Peeled our eyes open at 4am and slurped down a really salty and expensive porridge for brekkie at FCC with Gio & Moi, before we were ferried by Ou Hok in the wee-hour frigidly cold darkness and silence to the majestic Angkor Wat to catch the obligatory sunrise. I loved the cool sting on the face as the pre-dawn breeze kissed and blushed my cheeks when we travelled on that familiar straight road in the cool dense forest after the ticketing gantry.
Ou Hok dropped us at the main west entrance which was already lined with tourists huddled in each's strategic spot for that Canon-perfect sunrise shot. I kiasu-ly tiptoed from left to right and still couldn't recognise any angle in that postcard picture. Where's the hell is that freakin' lily-pond? Too late. In less than a minute, the sun's first rays crept up and cast a warm reddish glow over the looming silhouette of Angkor Wat's distinct temple peaks. Shot one down.
Shot two led us over the bridge and surrounding moat, beyond the first gate and right into the vast courtyard where more shutterbugs clicked away frantically at the fast-changing light. There were two small stony structures (libraries) and two ponds on both sides. One of them was very crowded and in my sleepy haze, I didn't switch on my brain and think twice. It didn't strike me till a day later that that was THE spot to photograph Angkor Wat's reflection! F@ck, C@zzo, Merd@! Missed the one shot I was waiting for. Boh, I had to come back again then.
Like the Great Wall of China, Eiffle Tower and Merlion (ha), Angkor Wat is Cambodia's national pride and an unmistakable symbol flying high on their flag, handicrafts, tourist shirts and souvenirs. Meaning the 'Capital' or 'Holy City', it was built during the reign of King Suryavarman II as a tribute to the Hindu God Vishnu. Vivid evidence depicting the early legends could be found all over the temple, particularly the intricate bas-reliefs around the lower levels. 
Too early for digesting the reliefs, we headed straight into the heart of A.W. and surveyed the imposing pyramid of peaks above and inner walls trapping more apsaras and graceful carved columns. I was actually dreading the moment when G suggested to do what everyone was doing - climb to the top. From my perspective craning my neck up, the eroded steps and steep rugged slopes could very well be our fall to death. But did anyone listen to me? Nooo... In a minute, G and M had disappeared over the top of the edge like Spidy on speed while I was still entertaining A playing the host of my travel show "Avventure di Carla". 
Midway thro' the ascend, I looked down and waved at A's video cam - a big mistake - because in that instance, my legs buckled and knees locked in place. I froze like a cat caught in headlights and struggled if I should continue my climb up or worse reverse down. Either way, it was not pleasant. F%ck, if I don't do this, I'm a pussy cat and will defintely regret it! Panic crept up behind me and the scenery suddenly seemed a bit wobbly. Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on your hands. You can do it. Grip each stone. Well done. Move slowly like a sloth up each step. I yelled to A: 'F%ck, I can't do this, I'm having a panic attack'. 
A quickly came up as my cheerleader and rallied alongside untill we reached the top finally - phew! I must confess I normally do not have a fear of heights so this was bizarre. The view at the top was breathtaking and well worth the risk of limbs. I particularly loved the play of shadows and light on the carvings and pillars... and it was so tranquil up here soaking in the panorama all around. We braved the steep slopes down and this time I clung tightly onto the safety railing while descending faced-down. I told the camera 'At least if I slip, I know where I'll fall.' 
Walking around, we also came across a few Buddha statues clad in bright saffron that stood out from the sea of grey. The local caretakers were shuffling in the background, offering joss sticks and dusting the smooth time-shone floor, while I tried to capture it all and still remained respectful in a distance (f%ck, camera battery running dead!).
The lower level bas reliefs were extensive all around Angkor Wat and took us nearly a good hour to admire the stunning smiling apsaras - all gorgeous! - and to trail the Hindu legends carved on every inch of the walls. It was a sobering thought when you try to imagine the glorious past of the Angkorian empire and how it subcumbed to the crimes of war, greed, poverty and neglect. I do hope that all these US dollars levied on the tourists would at least be pumped into restoration efforts and not into the deep pockets of corrupted officials. 
At 10am plus, we were so zonked that we returned to our hotels for a rest before lunching at Traditional Khmer Food restaurant at the cosy backlane parallel to Pub Street. This time, we lapped up the Khmer mixed curry, grilled marinated spare ribs, beef with egg in oyster sauce and our perennial can't-do-no-wrong grilled eggplant with minced pork (US$16 in all). Ou Hok then drove us to Angkor Thom, literally meaning 'Big City' a sprawling moated royal ground manned by 4 gates and the Victory Gate. This was the last capital of the Angkorian empire, so you can imagine the sheer size and efforts poured into it. 
Taking centrestage was the jaw-dropping Bayon Temple, celebrated for its many giant carved faces that adorned the stony towers. At one point in history, the Bayon was alleged to be covered in gold-leaf - a sure sign of its power and fortune. Now it was just a sea of grim greyness but nonetheless impressive and surreal by its domineering headstones and multi-faceted carvings. Inside, the shadowy corridors were cooling and silent. We climbed up to the top level to see upclose the blissful smiles of the Bayon faces. They seemed to be sharing a secret that perhaps Indiana Jones could unlock. I could envision booby traps laid somewhere deep inside leading to a treasure chest full of gems, gold, silver... Ok too much imagination, but indulge me per favore. 
The ruins lay about sadly in broken heaps like pieces of puzzle waiting to be solved. It could take forever to sort them out and they were in a desperate state, battered by the natural elements. I felt heartache for the apsaras covered in layers of dust and eaten up by mold. After being revived by cold coconut juices, Ou Hok, who was forever patiently waiting for us, pointed us to the Prasat Baphuon (closed for renovation), Phimeanakas, Terrace of Elephants and Leper King. The latter had a secret hidden chamber and the wall was stacked full of animals and asparas carvings. 
We were quite templed out by now and the lack of sleep made it worse, so everything was starting to look 'same same'. However the 12 towers of Suor Prat were a serene picture lining the royal greens even in my sleepwalking state. As usual Ou Hok spotted us first and rushed forward in his tuk tuk to relieve us from temple fatigue. He was like a hawk despite his age and soft gentle demeanour. A and I likened his features to the Bayon or a benevolent Buddha; thick padded lips, strong brows and thick lashes, kind smiling eyes. 
We passed by Angkor Wat at sunset and the place was packed with tourists and locals enjoying Saturday day off picnicing with the family. Put off by the crowd, we lingered at the entrance for shots of the monks in their bright saffron robes and a local wedding party garbed in starched-stiff white suits as well as traditional colourful costumes. A also gave out the sweets and pencils to the children vendors, some still in their school uniforms, who swam around us with outstretched hands. 
In the evening, we seeked out a much needed rub down at a traditional Khmer massage parlour, run by Ou Hok's cousin (US$6 for an hr), The giggly girls in their late teens weren't very skilled especially mine who simply rubbed the oilment on my leg without any real relief. Famished, we circled Pub Street and its surrounding lanes before we settled on some surprising good pizza, Angkor beer and live soccer action. We sent Ou Hok home so he didn't have to wait for us and tipped him US$10 on top of the US$20 for today's service.
