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...Preah Khan of Kompong Svay. Its a few hours northwest of Kompong Thom by going up the logging road and turning left (west) at the truck-stop village of Phnom Dek. You can also get to it from Beng Mealea along the old Khmer road.
Its a temple I'm heading for in January as its one of the few with face towers similar to those you see at the Bayon, but its suffered at the hands of looters over the last few years.
Its a pity you didn't try to go onto Preah Vihear from TBM City as that temple is a real beaut and completely devoid of tourists now that the Thai border is closed. But its a hard trek. Look at my trip report from Preah Vihear in an earlier Forum post.
Also doable from TBM City is the complex of Koh Ker, which is definitely worth a looksee.
You are right that planning is the key, together with a good map and good English-speaking Khmer pals to ensure you don't get lost. Its a big country and its easy to stray off the track if you are not aufait with what you're looking for.
If you want any more details Mike, drop me an email.

Felix, thanks for your story.
You do like to make travelling around Cambodia a real challenge for yourself don't you!
The road from TBM to Preah Vihear is a difficult at the height of the dry season (it took us 6 hrs), so trying it when its a mudbath is not for the faint-hearted.

Here's a section of my Preah Vihear trip report, in the dry season, which sat next to yours gives anyone interested in doing the trip, the opportunity to compare both and decide on which they'd prefer to do. I know which one I'd do again!

"We finally arrived in Kompong Thom city centre after a four-hour trip. As arranged, my trusted friend, fellow adventurer and moto-driver, Sokhom, was waiting to greet me. After a plate of noodles at the Arunras restaurant, we stopped at his home to pack my daysack, collect our hammocks and mozzie nets and a brief reunion with his wife Sroy and daughter Kunthea, before our mid-day departure. Sokhom's moto is an old one with suspect suspension and an uncomfortable seat but its never let us down on all our previous trips, though this one, a round-trip of some 500 kms north to the ancient temple of Preah Vihear and back, would be its greatest test. The rain had left large puddles in the red-clay road and a succession of massive logging lorries either splashed the water over us or forced us to cover our faces to avoid the dust clouds, once the sun re-emerged from behind the clouds. After a couple of hours we reached the rubber tree plantation where we'd stopped on the same route four months before. Pausing for a cold drink at Phnom Dek, forty minutes later, the minefields nearby had been cleared and obvious signs of demining activity removed, though the large tyre tracks, dried out by the sun, made the final thirty kilometres into Tbeng Meanchey town (TBM), a painful one on Sokhom's elderly moto. En route, we passed the Prasat Kraham Chhouk temple where a religious ceremony was taking place with what looked like hundreds of monks and nuns in attendance but pressed for time we didn't stop for long.

Five hours after saying our goodbyes to Sokhom's family and friends, we booked into a double room with fan at the Mlop Trosek guesthouse and wolfed down a chicken supper at the Malop Dong restaurant, both favoured haunts of ours. At a petrol stop in TBM's main street, we played 'tot sey' (foot shuttlecock) with a handful of bemused locals before settling down for fruit and tikaloks at a popular roadside stall run by Kove, a pretty 19 year old and her three sisters. An early start the following day meant an ice-cold shower, a 'good morning' to the frog perched on the bathroom mirror, noodles and coffee breakfast at the Malop Dong and a few running repairs to the moto before our 7.30am departure. We took the same road we'd taken a few months earlier to Koh Ker though we veered right instead of left at the village of Thbal Bek and soon afterwards came across a large group of army engineers constructing a gigantic steel bridge across the Stung Sen river at Takeng. Surprisingly, considering the bridge-building project, the road north to Preah Vihear was little more than a dusty one-lane track and as we drove through an uninhabited forested area for the next two and a half hours, we saw no sign of life except lizards scampering across our path, heard the constant shrill of cicadas and were reminded that the area was heavily mined by the HALO Trust warning signs posted every half kilometre.

An alternative route from TBM, used by trucks and taxis, would've meant a detour to the town of Choam Khsant which we'd avoided. However, we did join the road that carried traffic from Choam Khsant to Preah Vihear, which meant we were about forty kilometres from our intended destination. The sun was overhead, the road was the consistency of a sandpit and I spent as much time trudging through the sand on foot as I did sat on the moto. We saw our first humans in three hours when we came across a group of soldiers stripping a clapped-out army tank for spare parts and other roadside wreckage reminded us that this part of Cambodia was a battle-zone until a couple of years ago. At the village of Sro Am we stopped for petrol and a drink near the junction of the new road being built to bring supplies and future tourists from the direction of Anlong Veng and Siem Reap. This was Sokhom's second visit to Preah Vihear and because of that we took a short-cut, wide enough only for a moto, through a heavily wooded area. We saw only one Danger!! Mines!! sign but he made sure we kept to the track which was a bit painful as the route was rarely used and the vegetation whipped against our legs and arms. In a clearing, we caught our first glimpse of the mountain on which Preah Vihear sat, but it was still some way off and we had to negotiate four steep but dry riverbeds before we arrived at the village of Kor Mouy on the stroke of 2pm, more than six hours after leaving TBM. Many of the houses were very new and belonged to the soldiers who guard the temple and the nearby border with Thailand. A recent squabble between the two countries had seen the border remain firmly closed in the preceding months with only access from the Cambodian side a possibility and talk of a road being constructed to take tourists to the very top of the mountain was rife in the Khmer press.

The temple of Preah Vihear (or Khao Phra Viharn in Thai), mainly built in the 11th century by King Suryavarman I, commands the most spectacular location of any Khmer monument. To reach it, the climb up the mountainside would take us two hours at least, so Sokhom and I rested in hammocks at a shop-house belonging to Kouch and her two children for half an hour. As we walked to the foot of the mountain, part of the Dongrek Mountain chain that determines the border with Thailand, we met an Italian NGO worker and his four helpers who'd spent the night at the temple, which was our intention too, and I didn't need reminding that the spent shell casings and mine-signs we encountered recalled the days when the temple stronghold was a prize possession of the Khmer Rouge. The climb quickly became a real burden. I longed for an escalator (one of the off-the-wall suggestions by the Khmer press) as the canopy of trees made it extremely humid, the trail weaved around giant sandstone boulders and tree stumps but was pretty steep and frequent pauses to catch my breath were necessary. An hour into the ascent, we reached the midway point on arrival at the Bram Makara (15 January) village, much to my relief. The village as such consisted of just three houses and we rested at the first, where the family who lived there sold us some sugary drinks to boost our energy levels. We were joined for the second half of the climb by Chhoun Ny, an immigration policeman, who was due to begin his two day shift that evening. He'd been a policeman for fifteen years, mostly in Kompong Spue before transferring to Preah Vihear two years ago. According to Ny, I was the tenth tourist to visit the temple that week. The latter half of the trek was less arduous and in the open, though frequent rest and drink-stops were still a necessity. As we arrived at the small settlement at the summit, a large pig and her piglets squealed their welcome and a few families belonging to the HALO Trust deminers stationed at the site waved their hello.

I was exhausted as I rested in the immigration hut next to a tiny pagoda. The two-hour climb had been a real challenge and when one of the monks suggested I wash in their natural bathing pool nearby, I gratefully accepted his offer. I stripped, retaining a krama around my waist for modesty, and ladled cold water from the large rock pool over my head and body, alongside three other monks and Sokhom. A westerner using their washing facilities was very uncommon they told us but they were pleased to share and I was happy to accept. Refreshed, we walked through the village and on through a narrow 200 metre channel marked by small white stones and red markers. Danger!! Mines!! signs were everywhere, though the deminers had retired to their homes for the evening. As we reached the crest of the mountain plateau, the wreckage of a military helicopter lay off to the left and directly in front of us the Cambodian flag fluttered above the first gopura of Preah Vihear temple. The gopura or entrance pavilion stands at the top of a steep stairway of 162 steps flanked by giant nagas that leads down to a small Khmer community who live just inside the border with Thailand. The recent feud between the two countries had cut off their livelihoods as they were servicing the needs of the 1,000 Thai visitors that came to visit the temple each day, only a few weeks before.

As I looked out towards a smooth tarmaced Thai motorway in the distance, Chhoun Ny appeared and asked me to fill in an immigration form and to hand over 5,000 riel. A raindrop fell and smudged my signature as I handed Ny the form but he didn't seem to mind. The gopura, actually known as gopura V, with sweeping gables reminiscent of Banteay Srei, leads onto a long causeway lined with stone boundary posts. Rather than continue our exploration in the drizzle, we temporarily hung our hammocks in an open-sided pavilion next to a large man-made pool full of water and ate our rice and chicken provisions we'd brought with us from TBM. We were joined by brother and sister, Sam 11 and Leap 8, who sold me a pack of postcards and looked after our bags as Sokhom and I quickly made our way through a series of gopuras, stairways and causeways to the very top level and sat on the cliff edge as darkness fell obscuring the hazy Cambodian plains some 550 metres below. It was still raining although not heavily and the draught rising from the plains below was a chilly one. The walk back was possible as the full moon allowed us a degree of light when it wasn't shielded by cloud and returning to the pavilion, we thanked our young friends who lived next to the HALO building closeby. Sokhom discussed accommodation with the temple's resident tourism official, Pomy Chheangly, who offered us his office veranda rather than the HALO office with its noisy generator. In fact, he laid out a mat and cushion on the floor of his storeroom but I elected to use the hammock, though with the cool air on the mountain top, the mozzie net I'd brought was redundant. As Sokhom and I chatted in the darkness, a scratching noise from the storeroom attracted my torchlight and a large rat scampered across the floor, confirming my choice of hammock was a good one!

At 4am I was woken from my slumber by a cockerel that positioned itself a couple of metres away from my hammock and tested my eardrums to their full capacity with five loud crows. A carefully aimed training shoe temporarily halted the early morning alarm call, although a little over an hour later, he began again and on this occasion didn't stop. By that time, the heavens had opened and a thunderous downpour for forty minutes gave us a cool start to the day and filled up the water tanks and cooking pots with fresh water. It also brought with it a blanket of mist as we retraced our steps to the cliff top just after 6am. The low cloud completely concealed the view over northern Cambodia and shrouded the temple in a misty haze. I sat on a large boulder, with my head in my hands, praying that the sun would appear and burn off the cloud but fearing the worst. An hour later, the mist disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, although the sun was nowhere to be seen, at least I could now take pictures of the temple's outstanding lintels, pediments (especially the Churning Sea of Milk and Shiva and Uma on Nandin) and breathtaking location. Nearly two hours later, Sokhom and I re-emerged at gopura V to rest our weary bones. The temple is a haven of rich carvings, libraries, hallways, courtyards littered with fallen sandstone blocks, sweeping gabled roofs, false doorways and cloistered galleries with the easten side of the main sanctuary literally centimetres from the cliff edge. The stone is old and worn with traces of red paint and white lichen blotches. And the location is as dramatic and spectacular as you could ever wish for, especially if you have the temple to yourself as I did. One note of disappointment is that the complex is so large, over 800 metres from end to end and on four separate levels, that no one single picture can ever do it justice.

At the gopura, we said our goodbyes to Chheangly, who'd been for his breakfast at the village on the Thai border. Nearby, a small team of HALO deminers were carefully prodding the ground and removing grass and twigs as they painstakingly searched for landmines. The red markers and lines of small white stones across the plateau signalled the safe areas but it was clear there was a lot more to be done. Understandably, they weren't prepared to pose for photos and as the mist began to roll back across the plateau, Sokhom and I began our descent at the demining village. As you can imagine, going down was a lot quicker and considerably easier than the day before and despite a ten minute break at the half-way point, it took us little more than an hour before we were back at Kouch's shop-house enjoying noodles and dried fish for breakfast, accompanied by around twenty curious villagers and children. After a game of foot shuttlecock and a lie down, we said our goodbyes to Kouch and her friends as we left the village of Kor Mouy at 11am, with the tree-covered Preah Vihear topped mountain as a dramatic backdrop. A few minutes later we both ended up in the mud when the moto lost its grip as we traversed a dry riverbed but my supply of plasters covered the cuts and bruises we sustained. The deminers were out in force at Sro Am and the road-building project through the village had turned into a sandy quagmire. After two and a half hours, we turned off the Choam Khsant road and returned to the isolated and quiet single track through the forest, accompanied only by the scorching sun overhead, the wreckage of several vehicles and the occasional sign reminding us of the dangers of landmines if we stepped off the trail. At 4pm we reached Takeng bridge and the friendly villagers who shouted 'hello, goodbye' from every house as we sped by, eventually reaching the outskirts of TBM just before six o'clock.

Before returning to our guesthouse, we headed for the Stung Sen river crossing, a kilometre north of the town centre, where children were splashing around in the shallow waters on large rubber tyres as the sun set in the background. I waded in to cool off, take a few pictures and watch the vehicles ford the river as they made their way north. After a refreshing shower with warmish water, we returned to Malop Dong where a minor disaster was averted - they had no chicken! - with a free pork dish as compensation. Kove's English was getting better with practice as we stopped by her stall for some delicious tikaloks and then back at the guesthouse, I met a couple of teachers from Phnom Penh, Srey Mom and Minit, who were instructing local schools in environmental studies, before retiring to bed a little after 9pm, at the end of a long and tiring day. I awoke at 6am after the best night's sleep of my whole trip and after noodles for breakfast with the teachers at Malop Dong - where the film Apocalypse Now was captivating the other diners - Sokhom and I were on our way. The slash and burn forestry technique was much in evidence for the first half of our return trip to Kompong Thom, with smouldering fields aplenty, despite the overnight rain, which had left puddles of dirty water everywhere. The Nissan pick-ups plying the route and the continuous stream of lorries carrying logs had done great damage to the road surface. We took a break at Prasat Kraham Chhouk, where the ceremonial bunting was the only reminder of the religious gathering two days earlier. The old laterite temple had been cleared of all vegetation and had lost some of its charm as a result, but it did make access to the structure a lot easier than on my previous visit in November. We stopped at Phnom Dek for a cold drink and I counted no less than five logging lorries parked up and three more sailed through whilst we took a breather and then at Chey, the turn-off for Sambor Prei Kuk, the cloud kicked up from the passing lorries as we sat sipping our coconuts covered everyone in a fine layer of red dust. Kompong Thom was just minutes away."

Thanks again Felix for your postings, especially the Ratanakiri to Mondulkiri report.