Greetings from Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia.
I just got here after a five hour float down a river through some lovely countryside, but I won't be telling you about here just yet. This update will deal solely with my trip from Bangkok to Siem Reap, and what a story that is.

I last talked to you when I was in Chiang Mai about a week and a bit ago I think...perhaps more. It's all starting to blur. However, from Chiang Mai I took an overnight train back into Bangkok and arrived early last Thursday morning. Immediately I made my way to the Cambodian Embassy, put in my passport for a visa and took the first train to Kanchanaburi, which is about two hours outside of Bangkok.

The only interesting thing about Kanchanaburi is that it is the site of the Bridge over the River Kwai. Thousands of POW's died there under force labour by the Japanese, who were trying to construct what is now called the death railway into Burma. There are war cemeteries to look through and the bridge itself, but it's not the original. That was bombed, but the Thai government reconstructed it as a memorial to the dead.

Kanchanaburi is pleasant but not a lot to do there. I passed three days reading and writing and sitting in the sun. My guesthouse was on the river.

On Sunday I headed back to Bangkok and was able to stay with my friends Bjorn and Soyoung, who are ex-pats living in Bangkok and generously allowed me to stay at their place. I was spoiled. My dirty clothes would disappear and magically reappear clean the next day. Their maid made me breakfast including freshly-pressed orange juice. I swam in the pool and sat under the shower (hot water at last!) for hours on end. I didn't want to leave, but I did on Tuesday morning.

My final destination for the day was Siem Reap, which is in the North of Cambodia. By all accounts, I should be able to make it. The trip from the Thai border to Siem Reap should take about 10 hours, so I would arrive late in the night, but at least I would be there.

But things never go that smoothly, do they? First I had to get to the border. Bjorn, being the God that he is, dropped me off in the morning at Bangkok's Eastern Bus Terminal, gave me a hug and said goodbye. Oops. The buses instead were leaving from the Northern bus terminal, all the way across town. No worries. I took a cab and was on the bus by 9:30 am.

It's a four hour trip to Aranya Prathet, the Thai border with Cambodia. I was immediately deluged on arrival by locals who said they could get me to Siem Reap for cheap. Yeah, right. These guys were aggressive too, and wouldn't leave me alone. I felt that I was back in Egypt.

It took an hour to so to get through the border, and I hooked up with a French guy. After much ado (the truck we were supposed to be on took off without us...ooppps), we got on the back of a pick up truck to Siem Reap.

But no, things are never that smooth, like I said. The trip would be divided into two. The first section would go from Poipet (the Cambodian side of the border) to Sisophon, about a 4-5 hour journey. At Sisophon we would change to another pick up truck for the additional five hour trip to Siem Reap.

Duly, we set off. Amid and I were the only Western people sitting on the back of the pick up truck. I was loaded very high with goods that the six or seven locals that we were traveling with, were taking with them. I had to sit on the side of the truck, on metal. Now, if the road was nice and smooth, this would not be a problem. But the road is not nice and smooth. The road is the worst road I have ever come across.

Now, I have driven dodgy roads on the Alaskan Highway, in Egypt and more recently in Laos, but this takes the cake. The potholes had potholes. We crawled at about 10 km per hour if we were lucky, and my arse was bouncing up and down on the metal railing. Not fun. On top of all this we were dodging oncoming trucks. I thought I was going to die.

The local people who were on the truck were very nice. None spoke English but we did end up communicating somehow. They didn't understand the concept behind my mosquito repellant, which is a must in this part of the world. They liked to caress my face and told me I was beautiful....how could you not like these people?

The countryside, of what I saw of it as I was trying to keep my balance, was pretty but dangerous. Cambodia just finished its civil war about three years ago, and hundreds of people are killed and maimed by landmines that litter the whole country.

The road we were on, dirt of course, ran its way through rice fields galore. Occasionally we would pass through a village. One had a very posh bridal salon, that was very out of place in the tin and wood huts that surrounded it. Another looked like they were trying to have a party, but their streamers had different flavoured condoms attached to it.

After long lengths, and several stops to pay off the local officials, we arrived in Sisophon at seven in the evening. We were stuck. Our "guide", Jied, said that we were going to have to stop for the night in Sisophon as he couldn't arrange the second pick up truck that night. I was not going to have that. No way. I was going to get to Siem Reap if it killed me (and it damn well nearly did in the end....).

So, boldly, I walked up to some Westerners, who looked dejected themselves, and asked what they were going to do. They were going to go on. I convinced Jied to get me on their pick up truck, which to his credit he did, as I had paid for all the way to Siem Reap. The truck arrived at 8 pm and the fun started.

Now, travelers, when they are telling their tales, are apt to some exaggeration from time to time. It happens. But what I am about to tell you is the honest truth, no exaggeration at all.

The pick up pulled up. There was already some other people in it but what were we to do? I was not going to stay in Sisophon as you usually end up staying in brothels there, I've heard, so we piled in. There were seven people stuffed into the front of the cab of the truck (a regular pick up truck mind you....) and fifteen people on the back, including 21 backpacks. Yes, you read that right. Fifteen people and 21 backpacks in the flat bed of the truck. Now picture it in your mind without trying to chuckle. We were not in for a fun night.

My place of honour in the back was on the side, in a much similar place, although this time my rump was now on a backpack, which was a bit more cushioned. However, there was little room for my legs, and they were left to hang outside of the truck. But I had a good position. Many people had it much worse.

We were in good spirits as we set off in the dark with our one headlight. Everyone was getting along fine. A few songs were sung, introductions made, and we settled in for what we thought would be just an uncomfortable ride. Wrong.

About one hour out of Sisophon, we encountered our first big problem of the night. Very muddy. Very very muddy. The truck, weighted down as it was, would not be able to get through. Not a problem, we would all get out and meet it on the other side. Thus we did, didn't get too muddy. One of the guides waded out into the rice fields to find a good place for the truck to pass. A few minutes later a place was decided, and the truck went ahead. Then it got stuck. But, after a lot of wheel turning and rocking, it got through to our applause, and we all piled back in.

Twenty minutes down the road we encountered a bigger problem. Not mud. A river. About a 20 foot section of the road had been washed out and water flowed freely over the section where the road used to be. Not a good thing and I didn't have a good feeling about it. But, duly, the guide got out again and waded into the paddy fields. Much talking, much too-ing and fro-ing. We started to get cold. Finally, the guide found a place he thought would be fine (although the water was up to his knees, but never mind) and, still with us in it, the truck plunged in. And promptly got stuck.

Now, there are several levels of getting stuck in a situation like this, and we were well and truly screwed. The water was over the wheels and water started to seep into the cab, make the passengers panic, as one would do in that situation. Lots of shouting. We should get out. Into a Cambodian field. Full of water and mosquitoes. In our bare feet. But what were we to do? I jumped - the water was up to my waist - and headed for shore through the mud. We huddled, looking at the truck that wasn't going anywhere. Our bags were still on it, and I had visions of it floating down the river, never to be seen again.

I suddenly got religious. Omigod, omigod omigod. All the guys in the party plunged in. Chris, a Swede who has since become a really good friend, could feel the ground giving way beneath his feet as he pushed. Not good. They tried one way, they tried another. The one headlight went out. The truck was sinking. However, by some miracle, about an hour later, they got through. I had never seen anything like it in my life.

By this time we were freezing cold with mud up to our knees, but we had to carry on. There was no way we would be able to go back anyways.

Again, about 20 minutes down the road, another problem, but this one was permanent. 8 lorries in pairs of two were hogging the road and not going anywhere. Complete standstill because of the mud that even they could not get through. We tried to go up the side but couldn't, and promptly got stuck. We were in for the night. I was close to tears.

Our guides rounded us up and made us walk through the bad mud areas (up to our knees!) to the other side where the road was good. I could see no other option but wait for the sun rise and the mud to firm up under the sun. It was 11 o'clock at night. In little batches of threes and fours we tried to talk and sing and keep ourselves warm and our spirits up. It didn't really work.

Finally, at midnight, one of the guides had a stroke of genius. There were pickups stuck on the side we were now sitting on, past the bad area. They were trying unsuccessfully to get to Sisophon. A bargain was struck after much deliberation, and one agreed to take us onto Siem Reap for 100 Baht more each (less than £2 pounds). We jumped at it. So, the trucks did a swap. We would move all our bags to the new truck and the people from that truck would take our truck, which was stuck in the mud, boxed in, and had no headlights. Worked for us.

At about 12:30 we headed off into the Cambodian night leaving our old pick up truck and the driver to their fates. Our guides didn't seem too fussed about it, so we weren't. Spirits were up until we realized that it was still about five hours to Siem Reap. Through back roads. Really bad roads. They were endless, and I was freezing, and my arse and legs hurt. I was sitting beside another Swede named Chris and we kept our spirits up by chatting and making jokes. He gave me half his gum. He was my new best friend.

We limped into Siem Reap at 4:30 pm and Jied took us to a guesthouse he said was good, and where he got a commission of course. It could have been a garbage dump, I didn't care, but it really was fine and I slumped into bed and oblivion - after a shower that clogged the drain with dirt - at just after 5 am. It had taken us 14 hours to go 152 km.

I woke up the next day to find that George Bush was president (or is he? I can't get any news....) and the top of my arse to the crease of my knees was completely black and blue. I didn't sit, truthfully, for two days.

But we were in Siem Reap and would see Angkor Wat. It better be worth it.

This week's tribute to the little things in life: