See the gallery Sangkhla & Cambodia for photos from this post.
It’s been two months since I last sat down to write an update for this blog, so it feels like a big job to start now. After three months here I’m well and truly settled into life in the jungle, and from being here feel a deep sense of real life and a feeling that exists here of freedom to just live life, which is kind of hard to explain.
The most prominent features of the first couple of months in Sangkhla were dogs, dengue and roosters. Dogs and roosters outnumber people here by about 2:1, and the night time noises here are ridiculous. It’s a myth that roosters start to get noisy just before dawn. The roosters here often like to get started at around midnight, which sets off the other roosters around the place. This wakes up the dogs, which start howling in a cacophonous riot that I like to think of as the Sangkhla Symphony. This can go on unabated for 45 minutes to an hour. Then when it all quiets down, a rooster starts again, and you get the picture. Earplugs are essential. And then there’s the dengue which was running rife for about six weeks, and is really the thing you don’t want to get. Fever, pain throughout your body like all your bones are broken and millions of tiny needles are piercing your skin, delirium, and a weakness that makes it difficult to even sit up….. and there’s nothing you can do to prevent it or cure it. Add to that the possible complication of hemorrhagic fever setting in, at which point you can expect all your organs including your brain to start to bleed ending in certain death, and you see what I mean. There are four strains of dengue, and the good news is that once you’ve had one kind, you’re immune to it. But the problem is that the more times you get dengue, the more chance there is of the hemorrhagic complication, and so the immunity thing seems like a cheap payoff. Touch wood, I’ve managed to avoid it so far, and hope to get through the next two weeks the same way. The only way to avoid this is to cover yourself in a cloud of eau de deet every day, and have fast showers, because the little suckers even try to get you there.
On the second weekend in January I went to Bangkok to catch up with friends Leo and Petch who were visiting from Sydney. Petch is from Bangkok and so every year they come to Thailand to visit his family and I was really happy to have the chance to see some old friends. So only four weeks after arriving in Sangkhla I headed back to the big city. The drive in and out of Sangkhla is considered to be one of the most scenic in Thailand, and climbing the mountain out of town with the sun reflecting a surreal golden glow through the thick blanket of fog that covers Sangkhla in the mornings at this time of year, then breaking through it into bright sunlight and blue sky, is breathtaking. Between Sangkhlaburi and Kanchanaburi there are four police checkpoints with military guys toting large automatic rifles. At each of these the mini van stops and the border police get on and want to see everyone’s Thai ID cards or travel documents. Usually they don’t bother with us farangs, but with tension building on the border in anticipation of the Burma elections which are supposed to be held this year, I guess there’s an expectation of increased numbers of people crossing the border illegally and trying to move away from the border region, so sometimes we get asked now to show our passports. The Thai government is somewhat tolerant of these migrants, but only to the extent that they will allow them to stay close to the border, and has no patience for illegal migrants trying to go to Bangkok or wherever to find jobs. Of course this whole thing is very complex and complicated, but in a nutshell, if you don’t have the paperwork, you can’t go anywhere. Between Kanchanaburi and Bangkok there’s a town called Banpong, which I now look out for every time I make this trip – they have an arch over the road at the entrance to the town which says in English “Welcome to Banpong, City of Nice People”, and it always gives me a chuckle.
So I arrived in the Big Mango (as opposed to the Big Apple), checked into my hotel and went to MBK (a big shopping mall) to meet Leo and Petch. I had been having massive cravings for sushi, having not had any for at least eight months at this point, so we went to a sushi and suki bar and stuffed ourselves, and then I wandered around with them while they continued with their annual shop-a-thon and I stocked up on some dvds. The next morning they picked me up in a minivan they had hired with a driver for the day, with the whole family on board. I made fast friends with Petch’s mum who was impressed with my Thai language skills, and we headed off for the tiger zoo which is on the way to Pattaya, of course stopping for something to eat on the way (one of the three favourite pastimes of all Thais – eating, sleeping and shopping). The zoo has a great number of tigers, some elephants, hundreds of crocodiles, and throughout the day has scheduled shows where the animals perform for the applauding crowds. This isn’t really my kind of thing – “training” animals to do cute tricks for people - but for me it was about spending the day with the family, and definitely not about the zoo. On the way back we stopped at a temple so they could pay their respects to the Buddha, and to take the chance to explore this famous and beautiful temple built in the Chinese style. There was much banging of enormous drums and ringing of gigantic bells to let the Buddha know we were there, and then it was off to nearby Bang Saen for a seaside seafood dinner. Bang Saen is very popular with Bangkokians and also with hundreds of monkeys who seem to have taken over the town. The shopkeepers walk around with slingshots in their pockets ready to fire at the crafty little creatures that climb down from rooftops to steal food or whatever they can get their hands on, and then run away at lightening speed. Amusing for visitors to watch, probably less amusing if you’re just trying to sell bananas.
I’d been panicking a little bit before that weekend in Bangkok because I was almost finished reading the one book I had with me and had no idea where or when I’d be able to get my hands on something else to read. The Bangkok Post doesn’t even make it to Sangkhla, so if no one you know has something you want to read, the only real option is to hunt around in the Baan Unrak library to see if there’s something there. So after breakfast the next morning I tracked down a secondhand bookshop I’d read about and splashed out on two books to keep me going for a while. When I was in Bangkok in 2008 I discovered that one of the big shopping malls that has a food hall with loads of imported food, was a purveyor of my favourite ice cream in the world – Ben & Jerry’s. I was cutting it a bit fine to make the minivan leaving at the time I wanted, but decided that a taste of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia would be worth being late for, so a quick skytrain journey later and I was soon expectantly scanning the Ben & Jerry’s freezer. I felt disbelief wash over me as the realisation dawned that although the freezer was still there, the product was not…… NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! I felt like the kid in Home Alone.
A week or so later I finally managed to find the time to buy a couple of tools from the shop that sells everything, take my bike out of the box I had posted from Chiang Rai and put it back together. This turned out to be much more straightforward than I had expected, and before I knew it I was on my way into town to the bike shop to get them to put a new basket on it (the one I had in Chiang Rai didn’t fit in the box), and I was mobile again. The road into town is a bit insidious. It’s not very long; probably about a kilometer and a half, but it’s a gradual uphill slope the entire way, and a real killer. Around this time was also friend, Andi’s 40th birthday (or 20,20 as he prefers to call it) and a bunch of us headed out onto the lake on a houseboat for some food, drinks, music, and a game called the noun game, which kept us all amused for a while. It’s the not having TV that does it…..
The following week brought Australia Day, and so the five Australians in town got together at the one Kiwi’s house to see what we could do about it. Beer, check. Lamingtons (homemade), check. Vegemite sandwiches, check. BBQ chicken, check. Marinated beef skewers, check. Sausages, well, it’s usually better to avoid the sausages in Thailand. Exclusively Australian tunes, check. I even had a stubby cooler and the brilliant Aussie hat my friend Nicole had sent to me in September for my birthday, and all in all we called it a success. We even had a grassy lawn to play badminton on. Bewdy.
Two days later I got a phone call from Caty in Chiang Rai, which even now is hard to think about. Samraan, a boy who from the home in Chiang Rai who had just turned 15 in September died instantly when the motorbike he was riding to school collided with a much larger truck. He was like a younger brother for Caty; they were very close, and there are few things more impossible than trying to find something to say over the phone to someone who has just lost someone like this. I also felt very sad for Samraan’s two sisters – one older and one younger, who I know very well. The tragedy of his young life cut so short, never having the chance to fulfill the promise that new opportunities in his life would bring. The devastation for the people that loved him most and their never-ending, always unanswered question, “why?, is hard to reconcile.
A couple of weeks later it was unanimously agreed by all the female volunteers in Sangkhla, that it was time to get out of the jungle, so we headed off to the big smoke of Kanchanaburi. Trying to order dinner on Friday night was fraught with indecision, first in choosing where to eat, and even worse, what?? So many choices of places and things….it was quite comical. Then we settled in to the 10 baht bar; a sidewalk stall with upturned empty buckets of paint for seats, and empty cat food tins for ashtrays, and worked our way along the line of Thai whiskeys atop the bar. The next day we went out for breakfast, had great coffee, then spent the afternoon drinking cocktails and reading by the pool before surrendering to a two hour massage and another night at the 10 baht bar. Just what the doctor ordered, really.
One of my favourite times of the day in Sangkhla is when I’ve finished work and am on my way home. I always have my iPod out of my bag ready to take my mind off the killer hill (not the long one into town, but a very steep one between the home and the bakery) and baking heat I have to look forward to on my walk home. Almost always I am hijacked by at least one child who wants to listen to my iPod, and most often before I know it I am surrounded by children all clamoring for a turn to listen. The pulling and tugging on the earphones by eager children who can’t bear to wait a moment more for a go has put a new set of earphones on my shopping list, but the payoff of watching their faces when they hear something they love, or have never heard before, is more than worth it. There is one little girl here who I feel especially close to. She’s three years old and her seven year old sister lives here too. They were brought to Baan Unrak by a man who said he is their uncle, and that their mother, a prostitute had run away. The three year old had burns from where someone had been using her face for an ashtray. Anyway, from the time I arrived she seemed to sort of assign herself to me and she is always making me laugh with her cheeky grin, and the look on her face the first time she listened to my iPod was pure gold. She seemed to swell up, her eyes slowly widening and an expression coming over her face of amazement and joy. Whenever she puts the earphones in her ears I see something happening to her, like she wants to dance but doesn’t know how or if she can. It’s brilliant and often makes my day.
There are so many children here who have stolen my heart. Another one is a little boy who is five but is the size of a three year old, and also has a brother a couple of years older than him living here. Their father was killed in a work accident, and then the now oh-so-familiar story, their mother remarried and the children weren’t welcomed by the new husband. This little boy is the biggest showman at Baan Unrak. I often catch him watching me, and then he puts on a little show, just for me; pulling faces, a funny walk, or something that has me shaking my head and laughing out loud. It’s not only with me of course, he does this with everyone, but the show you get is just for you. Lots of the kids have very cool names, like the twin sisters called Bee and Cee, the six year old girl named Dream, the little boy called Chopper and another one named OK. Then there’s a teenage boy named Baby, and a teenage girl who’s name is Pretty. It wouldn’t work in our culture, but here it’s brilliant.
The reason it’s taken me so long to update this blog is that I only get one day off a week, and it gets difficult to fit in chores, relaxation, out of town trips and writing all into one day. From the beginning of February also demanding some of this time was the need to sort out transport and accommodation for my impending visa run at the beginning of March. I’d decided to go back to Cambodia and wanted to spend a decent amount of time there, in Phnom Penh to get the new visa, Siem Reap to visit the Angkor Temples, and the south coast to get some beach time in. I thought I had this pretty well sorted, and planned to buy a Bangkok Airways Airpass, which is a voucher system that requires the purchase of a minimum of three flights, and is supposed to save you money. The idea was to make the trip from Sangkhla to Bangkok early in the morning, then fly to Siem Reap, then fly a nice neat journey south to Phnom Penh, bus down to the coast, then back to Phnom Penh to fly to Bangkok. When I contacted Bangkok Airways with my dates and flights, they replied to say that they no longer fly between Siem Reap and Phnom Penh. No problem, I decided I’d just take a bus between the two, and book single flights from Bangkok to Siem Reap, then from Phnom Penh to Bangkok. Until I found out that the 45 minute flight to Siem Reap monopolised by Bangkok Airways, costs $250. This turned into a saga that bored everyone to tears, including me, for weeks on end while I tried in my spare time to work out what to do. I looked into every possible option to fly into Siem Reap; from Laos, Vietnam, Singapore….Air Asia flies from KL to Siem Reap for $77 Australian dollars, but the times meant I would have had to overnight there and didn’t really want to spend the time. It went on and on, around and around for weeks.
I’d also resigned myself to the idea that I had better start getting on with thinking about what I might do for a job when I leave here. So, I signed up for email alerts from a bunch of different websites and duly began scanning them as they arrived in my inbox; days off were spent in front of my laptop, planning Cambodia and trying to transport my mind out of the jungle and into some sort of future workplace. This quickly revealed itself to be more problematic than I had thought it would be. An unexpected side effect of this past year in Thailand has been what my clever friend Susannah predicted before I left Australia; that I would end up with a completely different perspective on everything, and this makes the idea of returning to life in Sydney difficult to wrap my head around. When I imagine myself there all I can see is a superficial culture that encourages people to live self-obsessed lives without much purpose….. And I’m not so sure that corporate events is any longer the area that I want to direct my energy toward. I will try to not be the world’s biggest bore about this when I get there. So if not Sydney, then where? Queensland? Not for me. Melbourne? I can’t bear the thought of the weather. The north coast of NSW? Quite possibly, but what kind of job would I find there that would satisfy me? So I push the thought away and spend time instead thinking about the Cambodia trip. I wrote after my last visa run to Phnom Penh that I feel a strong attraction to this city, and this is part of the reason I’d decided to go back again. I find it very easy to imagine myself living there, and so I decided to throw the idea of working in Cambodia into the ring.
I spoke at length about this with Andi, who’s job here is through an Australian organisation called AVI (Australian Volunteers International) which facilitates placements for professional positions with various agencies and projects doing development work around the world. He put me in touch with his boss who is the AVI in-country manager for Thailand and Cambodia, and we arranged to meet while I was in Phnom Penh.
My good intentions as far as intentional exercise were put on hold in February, partly due to an ongoing feeling of general unwellness which had me constantly wondering if I might have malaria or parasites (both entirely possible), followed by a couple of local festivals which were completely exhausting. The extent to which people like a party in this part of the world should not be underestimated. On the Mon side of the lake there is a large monastery and for the abbot’s birthday they threw a massive festival that lasted for five days. This incorporated stalls selling everything imaginable (including the Baan Unrak stall where we were selling some of the 7,000 pairs of jeans - yes,7,000, that had been donated the week before), carnival rides, and five stages with around the clock entertainment. So while my brother was going to a music festival in Brisbane to see Faith No More, Placebo and Jane's Addiction, there was something completely different on the bill where I was going. Below are some links to video that I took so we could compare notes. The Baan Unrak volunteers took turns at taking groups of children there, and involved a couple of very late nights for me. The music could be heard from my place at the Bakery, and went on until 6:30 every morning, although it didn’t keep me awake, I could just hear it when I got up. Two late nights in cool damp air inadequately dressed left me with a sore throat and actual unwellness that was shared by a lot of Baan Unrak folk. After a two day break a smaller version of the festival moved into the grounds of the temple across the road from the Bakery, and went on for three nights. This one did keep me awake. At first it was funny…”oh those crazy Thai people….” But by the third day of no sleep, even with two sleeping tablets, earplugs and a pillow over my head – the music from the three stages sounded like it was in my room, the novelty had definitely worn off. I can see why sleep deprivation is used as an instrument of torture. The no sleep turned into the inevitable migraine, that even the never-been-known-to fail prescription medication I have couldn’t fix. So no early morning running for me.
http://vimeo.com/10819573 (password : festival) These are not our kids
http://vimeo.com/10821000 (password : festival2) These aren't ours either
http://vimeo.com/10820026 (password : festival yoga) These are ours
And so on the first weekend in March, completely exhausted, I rolled out of Sangkhla a little after 6:00am en route to Bangkok and my completely rearranged Cambodia itinerary. I arrived in Phnom Penh late in the afternoon, this time with my accommodation already sorted, checked in and went straight around the corner to Om for their specialty back and shoulder massage…. After this and a $9 (ahem) wax the next morning, I was on the road to feeling and looking a better version of my 3-months-in-the-jungle self. One of the great things about returning to a place is that you already know where the good stuff is. I’d booked a place to stay that has a fantastic bar/restaurant with a pool just around the corner, so after doing whatever was on the cards for the mornings, I could spend the afternoon drinking mojitos in the shade by the pool with a book, escaping from the afternoon heat and contemplating where to go for happy hour and dinner. At all times of the day in Cambodia, it’s hard to not drink beer when it’s cheaper than soft drink or juice, and it was also difficult to pass up the chance to try one of the local stouts from the fridge at the corner shop; Black Panther. At 8% alcohol, more than one and you would start to know about it, but I gave it the thumbs up as I chatted to the old man I bought it from, who was enjoying one himself.
There are many great things about Cambodia. One of them is the proliferation of sidewalk barbers; literally a guy with a chair on the footpath, surrounded by mounds of black hair, busily cutting and clippering away everywhere you go. Another is the ridiculously cheap price of booze. I decided to do some research on this when I was in a supermarket stocking up on a few things, and found out that a bottle of Stoli costs $8, Makers Mark bourbon is $18, and your standard bottle of Veuve/Moet/Feuillatte can be had for $55. Brilliant.
With my new 60-day Thailand tourist visa in my passport, it was time to head north to Siem Reap. Bumping along the narrow highway for three hours through a flat, dry landscape and past thatched shacks, towering haystacks and millions of plastic bags blowing abandoned by the side of the road, we eventually arrive in Khompong Thom, I think officially in the middle of nowhere. Pulling up outside a large Chinese restaurant commanding an authoritative corner position, and host to a formal parking system. Two guys in military-style uniforms rush to guide drivers into a spot, waving their parking batons about (I don’t know if that’s what they’re called?), like a pair of misplaced airport ground crew. Once in position and with driver and passengers disembarked, a flattened cardboard box is placed across the windscreen and fastened with string to the side mirrors. Similarly disgorged from the bus into the waiting arms of the restaurant, my fellow passengers follow the script and pile inside to order their sweet and sour pork or whatever is on the menu. I took a short wander down the road through what looks like a war zone but is actually the town market. For 2000 Riel (50c) I picked up a peeled and sliced mango, and as I sat eating it on the steps in the shade of the Chinese restaurant, I wondered why in Australia, whoever is responsible for such things has spent who knows how much time, effort and money to develop the haled R2E2 super mango, when what I was eating was every bit as delicious, non-stringy, and fleshy as the grafting or genetic engineering boffins could have hoped for with the R2E2. Just to give us something else overpriced to want, I guess.
A few hours later in Siem Reap, I was met at the bus station/dusty parking lot by tuk tuk driver Ra (you roll the “r”), who took me to my (again, pre-booked) hotel, and after settling in to my new room, a swim in the pool and a lounge in the shade, I was once again met by Ra when I was on my out to check out the night market and get something to eat. Ra wanted to offer his services as my driver for the temples and of course we had to negotiate the price for the planned three days. After discussing the schedule I’d already worked out (to avoid the exposed temples during the hottest parts of the day and the thronging crowds at various times), we agreed on the price ($50) and he dropped me off at the night market on his way home for dinner. I wasn’t 5 meters into the night market when I stopped to look at a skirt. The seamstress was out of her seat in front of the sewing machine quick as a flash and urging me to agree with her on how beautiful her things are. Before I knew what was happening she was wrapping the skirt around me and then her friend came to get in on the act to expound on how beautiful the skirt is and how slim I am. Now this I know to be an outright lie, because having just had the first opportunity in three months to view myself in a full-length mirror, I have noted with alarm that I’ve expanded by approximately two sizes over the past ten months. Bugger. This first big clue I had to this was about a week before in Sangkhla when I decided to wear jeans out for dinner one night. Ok, they were freshly washed, but they’d never been that much of a struggle to get on before. Maybe it was an extra hot night….well, yes, but as soon as I started to waddle up the road into town to meet my friends, I knew a corner had been turned, and the view wasn’t all that pretty. Needless to say, those jeans did not get packed to go to Cambodia. So, the moral of the story is (or one of them anyway), that while wearing fisherman pants to work everyday may well be comfortable, it tricks you into not realizing the rate of knots that you, or more to the point, I might be stacking on the kilos. And of course then I was back in Cambodia where after months of limited choices in the jungle, I was once again faced with all sorts of (mainly French) temptations that can not be expected to advance my cause at all, but the size of my arse on the other hand, is likely to advance without question. Oh well, pass me a croissant….
But I digress. After a quick bit of negotiating with the seamstress, we agreed on a price ($5), whereupon she gave me a big hug. Best deal-closer ever.
Later on when I was sitting outside a restaurant on the periphery of the main tourist drag(which is hideous in a way-too-western kind of way), I was minding my own business, enjoying my bowl of steaming lemongrass, garlic, chili, lime leaf, ginger, galangal and chicken soup, when I had my first encounter with one of Cambodia’s infamous child street vendors. He must have been about 11 or 12 and was selling books. I didn’t want one. He told me he was having a slow night and wanted me to buy just one. I stood my ground while he slouched off to lean against a tuk tuk parked at the curb. After throwing me dirty looks for a while he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear, “madame, you are a fucking bitch.” I told him I was sorry he felt that way and went back to my soup.
The next morning after breakfast, Ra picked me up at 9:30 and we set off for Banteay Srei, about 30 kms out of Siem Reap, and one of the furthest away. Made from pink-tinged sandstone and with amazingly well-preserved carvings, this is often said to be the jewel in the crown of the Angkor temples. The set-up of the way out of the temple area to the carpark seems to have been designed by Westfield; the path forcing you to pass every stall selling every kind of Cambodian souvenir you can think of, with vendors shouting out to you “cold water! Lady, you want cold drink! Lady, you buy postcard! Have Cambodian silk!”.
It turns out that I’m Ra’s first customer in his new job as tuk tuk driver. He used to work as a driver for one of the hotels, but after two years and no increase in his monthly salary of US$90, he resigned and bought a second hand tuk tuk carriage for US$450 to try to make some more money. He almost died of embarrassment when, on the way to the next temple he ran out of gas, and had to flag down a passing local and convince them to go to fill a bottle and bring it back. That day I also visited Prah Khan, Neak Peon, Ta Som, East Mebon, and Pre Rup for sunset. This place has a lot of very steep steps which lead up to ever-higher spots to ponder how the hell they built these temples. Going up was one thing, and going down, it turned out, was going to be quite another. Seeing me trying to work this out, one of the temple kids who was selling postcards piped up “madame, this is easy way” and showed me a much better way than negotiating the more than 45 degree angle steps. He was selling the worst postcards I’ve ever seen, with terrible quality pictures that even I could have done better, but I bought a set from him anyway, figuring that his advice had been worth a dollar. My heart broke a little bit with every child I saw; at the temples and around town, the level of poverty here is shocking.
Ra was waiting in the dark for me at 5:15 the next morning to take me to Bayon for the sunrise. He was quite pleased that I had the place all to myself, but I realised afterwards that this was because we were on the wrong side of the temple…. Oh well. His next customer will get the benefit of his new experience. No matter, the Bayon turned out to be my favourite of all the temples, and after spending a couple of hours looking at the Elephant Terrace and the Terrace of the Leper King, Preah Palilay, Phimeanakas and the Baphuon, I went back to the Bayon for another hour. This was all done and dusted by about 10:30am, and I went back to Siem Reap (only about 8 kms) for a sleep, swim and lunch, before heading back out to see Takeo, Thommanon and Chau Say, Preah Pithu and finally the Kleang in the golden glow of the late afternoon light.
I had one more sunrise in me, and Ra was there again to whisk me off to Sra Srang. He hadn’t even stopped the tuk tuk before two children appeared, imploring me to have a look in their shop or buy their breakfast or coffee. I told them it was too early for breakfast, but maybe I’d have coffee later. They didn’t blow in with the last tour bus though, and were having none of it. “The coffee will warm you up!” I told them I was already warm enough, but asked what kind of coffee they had. “I have white coffee and black coffee!” This wasn’t what I meant so I expanded, “is it instant or fresh?” This was met with puzzled looks, but like lightening one of them piped up “it’s very hot coffee!” Gold. How could you not buy coffee with a sales pitch like that?
The sunrise was a bit of a fizzer due to the amount of haze in the sky, but the beautiful Banteay Kdei was next on the list and just across the road, and I was very lucky to have this amazing place almost to myself. By the time I’d seen Prasat Kravan and Ta Prohm (with a Hollywood profile since scenes from Tomb Raider were filmed here) it was only 9:30am so I got Ra to drop me into town so I could have breakfast and a look around. I have to say that everything I ate in Siem Reap was mildly disappointing, the opposite of Phnom Penh where pretty much everything is great. And I’ve still only found one place that makes a good coffee in Cambodia; the FCC in Phnom Penh.
I’d saved my last afternoon for the biggest of them all, Angkor Wat. The vast scale of this place is phenomenal and very impressive, and the bas reliefs are incredible, but I have to say that it wasn’t my favourite; this title easily goes to the Bayon, then Preah Khan, Banteay Kdei, and the carvings of Banteay Srei are astounding in their detail and beauty. Angkor Wat reminded me of the Vatican in that it’s so beautiful but there’s so much to take in that after a while my eyes started to glaze over and beauty fatigue started to set in, until I couldn’t really look at it anymore, or take any more in. After watching the sun sink behind this behemoth symbol of a king’s devotion to his gods, utterly exhausted I rode with Ra back to the hotel and declared the temples of Angkor, done. I apologise for the number of photos of the temples that I’ve put up on this page, but I took 300 and this was the best I could do at editing them down. God knows what people did before digital cameras.
Another early morning, this time to the airport for my flight to Phnom Penh, so I could find a morning bus to take me south to Sihanoukville and the beaches beyond. I thought I’d catch up on some much-needed z’s, but the first hour of the bus journey was characterised by slow-going on the way out of Phnom Penh accompanied by the driver tooting his horn every 20 meters to warn whichever vehicle was in front to move over so we could pass, and by the girl next to me vomiting her breakfast into the clear plastic bag she had bought it in. She then placed the bag in the elasticized net pocket on the back of the seat in front of her. Lucky I had the window seat. We stopped after two hours for a rest break, and I thought that she’d take the bag of vomit off the bus and put it in a bin, but she didn’t. Rather, she got off the bus and joined her traveling companions for a bite to eat. When she got back on the bus she had with her a bag of sliced mango to snack on for the next two hours to Sihanoukville. As we drove on with the sun beating in through the side window (my side) and the driver allergic to air-conditioning, the temperature went through the roof, slowly cooking the 45 people and one bag of vomit on board, and I could not wait to get there.
I’d read enough about Sihanoukville to know that I didn’t want to spend any time there at all, so got off the bus, onto the back of a motorbike and went straight to Otres beach. I’d also read enough to know that the other beaches around Sihanoukville are like the Costa del Cambodia, with the added bonus of filthy sex tourists just to really top it off. Otres on the other hand, doesn’t even have electricity. Along the beach are just enough thatched grass bungalows, where generators are run for a few hours at night. I found a room at a place called La Casa for $12/night and decided to call it home. First on the agenda was a swim and then a late lunch (funny that I’d lost my appetite on the bus…..). La Casa doesn’t do food so I took a wander down the beach and stopped at Sea Garden to see what was going on there. I pulled up a stool at the bar and found myself talking to the owner, an American guy called Mike, who reckons that the chicken curry they do is the best in the world, and if I didn’t like it, I didn’t have to pay for it, he said. Who can turn down a rap like that? When I’d finished my glass of Anchor Draught he asked me if I wanted another one, and when I answered yes, he told me that it was on him. And so it was that I sat at the bar for the rest of the afternoon and most of the night, talking with whoever came along and was drawn into Mike’s thrall. This was when I met Bjorn, who announced himself by leaning on the bar across from Mike and said “You know, I’ve been trying to work out if there is a more perfect place on earth….” An excellent question, I thought.
I spent the whole of the next day lying on a beach bed under a thatched grass umbrella, wondering myself, if indeed there was a more perfect place on earth at that moment. All day the women and kids who sell stuff along the beach dropped by to see if they could convince me to buy something; bracelet, manicure, pedicure, necklace, key ring, hair band, fruit, massage, lobsters….. I only managed to fend them off for a few hours until along came a woman named Mom and I heard myself agree to have the hairs on my legs threaded; a process more painful, it turns out, than getting a tattoo. The thing with getting a tattoo is that as soon as the needle stops, the pain stops, but this threading business is like having a hundred tiny needles being smacked onto your skin, and stings like a bitch until the job’s done an hour later. Mom had only had me whimpering for a short time before her younger sister, Thear came along and started on my other leg, and this is was the start of my relationship with the women and kids on the beach. By the time they were finished with me we had gotten to know each other a little bit, and my raw legs were in no shape to go in the sun for a walk on the beach that I’d thought I might do, and so I surrendered to the confines of my beach hut (ha!) and soaked up the day. In the late afternoon I wandered down the beach to Sea Garden for what had apparently already become my routine way to spend the rest of the day.
Otres is a small beach and although each of the operators have their own style and personality, Mike is definitely a unique character, and the place he’s created reflects that. He’s fun, his staff are fun, they have fun together and with the guests, and hopefully the guests have fun too. Before arriving in Cambodia six months ago Mike had been living in Las Vegas for the past ten years, and frequently went to the casino to play poker with 20k in his pocket. His friends are big-shot poker players who are on the world series poker tour and I’m guessing he was living a fairly different lifestyle to now. He contacted his family and friends and told them he wasn’t coming back, and now he spends his days bantering with his staff, buying beers for his guests and generally making sure everyone is enjoying themselves.
So after two nights sleeping at La Casa I thought I might as well move into Sea Garden, and migrated down the beach. Every day was filled with talking with the beach kids, many of which are very smart, have wicked senses of humour, are sharp as tacks and really interesting to get to know. I think a lot of foreigners probably don’t engage with these kids at all, because they don’t want to get hassled to buy stuff while they are busy lying on the beach, but really, if you’re not going to engage with the local people, then maybe you need to ask yourself some questions…. I loved it. And by the way, if you’re turning down the chance to have a lunch of lobster, peeled and seasoned to order, and a bag of freshly cut fruit salad of mango, watermelon and pineapple for the grand total of $4, then you really should ask yourself some questions. On my last night Mike had invited me and Bjorn to go to a private opening party for his new nightclub in town. I had dragged myself off the beach and got ready to go out, and was even looking forward to having a boogie as my friend Skye would say, and rolled up to the Sea Garden bar to meet Bjorn. When I arrived he told me that Mike had crashed his motorbike and was being rushed by private ambulance to Phnom Penh, and then possibly by helicopter to Bangkok. Of course I couldn’t believe it, and we just sort of sat there, stunned for a while wondering what had happened and if Mike was ok. We decided to give the party a miss, not feeling right about going to a party when Mike was in who knows what kind of shape. It spoke volumes about the loyalty his staff have for him, when one of them who had been at the accident scene arrived back at Sea Garden and with tears in his eyes told us what he knew about it all. I’ve emailed Mike a couple of times since then and he’s recovering ok, and is back at the beach, although I’ve also heard that he’s played down his injuries quite a lot and it was actually much worse than he was making out from his hospital bed.
The next morning I was up early to get the bus back to Phnom Penh, and my flight to Bangkok. I had a couple of hours to kill so took myself to Om for one last back and shoulder massage, then to the FCC for lunch with a glass of wine and the last decent coffee until who knows when, and reflected on what an amazing two weeks it had been.
Back in Sangkhla, rested and restored, the morning run was back on and so were the Sangkhla moments; running past an old woman sitting on the bridge pricking her gums her an oversized safety pin to heighten the effects of the betel nut she chews; an old Mon man in his traditional lonjee giving me the thumbs up as I run toward him (in direct contrast to the women I encounter who meet my smile with a scowl); rust coloured splatter all over the roads and footpaths from the constant chew and spit of betel nut…. This is a place that has a very strong, unique personality, and as my time here grows shorter and shorter I’m starting to feel quite emotional about leaving it behind.
I’ve just found out that it’s Easter. The weather is sticking to its guns and has turned into its very aptly named, Hot Season. I have no idea what the temperature is, but it is ferocious. It’s now really uncomfortable to try to sleep at night – my pillow is too hot to put my head on, and it’s sweltering before 8:00am. Also, the morning run is back off. I was walking to my room a few nights ago and kicked a brick which was just lying randomly about in the middle of nowhere, and broke my toe.
A few people know about some unusual things I’ve done in my sleep from time to time; changing the time on my alarm clock (more than once); taking a framed picture off the wall and trying to peel the backing paper off…. Well now it looks like I’ve added to this repertoire. One night last week I woke up at 3:00am and could hear a noise, and after a few groggy moments realised that it was music. It sounded like it was in my room, and when I listened closer, it seemed to be coming from my bag. I crawled out of bed and dug out my iPod which was on, and tried to turn it off, but had to take the lock off before I could do this. The next morning when I was about to leave for work, I dug out my iPod and when I turned it on, it restarted where I’d turned it off during the night – half way through the second song of an album that I had not been listening to the day before. So it seems that in my sleep I got up, got my iPod out of my bag, took it out of its sock, unlocked it, selected an album, locked it again, put it back in its sock, then back in my bag and went back to bed, then woke up a song and a half later. I did it again last night. Maybe it’s the heat.
And I think that about brings me up to date. In two weeks I’ll leave Sangkhla and will attend an ANZAC day dawn service at Hellfire Pass, then travel on to Bangkok and then down to Koh Phangan to sit on the beach for a week and try to prepare my mind and my heart as as best I can to both leave here and go back to Australia. It is hard to imagine that this year is almost over, and I’m reluctant to let it go. The mixed emotions I feel about returning to Australia aren’t helping, but I’m doing my best to take into account that this might just be my perspective from here, and that it might be very different to how I imagine it once I’m there. I’ll find out soon enough, I guess.
