From the polish, it appears stone breasts are equally subject to groping as their flesh counterparts...
Along the walls of these lengthy, exposed corridors were elaborate carvings depicting stories of battles and travails of gods.
This was my driver, his name something like Simbo. We spent 8 hours together in fairly close quarters, communicating only through hand gestures and smiles. We lost each other once or twice, once when he took off his blue shirt and once when I came out far down the road from where he left me. He was shy and honest and sweet.
By far the most interesting conversation I had was with Sarien, a young bookseller who approached me at my next to final ruin. Sarien is an 11th grader working selling during the school holidays. Her English was nearly fluent and we discussed education, politics, and books. She readily confessed that all the books she was selling were fakes, from the Lonely Planet Cambodia to the Angkor Wat photo book to the memoir First They Killed My Father, detailing the killing fields, which I bought from her for 4$. She was bright and funny, and when I asked her if she was interested in trying to travel or attend university someday, she just laughed that she was a lazy student. It is only anecdotal, but I would say that the Cambodians I met were more introspective and philosophical than the Thais I know, as well as being more typically shy and humble. Of course, this is probably a result of their relative poverty and circumstances, since after all until not so long ago they were all one country. Which makes it all the more ludicrous that not so far away the Thai and Cambodian armies were firing artillery and machine guns at each other, with many casualties, threatening an all out war. The Thais of all things, shelling a wat!!!!