In Cambodia, David gets on an elephant and heads off to spot monkeys in the most unlikely setting.

There’s a certain anything- goes absurdity to Cambodia, and nowhere is this more the case than at Wat Phnom. It’s big temple in the centre of Phnom Penh, with all traces of peace and tranquillity wiped out by the roaring, snarling traffic that surrounds it. The temple is, to all intents and purposes, an ostentatious traffic island; a poncy roundabout.

But on that roundabout, you have what all roundabouts should considering investing in: monkeys. A troop of macaques roams the grassy banks and lower temple walls, generally on the prowl for food. Suffice to say, this is probably one of the worst places in the world for a picnic. These boys and girls are really not shy about taking what they think is their rightful share.

The monkeys are not the only wild additions to the outer reaches of Wat Phnom, however. There is also Sambo, a 51-year-old elephant. It’s impossible not to feel a bit sorry for her – after all, she has been blessed with an archaically racist name that has never been used outside the comics your granddad used to read as a child.

She also has a bit of a rubbish job. Ex-pats tell me that she’s often seen on a trudging commute to and from work, plodding along highways as mosquito-like motorbikes swarm around her. When she gets to Wat Phnom, she has but one task – to walk round and round the roundabout with grinning idiots on her back.

I, however, will rarely pass up the opportunity to be a grinning idiot. And the world’s most rubbish elephant-back safari sounded like an excellent way to while away 15 minutes. Riding an elephant is a somewhat bizarre feeling at the best of times. We had to climb up a ladder to a special platform in order to get on board in the first place, and once there, we were swaying about in our seat as the inelegant beast lurched from one foot to the other. It’s something of a balancing act – the chap leading Sambo around would often shout for one of us to move over slightly. Making the ride smooth is apparently about even weight distribution. Not that Sambo appeared to be paying the blindest bit of notice to those on top as she repeatedly thrusted us towards overhanging branches.

Our steed stepped into the road, and suddenly the absurdity started to hit home. We were riding a bored elephant around what is probably the busiest roundabout in a major capital city, watching macaques eye up a gullible tourist’s sandwiches. No-one bats an eyelid at this. It must be perfectly normal for Phnom Penh, and I can only love the city for that.

When it’s time to dismount, there’s an extra treat in store. For an extra dollar, we’re allowed to feed Sambo a bunch of bananas and pose for a photo as we do so. I held the bananas out, and she picked them up with her trunk. It’s ever so cute, although she didn’t seem particularly interested in eating them. It was, I suspect, not the first time that a grinning idiot has given her a bunch of bananas that day.