Phnom Penh, Cambodia: Pol Pot's brutal regime.

From the beauty of Angkor we headed south by bus to the capital Phnom Penh. Without question the most noteworthy story to tell was the day we visited the Killing Fields and the old Tuol Sleng prison. I'd read a little about the astonishing brutality and mindless genocide of the communist Khmer Rouge's ill-fated years of power in the late 1970s but visiting such key sites made everything immediately more real.

The Khmer Rouge regime killed more than one and a half million of their own people - about a fifth of the population - as it sought to turn Cambodia into a mass agricultural commune where everybody pulled together on farms and forced labour projects. Those seen as intellectual, mildly clever and even wearers of spectacles were viewed as highly undesirable and were by and large executed en masse. City dwellers, professional people, anyone with an education - if you had more than a few brain cells to rub together then the Khmer Rouge, led by Pol Pot, did not want you around. Phnom Penh literally became a ghost town as city folk were driven away. Illiterate rural peasants were seen as the true proletariat and most others were wiped out.

The Killing Fields is a site outside Phnom Penh where the Khmer Rouge executed an estimated 200,000 people in multiple mass graves. Today you can still see fragments of clothing, even human bone, poking out from the soil. Most harrowing of all, a commemorative stupa now stands as a memorial to those who lost their lives. Unlike most memorials, its graphic and real, containing numerous glass shelves each housing the skulls of scores of murdered Cambodians. This contrasted with the noise of children playing in a nearby school serves only to emphasise the horrors of the past and makes you wonder how on earth this could happen in a country filled with such happy people. It sounds so barbaric, yet this was well after Hitler and the Holocaust, happening just a few years before I was born. A visit to the Killing Fields manages to be both deeply chilling and yet oddly serene in its now peaceful, leafy location.

Precious little serenity to be found at Tuol Sleng though. Tucked away down Phnom Penh side streets, this former school was turned into Security Prison 21 (S21) by the Khmer Rouge. As many as 20,000 prisoners were thought to have been held here - many of whom were tortured and forced to confess whatever made-up charges were put in front of them, or name friends and family who would then be brought in too. One wing features black and white photos of decomposing corpses laid out on metal beds - pictured as they were found when Vietnamese forces discovered Tuol Sleng as they overthrew the Khmer Rouge in 1979. When you look down and see the same checkerboard pattern floor as shown in the photo on the wall it drives home that you are standing in a room where senseless murder was committed. The other wing houses large galleries of mugshots of the dead, with numbers around their necks, part of the Khmer Rouge's strangely diligent system of record keeping. Pol Pot had an eye for thoroughness and detail. He wanted to know what his prisoners looked like, and see proof that they'd been tortured or killed for his own twisted peace of mind.

An enormous monsoon meant we had no choice but to stick around inside Tuol Sleng until it had eased up. The wind howled around the open windows and gave the place an even more eerie quality than it has in the sunshine. Its important that visitors to Cambodia come here and see this. That the country's people can still smile despite the deep scars of a generation ago - wounds that will take many more generations to heal - is really remarkable.

You'd probably hoped I might tell you a bit about what Phnom Penh is like as a city - and it is a charming, hectic place full of lovely people - but its the atrocities of three decades ago that are the real story to tell.

Siam Reap, Cambodia: The temples of ancient Angkor.

We're now in Cambodia. Or Cambodge as the French call it. First stop Siam Reap where the many, many temples of Angkor are housed in a large region on the outskirts of Siam Reap. For those that don't know - this is the location of Angkor Wat, a Hindu/Buddhist temple that was the crowning glory of the ancient Khmer empire and remains the largest religious building in the world.

The Khmer empire's pomp ran from the 9th to the 15th century, with successive kings each trying to outdo each other with increasingly spectacular religious monuments. The culmination of this was Angkor Wat, a stunningly intricate and beautiful place. We timed our arrival for sunrise - yes, we can get up early once in a while - and it was ridiculously worth it. Shots of the temple silhouetted with rays of sunshine breaking through in the background were well worth the effort of hauling ourselves out of bed pre-5am. Walking through the temple's maze-like corridors and passageways was a surreal and calming experience, not to mention providing respite from the sun which was already hot enough to burn my pathetically melanin-light skin by about 8.30am. Still smarting from getting cooked in Phuket, I whacked on the sunblock sharpish.

I had expected Angkor Wat to be the highlight of a visit to Angkor, and given that we went there first thing on our first day, I was worried it might be all downhill from there. What I hadn't expected was for the very next temple to be my favourite that I have ever visited.

Bayon is simply brilliant. Built in the 12th-13th century, it was the official state temple of King Jayavarman III, and stands at the centre of his ancient walled-in capital Angkor Thom. The huge stones that comprise Bayon's towers have enormous faces carved into them. The rather contented-looking faces depict Lokesvara, the enlightened embodiment of all Buddhas - though some historians reckon the faces look suspiciously like Jayavarman himself. You probably need to see the faces in the flesh to do them justice, but here's a few photos that hopefully give an impression (1, 2, 3, 4). The dozens of young kids peddling their parents' wares outside the temples - generally guide books, cold drinks, scarves, tacky bamboo flutes - are sad to see, though some of them are quite witty. Often they'll state the price as 'one million dollars' once they can see you're not going to buy anything, or try to impress with their knowledge of capital cities around the world.

We visited a total of 12 temples in two days (with Jacqui visiting a further one, Banteay Srei, as well as the Landmine Museum on our third day while I was recovering from a tummy bug). I won't go into detail about all of them, for fear of giving you temple burnout. But one more that is well worth mentioning is Ta Prohm. This temple, built in a Bayon style in roughly the same era, has been well and truly reclaimed by Mother Nature. Unlike many restored Angkor temples, this one has been left much as it was found. Huge bricks that once formed walls and ceilings lie strewn as if toppled by a mighty earthquake, while, excitingly for photography lovers - if you only click one photo link on this entire blog make sure it's this one - huge 'spung' trees and strangler figs have actually used the walls of the temple for strengthening support and have climbed to great heights while their giant roots swallow the stones at ground level. You can see why they filmed some of the Tomb Raider movie here.

One final thing to mention about Angkor. As a birthday treat for me, Jacqui paid for us to go up 100m in a hot-air balloon, which was tied to the ground with ropes, for an aerial view of Angkor Wat and the surrounding area. It was a little heat hazy, but we still had a cracking view of Angkor and I really enjoyed the surreal whistling of the wind as the ground got smaller below us. The views of surrounding rice paddies were very picturesque too.

As for the town of Siam Reap itself, its inevitably touristy given the presence of so many amazing temples, but there's still plenty to enjoy here. The food is superb for a start. We ate amazing Mexican and Indian food here (no relation to aforementioned tummy trouble) as well as amok, a Khmer speciality of fish curry in a mildly spicy coconut sauce. Spring rolls here are the best you'll find in SE Asia too. It's so hot in Siam Reap during the dry season now that many restaurants even have ceiling fans in their al fresco dining areas. Much needed they are too.

As the minibus arrived on Tuesday morning to take us to the bus station, from where we'd head to the capital Phnom Penh - I was slightly disturbed that our rather gruff looking driver was listening to Love FM. My favourite jingle: "Love FM. With DJs that will always be by your side." They are a soppy lot when it comes to pop music, these Cambodians. Mind you, you could say that about most of this part of the world. The karaoke videos that tend to accompany long bus journeys bear testament to the fact that a schmaltzy, muzak-ish ballad is the format of choice. Those of you who know my music taste will understand why this pains me particularly. I am finding myself increasingly listening to The Fall and Joy Division on my iPod by way of antidote.

Vientiane, Laos: "Sabaidee, Pii Mai!"

We made the short (for Laos) five-hour hop to the capital just in time for the start of Pii Mai: Laos New Year. This officially three-day long festival of the lunar new year is celebrated with a week-long, countrywide water fight. We armed ourselves with water pistols and got thoroughly soaked. Everyone in Vientiane had taken to the streets, either stationed by tanks of water and hoses soaking passersby or in the back of pick-up trucks armed with water balloons and getting soaked as they drove by. The whole thing is extremely good-natured and involves everyone - we saw groups of men in their seventies in natty hats chasing each other with water pistols.

The festival marks the start of a new year, and to signify this Lao people literally wash everything clean. Buddha images are washed and blessed with purified water, houses are cleaned from top to bottom and then everyone dresses up in their best new clothes and goes out to bless friends and neighbour with water too. Lots of it. We found a friendly group of locals who let us share their hose, and their beer (about twenty full buckets of water over my head was a small price to pay) and threw ourselves into it (literally for me: wet floors are slippy). Chris's particular favourite was to get otherwise dry people in the ear, or through the slightly open windows of passing cars. I especially enjoyed aiming under the helmets of people on motorbikes. Not that we got carried away or anything...

We also found time to visit Pha That Luang the most famous and beautiful temple in Laos, where we got to see the purification of the Buddhas, and to take in the rather lovely city itself. As well as squeezing in a few games of very retro-style ten-pin bowling, which is huge in Laos. Chris played well, whilst I was a little more erratic - in three games I managed two strikes, and about twenty zeroes. I think I'll stick to water fights.

Vang Vieng, Laos: Tubes, tourists and TV bars.

Vang Vieng, the most touristy spot in Laos, is famed for its tubing - you float down river on a massive inner tube from the drop-off point 4km north of town, stopping at as many of the makeshift bars on route as you deem necessary. There are also all manner of rope swings and zip wires that you can brave before plummeting into the river below. This is all fine and good fun, but some people looked a bit too tipsy to be partaking in the jumps if you ask me. There's no lifeguards around as far as I could tell - so if you get into trouble you're relying on the actions of other tourists, many of whom are inebriated. Not to be a killjoy, it just riled me slightly that I had to climb down a wooden ladder to help a girl who'd bashed her chest as she came off a slide, despite there being a guy in the water right next to her. I'd called out to him, pointed at the girl (who was clearly in pain) and he'd just looked gormlessly at her and then turned away again. The girl was ok after a minute or two fortunately. I'll get off my soapbox now. My one tip for would-be Vang Vieng visitors though would be to save the heavy drinking for after you've tackled the swings and slides. Do that, and you're sure to have a great laugh.

Vang Vieng appears to be the kind of place a young man can get stuck for a while - as proven by the number of Western bar staff and tourist reps in town, who apparently work for little more than their keep and their fill of buckets of Lao Lao rice whisky with Coke/Sprite/Red Bull. The 'cool thing' to do if you're an experienced Vang Vienger is to daub yourself in marker pen before you hit the river. Although those who'd gotten their mates to write on their backs were generally daubed in messages to potential suitors on what to expect: eg, "I will ignore you in the morning" was written in big letters on the back of a posey-looking guy with a bad moustache.

Anyway, once you've had your fill of all the tomfoolery at the bars, you can set off in your tube down the river. With fairly minimal paddling, it took us just under three hours to drift lazily back towards the town. One entrepreneurial soul was stood at the riverside selling cold Beerlao, with a buddy posted about 40 minutes down river collecting the empties. Good thinking, as it can get roastingly hot with the sun reflecting off the water.

The scenery as you bob along is breathtaking. Many of Laos' rivers are surrounded by beautiful karsts that tower above you - its about as picturesque as you can get while sipping a cold one. Perhaps the highlight of the tubing though was about 15 minutes before the end, when we gently floated by a herd of water buffalo who were keeping cool by staying 90 percent submerged in the water, poking their heads out while they snorted and masticated on their cud. Jacqui found their rhythmic chewing a bit freaky and kept her distance, while I paddled a little closer for a better look and the chance to get a couple of decent photos.

Once you're done with tubing, people generally wander back into the town and lie, semi comatose, in one of the many TV bars that show episodes of Friends, Family Guy and The Simpsons endlessly until you eventually tire of guffawing morons and manage to haul yourself off to bed. This is a fun town, but its hardly authentic Laos. We're glad we came but a couple of days was enough. Onward to Vientiane for Laos New Year and the enormous water fight that comes with it.

Phonsavan, Laos: Mystery jars and secret wars.

From Luang Prabang we headed east on another long bus trip (no matter where you go by bus in Laos, it takes nine hours. Actual distance covered seems to be irrelevant). We eventually found ourselves in Phonsavan, a fairly nondescript little town with two claims to fame: it plays host to the Plain of Jars, and to a huge percentage of the unexploded ordnance left behind in Laos by the Secret War.

The jars first. The Plain of Jars is actually a number of sites all round Phonsavan which boast collections of huge stone jars, in some cases hundreds of them. Nobody knows for certain when they were made or what they were used for. Educated guesses suggest they were either funerary urns or used to store rice whisky, though no one is entirely sure. They make for a quite majestic and somewhat eerie sight, especially as it was pouring with rain when we saw them.

The mystery attached to them is played up by the Laos tourist industry, but a huge reason why they haven't been investigated more thoroughly is Phonsavan's second claim to fame: unexploded ordnance. Between 1964 and 1973 the US conducted a secret, and illegal, bombing campaign against Laos which saw at least three million tonnes of bombs dropped on this peaceful country. So secret was this bombing campaign that some American pilots were told they were bombing Vietnam and Congress had no idea the war was taking place. The secrecy can be explained in part by the blatant illegality of the war, which broke the Geneva Conventions that classed Laos as a neutral country. Perhaps it can also be explained by those responsible wanting to cover up their brutality. Laos was reportedly hit by an average of one B-52 bomb every eight minutes, 24 hours a day, from 1964 to 1973. More bombs were dropped on Laos in this period that were used in the whole of the Second World War. Estimates suggest that around 30 percent of these bombs, or 80 million of them, failed to detonate, and Laos remains littered with these bombs. Many of them are cluster bombs, packed with small round 'bombies' that pose a particular threat to children. As well as causing injuries and deaths, these bombs help to keep the Laos people in poverty, as many of them are subsistence farmers, too afraid to work new land for fear of bombs. Try searching Youtube for 'Laos Bombies' to find an excellent documentary we were shown about this continuing problem.

International charities such as MAG are doing what they can to clear the bombs and free the Laos people. However, the US government is not doing very much at all to help. It seems the secrecy around the bombing of Laos continues to let the perpetrators off the hook.

Luang Nam Tha, Laos: Better dog-tired than dead.

The bus from Luang Prabang to rural Luang Nam Tha in the north of Laos was surprisingly painless, given it takes nine hours and Lao roads are windy and bumpy (vomit bags provided). Our seats reclined, the bus had air-con, we even got some kip and arrived still feeling human. No such luck with the return journey, more on this later.

On our first day here we did some research on going trekking in the Nam Tha National Protected Area (NPA), and treks sounded interesting, including visits to hilltribes and lunch with great views of the surrounding NPA. Then at dinner in the evening, an English man best described as a tedious buffoon was lurching from table to table (I don't think he was drunk, though he had probably overindulged in stronger things in his youth) asking everybody why they came to Luang Nam Tha if they weren't going to trek into the wilds of the NPA 'to see the tigers'. If I say that he looked like a cross between these three men, but with a stare that was both manic yet vacant, then you can probably form an accurate mental image of the man. But it was not only the trek-shy who had gotten his goat. He was also unhappy at how many Chinese workers there are in Laos, and how many 'falang' (foreigners), and couldn't wait to tell this to anyone in sight - be they Laos or falang. He wasn't aggressive in it, he was just a berk. I wish he'd asked me if I agreed on there being too many foreigners in Laos so that I might have answered: "Only slightly".

We settled on a trek that started at one hilltribe village and ended at another, donating the Laos/English children's books we'd bought at Big Brother Mouse in Luang Prabang to schools in the village. It gave the kids a giggle as two funny-looking foreigners rocked up dishing out pressies, I think, but the teacher seemed appreciative. Once into the jungle, our guide showed off his knowledge of which plants and roots the villagers use and what for, as we struggled on the uphill climb on slippery clay that had been subjected to three massive downpours in two days. Shortly after a feisty little creature resembling a turbo-charged guinea pig with a tail had frightened Jacqui by darting out from the bamboo plants and practically over her toes, we stopped for lunch. This consisted of chopped baby pumpkin with pork mince, sticky rice, some mushed up ferns with some grey stuff, and pork scratchings. And it was most delicious.

After lunch, things got properly jungley. I don't think many people had been doing this trek lately as our guide spent half the time hacking through the undergrowth and holding up thorny branches for us to crawl under. He said it was because of the storms, but I wasn't so sure. I think even the villagers hadn't been on certain sections of the trail in a good while. Eventually, we made it to our end point: a fantastic village of Lanten tribespeople, strewn with laughing kids, women weaving and making paper out of bamboo pulp, and countless cute black piglets causing mayhem and disturbing the afternoon snoozing of many a tribe dog. Exhausted, we clambered into the car and got straight into the shower when we got back to the hotel.

The bus back to Luang Prabang was a shocker. No air-con option this time, nor any legroom. We had people sitting on plastic stools in the middle aisle - not us, fortunately. The bus was unbearably slow, and it was about 10 hours later that we arrived, broken and stiff, in Luang Prabang just as it was getting dark. Still, it could have been worse. An English couple we met in Yogyakarta told us a story about a friend of theirs, who had once shared a bus journey in South-East Asia with a dead man who was travelling alone. His friends had put him on the bus, and arranged for him to be met at the other end. I love this story, and it sums up all you need to know about budget travel in this part of the world. I can't help wondering whether he got a double seat to himself. "Plastic stool in the aisle, or prop up the dead guy, sir?"