From the border at Poipet to Siem Reap (Angkor Wat's modern town), the roads are in a poor condition. Something resembling the scene after a JCB fun-weekend, attended by the committee of the National Shortsighted Spectacle Wearers Association (the "Now-Where-Did-I-Leave-Them" division). If you set off with a trailer in your wing mirrors, and want to keep it there, take it easy on this 150km stretch of road.

In Siem Reap, I had some important business to attend to: a haircut. I'm not saying the result was an aggressive trim, but if it was any shorter, local anaesthetic would have been necessary, and the process called surgery.

Angkor Wat: the centre piece of the Angkor Temples. The Lonely Planet Guide says you should savour the moment when you initially enter Angkor Wat for the first time. So, with my ears turned down, my nose switched off, and sense of touch numbed, all my sense-energy was diverted to my eyes.

Was it worth it? Well, yes. Sort of. The solitude of the Bayon in Angkor Thom held far more mystery for me, though.

This is the best way to see Angkor Wat and its surrounding temples: by tethered balloon.

Floating at 200m above the surrounding plain, the temple complex is put into perspective with the surrounding jungle countryside.

It was also the place to experience part of the Khmer people's cultural roots, which originated in the Indian Subcontinent.

The car park for the balloon trip covered a patch the size of a dozen or so football pitches. It was empty, apart from my truck, and a cabin with a resident car park attendant.

Upon leaving via the 15m wide "entrance" gate and onto the empty road outside, the car park attendant jumped in front of the moving truck, and pointed to a distant spec on the horizon, identifiable only through high power binoculars as the "exit" gate.

Given his unspoken, yet obvious options of becoming inlaid between the gravel or practicing a kangaroo dance, I left the car park with my Cambodian vehicle insurance "No Claims Bonus" still intact.

Within the complex, there were decent toilet blocks, suitable for doing some clothes' washing. So, before leaving one night, it was time for a scrub.

The place was in darkness, except for a solo candle's dancing flame. The toilet block attendants from all around were gathered, enjoying a snack before leaving for the day - wine from an oil container, and fried bugs. I was invited to partake in the evening's bug-crunch.

Off with the wings (a little too crackly, apparently) and the fierce looking spikey thing from its underside (a little too prongy, obviously). Crunch.

Not exactly haute cuisine, but an interesting entree. Especially when accompanied by a raucously slick wine. Chāteau Exxon, I believe.