No tuk tuk, no sunrise at the temple, no sunset, no postcards, no guide books, no maps, no silly little fucking charms, no cold drinks, no massage. After several days in Siem Reap the milk of human kindness has curdled somewhat. At the temples one is beset by children peddling all manner of crap. They're all over you like rats. One is tempted to swat them off like so many blowflies.

The entire Angkor complex has been taken over by the league of car park re-surfacers and fence-pole-erectors. Bring money; at every turn there's a person with a ticket book waiting take your hard earned cash. You can't fart without a ticket. And it's difficult to take a photograph without 59 other people in the shot.

The irony of the situation is that it's a Vietnamese company profiting from the million or so tourists who grace Angkor's hallowed grounds every day. Not the Kmer. Sad. Our guide speaks in hushed tones of corruption at the highest levels - I think he means the government, not Jayavarman VII. His dad was a victim of Pol Pothead, so I guess he has good reason to distrust the establishment.

Siem Reap itself is a bustling little affair, full of pizza shops and bars. Beer is generally cheaper than water, at 50 US cents at most establishments.

Driving is much the same at is in Viet Nam. There's a vague nod toward the convention of driving on the correct side of the road - but only when absolutely necessary. Vientiene was more disciplined, but not as vibey, frankly.

Anyway, its new year's eve here, and the party down in the French Quarter was beginning to to get quell groovoir last time I checked. I'm off to get sloshed on my 3 dollars and change.