Cambodia off-road motorbike trip

Cambodia off-road motorbike trip:

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The idea of doing an off-road motorbike trip through Cambodia started off innocently enough: a few beers mixed with a random conversation. The conversation was with Sam, a Frenchman travelling with his girlfriend, whom I met while rock climbing in Laos. He showed me their old map, all crumpled and dirty, reminding me a little of the kind I saw as a child while watching a movie about pirates searching for treasures, where X marked the spot. Listening to their adventure it didn’t take me long to turn into that same little boy again, excited and eager to start my own adventure! Sam showed me their old routes highlighted on the map which I photographed for later. Then, all I could do to contain my excitement was to tick off the amount of sleeps until I finally made it to Phnom Penh. 

There I spent most of my time organizing my trip, or rather, tried to organize. I found that trying to communicate in English with Khmer speaking people proved mostly impossible, although sign language sometimes helped. The worst was the fact that it was Khmer New Years and most of the people working there had left the city to go back to their families for the festive seasons, leaving Phnom Penh a ghost town of its former bustling self. I was pretty much doomed from the start as there was no way for me to buy a GPS or the recommended book “Ultimate Cambodia Travel Guide” listing all the routes and GPS co-ordinates I needed for the remote areas. Instead, I had to make do with a compass, an out of date map and sense of adventure…

I hired a trusty Honda XR250cc motorbike from Angkor Motorbikes in Phnom Penh for $100/week which came with spare tools, inner tubes, glue and patches. From Phnom Penh Central Market I bought a pair of large black army boots and a pair of plastic soccer shin guards to protect my feet and shins while going off road. Adding to that, I bought a pair of motorbike gloves and pair of large shiny ski goggles – a present from Sam. Not knowing where I was going to find accommodation, or IF I could find accommodation, I purchased a sleeping mat and hammock/mosquito net combo. At the time I was staying at a hostel called Top Banana. They were kind enough to allow me to store my luggage for free while I took off on my adventure. The day I finally left for my motorbike trip it was hot, like most days thereafter, and wearing jeans, black boots, shin guards, helmet, goggles and gloves made me feel as hot as a steamed dumpling. During my time in Phnom Penh I was constantly harassed by tuk-tuk drivers, although that day took the cake when one cheeky tuk-tuk driver offered me a lift, even though he saw me on a motorbike, all dressed in gear and with my luggage tied to the back. Guess I couldn’t knock him for not trying!    

When I finally started my trip I might have portrayed a façade of calm confidence but the truth was I was nervous. Alone and without proper navigation, in a time when there would be many drunk drivers on the road due to the Khmer New Years, all I could do was join the chaos. Leaving the city, I got stuck in a crazy traffic jam where a two lane highway flooded into three. Cars, motorbikes and trucks alike were forced onto the dirt shoulders with two incoming lanes heading into the city. There was no lane for the vehicles wanting to leave which ground everything to a noisy hooting and shouting halt. The policemen there could do nothing to control the traffic and I had to either go off road or weave my way between cars before finally escaping the chaos. That day I came to learn that most Cambodian drivers were under the disillusion that by persistently blowing their horns it would miraculously clear the traffic jam. 

On previous motorbike trips, while driving in Asia, I’ve learned that the decorative road signs are for that only, decoration. Nobody follows them but at least they look good and add a bit of color to the long roads while trucks with mass murdering intensions try their best to swerve in front of as many vehicles as possible! I found that, in general, the bigger the vehicle the worse the driver. Leaving the traffic jam behind I wasn’t surprised to see two accidents in short succession. The first one I saw was a young girl who lay bleeding next to her bicycle surrounded by a large group of concerned women. I could not tell if she was alive but not being capable of speaking Khmer I continued onwards only to see another group of distressed people, some also bleeding, aimlessly milling around an overturned wrecked SUV. Not feeling particularly inclined to donate any of my own blood to the pavement that day, I was eager to leave the crazy NH6A behind. With visions of blood etched in my memory and truck drivers determined to drive me off the road I felt as nervous as a long tail cat in a room full of rocking chairs. When I finally turned right onto the much quieter 64 road, I was a relieved man.       

My first stop was at a temple called Samboprey Kuk Temple. It was meant to be very peaceful and quiet due to it being remote, however, when I arrived there I found hundreds of Cambodians joining me at the temple to soak up the now not-so-peaceful atmosphere. Unknown to me was that it is customary of Asians to visit and have picnics at temples or other sacred places during their festive season. Picnic blankets were placed all over in random areas on top of which sat smiling chatting locals drinking beer and eating snacks, many of whom eagerly waved me over to join them for a drink. Due to the large crowds, there wasn’t really any traffic-control to speak of and I was able to drive my motorbike between the temples unhindered. I felt a bit like a rebel driving down the lanes from temple to temple but as everyone else was doing so I thought, what the heck. The temples themselves were nothing to write home about although I was intrigued by the impressive giant strangler trees, straddling many of the temples. It made for good photography and kept me busy for a while, that was until I was invited by another group of young guys to join them. I shared two cans of warm beer with them after which I made my escape to avoid things getting out of hand. I still didn’t feel like bleeding and surely didn’t want to end up being another statistic on the road…

From the temple I backtracked along the dirt road, joined the 64 again and headed north. The drive along that road was nice as there was little traffic and nice scenery like the green fields or seeing wide legged stilted wooden houses, underneath which sat contemplative rural families, looking at the world go by. Kids, dogs, pigs, chickens and ducks ran around free with many getting a rock thrown at them every so often. I was happy to have left the crazy NH6A traffic behind and was in high spirits while driving along and soaking up the atmosphere. I did, however, almost soak up more than the atmosphere when I was stopped at a random “road block”. It was a “water” type where people who didn’t donate money were showered with a free donation of generous buckets of water eagerly held in the hands of laughing locals. 

Throughout most of my trip, most people kept their distance as I probably looked fairly intimidating being a tall Westerner, on a big bike with big boots, an off-road helmet and shiny dark intimidating ski goggles. Luckily for me the same applied to most of the “water road blocks” I encountered along the way. I made sure to stop at one of those, just out of throwing distance of course, to take a few photos. I found it impossible not to laugh at the antics of the locals especially seeing the shocked expressions of the soaked victims of adults and kids alike! Their weapons of choice appeared to be either large plastic water guns or tubs of chalk to either drench or powder each other. Another thing I noticed while driving past temples were the large groups of people partying, always to distorted and too loud music. I passed many wet and white faces, some sober and some not, on my drive to Tbaeng Meanchey where I found a hotel for the night.

Day 2: The next day I continued north along another good asphalt road with the intensions of reaching Prasat Preah Vihear - a remote temple situated on the Cambodian/Thai border. Originally I wasn’t planning on visiting the temple as I had heard reports of a war going on between Thailand and Cambodia. As many locals were visiting temples during the festive times I thought it would be safe, especially as it would be political suicide for either country to attack during that time. I found it slightly surreal driving past all the fortified structures, bunkers and camouflaged soldiers, all holding large automatic machine guns but also having equally large smiles. Cambodian people from near and far showed their support by throwing packets of cigarettes, chocolates or other much wanted items to the soldiers along the way. I was the only foreigner (barang) there and many of the soldiers and locals were openly staring at me. While finding a spot to park my motorbike I noticed that I had lost the bag which had all my tools, inner tubes and sleeping mat. The bag it was in was made of slippery plastic and must have vibrated loose somewhere along the way. Even though it was a lost for me, someone else would have gained a little present for their new year and as an optimistic viewpoint; I gained space and lost weight.  

Prasat Preah Vihear itself was perched on top of a mountain, like a sentinel rock hyrax, and offered 360 degree views of the beautiful countryside. Originally I wasn’t planning to stop there due to safety reasons but I ended up being very happy having decided on an impromptu stop. Up to that point most of the roads I have been traveling on were all paved and I was craving off-road biking. There was a dirt road leading south from the temple which, according to my map, would take me to my next destination, Prasat Kao Ker. Driving down that dirt road I was finally able to make full use of the knobby tires of my bike as I raced around gravel corners. Reaching a paved road once more, my plan was to first locate and then drive down a small dirt road which, in theory, would eventually lead me to Prasat Kao Ker. My plans were thwarted though by the very frustrating exercise of trying to ask locals for directions. First off I learned that asking locals for directions at one of the “water” road blocks resulted in me getting absolutely drenched. In hindsight it was a silly decision and I was lucky that my camera bag was water proof! The other times I asked for directions, even while pointing to a name on the map, I was rewarded by either a face looking as confused as a cow on astroturf, pointing me in the completely wrong direction! I learned that due to “saving face”, someone would rather point you in the wrong direction than actually admitting they didn’t know the way. That day was one of those moments…

I was directed down a small dirt road which led south. It seemed a good option however it led to a dead-end at a river after I had driven for almost two hours. Driving along I passed many small villages and drunken groups of people dancing in small coordinated groups to too loud distorted music. I found that in general, asking a sober Asian for direction was bad enough, but asking a DRUNK Asian proved to be impossible! That day I had to follow my compass and tried two different roads both leading south: one a dead end, and the other newly plowed, which abruptly stopped in the middle of nowhere. The soft mud caused me to sink in almost a foot while struggling my way along. Not feeling particularly suicidal that day I decided NOT to continue south, where there was no road, especially as it was an area full of mines!  I had to call it a day and made my way back to the paved road and from there back for another night in Tbeang Meanchey. Driving back I didn’t actually think I could get any wetter what with my previous road block experience but I was very wrong. All of a sudden the skies opened, and a magnificent cloud burst leaving me so wet even my tight fitting riding boots were filled with water! The raindrops were so large they actually stung my face and I was pretty much forced to find shelter underneath an abandoned shack. While waiting for the storm to pass I used the time to drain my shoes and wring out my wet clothes. At least I had a dry room waiting for me back at the hotel.

Day 3: I found a restaurant with friendly owners near the main roundabout where I had an early breakfast. From there I drove to Kulen on the paved National Highway 64, which was not marked on my shitty map. Prasat Kao Ker used to be a forgotten temple complex claimed by the jungle over time and recently cleared and restored. I loved driving along the forest dirt road while stopping to take pictures of the many structures choked by the photogenic giant strangler vine trees. There were many signs indicating that the sites were cleared of landmines although I did notice a few red sculls painted on markers. They indicated the areas where there still were landmines and where I kept a respective distance. The main iconic temple of Kao Ker was a pyramid which reminded me a lot of the Mayan ones I saw while visiting Central America. Interesting also was seeing the many smoothly polished granite statues of cows, lions and other animals. After my temple visit I drove back to Kulen and from there joined a very bad dirt road leading south, using my compass and mountains for navigation.

 The Cambodian New Year (13^th-18^th) was celebrated with gusto and enthusiasm judging by the many parties I passed. Nearly every village I passed had speakers stacked up high belting out music not appreciated by most western ears. Many of the revelers drank themselves into a new blood type while some were passed out on the ground in an ungraceful disarray of arms and legs. Along the way, my large noisy bike still scared off many kids while those who didn’t run stared at me with huge eyes and gaping mouths. After navigating my way through some very bad roads, I finally made it to the small village of Ta Seng. There I counted not just one, but 3 parties happening at the same time! It was still fairly early in the day and I wanted to see the remote temple of Prasat Preah Khan so decided to carry on. On my way there I noticed a small sign for another, even less known temple, called Mebon. I followed an unassuming sandy road among skeletal trees which led me to a gem: a beautiful small intricate temple all hidden away in the shrub. I arrived there the only person which made it an even more of a magical experience. Even though most of the structures were in ruins, I could clearly see the carved statues of eagles and elephants facing north, east, south and west. Standing there in the small temple, alone and surrounded by the buzzing of cicadas and birdsong that day, was to me, one of the highlights of my motorbike trip.

Leaving the tranquility of “my” small temple behind, I drove to see the much larger complex of Prasat Preah Khan. Like most of the days I spent motorbiking through Cambodia it was very hot, especially dressed in jeans and black riding boots. While walking through the complex an orange robed monk offered to show me around the site. He was a very friendly guy and I promised to meet up with him again later in Ta Seng. On our way out the ticket officer told me (via the monk) that the last time he saw a Westerner was almost 2 months ago! According to him there are very few westerners visiting there with 1 every month or two. Back in Ta Seng I found homestay for the night and it was a relief to finally swap my sweaty riding gear for shorts, a t-shirt and flip flops. I was in dire need of a cold beer. As I walked down the road I saw a girl at one of the shops I had previously asked for directions. She waved me over and not really asking but more telling me, that she was going to take me dancing at the temple that evening. It was a very “interesting” experience to say the least, especially as I was the main freak at the Freak Show and was being stared at by the mob. One of the main things that I noticed when joining the temple party, other than the drunken locals, white powdered faces, the many small barbecues, many various games, gambling groups and bad, too loud music played over distorted speakers, was the amount of dust being kicked up by the shuffling dancing crowd. 

The dust combined with the smoke coming from all the small barbecues gave the area an almost surreal ghostly haze. The dancing itself was done in a long line snaking its way over the dusty grounds and composed of a few step movements combined with flowing hand motions. Many individuals invited me over for a dance only to be angrily shooed off by the girl who invited me over in the first place! She proudly claimed me for the evening and made sure nobody else danced with me. Having photos taken also seemed to be a big deal in Cambodia as there were two professional photo stands with long queues and my “date” for the evening insisted we have our photo taken. We had to choose a cheesy picture for our background out of a repertoire comprised of various iconic landscapes in which just happened to be rays of sunlight breaking through the clouds or swans and white doves. Our one was supposed to have a waterfall in the background but it ended up being Angkor Wat, complete with previously mentioned super imposed images. I found it interesting that none of the people having their photos taken ever smiled but rather stood there, like an English Buckinghamshire guard, with straight arms and serious face.

Day 4: The next morning I had breakfast at the only “restaurant” I could find, which consisted of noodles with liver, kidney and chopped intestines. The offal proved too chewy for me to eat but not so for the scruffy dog underneath my table. A grunting pig was also nosing its way around my table probably wondering in how many bowls his friend was served. That day I ignored directions from locals and followed my compass heading west along a very bad dirt road. The road proved challenging with me driving through mud and sand, over tree roots, dodging potholes and many domesticated stray animals. It was a road less travelled and has probably only seen a handful of Westerners ever, judging by the shocked expressions on the faces of the rural families. At one point I asked for directions when an old skinny woman approached me holding out an empty bottle asking for water. She was covered in sores and I felt really sorry for her and her very poor family. I didn’t have any water to spare but gave them money instead, after which I continued west still not sure if I was heading in the right direction. Apart from almost hitting a scooter coming around a bend, the road was very quiet. Now and then I could see ox carts loaded with either wood or food driving in the opposite direction. It was clear and sad to see the deforestation along the way where the locals burned the bases of the trees felling them, rather than chopping them down.

That morning was one of my most nervous driving experiences as I once again ignored directions given by the locals and was driving with only one tank of fuel along a bad road probably surrounded by landmines and with no spare parts in the case of breakdown. After what felt like hours I finally made it to a junction in a small village where the road turned out much better. The shopkeeper also supplied the necessary peace of mind I was craving by nodding when I asked and pointed in the western direction of Siem Riep. I was able to finally open the throttle and speed along covering much more distance. Along the way I stopped when I saw many tour buses and a big temple complex. I had no idea which temple it was and wasn’t really planning visiting any but as there were so many people around, I decided to stop. A sign indicated that it was called Beng Mealea Temple and proved to be another unexpected gem. 

It was one of the more remote and furthest away temples of Siem Riep. Large parts of the temple were in ruins with big parts being enfolded in the white roots of the giant strangler trees. It was only when I left the temple to make my way to Siem Riep that I saw there was actually a ticket office located on the west side. They obviously didn’t expect anyone coming in from the east! About 60kms further I finally made it to Siem Riep and booked into Popular Guest house. Even more popular than my guest house were the constant shouts of tuk-tuk drivers hassling me once again, even while seeing me sit on top of my own motorbike! That same night I bought a T-shirt showing “No tuk-tuk today” on the front and “or tomorrow” on the back, only to hear the drivers shout: “Oh, no tuk-tuk then sir? Would you like a moto instead?” or “No tuk tuk today or tomorrow, would you like one tonight maybe?” I could only shake my head in disbelief at the wily drivers who kept bombarding me with their ceaseless banter.  

Day 5: I got up at 4:45am the next morning to avoid the crowds and to see sunrise from Phnom Bakeng. It was a remote spot and offered nice views over the valley and Angor Wat Temple in the distance. I managed to take a few nice photos before zipping off to visit the temples: the staring faces of Bayon, giant strangler tree of Ta Som, the elephant statues of East Mebon, intricate carvings of Banteay Srei and lastly, the sunrise over the white towers of Pre Rup. The only flat tire I had during my whole trip happened that day while visiting the temples. Luckily for me there was a mechanic just around the corner who fixed my bike while I had lunch at a cheap barbecue stand sitting with locals. That day was also the only day I ever forgot my camera somewhere, which happened to be on the steps of Pre Rup Temple. I rushed back to the temple as soon as I discovered my mistake and hoped for the best. My faith in humanity was restored that day when I returned to find the security guard safely keeping my camera. I gave him a $20 tip and the biggest smile I could manage!

Apart from visiting the temples I also stopped off to see the landmine museum. There I was shocked to learn how many landmines there still are scattered throughout Cambodia! Many innocent people still lose their lives, almost daily, especially in areas like the borders between Vietnam and Laos. Recent statistics reveal that around 2.8million tons of bombs were dropped on Cambodia during the years of 1965 and 1970. It was more than the mere two million dropped during the whole WW2! Many bombs didn’t explode leaving tons of UXO’s (unexploded ordinances) not to mention the landmines. According the Cambodian Mine Centre (CMAC) there are between 4 to 6 million landmines still buried! As a result, some 40,000 people live as amputees, one of the highest rates in the world. I felt sad for the Cambodians as they have endured war, genocide, poverty and constant threat of mines and UXO’s. Seeing young kids selling fake books, scarves, paintings, shadow puppets just proved how bad things are for some. 

Day 6: I woke again at 4:45, that time to join the crazy crowds for the iconic sunrise over Angkor Wat temple. It was beautiful! The crowds of people were held back by the small lake which also reflected Angkor Wat and made for good photos - I could see why Angkor Wat was such a famous temple. It had beautiful murals depicting the churning of the ocean, heavenly nymphs, scenes of battles and many more which kept my camera shutter busy. As it was early in the day, I still had lots of time to visit more temples like Prasat Kdei and seeing the Terrace of elephants though after seeing those I was suddenly done with temples. I could take no more and was templed-out so decided to shop instead, buying gear for my bike like new inner tubes, patches, glue, wheel openers and pump. It was also a good time to go the market to buy souvenirs for my family which I mailed back. That night I had a few cheap beers on Pub Street and saw the free Apsara dancing shows. That was my 3^rd day in Siem Riep and I was officially ready to strangle to death the next annoying tuk-tuk driver who shouted “tuk-tuk” in my face. It seemed to me that all of them had a severe kind of “tuk-tuk tourette’s” involuntary blurting out their services even though they could clearly see it was not needed. With my patience done it was clearly time to move on…

Day 7: My last morning in Siem Riep I slept in with only a quick stop at the local market to buy a bag for storing the newly bought tools. Many of the women there sold frogs and fish that had lost their heads and guts to a well handled meat cleaver, while rows of plucked chickens, still with heads on, were displayed on their backs, with feet sticking up in the air. As with other markets, I couldn’t help but take many photos, after which I finally fled the chaos of Siem Riep. My next stop was the small stilted fishing village of Kampong Phluk. On my way there I decided on a quick visit to see the temples of Lolei and Bakan. I discovered that I was still templed-out and not impressed. 


Reaching Kampong Phluk however, I was intrigued to see their houses which looked like large bamboo skyscrapers, necessary when Tonle Sap Lake floods for 6 months of the year. Luckily for me it was dry season and I could drive my motorbike all the way into the village and lucky again when a man offered me a homestay, which of course I was in search of. I found the half amphibious people of Kampong Phluk extremely friendly and became “best friends” with the kids when I gave a few of them a ride on my “huge” motorbike. They were in awe of the bike as most of the bikes they’d seen before were very small. Every time I drove past they waved and shouted in Cambodian “fly like a bird!” At one point one of the bolder boys decided to sit on my bike followed by 4 others with huge cheeky smiles making motorbike noises – it was fun seeing the kids having a good time.

That afternoon my host took me to see the local fisherman selling their fish to entrepreneurs who had motorbikes fitted with ice boxes. As a fisherman it was interesting seeing all the different kinds of fish caught in Tonle Sap Lake.  Also on the agenda for sunset that afternoon was a boat trip to the lake. I had a whole boat to myself, or so I thought until 6 cheeky kids joined me for my tour. They did however make the whole trip much more fun by watching them run up and down or pulling faces at my camera. They were mesmerized and mostly in hysterics when I showed them their own pictures. That afternoon will be one I will remember for the rest of my life as not only was it an extra beautiful sunset, but the enjoyment I saw displayed on the kids faces will always be ingrained as a fond memory. 

Back at my homestay I joined the family for dinner sitting on the floor around wooden bowls filled with rice and small dried smoked fish which we dipped in a chili sauce. 

There was also a not so good tasting fish stew of which I had modest helping of. It was nice to actually join the family for dinner as I’ve had many homestays where the guests are kept apart from the actual family. I found it interesting when the granny (via my English spoken host) asked me if I was unhappy. She simply couldn’t comprehend the concept of travelling alone, as it is just not done in their culture. I had to reassure her that I was indeed happy and that I loved the feeling of traveling solo from time to time. She had a warm smile and even though there was a language barrier, we could still use hand gestures to communicate (in a way…). Electricity for their modest home was supplied by car batteries which were charged by a large generator during the day. It only supplied enough electricity for the lights and an hour or two of much loved television – usually dubbed Thai soap operas. That night I shared a large open room with another couple and their baby sleeping on a hard bed underneath a much needed mosquito net.

Day 8: The next morning I was woken early around 5:30am by a collection of highly audible and unwanted sounds like the crying baby, grunting pigs, crowing rooster, screaming kids, thumping boat engines and much more. Getting a proper night’s sleep was not an option. I took a bucket shower dressed in my boxer shorts while standing on slippery wooden boards, which also acted as the kitchen and dish washing area. After that I had time to lie back in a hammock to watch the everyday life of the village unfold: women sorting through fish, animals and kids running around, vendors selling fruit and vegetables and a group of excited kids shouting around a gambling board. I was shocked to learn at what young age kids start to gamble using money! My host mentioned that during the wet season they have to use boats to travel around 12km to the nearest land to do their shopping. During that time also they use the lower tier of the house for growing crops and raising pigs and chickens. I found Kampong Phluk a very interesting village to visit.

That day proved to be even more fascinating as out of the blue, the Australian SBS film crew turned up to shoot a cooking show with their Vietnamese celebrity chef, Luke Nguyen. I found it intriguing watching how the whole crew set up the whole set, and seeing how Luke threw together tasty looking dishes by using either the dried smoked fish or dried prawns produced by the village. He had a few old ladies sitting next to him chopping and sifting prawns while the camera rolled back and forth on a track filming the whole episode. I had the chance to sample some of the prawns from the lake prepared by, unluckily not Luke, one of the locals which was prepared in a chili and garlic sauce. It was delicious! Randomly, I noticed many of the kids had red strings tied around their ankles. It was explained to me that it was for good luck against any illnesses and for general good luck. Before I headed off that day I bought around 50 books and pens and donated it to the kids in the little school. It was a small present but at least something to help with their education.

Day 9: I left Kampong Phluk that day feeling sad to say good bye to all the friendly people and their warm smiles. I raced along the dirt roads and joined the main paved road heading to Battambang. While driving along I neared a small motorbike with a squealing pig. The pig wasn’t actually driving the motorbike but rather tied to the back behind a Khmer driver. I’ve seen large pigs on motorbikes before and I always wanted to get a photo. That day was my first of many through my tours in Asia. Just when I got my photo of a large pig on the back of a motorbike another guy passed on the other side with TWO large pigs on a motorbike – I’ve been amazed so many times by what Asian people can actually fit on a small scooter! Driving along one of the main roads of Cambodia turned out to be a bit of a challenge because of trucks overtaking at any time with no regard for motorbikes, as well as Kamakazi scooters darting out in front of me to join my lane, never watching for oncoming traffic. I lost count of how many times I had to either swerve or hit the brakes. That day I made it to Battambang, luckily not ending up road kill, and booked into a hotel near the market. Dinner was at a restaurant called the Gecko Restaurant who teaches locals how to learn English and help them to support their families.  

Day 10: I didn’t spend much time in Battanbang but I did make sure to make time to visit the much talked about Bamboo Train. Even though touristy and slightly cheesy, it was still a fun experience. It was interesting to see how they quickly dissembled and reassembled the train to make space for an approaching one. After that I tried to locate the abandoned Pepsi Factory, only to be met by blank stares from locals when asking directions. It was a useless cause so I continued to go and see how they make fish cheese. I could smell the factories well before actually seeing them and unlike the strong fish smell, didn’t linger long. In Battambang, there were also the Killing Caves to visit but I didn’t feel like doing any more tourist attractions. Instead I opted to head out to Pailin to enquire about the motorbike route through the Cardamom Mountains.

When I finally located the Tourist Information in Pailin, it was closed and seemed to have been so for a long time. A friendly hairdresser across the way phoned a friend and told me to see a guy at the local radio station who would be able to help with directions. That advice also proved to be wrong because not only could the guy not speak proper English, he didn’t have a clue about visiting the Cardamon Mountains. Yet again I had to follow my compass and instincts and bad directions from the locals. I drove back towards Battambang and took the first large dirt road heading south. Along the way I passed many mine clearing personnel and vehicles which was a nervous reminder of the many mines eagerly awaiting a visit from my motorbike. 

Driving into a small village, I saw parked trucks and a barracks used for the MAG personnel. I knew my best chance of finding accurate information would be chatting to them, and desperately hoping one of them could speak English. At last my luck turned for the better when I met one of the guys in charge and a Belgian volunteer. They were able to give me directions as to more or less where to go as well the name of the only hotel for miles and miles. I was yet again advised NOT to continue due to all the landmines and advice I yet again ignored. No, I didn’t have a death wish, but I did trust in my common sense and chose to drive only on well used roads. From there I drove onwards to the little village of Songlo where I found the ‘”only-hotel-for-miles-and-miles”. Other than the hotel, there was only a small market where people sat and stared at me, and a mindboggling amount of phone shops for such a small town.  

Day 11: The next morning I was up at 5:30am, ready for a big day ahead, and had a breakfast of noodles while watching people drive past on the dusty road, with the rest of the restaurant watching me. The route I had to take was over the Cardamon Mountains, from Songlo to Veal Veng, and from there to Koh Kong. That especially was the part where I needed GPS co-ordinates for navigating through the remote jungle, but that unfortunately was not to be. Yet again I only had my compass, shitty map and equally shitty directions from locals. At first the dirt road was very good, but it soon turned very bad into mostly pot holes, gravel, mud, sand, steep hills and rivers. The surrounding landscape was beautiful and I was enjoying the ride but making sure to follow existing tracks so as not to set off one of the many landmines in the area. At one point I stopped in a small village to confirm that I was indeed heading to Veal Veng, when the guy I asked pointed to his stump where his leg was blown. He spoke the words “Veal Veng” while pointing to his maimed leg while shaking his head and indicating I should not continue. I have to admit that I was nervous driving along that area all by myself. At least the friendly waving kids walking along the roads put my mind to ease.

At one point I tried to avoid a large mud pool by driving along the bank, only to meet a dead end. I had to decide to either reverse back or take a chance by driving through the pool. I chose the latter which was a big mistake! Even though the far side of the pool was hard, my side was filled with soft mud which eagerly swallowed the wheels of my motorbike. Trying to drive forward made it only worse and I soon found myself buried deep in the mud. Around three locals drove past and continued doing so, shaking their heads, when they saw just what a helpless situation I was in. I spent about an hour digging mud from underneath the wheels and had to use all my strength pushing the bike forward inch by inch. When I finally got the bike out, I didn’t know which was covered in more mud, the bike or me! As most of the engine was submerged in the water for a long time, I was nervous it wasn’t going to start. Luckily I got it started after a few minutes of praying and swearing and continued making my way along the bad roads.  

I was happy when I finally made it to Veal Veng where the roads were much better. There was a little shop on the corner where I stopped for a drink and to pull off my still wet boots and socks to dry in the sun. The locals there were very friendly and were in awe when I showed them where I came from. The concept of travelling alone is very foreign to them, especially on such bad roads. When my socks and boots were dry, I followed directions taking a road south which was built by the Chinese for harvesting lumber. As the road was still under construction it was all covered in a layer of loose red dirt which managed to get into everything. What made it worse was getting stuck behind a large truck where I struggled to see the road in front of me. The only way I could overtake them was nearing corners when I had a bit of a view of what was in front of me. I was struggling to breathe, even with a dust mask, while my ski goggles were covered with dust. It was not the most enjoyable day of riding and one I definitely didn’t want to repeat. That road to Koh Kong felt like forever and I was happy as a bodybuilder directing traffic when I finally saw the ocean in the distance. It was nice to finally leave behind the large trucks, red dust, staring road workers and army personnel with AK 47’s slung over their shoulders.  

Reaching Koh Kong I found a hotel with ocean view where I booked in for the night. The first thing I did was to have a shower still wearing all my filthy dusty clothes. I tried to no avail getting rid of all the red dust which had found its way into every nook and cranny. I was amazed by the amount of red that washed from my body during my long shower! That was my last night of my motorbike trip and I made sure to treat myself to a few cold beers while watching the sun set over the ocean. With Koh Kong itself I was not overly impressed as it is a known haunt for “sexpats” giving the town a sleazy edge. I left the next day leaving the city and shady locals behind.

Day 12: That was my last and final day of driving on a much enjoyed tour through rural Cambodia. The roads back to Phnom Penh were all paved and I quickly covered a lot of distance. Yet again I had to dodge bad drivers coming from all directions but after a while one sort of develops a 6^th sense of driving on Asian roads. Apart from having to stop once to take shelter from the rain, my journey back was without any incidents. I was able to make it back in one piece returning my bike to Angkor Motorbikes. It was sad having to give my trusty motorbike back after almost two weeks on the road and a lifetime of memories. Even to me those last words sound cheesy but there had to be at least one cliché!   

Driving through Cambodia was a little like biting into a fortune cookie, as I never knew what to expect. There were many factors which made my motorbike trip a memorable one like the smiling faces, the festive Khmer New Year’s atmosphere and also the unexpected and random happenings mixed together with a sense of danger. Cambodia is a poor country and even though that was the case, I found the people very friendly, generous and quick to laugh. In a way it was a humbling experience and reminded me to appreciate what I’ve got. Getting out of the cities with a motorbike was one of the best ways to see and experience the country. It was a gateway into the heart and soul of Cambodia and I left loving both the country and its people.  

The end…………..

Cambodia: Phnom Penh & Islands

Cambodia - Phnom Penh and the South Coast:

Phnom Penh: I arrived in Phnom Penh without a passport. Leaving Don Det nobody had any dollars while the cash machine on the mainland was down. According to my travel agent in Don Det this was no problem as the other tour company could pay for my bus ticket and Cambodian visa. I was told that as soon as we cross the border the driver would stop at the nearest ATM where I would draw money and pay them, getting my passport back. Things were apparently lost in translation as even though the tour agent received his money, the driver, who was meant to have my passport, only had a dumb expression on his face when I enquired about it. I was left without a passport and as nervous as a long-tail cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Reaching Phnom Penh I booked into Top Banana (known for their buckets like Todd’s Pink Pussy and Tom’s Passion Fruit Leg Opener) where it took many calls and my consumption of many beers while I was nervously waiting to finally get my passport back from the tour company. I’m very thankful for the helpful Top Banana staff for making the phone calls and for also driving to collect my passport from the random bus stop.

One of the first things I noticed on my first morning was the amount of tuk tuk drivers. There I was, having  just woken up and still rubbing sleep from my eyes, peeking over the penthouse balcony of my hotel only to be greeted by a chorus of “Good morning! Tuk Tuk sir?”, coming from an army of eagle-eyed drivers, eagerly waiting at the bottom. With the serenity gone, I stumbled to the lounge area for which was to become my ritual coffee and breakfast. There were not too many things of interest in Phnom Penh other than the S21 prison, the Killing Fields, Museum and Silver Pagoda. Braving a moto-taxi, I made my first stop the Silver Pagoda with all the best intentions of actually going inside. That was until I was overrun by swarms of snap happy Chinese tourists. With the line to the ticket office seeming longer than the Mekong River, I decided to leave and head to the S21 Prison instead. It was just as well as apparently all 5000 silver tiles were covered.

Knowing full well that the S21 Prison and Killing fields were going to leave me feeling sick and disgusted, I still felt compelled to visit it, drawn by a morbid curiosity. On the one hand it was interesting to learn how one man could dictate the killing of around 3 million people, while on the other, it left me with many questions, especially seeing all the pictures of tortured prisoners or while looking into the eyes of prisoners from photos taken while they were still alive. I left the prison feeling ill, in dire need of a strong alcoholic drink and a new appreciation to be alive. The next day was almost déjà vu while visiting the Killing Fields. It was disturbing on another level though and felt like sacrilege as I found myself walking amongst the graves but also on top of bones of victims. On the one hand I felt like the people should rest in peace but on the other one feels like it is a very important reminder that history must never repeat itself with the likes of the Poll Pot genocide.      

The rest of my time on my first visit to Phnom Penh, I spent most of my time preparing for my Cambodia Off-Road Motorbike Trip. I was both very excited but admittedly also slightly nervous because of all the landmines still around Cambodia. But, that is all in another blog. After my motorbike trip, I returned to Phnom Penh and Top Banana. Little changed other than I met what I dubbed “the 3 freaks”.  It is funny how things go, I hadn’t met any weird people in months and suddenly POOF, there they are, – almost like London buses -three of them arriving at the same time! Freak Nr. 1 (FN1) shared the dorm with me and was a self trained eccentric acupuncturist of around 60 years old. He had the habit of stashing strong smelling food in our dorm while preaching life lessons, philosophy and religion in a very annoying “holier than thou” high pitched Californian voice. He was also a pathological liar, believing very much in his own lies. He once told me how he dated the richest girl in Denmark though quickly dumped her when he got bored. He continued to describe how all the movie and rock stars invited him to their parties and envied him as they all wanted to be like him. According to him, he was so popular that he slept with most of the girls in Copenhagen! He also had an 18 year old daughter living in Brazil who he had visited not too long before. Supposedly, she asked him to leave when all her friends desperately wanted to have sex with him. He also completely freaked out two young Danish girls by asking them many personal questions like “are they virgins”, “are they gay” and “do they like having sex”.

Freak Nr. 2 (FN2) was an angry individual who was covered in tattoos, sweated profusely, had a nervous twitch and hardly ever made eye contact. Sitting with hunched shoulders and making darting glances around the room he would tell me how “FN1” was indeed a freak and that he was convinced that he had spiked his fellow dorm dwellers waters with his weird potions. Apparently he had a tummy bug earlier which he blamed “FN1” for and told me in detail how he was going to throw FN1 over the balcony. This was because he was apparently told by FN1 that he was going to stab needles into his neck which would paralyze him. What made it all very funny however was that the very macho FN2 insisted on my watching a “gay pirate love song” on YouTube. Feeling in the mood to be humored, I watched the music clip with him not completely sure what to make of it. When the clip finished he asked my opinion upon which I replied that it was funny. Wrong answer…FN2 didn’t find that amusing and looked near tears when he told me (while twitching badly), “That wasn’t f*cking funny mate that was absolutely beautiful.” I found a link to the song: Gay pirate love song...      

  

As if that wasn’t enough, FN3 turned up freaking out the very same two young Danish girls previously bothered by FN1, by asking them if they wanted to go for a walk within the 1^st minute of meeting them. They declined though he persisted in asking almost every 5 minutes if they indeed wanted to go for a walk. The only thing he spoke of was he himself; how great he was, that he really loved himself and all other conversations were seemingly aimed at his glorified self. It was funny watching the girls nervously glancing over their shoulders as they snuck away to go and have lunch, worried about bumping into FN3. I joined them moments later where they were waiting for me tucked in behind a corner. It was very funny seeing their faces when we were walking back from lunch and of course had to bump into FN3. Dressed in a neon vest, headband and tight black shorts not leaving much to the imagination he yet again asked them if they wanted to meet up. “No!” they said not really trying to hide the horrified expressions on their faces!

The rest of my time in Phnom Penh I spent either desperately trying to avoid the freaks or impatiently waiting for my passport to return after having an extension done. It was great news when Jeanette (my climbing buddy) told me she was coming to meet up. Unfortunately for her, metaphorically speaking, she was thrown into the deep end with meeting the “Three Freaks. At least we had each other in those dire dark moments…The final straw came one morning when I had my breakfast and FN1 invited himself to share a too small couch with me. FN2 was sitting sweating, twitching and drinking beer at the bar at the unrespectable hour of around 9am. Suddenly, FN2 launched a verbal attack on FN1 with me caught in the middle. I failed to enjoy my breakfast having to listen to FN2 making death threats to FN1 who again was sitting next to me. Enough is enough and absolutely fearing the remote possibility of a FN4 appearing, I decided it was time to move on to the safety of Sihanoukville. 

Sihanoukville: Fleeing the freaks, Jeanette and I took a bus to Sihanoukville, meeting up with a friend of hers called Lina. While previously speaking to a few fellow travelers, I discovered that Sihanoukville was also nicknamed “Shitville” due to all the prostitution, drugs, muggings and on a lighter, although very annoying level, the constant harassment of beach sellers. It was for that reason that we chose to stay at Otres Beach at a recommended place called “Wish You Were Here” which is run by two friendly Aussies called Aaron and Johnny. I immediately fell in love with the place. There were no freaks, it was friendly, laid back and served good food. At night there was usually a breeze and I could hear the soothing laps of the waves of the ocean. During the day I could swing in one of their comfy seats attached to the ceiling or pet their happy dog, Punchie, with its sad wrinkled face.

It only took a few seconds to reach the white sands and turquoise water of the ocean. The beach itself was lined with comfy chairs where we could relax during the day, going for a swim every now and then to cool off. If you chose to, you could lay all day without even moving as either the waiters or beach sellers came to you selling anything from sunglasses, massages, manicures, pedicures, cold drinks and food like barbecued prawns or other delicacies. The only hindrance, having to answer natures call! At the time, Lina, Jeanette and saw a really cool looking poster for a small island called Koh Te Kiev and decided to go there for a few nights. 

Ko Te Kiev: I was excited to visit the island as the advertising placard displayed in the bar promised many cool things to do. We were a mixed group of travellers all eager to soak up the sun and relax on the island. Our host picked us up from Otres beach with his longtail boat and from there it took about 1 hour to reach the island. The island was covered with a dense jungle and outlined with white sandy beaches. I found the sandstone rock around the shore especially fascinating as it ranged in shapes, texture and many hues of colour. Our group was disappointed though as it seems the advertising placard was completed before the actual things on offer were finished. That went down like a lead balloon with some of our group and unfortunately things turned sour after that. 

Even so, there were many plus points about the island. It was a beautiful relaxing spot, our hosts were very friendly and there was a cute squeaking pet hornbill keeping us company. We used to feed him chunks of either tomato or mango which resulted in a “squeak, squeak, squeak, gobble, gobble gobble…” It was still a young bird although it had the appetite of, I guess you could say a young hornbill, and cost them around a dollar a day. Other than that there were many hammocks to laze around in and it was also possible to catch squid off the rocks using a rod, reel and squid jig. One day I managed to catch 7 which we barbecued over a fire and washed down with beer. It was during one of these evenings while having a few beers that we heard rumors that Wish You Were Here burnt down. I counted my blessings as at one point I was thinking of storing my luggage there while going on the island trip!  

  

Unfortunately, the weather turned bad with rain and strong winds. Trying to leave the island was not an option though as the seas were too rough to navigate us safely back to Otres. At least there was a bar and cold beer on offer which kept us occupied while it was interesting to listen to island politics and other funny stories. I also had many beers with one of the islanders who produced his own lethal Absinthe. I was amazed by the amount of alcohol in it as it seems to burn forever! Luckily the weather the next morning was better and I was able to leave the island. Originally I had high expectations for Ko Te Kiev due to the activities on offer which was displayed on a professional looking placard. If I knew that many of the activities and facilities were in fact unavailable, I would have planned much differently. Saying that, when these things are available it would be a great place to stay.       

Koh Rong (1^st visit): Back in Otres it was a relief to learn that Wish You Were Here hadn’t actually burned down. Apparently, someone had tried to make a cup of coffee and left a faulty boiling kettle in the room. He returned to find his room in flames! Luckily there was not too much damage done and only left one room with a burnt wall and the coffee bandit with a burnt foot – it could have been much worse… To reach Koh Rong Island the next day, I had to take a 2 hr boat ride from Sihanoukville. That meant getting up early and arriving there at 6am to board the 7am boat. I walked passed a prostitute with a very short red skirt who got picked up within seconds and from there down to the jetty where I bought a savory rice porridge with meat and herbs off of a local street stall. When I asked the ticket office on the jetty which boat I was to take they said the Koh Rong boat didn’t leave from there at all! I had to rush back to the dive company where I bought my ticket from in the first place. I just barely made it and had to take a truck to the main harbor from where the boats left.

 I was excited to leave the city behind and relax on an island away from the beach sellers. A few army officers shared our boat and had a whole roasted pig wrapped in foil with them. When Koh Rong Island slowly took shape, I noticed first the lush green vegetation, then the brilliant white sandy beaches, the wooden jetties, the wooden buildings and then the human shapes that mostly moved very slowly. I just had a feeling that I was going to like Koh Rong but little did I know it was going to steal my heart. For most of my time I stayed on one of the wooden jetties in a quaint little Italian restaurant/guest house called La Mami. The place was owned by a cat called Tigre who shared it with a friendly Italian/Hungarian guy called Matteo who did all the cooking. 

I felt like a part of their small family and I will never forget Matteo always saying “of course!” every time I ordered one of his tasty espressos, cold beer or Spaghetti Carbonaras. At night time I went to sleep hearing the waves crashing right underneath my room while during the day I could walk to the end of the pier to catch squid with my own fishing rod which Matteo would then cook for me in a creamy white wine sauce. Some days, little blue fishing boats would dock at the end of the pier when the sea was rough. I used to buy either tuna or crabs off them, one day swopping a cheap 2dollar50 bottle of Khmer Gold for 3 large tuna! The crabs always found their way to a pot while we filleted the tuna for a barbecue shared with friends.

La Mami was also near the actual fishing village where I saw for the first time home made polystyrene fishing boats. As an avid fisherman, these guys became my heroes. They would sit crossed legged on their little boats all day long, paddling using old flippers cut into rough circles. Mostly these guys targeted squid but on some days they would bob up and down catching fish off a reef – total respect! The villagers were quick to smile while the kids waved when I walked past. Most of the locals there were very poor but even so they always had time to smile. There were a few more places to stay or eat that were small and run by locals, or larger places like Coco’s, Aka’s, Monkey Island, Paradise or Treehouse. I quickly discovered where to find the best delicacies: seafood barbecue or pork chop at Coco’s, sweet baked shrimp at Seaview, Carbonara and coffee at La Mami, pizza at Treehouse and Gueng Gua at Monkey’s.       

One day while chatting to a few people I met a friendly guy called Milan. He was helping Coco’s with their barbecue at night while Maya, his girlfriend, worked as a dive instructor. I noticed that he was limping and his foot was all bandaged up. Thinking that he might have stepped on a sea urchin while diving I asked him what happened. “Well”, he said, “one night I was making coffee in my room when the kettle malfunctioned and caught on fire…” I immediately burst out laughing (adding fuel to the fire) saying: “you were the guy who almost burnt Wish You Were Here down!” “Yes, I’m the idiot who almost burnt down Wish You Were Here”, he admitted. During my stay on the island I became good friends with Milan and Maya. They were a very friendly couple (with an unfortunate past, haha) and it was sad to say goodbye to them when they decided to move on. I never even got to try one of their homemade coffees…  

In the evening, the place to go was Monkeys for their happy hour on cocktails: buy one get one free. Not only was that good value for money but the staff didn’t skimp on alcohol, mixing some very potent drinks. I’ve seen many things because of that like people dancing on the bar, naked people playing strip poker, people going skinny dipping , hanging upside down from the beams or crowd surfing. When Monkey’s closed the only late night bar was Mangos where we would stumble into for more over indulgence. It was the place where we could choose our own songs while playing air guitar or singing into “mic's” (lighters hanging on strings from the ceiling). It was also the place where Simon would always fall asleep at the bar with people drawing things on his head only thought of in an intoxicated state. It has been stated that most expats or people staying on the island for a long time would fall asleep at least once in Mangos Bar - it happened to me too! 

Other than eating delicious cheap food, relaxing or partying, Koh Rong did actually offer a few activities like diving, snorkeling, fishing and jungle trekking.  Taking a walk down the beach all the way to Pura Vida was also a nice way to kill time especially as their pasta and coffee was equally as good as La Mami. So, my time in Koh Rong came to an end (or so I thought). Originally I intended to only stay for 3 to 4 days which ended up at two and a half weeks! It became a running joke where people would ask me daily: “Le Roux, when are you leaving?” I always replied the same: “Well tomorrow of course!”  It was with a heavy heart and big lump in my throat that I did finally said my farewells leaving behind many newfound friends.

Otres: It was nice to return to Otres seeing the friendly faces of the staff and other locals who seemed to be part of the furniture, especially, “Space Mike” with his long moustache and beard who reminded me of Troubadix from a cartoon book called Asterix. Aaron and Johnny thought I had gone MIA (missing in action) as they stored my luggage for the 4 days which became more than 2 weeks. I felt like it was time to move on to Vietnam and made it a priority to get a visa organized on my first day back with all the intentions of leaving within the next few days. One warm day, while walking down to the beach dressed in jeans, I sat down at a bar to order breakfast. Next to me sat a cute girl with flowing auburn locks, brown eyes and a quick million dollar smile. I explained to her why I was walking around in jeans on a hot day due to all my laundry being washed…I could continue to say that the rest is history.

Amanda is from Canada and someone who I’ve found to be a beautiful person both inside and out. I very much appreciate kind and genuine people with good hearts and she excels in all those categories. So it was that we spent a lot of time together and ultimately became travelling companions. I realized that my original well intended plan to leave within the next few days wasn’t going to happen after I cancelled my 2^nd bus ticket. It came to a point where I realized that I wasn’t going to leave which opened another possibility: going back to Koh Rong. I didn’t have to think too long to make a decision, dragging Amanda with me with the promise of all the nice things the island had to offer.

Koh Rong (2^nd visit): I was as eager to return to Koh Rong as a retriever to fetch a Frisbee. I can’t say that the locals seeing me come back were too surprised. Even so they all laughed seeing me come back. It felt a little like returning back home although sadly Matteo was fully booked so we opted for staying in a bamboo hut at Monkey Republic. Very little had changed on the island and it was fun introducing Amanda to all my friends while showing her all my local haunts. Coco’s was still having their seafood barbecues, Seaview’s sweet baked shrimps were still delicious, Monkey’s still offered their happy hour cocktails and Mango’s still stayed open until very late (or early depending on which way you look at it). We spent our time soaking up the sun or in the sea while savouring the tasty food the island had to offer while socializing in the evenings. A few days we would hike for miles along the white sandy beach all the way to Pura Vida resort to savour tasty Italian food.

One day I was asked by the Management from Coco’s to be their photographer for the day while doing their first test run at a diving trip/booze cruise. I jumped at the opportunity as it meant a free day of diving and food for both Amanda and I. We were lucky as the weather the next day was sunny while the boat was loaded with lots of food, cold beer and eager divers/party animals. There was not a person on that boat who didn’t have fun that day and even I had time to snorkel a few times in-between taking photos. I’m not as fit as I used to be although I still managed to give poor Kris a heart attack when I tapped him on the shoulder after diving down 14m. It is not every day I ironically get called the “craziest motherfucker in the world” by probably one of the “craziest motherfuckers in the world”…

Unfortunately, our stay on Koh Rong Island was tainted when someone broke into our cabin, using a tool to get access into our (not so) safe box while we were out partying. I was planning to upgrade my SLR anyway but either so they took off with 3 lenses and a few of my memory cards. Luckily I backed up my photos the night before which was safely stored at the bar. Amanda was unfortunately not so lucky. The thieves made off with two of her cameras, an iPhone and all her memory cards containing months of fond memories. We contacted the island police and were met with a new level of incompetence not known to me. There is a saying that you should never trust a skinny chef. I wondered if it was the opposite for policemen as there was no way our obese guy was going to catch a thief. We quickly came to realize that getting our stuff back or even just getting a police report was a lost cause. It was time to mourn and try and forget…         

      

Even so, I will always remember Koh Rong for the good it offered. Things like the phosphorescence in the water at night, the white sandy beaces, the friendly locals, Matteo’s “Rasta Pasta” with generous amounts of “Rasta” and him saying (with a big smile) “of course!” and his cat Tigre with its insatiable squid appetite and resulting huge bulging belly.  I will also remember the good food, especially the sweet baked shrimps from Seaview, the seafood barbecue from Coco’s and the good Italian food from either La Mami or Pura Vida. There was also the tasty tuna barbecued over coals by the locals who would invite me to join eager to share some shots with me. They used to scrape a layer of tuna off using a spoon after which they would dip it into a spicy sauce and roll the mix in a leaf of cabbage – delicious! I found it amusing to listen to the island politics or watching the large black “booofallo” walking down the beach . It was also nice to see little Sandy the dog who invited herself to our balcony every morning. Most of all however, I will remember Koh Rong for the wonderful people I met. We finally left the island with mixed emotions: angry with having our belongings stolen from a locking up box but equally sad to say good bye.

Kampot: Amanda and I continued to stay in Otres for a few days and finally managed to drag ourselves to visit Kampot. We booked into a lovely place called Samon Village located right next to the river. We had a wooden bungalow with balcony which offered a view over a field. I couldn’t help but laugh at the shower head which was a coconut shell with many tiny holes drilled into it. Even though our quaint little bungalow was memorable, I will always remember Kampot for its award winning ribs served at the Rusty Keyhole Restaurant/bar. The place was run by a jovial Englishman called Kristian who was as friendly as his ribs were good. He always had a smile on his face and it was an absolute pleasure to eat at his restaurant! On offer was their “Half Rack” (a good feed for one),” Full Rack” (a huge feed suitable for 2 persons) or 1.5kg Dino Rib (Don’t make any plans for the next week. Finish this beast by yourself and get a free dessert or pint and your picture on the wall - suitable for up to 4 people! Served with your choice of baked potato, chips or mash).

Amanda and I were very hungry at the time and both decided to brave the “Full Rack” each of us thinking, really, how big could it be? Their ribs lived up to expectation as it was succulent, fall-off-the-bone soft and came with a tangy barbecue sauce with smoky flavor being done on a barbecue. Feeling slightly like a caveman with sticky fingers, I tried my best to get the upper hand with my ribs but had to admit defeat, not even halfway through! The portion was huge and there was no way I could eat it all – hats off to anyone finishing the “Dino Bone”! We gladly accepted a doggy bag with visions of a rib baguette for the next day. I can highly recommend this restaurant to any carnivores visiting Kampot.  

Kep: Another little town I will remember, for it is where I picked up crabs…Not the ones where you have to consult a pharmacy while feigning interest at the floor tiles but rather the edible type coming from the sea. We hired a motorbike from Kampot and did a day trip to Kep to see the green mountainous surroundings. It was a nice drive and when we reached Kep, sitting next to the sea we could immediately see the devastation caused by the Poll Pot regime not too long ago. The Khmer Rouge infiltrated the area killing all the foreigners and stripping their houses to fund their campaign. There were many shells of formally luxurious houses almost swallowed whole by the jungle. It was a strange feeling visiting a place where so many lives were lost with only time saving our lives…

Kep, however, is more commonly known for people picking up crabs from the women working at the dock. These were the crab ladies who kept their crabs alive in woven bamboo baskets which were placed in the sea. Whenever a potential customer would enquire regarding crabs they would walk into the sea and drag the basket out to show their catch. We handpicked two kilos of crabs and had our lady boil them for us in a pot right there and then. I walked to a small shop to buy two beers after which we got down and dirty each cracking our way through a kilo of crabs! It was a slow albeit tasty process which left us covered in crabs shells and juice. We left Kep with full stomachs and big smiles making our way back to our cozy bungalow in Kampot. The next morning early we boarded a local bus for Phom Penh while eagerly biting into a Rusty Keyhole pork rib baguette.

Phnom Penh: Not too much happened on my 3^rd return to Phnom Penh. We booked into a guest house called Mad Monkeys after which I took Amanda for a few cocktails at Top Banana while listening to “DJ Jimmy” crank up his Dubstep tunes. Their “passion fruit martini” cocktail was a favorite and it was nice seeing all the friendly faces again. While we were there a large very intoxicated group of painted faces stormed in reminding me a little of the Tasmanian Devil cartoon. One of them was Chris from Otres Beach who was not very coherent at the time, dancing with anyone and everyone and even on the bar. It was funny watching the drunken mob as they swaggered and swayed to the music completely out of beat.

Most of our time in Phnom Penh was used to research and buy new cameras. We were both still angry with haven our cameras stolen while in Koh Rong but alas, life goes on…After much thought we both decided on the Canon G1X as it offers all the functions a normal SLR would give while not so heavy. With the arrival of our new cameras, so also came the beginning of a new adventure: Vietnam. After hearing many mixed reviews from various travelers I was eager to visit the country especially buying a motorbike and traveling from south to north.

Summary: There is no two ways about it, I loved Cambodia. I found it to be a beautiful country with friendly locals which left me with lasting memories and many new friends. It was a country I will fondly remember for its beautiful temples (some very remote), off-road motor biking, homestays, turquoise waters and white sandy beaches. Cambodia is a country that has endured (and still is) many hardships brought by Pol Pot and his Khmer Rouge. Even today, landmines still claim the lives of many innocent people, although the hardy locals have embraced their freedom and will to live. Cambodia, I salute thee! I am sure I will be back one day... 

"Jimmy The DJ" pumping up the tunes in Top Banana!

Kids taking shelter in La Mami with heavy rain.

Squid jigs used by the fishermen.

Mmmm, fresh crabs bought from the fishermen.

Punchie the dog at Wish You Were Here.

Amanda and her new "hat'

A kid in Koh Rong getting pulled in a home made "sand sled".

Having fun at Mangos Bar.

Bun Te doing his fire show at Monkey Republic.

Coco's Bar

 Cold beer for booze cruise/diving trip.

Bun Te and his chilled out cat.

Our crab lady boiling crabs.

Amanda cracking through a kilo of crabs!

Tasty crabs

Our coconut shower head

Picking crabs from the crab ladies.