Mmmm RiceCorn...

Traveling in Cambodia can be related to flying across the world to walk around in Nebraska. Except there's rice instead of Corn, there's a heinous recent history, and an all-too-frequently glorified ancient history. In fact, it's so glorified that in this land of $3 hotel rooms, 50 cent meals, and $3 bus journeys across the country, admission to the ruins at Angkor is $20 per day. The average salary here is $20 per month. Stunning.

So after leaving Phnom Penh (where, if you're interested, the intersection of Charles De Gaulle St. and Mao Tse Tung Boulevard does, indeed, exist) we head south to break away from the backpacker circuit for a bit at the beach in the oddly named town Sihanoukville. Sounds like something from the hallmark hall of fame.

Sihanoukvill has absolutely nothing going for it, except for the ocean and a million kids selling crappy colorful shrimp doohickeys. That and a national park that boasts "Meditation Mountain." No one told us the true elevation of said mountain, but after hiking to it in the rain, I'd say it's about 40 feet high and takes maybe 15 minutes to get to. It's also the residence of a bunch of monks.

From the summit, you hike on a huge road, through several villages complete with livestock grazing, a school, and a soccer field. Someone obviously just drew a line around some random corner of Cambodia and called it a National Park. Note: if ever you find yourself in Cambodia, do not go to Ream National Park.

Now we (and by "we" I mean a British girl who I met on the bus from Saigon to Phnom Penh. Thus far, I have thoroughly enjoyed making fun of her Britishness.) sit in Siem Reap, where the glorified past is embedded not only in the temples of Angkor, but in the name. Siem Reap = Siamese Defeated.

Tomorrow I'm gonna go look at some big temples. I'll let you know how that goes.