Pot-Mash just isn’t right.

As Chris, Laura and Andy’s pathetic holiday allowance dripped away we were ready for Siem Reap and the mighty civilisation of Angkor so we headed north. To prepare for Tim’s birthday I dosed myself up with food poisoning from a bus stop delicacy and spent the next section in our hotel room, thankfully it was more hygienic to lie on the bathroom floor there.
We spent an evening watching traditional dance and wasting an opportunity at an all you can eat buffet. It was a pleasant evening until the dancers stood up to bow and appreciate their applause. I thought the first man who leapt onto the stage to have his photo taken was probably just slightly retarded but when there was a mass rush to overtook the stage we sat and watched in shock. People barged past dancers and got themselves into ridiculous poses, arranged around them while the troupe stood staring out with the vacant expressions of abuse victims. I can only guess it’s normal and there is something profoundly wrong with us.
Out first foray into the Angkor temples was just before sunset. Tour groups are ferried to a hill that faces west to appreciate the sun dropping below clouds amongst 100s of other jabbering people, so we headed the other way. This is the time to visit Angkor Wat. The largest of the temples, the figure-head of the entire complex, it’s certainly an arresting sight. We went in as everyone was leaving and as the halls cleared it was the best way to take it in. We sat and watched the sun sink as the Wat finally became peaceful and then headed back for dinner.
We ate at a reputable restaurant, where Tim ordered a bizarre fusion dish of Khymer cannelonni. He muttered at one point that it tasted of Pot-mash and when I urged him to stop eating it, he confidently informed me that he liked Pot Mash. Needless to say the next day Tim had made friends with the bathroom floor and we were all agreed that anything that tastes like Pot Mash just isn’t right.
The four of us had to head off to the temples without Tim, which as my second visit I can assure is a very unsatisfactory experience. Without a man following you round spouting facts from the guidebook it just isn’t the same. The rainy season begins around May and as the heavens had yet to break the heat was at its most intense, making trekking round temples slightly less than comfortable.
Weak from Pot-Mash and his advancing age our last night as a group wasn’t quite one of those raves and we shipped them off back down south, back to their offices, while we prepared to push east alone, vowing to only eat rice for some time to come.