There is the legendary Angkor Wat and the infamous skull mountains.There are hidden temples and dense forests. ROSHIN VARGHESE steps on and off the touristy track to savour the unusual and the exotic in Cambodia.

Mention Cambodia and the word immediately conjures up images of Angkor Wat along with the infamous skull mountains of the Pol Pot era. But, looking for more than the normal haunts that visitors frequent, I set off in search of the offbeat, unusual Cambodia, tucked away from the tourist trail. I wanted to learn the intricacies of Cambodian cooking and see the remnants of once frequented temples, now sadly overtaken by jungles.

But, when my friends, Marc Lansu and Debbie Watkins, sent me off to the market, with a young chef, from the Bodhi Tree restaurant in Phnom Penh, I learnt much more than the secrets of cooking. For there, I discovered how to buy crunchy morning glory stems, smelt the huge vats of fermented fish which are eventually turned into prohouk – a fish paste – ate salted, ash-covered duck eggs and crisply fried grasshoppers, sampled the countless varieties of rice sweets steamed in banana leaves, watched wafer thin rice paper wrappings being crafted and learnt how to steam bamboo rice cakes.

Shopping done, I was back at the Bodhi Tree struggling to master the art of cooking the staple Cambodian soup, experimenting with fresh tamarind leaves to enhance flavours and marinating meat in egg and sesame seed for a Cambodian barbecue. And, most importantly, attempting to learn how to slice vegetables to hair-like slimness.

Replete with local cuisine and aromatic flavours in Phnom Penh, I was easily persuaded to spend the next four days on the back of a motorcycle to explore the interiors of Cambodia, away from the cities and tourists. Battambang, in Northern Cambodia, was the ideal base to discover the pre-Angkor temples that dotted the country.

After a two-hour bike ride through rice fields and village markets, I got my first glimpse of one of these monuments near Battambang. A long trudge up 350-odd laterite steps led visitors straight into the narrow doorway of the 11th century Wat Banan. The cluster of buildings on the small plateau seemed to have been put together at random with laterite blocks, a few smooth sandstone bricks, some chunks of rough stone, a few carved lintels and apsaras thrown in for effect. The five prasats (towers), which had once gloriously pointed upwards to the clear blue heavens, seemed to have forgotten their creator, King Udayadityavarman II, and tottered aimlessly in this deserted village. The only splash of colour here was the crimson hibiscus flowering wildly.

Twilight was falling when I reached Ek Phnom, another 11th century temple, its moats filled with lotus buds. Before joining the local bike drivers for a snack of sun-dried sea snake, crushed and lightly tossed with spices and herbs, I savoured the quiet of a place abandoned and left to the elements.

Then, early one morning, long before the sun had risen, I was all packed and ready to leave Battambang. My duffel bag was quickly strapped onto the handlebars of the motorcycle. We set off and I looked forward to exchanging the bike for the relative luxury of a speedboat, which would take me to Siem Reap and Angkor Wat. In the comfort of the boat, I watched the moon set and, an hour later, the sunrise. The long wild grass, dripping with dew on the river banks, slowly dried in the blazing sun, while I quenched my thirst with a fruity breakfast of rambutan, lychees, loganberries and mangosteen. We sped down the river for a few hours before it merged into the Tonle Sap Lake. Nothing quite prepared me for the size of the lake. As far as the eye could see there was water and no visible land mass.

I was more than relieved to get the chance to stretch my cramped legs after the three-hour boat ride, when we reached a floating village in the middle of the lake. Built on large bamboo poles, the flimsy looking houses were complete with a little verandah and one large room. My quest for local food drew me to the floating provision shop cum café. There, I sampled what seemed like fried bread and a strong glass of lemon tea made with the muddy coloured lake water and, surprisingly, suffered no ill effects at all!

Our next destination was Siem Reap, the town nearest to the famous ruins of Angkor Wat. All the descriptions of Angkor Wat had not prepared me for its awesome size as it shimmered in the afternoon sun. The temple itself is spread over one square kilometre and the bas-reliefs running around its corridors are spectacular in their rendition of stories from the Mahabharata, with Khmer kings and apsaras in the narrative.

After feasting my eyes on the splendour of Angkor, I was keen on seeing its precursor, Beng Mealea. Was it the scare of the Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome (SARS) or was this too far off the beaten track, I couldn’t fathom, but I was the only visitor to Beng Mealea, apart from half a dozen children who attached themselves to me and a few locals who hovered nearby. Two wizened old men indicated that it would be more prudent for me to use their services unless I wanted to be blown up by the land mines dotting the ancient ruins. Sign language and rough weathered hands helped me clamber up the slate grey mounds of fallen stone, swing on vines as thick as my thigh and graze myself on the sharp thorns of the beautiful bamboo growing wild in the middle of the 12th century temple built by Suryavarman II. The spectacular remains of the place overtaken by the jungle with long dark and dank corridors, its stone grilled windows and the remains of the turtle carving library, transported me in imagination, to an era gone by and to images of Lara Croft in Tomb Raider.

Emboldened by the ease with which I had ‘discovered’ Beng Meale, I decided to venture further afield to Prasat Preah Vihear, although everybody had had enough of my quest for more of the ‘off-the-beaten-track Cambodia’. Even my husband and son, thousands of miles away, were tired of my changing dates, flights and hotel bookings.

Undaunted, I left the familiar environment of Siem Reap for an expedition into the unknown. After hurtling along for six hours through dense forests on roads which hardly existed and wooden logs thrown over rivers for bridges, we arrived at the bottom of the Prasat Preah Vihear hill. There, I exchanged the comfort of my car for a so-called mountain bike – a spindly motorcycle with thick tyres and a primitive system to cool the engine – a jerry can of water that dribbled on to the engine. A cycle pump was strapped on with rope and rubber bands to take care of any unwanted punctures.

The temple was 550 metres above the plain. The road was no more than rubble and the gradient so steep that I was continually slipping off the bike. My fears swelled when I saw little red sticks dotting the sides as we bravely assayed the climb. They were markings to indicate the existence of land mines. A fraction of these had been demined to clear the road. I remembered the comforting words of Ake Hyden at the emergency hospital in Battambang: "In Cambodia, the mines are usually small, so the person who steps on a mine normally doesn’t die, he only loses a limb!"

At the end of my one-hour journey I had my first glimpse of the imposing mountain temple of Prasat Preah Vihear. Clinging to the rocky cliff face, the location is dramatic and this masterpiece worthy of a king. A succession of seven Khmer kings – from Yasovarman I in the late ninth century to Suryavarman II who reigned in the middle of the 12th century – have been credited with having produced this mountain temple with its gopuras.

The wild butterflies and battalions of dragonflies, which floated through this roofless marvel, guided me through perfectly aligned doorways. The smell of wild grass being cut was as heady as identifying an early rendition of the churning of the oceans.

But, the journey downhill proved to be treacherous, thanks to a tropical downpour. Within minutes, the roads just vanished into slush and stone. Abandoning the bike half way down, my guide, Mr Ro and I started the four kilometre walk back to the car. The torrential mountain streams forced our feet to follow the currents and I prayed furiously for safe passage. When a bolt of lightening whizzed past my shoulder, I promised that I would give Mr Ro an extra $5 if I made it back alive. When thunder boomed a few minutes later, it was another $5 and when I saw the little, red landmine markings slip and slither, I gave him another $5. By the time I reached the safety of car, dry clothes and a house to sleep in, Mr Ro had earned more money than I had with me.

Late that night, I celebrated my birthday quietly, with wet hair and damp clothes – my dinner companions, the driver and guide, the restaurant, a large dining room of our hosts. Eating roast pork dipped in sour pepper sauce, I was glad that there was no tombstone in Cambodia saying, ‘She lived and died dangerously’.

FAR AND AWAY

HOW TO GET THERE: Daily flights by Thai Airways and Bangkok Airways operate from Bangkok to Phnom Penh and Siem Reap. Singapore Airlines and Malaysian Airlines also fly to Phnom Penh. CURRENCY: Cambodian riel (4,000 riel is $1). Carry dollars because, in Cambodia, the US dollar is quasi-official currency for paying taxi drivers, boatmen, hotels, museums, restaurants. You don’t need to change dollars to local currency at all!

BEST TIME OF THE YEAR: November to February are ideal months to visit. But if you are looking for some quiet, go in June, July or August when there are fewer visitors. The rains, which follow a pattern of clear mornings, followed by brief spells of showers in the afternoon, make travel plans surprisingly easy. They also make the place lush and spectacularly beautiful. The temperature never goes higher than 35oC even at the height of summer.