Ruins ruined? Siem Reap, home to the famed Angkor Wat ruins, is overrun with tourists. Photo: Reuters
The Backpacker
Ben Groundwater is Fairfax's resident globetrotter on a shoe-string
More The Backpacker entries
The Sydney Morning Herald
September 21, 2011
I never wanted to be one of "those" people.
You know the ones: the gnarled old travellers always whinging about how much places have changed, how they've been spoiled by the masses. "You should have been there five years ago. It's ruined now."
They're a pain in the bum, mostly. Everything used to be better when they first visited. Now it's been spoiled by all those tourists. Tourists just like the person doing the complaining.
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The little café they used to eat at has been replaced by a McDonald's; the beautiful park they used to hang out in has become a hotel. The unspoiled beaches are now full of tourists; the quiet, undiscovered attractions have been inundated by the masses.
I've always resisted the temptation to be that person, partly because, unbelievable as it may seem, I try not to be a pain in the bum. The other reason is that I tend not to revisit places I've already been, which vastly cuts down on the "it used to be better" factor. I don't get the chance to notice that a place has changed.
The other day, however, I became one of those people. My brother just got back from a trip to South-East Asia, taking in a few of the spots we visited when we travelled through there together about seven years ago.
One of our favourite places on that first trip was Siem Reap in Cambodia, where we cycled around the Angkor ruins on rusty old bikes, met some great people, and finished off each day drinking at a bar called The Angkor What?, which sat on a dusty little street in the middle of town.
My brother went back there this year with his girlfriend, and returned to Australia with a photo.
"Hey mate," he said, "you remember that little street where the Angkor What? was?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Well, look at this."
And there was a photo of my brother standing in a completely unrecognisable place, a bustling, modern street full of large buildings, fancy restaurants, and people everywhere, mostly Western faces.
The Angkor What? is still there, apparently, as are a few of the other places we used to frequent, but everything around it has changed beyond recognition. The tourists have arrived.
Siem Reap, as I knew it, no longer exists. It's not a quiet little town visited by a few travellers getting off the beaten track – it's a major hub for tourism.
The obvious reaction is: it's been ruined. You couldn't have the same experience that my brother and I had if you went there now. There'd be no cycling to Angkor ruins that you have all to yourself; no casual meetings with locals still surprised to see foreign faces in their part of the world; no quiet beers with a few other travellers at The Angkor What?
There's a freakin' KFC there now. A huge multi-storey shopping mall. Crowds flock in their hundreds, sometimes thousands, to a once-deserted spot to catch a glimpse of the Angkor Wat at dawn.
But there's little point in complaining that it's been "ruined". You can't begrudge a city this sort of expansion, not when the tourism dollar is providing so many jobs and opportunities for local people. It's a selfish Western notion to rail against progress in disadvantaged countries, even if it does spoil the serenity that was one of its original attractions.
Places change, especially those sitting next to some of the world's most amazing ruins. No amount of complaining is going to alter that.
Siem Reap hasn't been ruined – but it has changed. A phenomenal amount.
It's just a shock to find that a place you once loved, a place you once had a fantastic time in, no longer exists.
September 21, 2011
I never wanted to be one of "those" people.
You know the ones: the gnarled old travellers always whinging about how much places have changed, how they've been spoiled by the masses. "You should have been there five years ago. It's ruined now."
They're a pain in the bum, mostly. Everything used to be better when they first visited. Now it's been spoiled by all those tourists. Tourists just like the person doing the complaining.
Advertisement: Story continues below
The little café they used to eat at has been replaced by a McDonald's; the beautiful park they used to hang out in has become a hotel. The unspoiled beaches are now full of tourists; the quiet, undiscovered attractions have been inundated by the masses.
I've always resisted the temptation to be that person, partly because, unbelievable as it may seem, I try not to be a pain in the bum. The other reason is that I tend not to revisit places I've already been, which vastly cuts down on the "it used to be better" factor. I don't get the chance to notice that a place has changed.
The other day, however, I became one of those people. My brother just got back from a trip to South-East Asia, taking in a few of the spots we visited when we travelled through there together about seven years ago.
One of our favourite places on that first trip was Siem Reap in Cambodia, where we cycled around the Angkor ruins on rusty old bikes, met some great people, and finished off each day drinking at a bar called The Angkor What?, which sat on a dusty little street in the middle of town.
My brother went back there this year with his girlfriend, and returned to Australia with a photo.
"Hey mate," he said, "you remember that little street where the Angkor What? was?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Well, look at this."
And there was a photo of my brother standing in a completely unrecognisable place, a bustling, modern street full of large buildings, fancy restaurants, and people everywhere, mostly Western faces.
The Angkor What? is still there, apparently, as are a few of the other places we used to frequent, but everything around it has changed beyond recognition. The tourists have arrived.
Siem Reap, as I knew it, no longer exists. It's not a quiet little town visited by a few travellers getting off the beaten track – it's a major hub for tourism.
The obvious reaction is: it's been ruined. You couldn't have the same experience that my brother and I had if you went there now. There'd be no cycling to Angkor ruins that you have all to yourself; no casual meetings with locals still surprised to see foreign faces in their part of the world; no quiet beers with a few other travellers at The Angkor What?
There's a freakin' KFC there now. A huge multi-storey shopping mall. Crowds flock in their hundreds, sometimes thousands, to a once-deserted spot to catch a glimpse of the Angkor Wat at dawn.
But there's little point in complaining that it's been "ruined". You can't begrudge a city this sort of expansion, not when the tourism dollar is providing so many jobs and opportunities for local people. It's a selfish Western notion to rail against progress in disadvantaged countries, even if it does spoil the serenity that was one of its original attractions.
Places change, especially those sitting next to some of the world's most amazing ruins. No amount of complaining is going to alter that.
Siem Reap hasn't been ruined – but it has changed. A phenomenal amount.
It's just a shock to find that a place you once loved, a place you once had a fantastic time in, no longer exists.
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