone waved back. It's hard not to.
What was really surreal was the contrast between our boat full of Westerners and the river banks and fishing canoes, full of locals. Every canoe we passed, every thatched hut, every village, the native people would stare at us and we would all just stare back. We'd both stare the entire time... until we could not stare anymore. It was strange. I remember wondering what they were thinking. Do they love us? Do they hate us? Are they envious or are they sympathetic? Do they even understand who we are and what we represent? It doesn't look like I'll find out the answer any time soon.
Maybe someday.

We arrived in Phnom Penh expecting a very nice, very cool city. "Everyone ends up staying longer than they expect to," the guidebook says.
Well... we weren't really that impressed.
It's completely underdeveloped, there is trash everywhere. Plus, the highlight of sightseeing is to go see the real "Killing Fields" about 15 km out of town. The tour companies boast that you can still find bits and pieces of bone and skull coming up from the ground. After that, you can go to a shooting range where you get your choice of AK47 or M16.... OH, and you get your choice of what kind of animal you'd like to shoot at, chicken or cow.
What the f#ck?!?!?!
No thank you.

I was a good little tourist and did go see the Toul Sleng (Genocide) musuem, which was the high school that the Khmer Rouge (lead by Pol Pot) turned into a prison/interrogation center during the KR's brutal rein from 1975 to 1979.
It was extremely difficult to see. About 14,000 Cambodians went through that prison. Only seven survived. The torture chambers and tiny little cells brought me to tears.
I just couldn't fathom it!!! Pol Pot's entire reason for genocide was to take Cambodia back to Year Zero; to start over again growing rice in the fields like back in the ancient Angkor days. He killed and killed and killed. Anyone suspected of being educated was killed. All doctors, lawyers, philosophers, religious men. You were killed if you spoke another language. If the man of the house was killed, the entire family was killed. As horrific as it sounds and as absurd as it is, there was a reason.
What I CANNOT understand is WHY all these people were tortured and interrogated... over and over and over again. They were tortured once before their photograph was taken. Then they were tortured at least three more days at four hours each session. I just don't see a reason for it.... obviously they were going to die anyway. It just doesn't make sense... only complete and utter horror.
Okay, I have to stop talking about it.

Well, after seeing one museum and after being in countless conversations about Pol Pot, the Khmer Rouge, death, landmines, and poverty with fellow travellers, I have to get out of this country! I hate to say it, because Cambodians are some of the most wonderful people I have ever met in my life, but I can't handle it here anymore.