Episode 5

THE TEMPLES:

A short story about ancient history, architectural wonders, and a very unexpected side quest.

Let me set the scene.

The year was 2007 and I had just arrived in Cambodia for what was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime.

This wasn't a trip where research was left undone. Every minute of every day was organized to a schedule. For those of you reading, we all have that one type A family member who stresses while the rest of us are along for the ride to enjoy and add just a little more chaos.

That person was my mom.

My dad was the history know-it-all. 

“Did you know?” 

“Did you see this?” 

“Well actually, this happened in 1747.” 

A perfect match. A trip with absolutely no foreseeable tension between those two personalities whatsoever.

Then there was my sister, deep in her rebellious teenage years. On this trip she secretly got her ears pierced. Getting your ears pierced can be dangerous if not done correctly. In this particular case, with no supervision from any of us, they got infected. 

My younger brother said approximately three words the entire trip. A man of few words and even fewer opinions.

And then there was me. For those wondering how my personality fit into this dynamic, it was simple.

I was perfect. Funny, engaged, a true guiding light as they say.

Now that you have the full and honest picture, let's skip to day two. Where things get interesting.

Today was temple day. More specifically, Angkor Wat day.

For those unfamiliar, Angkor Wat is the largest religious monument in the world. A 12th century temple complex in Cambodia, originally built for the Hindu god Vishnu. It is the premier example of architecture and a national symbol so significant it appears on the Cambodian flag.

In other words, it was kind of a big deal.

Our guide was incredible. Deeply informed, deeply passionate, the kind of person who makes history feel alive. My father had meanwhile appointed himself assistant tour guide despite nobody asking him to.

Every five minutes it was:

"Actually I read something different."

Or:

"Well technically…"

At one point I genuinely thought our guide was going to leave him there as part of the exhibit. 

None of us would have complained. 

As we approached the temple grounds the guide stopped the group and issued one very clear instruction.

"Do not feed the monkeys."

Simple. Clear. Unambiguous.

Or so I thought.

Fifteen minutes later a stray monkey approached me. We made eye contact. There was a connection there, the kind where you think maybe this animal understands me on a deeper level.

He didn't. He saw my granola bar.

I held it out. He took it from my hand gently. Almost politely. I remember thinking, what a gentleman. Clearly this tour guide has no idea what he's talking about.

The interaction should have ended there.

But from somewhere in the trees another monkey had witnessed this exchange and apparently took it extremely personally.

Before I could react this animal launched feces at me with the accuracy of a trained military sniper.

Direct hit.

Dead silence.

Then somewhere behind me I heard my mom sigh. 

I stood there frozen trying to process the fact that less than fifteen minutes into visiting one of the greatest architectural wonders in human history I had been assaulted by a monkey.

My mom then immediately entered crisis mode.

"DON'T TOUCH YOUR FACE!"

Very comforting thing to yell at someone covered in monkey feces.

My dad somehow found a way to make it educational.

"You know, primates actually use that as a defense mechanism"

That’s helpful, thanks Dad.

My sister whose ear was throbbing from her infected piercing looked at me and for the first time all trip appeared genuinely at peace. Like finally, someone else was the problem.

And my younger brother?

The quiet one. The human statue. The man of few words.

He laughed.

Not a little laugh. Full body, tears streaming, could barely breathe laughter. Honestly one of the greatest family moments of the entire trip because we had finally discovered the one thing powerful enough to make him speak.

Through the laughter he managed four words:

"You are an idiot."

The rest of the tourists stopped and turned towards me. 

They ignored one of the greatest architectural wonders in human history to take photos of me covered in monkey poop. 

Our guide looked at me with deep disappointment. Not anger. Worse. Disappointment. Like I had personally embarrassed him in front of the entire country of Cambodia.

Honestly? Fair enough.

I was marched to a small outdoor sink area near the entrance where I attempted to wash monkey feces off my body and shirt using approximately three drops of warm water and a napkin that immediately dissolved in my hand.

The cleaning attempt somehow made the smell even worse. 

Meanwhile my family stood nearby doing absolutely nothing helpful.

My dad continued explaining monkey behavior like he was hosting a nature documentary.

“See, what happened here is actually very common.”

“Dad, I don't need the Discovery Channel right now.”

My mom had fully shifted into damage-control mode, speed walking us toward the next temple as if we moved fast enough this entire event would somehow disappear from family history.

I ended up spending the entire afternoon smelling faintly of animal revenge while pretending to appreciate ancient architecture.

But here's the thing.

That's what I remember most about Cambodia.

Not the perfect photos. Not the history lessons. Not even the temples themselves.

I remember the chaos around it.

Because the brochures sell you the landmark. But the stories come from everything that goes wrong around it. The side quests. The family arguments. The heat. The weird moments that make absolutely no sense at the time but somehow become the part you remember forever.

And maybe that’s not just travel. Maybe that’s life. 

We think the destination is the story.
Until the side quests become the part we never forget. 

Especially if it involves animal feces.

Nobody Asked. Now you know anyway.