After our wonderful boating experience (See Gilligan’s Boat Ride), Abby and I happily embraced dry land and found a nice hotel with a roof bar and restaurant in Battambang (AKA bada-bing! to Abby and me). Because we had unexpectedly wasted a day in transit, we decided to stay an extra day before continuing on to Phnom Penh.

We weren’t sure if Abby was going to make it to the Killing Fields in the city due to this change of plans, so we decided to head out to another site of Khmer Rouge atrocities outside of Battambang called the Killing Cave. We were told that tuk-tuk drivers couldn’t take the road because they frequently flipped over due to the horrible, pot-holed conditions. They assured me that a moto would be much safer. Uh huh.

Unable to grasp the logic in this statement, and believing that my bad karma with motorized vehicles could bring even the best moto driver to his knees (literally: See Turning Left on Red), we opted for the most expensive option, a taxi.

The road was in fact in horrible disrepair with moto drivers zigging this way and that to avoid the gigantic, water filled craters in the road. Abby and I spent the 45 minute ride out of town holding onto a handle with one hand to steady ourselves (that is of course after I violently bashed my head on the side of the car twice during a particularly bad whip lashing session), and with one arm planted under our chests. Bumpy doesn’t begin to describe it. It was like the Captain EO ride on crack. However, once again the views were great, and we found ourselves riding through small rural villages and vast green rice patties.

We arrived and were immediately greeted by the local school boys offering tours up the mountain to the cave and surrounding temples. We ended up going with a nice 20 year old high school student who’s English name was Terry. He brought us hiking around high above the town and surrounding rice fields to the cave.

The Killing Cave at one time was called the Theatre Cave, where locals performed shows and acted in plays. During the Khmer Rouge, however, the cave was transformed into a death trap, where soldiers would bring their victims to the top of the cave and push them through a crevasse to their death on the jagged, rocky landing 5 stories below. Skulls and bones with skin not yet fully decomposed still remain in the cave. Villagers believing their relatives to be among the victims could be seen filtering through, placing offerings to the Buddha statue in the cave.

While hiking up to a vantage point where you could see the miles and miles of green rice patties and towns below, we came across one of our fellow castaways from the boat ride, an Australian ex-pat named Matt. We ended up meeting him for dinner later, and ate in a nice local place across the river with the loudest kareoke I have ever heard blasting to a live band. Servers would hover over the table, reorganizing salt shakers and napkin holders, and repouring beer and water after virtually every sip.

We followed the loney planet guide to a ‘’nightclub” that ended up being completely boarded up. This has actually been a recurring theme when we’ve headed out on Lonely Planet quests… we have much better luck stumbling upon places on our own. This night we did, and ended up in a bar with our own private cabana, drinking Cambodia’s dark beer, ABC Beer.

The next morning, we pushed off for the capitol with our friend Matt and our Icelandic couple friends that we keep running into unplanned at just about every turn.