Vietnam - Crawling through tunnels

Vietnam: Crawling through tunnels

I almost made the very unwise decision NOT to visit Vietnam due to mixed reports coming from both people who loved the country, as well as some who hated it. Some of the “haters” swore never to set foot again on such vile soil as they were either mercilessly harassed by street vendors, taxi drivers, scam artists, or worse yet being mugged. By chance, my ex-girlfriend Tara was also touring SE Asia at the time. She had her bag ripped off her shoulder while walking in Saigon by two guys on a scooter speeding past, leaving her short of her purse, cell phone and camera. It left her with many fond memories lost and unfortunately, a very negative view of Vietnam overall. 

While in Cambodia, I had also heard from another traveler about how he got mugged not once but twice while in Nha Trang! And, same place, same thing also happened to Amanda’s friend. All those incidents only reflected the negative part of those following the much travelled tourist trail but I knew that there had to be a much brighter side to Vietnam as well. The positive reports came from those who had stayed clear of the tourist trail, and especially the people who travelled the country with motorbikes. They kept raving about how beautiful the country was along with the friendly people and good food. I was keen to do another motorbike trip and decided to follow my gut: get off the beaten path to see the real Vietnam and I was sure to have a good time.   

Amanda, who was by then my awesome yet un-confessed girlfriend only in words, and I entered Vietnam doing an organized 4-day Mekong Delta trip. Stopping at the border we first had to pay our fines for overstaying our Cambodian Visas, a result of us not being able to leave the white sandy beaches, turquoise water, tasty food and cold cocktails behind. Our long wooden boat putted along a river past stilted wooden houses, muscled thick-necked water buffaloes, quacking duck farms, fish traps, rice fields and random men standing waist deep in the water while dredging small freshwater snails from the mud using nets with long handles. Every now and then waving kids would appear from between trees shouting heeeeeeelooooooooo with smiles on their faces big enough to put the Cheshire Cat to shame. I felt a little like an aristocrat giving the kids a lazy wave while soaking up the warm sun and enjoying the scenery – life was good.

Our first stop was the riverside fishing village of Chau Doc. Exiting the boat was dangerous, as we had to balance on thin wobbly wooden planks, while carrying our luggage, which were laid out between the boat and an uneven walkway. Below us was lots of mud and old ragged broken poles eagerly awaiting tourists with a bad sense of balance. God knows what Amanda packed in her bag to make it as heavy as it was - corpses, bricks, gold or lead did come to mind, as surely clothing couldn’t be that heavy. From the dock we walked to our hotel passing a small market where they sold fish, vegetables and fruit while vendors and buyers alike stared at us tall Westerners and Amanda’s abnormally big blue bag. After checking into our hotel we had time to walk around the city, visiting the market and soaking up our first taste of Vietnam.

I found the people extremely friendly and it was interesting seeing, for the first time, things like candied strips of fish, small spiced river crabs and large mud crabs with large pinchers tied with elastics. On a few corners we saw small tea shops lined with old locals watching the world go by. Lined also, were their faces, caused by the hardships from an era when war, both Vietnamese and Cambodian, ravaged their country. Most of the old timers were either smoking or playing a type of chess while others watched either us or the rest of the world go by. For dinner that night, we followed the example of many other locals by buying street meat (crispy fried duck or pork) off of a vendor and seating our too large Western bums on small Asian plastic chairs. To wash our dinner down, we bought cold beers from a local supermarket and used chopsticks to eat our food out of a thin plastic bag. Funnily enough, Vietnam had a beer called La Rue which, being my namesake, I had to sample.   

The next day our tour took us to see the floating village of where the locals farmed fish. Just like the fish cheese factories in Battambang in Cambodia, we could smell the farms long before actually seeing them. The floating wooden structures were home to both humans above and fish below, kept in a large net. When it was feeding time, the surface of the water exploded as hundreds of hungry fish grabbed either the fish pellets or a type of homemade paste which consisted of fish offal mixed with certain root vegetables. The next leg of our very well trodden trip was to see an ethnic minority village known for their weaving. Getting there, we crossed a monkey bridge which spanned a shallow lake covered by hundreds of lotus plants. A lone rotting wooden longboat lay in the mud while we could see stilted wooden houses perched above the swamps.

Reaching the village, we were greeted by young girls who sold coconut bread while a woman ushered us into a small shop where the actual weaving was done on a wooden machine looking old enough it could have come from Noah’s ark. It was primitive yet impressive to see how, with only a few threads, they could produce a beautiful table runner or scarf. It gave me a new appreciation seeing all the hard work going into producing something seemingly so simple. Back on the boats we were taken back to Chau Doc village where we were picked up by what I can only describe as “bicycle wheelbarrows”. Amanda and I were seated in the small carriage facing each other, while our driver peddled and puffed away like a blow fish.

From Chau Doc we continued our journey via a minibus which dropped us off at a petrol station near the Can Tho. A mob of scooters waited for us not expecting the enormity of our luggage, especially Amanda’s coffin. I had to play chivalrous boyfriend by strapping Amanda’s coffin onto my back, one hand holding a bag while the other held on for dear life. My driver sat in the front with my day-bag wrapped around the front of his shoulders. Locals stared at us as we drove to our homestay called “Hung Homestay”. To this day, I’m not sure if that was actually his name or whether he was actually hung like a horse. Our “homestay” was in fact a row of stilted wooden cabins overlooking a small tidal river. The low tide exposed gnarly trees growing out of the mud like twisted fingers while mudskippers plopped along regurgitating mud balls while staring at us with huge round eyes. Even though they were nice cabins, I felt like the name was misleading, given that a “homestay” is actually a place where you stay with your host, in his home and share meals.

When it came to food though, neither Amanda nor I could complain, as it was both tasty and plentiful. We were served dishes like stir-fried morning glory, fried pork with garlic and chili, vegetable spring rolls wrapped in rice paper, baked fish, rice (always a given), a salad of cucumber and tomato, green beans and much more! To wash it all down there were cold beers and a mystery plastic bag filled with a clear fluid and spiked through with a chopstick. We were shown how to pull the chopstick back to start the flow of mystery liquid into small shot glasses. The mystery liquid proved to be the Vietnamese equivalent of Lao-Lao: a very strong whiskey brewed from rice, which was guaranteed to give you the shivers after each shot. We shared our table that night with a very thirsty Aussie who kept filling our shot glasses and not taking “no” for an answer. It so happened that we finished our bag of mysterious fluid as well as the table’s next to us. Those rice whisky shots paved the road for many many more to come throughout our travels in Vietnam. That night I slept like a baby - a very intoxicated one...

 We were woken the next morning at the unrespectable post-drinking hour of 5:45 to visit a local market of aThuong Thanh in the Cai Rang district. To cross the river, we had to board a ferry manned by a woman. This ferry was actually a narrow wooden boat where everyone stands as the woman uses two oars to row. Amanda, lost in concentration trying to take a photo, tried to impersonate the mud skippers by stepping on the mud. She sank into the mud all the way to her knee and almost lost her flip flop - I failed miserably at being the chivalrous boyfriend by laughing and taking a picture of her while our guide graciously assisted her. Much later in our trip, while motorbiking through the northern parts of Vietnam, I nicknamed Amanda “mudskipper” after she slipped and fell off her motorbike in two separate mud pools. In hindsight, I should have dubbed her mud skipper much earlier in our trip! The actual market was small yet impressive seeing vendors selling chunks of unrefrigerated meat buzzing with flies, chopped pieces of fish and green vegetables of many variations. There was also a nervous looking duck which I won’t forget. It was going nowhere, being tied up in a plastic shopping bag with only its head and neck sticking out.  

We left Hung’s Homestay on wooden longboats making our way down the narrow muddy river to our next stop: the impressive Cai Be floating fruit and vegetable market. There were boats as far as the eye could see with most of them displaying their wares hanging from upright wooden stakes. Small boats darted between the larger ones selling drinks like coffee, tea, soft drinks and coconuts or food like “pho” (their iconic rice noodles served in a rich meaty broth). The market was a great place for getting carried away with taking photos. Airborne vegetables were being caught by buyers, some locals stood upright while rowing their boats while a few ladies sat down while expertly slicing pineapples. We bought two for the road which tasted very sweet and refreshing – a good choice for such a scorching day.  

Next up was a visit to see how they made rice noodles in a small town of My Tho. We were greeted by a weird looking twelve year old elephant eared fish in a tank, eagerly awaiting a few fresh tree leafs to be thrown into its tank. At the factory we first saw rice ground into a fine powder and mixed with a type of starch to create the correct consistency. The paste was then smeared onto a flat plate and steamed for a short while before being lifted onto a bamboo drying rack. When the rack was full, it was carried outside and left in the sun to dry. The round rice paper disks turned hard which left only one more step: sliding it through an electric cutter. The end result was long strips of rice noodles ready to be served in “pho”. 

A mediocre visit to a fruit farm followed while a local band failed miserably to entertain us. It was interesting seeing the instruments the band players used and the music they produced was actually nice on the ear. A variation of female singers gave a good impersonation of tortured cats which unfortunately didn’t compliment the band, who tried their best to muffle the horrendous wailing. We DID NOT buy the CD; neither did we feel in any hurry to leave to leave a tip, except a mentally verbal one: “please, please DO NOT continue with your singing career”!!! The boat ride that followed at least made up for the band. A friendly local lady dressed us in the iconic conical hats and skillfully rowed us down along narrow canals. There were four of us (5 with her) in the tiny boat and our poor lady was wheezing like a pit-bull in the 35 degree heat when we finally reached the next stop. We did give her a nice tip and continued on to see how coconut candy was made.

Our guide showed us how they first de-husked a coconut using a large spike. The thin hard brown shell was then removed leaving the white flesh to get crushed extracting the juice and oil. A fire was burning all the time, fueled by the previous separated wooden shells, which heated a large wok for reducing the coconut juice and oil into a sticky goo. The goo was then put into strip mould and left to cool down, after which a woman wielding a knife artfully sliced the strips into bite size. The coconut sweets were then wrapped lightning quick by school girls earning pocket money doing so. The sweets tasted very nice especially the ones mixed with crushed nuts. Also very sweet tasting was the honey produced by “emperor” bees. I had to trust my guide while pushing my finger into a honeycomb crawling with bees. Luckily for me his word proved true and I didn’t end up with a thicker than normal finger.

Adding more excitement to our trip, our guide then continued to pull a random boa constrictor from an equally random bag. We had the chance to drape the bored snake around our shoulders while taking a photo of the snake carrying what I would assume to be an “oh-please-not-another-damn-photo” expression on its face. I’m sure that snake hissed with relief when we left. The rest of our day was having lunch on Turtle Island and then boarding a bus which dropped us off at a hotel. We left on another bus the next morning and not much really happened that day other than a quick stop on our way to Saigon to see a Bonzai Garden and Buddha statues in Vinh Trang. The only excitement for the day came when we saw a snake hanging down from a mosaic arch swallowing an entire bird alive.

We arrived at Saigon (aka Ho Chi Minh City) in the rain and while the whole city was engulfed in darkness due to an electrical failure. Our tour company was friendly enough to keep an eye on our luggage while Amanda and I walked around looking for a room for the next few nights. An alley nearby had many hotels on offer and after some haggling we managed to find a room at $10 a night. We were both very excited as Saigon was also going to be the starting point of our motorbike trip through Vietnam. It was time for us to search the web and keep an eye out for fellow travellers selling their motorbikes.

We felt that no trip to Vietnam would be complete without crawling through tunnels or seeing the Ho Chi Minh Museum. Visiting the Cu Chi Tunnels was a treat and we learned many interesting things regarding the war. I will stick with “things” instead of “facts” due to the blatant one-sided Vietnamese propaganda war movies on display. It went something like: “There we were, ploughing our fields and planting rice when suddenly, for no reason, the Americans started shooting our flowers, our temples, our buddhas, our children and even our land.” The movie continued on to describe: “We retaliated and no matter how hard we worked, we always found time to KILL AMERICANS. We would plough the field but always found time to, KILL AMERICANS. Our children would go to school but even so, they always found time to, KILL AMERICANS.” Amanda and I had to stifle our laughter because of the “in-your-face” one-sidedness of the whole movie. I was glad about not being an American however!

For the rest of our tour our guide showed us all the traps used by the Vietnamese to well, “KILL AMERICANS” of course. Many were trap-door traps or were set off using trip wires onto which any unfortunate American would be impaled upon iron spikes or sharpened bamboo. Seeing those I was even happier not being an American. We were also shown how the Vietnamese created their own bombs and grenades by using American UXO’s (unexploded ordinances) and how to worm into a very small hole playing peek-a-boo with the rest of the group. The best part of our trip was crawling through the tunnels, definitely not meant for large westerners. Both Amanda and I had to grunt and shuffle our way through the small tunnels, her doing the 20m one while I braved the 40m tunnel. There was also a 60m tunnel which even I didn’t want to crawl through…

The Cu Chi Tunnels were dug in three various levels and covered a distance of over 250km’s! Ant hills were used to hide breathing holes and we were amazed to learn that there were even hospitals, meeting rooms and kitchens underneath the ground! We bypassed the overpriced shooting range and went back to Saigon to search for bikes. Finding bikes proved more difficult than we expected although I was the first to buy one off a young Dutch guy using a website called “Craigslist”. The bike was exactly what I was looking for: a Honda Win 110cc 4-gear motorbike which came with helmet and spare tools. Spare parts for that bike were readily available throughout Vietnam and a good overall choice. We still had to find wheels for Amanda though, as we had mine, we used it to visit the War Remnants Museum.

We both knew that there were shocking images on display but yet again we were drawn by a morbid

curiosity. It felt a little like déjà vu after visiting both the S21 Prison and Killing Fields while in Cambodia. The outer part of the museum was “normal” enough displaying a whole range of fighter jets, tanks and artillery guns. Inside, however, it was a different matter. The ground floor displayed mostly very one-sided Vietnamese propaganda, while the upper floors showed graphic wartime photos and the effects of Agent Orange: the most toxic chemical ever used in warfare! Seeing photos of the mangled remains of bomb victims and the warped faces left in the wake of Agent Orange made me feel ill. It came to a point where I felt I was going to donate my breakfast to their carpet which was a good indication to take our leave. The museum was interesting to see but I will not go back, once was enough!  

We continued to tick off the tourist attractions by visiting the Central Post Office and Saigon’s version of Notre Dame. After that, all we had left to do was find Amanda a motorbike and a company willing to ship our bags to Hanoi and put it in storage. We finally managed to buy a motorbike for Amanda off of a street mechanic near our hotel. It was the same as mine, another Honda Win, although I had to teach her how to actually drive it! Our motorbike trip through Vietnam will be my next blog and I’m slightly dreading typing it, as it will be a very lengthy one. Overall, the Mekong Delta was a good introduction to Vietnam and we were both very excited to start the next leg of our journey. 

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…………..