Motorcycle diary

I heard the motorbike rattling behind me before I actually saw it.

The sound got louder and louder, which meant that I was being followed. 

Soon the bike caught up with me and appeared by my side.

"Hello," said the man on the noisy bike. "Where are you going today?"

Just walking, I told him.

"You want to go to the landmine museum?"

I stared at him. I couldn't believe it.

"You know where it is?" I asked.

"Yes, I know, of course. I bring you there, on my bike," he said.

I'd been thinking about going to the Aki Rai Landmine Museum before I even left home.  

And on my last day in Siem Reap, this guy turns up on a motorbike and offers to take me there?  This was something I couldn’t ignore.

"Yes, I want to go to the landmine museum," I said.

 But first things first, I thought. "Can you wait? I want to have my breakfast before I go, over there," I said, pointing to the Famous Angkor Cafe.

 "Of course. I wait for you."

 I watched him as I sipped my coffee.

 He was waiting a few doors away, checking his teeth every so often. I watched him grin, smirk and growl at the little round mirror on his bike. He looked harmless enough.

 That was how it started, my motorbike ride with a complete stranger in Cambodia.

 He was 29 and his name was Ta.

 "The museum is not far, I know a quick road there."

 Off we went on his motorbike, rattling merrily into the distance.

 I was interested in this particular landmine museum because it was set up by a former Khmer Rouge soldier called Aki Rai. In the 1970s, Rai used to install landmines for Pol Pot, the man who orchestrated the deaths of millions of Cambodians.

 Now, however, Rai is a transformed man. Deeply regretful of his past misdeeds, or so says the literature on the museum, he now educates the public and helps to defuse the very same landmines he planted, which still lie in scores in the Cambodian countryside. 

 The ride on Ta's bike was a long one. This was March, the height of the dry season. The sun burned my face and the back of my neck until it hurt.

 "You always do this? Take people on your motorbike?" I asked Ta as I held onto his shirt, my hair flying in the wind.

 "Sometimes. I need to make money. To marry my girlfriend," he turned briefly, flashing me a quick smile.

 "That's nice. When?"

 "Maybe next year."

 We passed village after village, all identical, with identical children and identical old ladies walking by the roadside, carrying mysterious bundles on their heads.

 "How long more?" I yelled. His bike was really noisy now.

 "Not long, you wait," Ta shouted back.

There were buffaloes in rice fields on both sides of the road. I smelt their dung drying in the heat and saw their thick fat tails swapping flies away.

Finally, we stopped at a white building. Ta got down and spoke to a man near the entrance. All I understood was,"Aki  Rai, Aki Rai." Would I ever get to meet the man himself?

Ta came back with a frustrated look on his face.

 "I'm sorry. This is the museum, but it's not really open today," he told me.

 What do you mean? I asked. The gate is open, right?

 Ta sighed. "No, it's open but not for everyone to see. It's not ready."

 I wasn't satisfied and didn't completely understand what he said, so I walked into the building. 

There were exhibits all right- warheads, old landmines and posters with gruesome photographs- but not all of them were up.

 The museum had just relocated to a new site so it wasn't fully complete.

 Neither was Rai there, so my dream of meeting a real-life former Khmer Rouge officer never materialised.

 "Not open yet. I'm sorry, I disappoint you," Ta said, shrugging apologetically.

 "No, that's okay," I said. "It was a nice ride. It was nice of you to bring me here."

 My eyes searched the road beyond the museum grounds. Nothing, really. Just a few huts nearby, with children playing.

 Then I remembered seeing a few shops along the way.

 "You want some iced coffee?" I asked and Ta's face lit up.

 "Of course. I bring you there," he smiled.