There’s such a lot of world to see

On my last night in Cambodia, my plans were to have a relatively quiet night so then I could get up fresh and early for the boat to Vietnam.  Of course, these all went up the wall.  I’d had a slight altercation with a guy in an internet cafe – no real drama, he just tried to charge me waaaaaaay too much money, which had left me in a bit of a downer.  I was sitting in the guesthouse, feeling a bit glum, when a lovely friendly face came over to say hello.  ‘Twas James, who hails from just outside of Newcastle, and who has the best job in the world ever (circus performer!  Why did my careers advisor never tell me that was an option?).  He and his friends have been travelling through SE Asia before making their way over to Australia.  The guys were such a lot of fun to be with, they put the bad internet man right out of my head, but they made me stay up far too late. 

We’d been out for a few drinks by the lakeside (including my farewell Long Vodka at Moskito – I am in mourning and am now only wearing black, a la Queen Victoria), and headed back to the guesthouse for a few nightcaps.  The guys decided they were hungry, but there was a problem – the cook had gone to sleep.  I asked the barman if I could fix them something to eat (nothing ever changes, eh?) and he said yes, no problem.  Cool!  Only trouble… what to make?  I wasn’t sure in my addled state I could remember the recipes for Chicken Amok or Beef Loc Lac, but looking round I could see some baguettes.  For the filling, I discounted a scrawny looking banana, limp lettuce and a stick of rhubarb like an oversized dog bone, and decided on straightforward tuna mayo.  Poor James wandered into the kitchen and got the job as my commi chef – anyone who’s cooked with me in the past will no I get seriously bossy at times; I’m sure I even rapped him over the knuckles with a spoon at one point.  I added a large squeeze of lime and some black pepper, and we were ready to rock.  And I tell you – no one’s ever appreciated tuna mayo sarnies like those guys did.  They made me feel like Nigella Lawson.  And to top it all off, James refused to believe that I was 30 in August (and no, sarky mind, he didn’t think I was 40 either).  So my bad day turned into a good last night in Cambodia – albeit one that finished way too late, about 2 hours before I had to get up.  Joy of joys.

So it was with a very bleary head that I got on the bus which would take us to the boat which would take us to Vietnam.  The mini bus was crowded, but fairly uneventful, as these things go – and I am a master of the eventful journey.  The best bit was either hearing the driver use his horn, as it sounded like something out of an arcade game, or the Khmer guys squashed in next to me telling me they loved me.  My response?  “Oh, that’s nice”.

One of the girls on the boat was panicking quite a lot – she was only away for two weeks, and had been given misinformation about the length of time the journey took – because of that, she was missing a whole day of her holiday.  This was stressful for her, but equally stressful for the rest of us, who had to hear it every 5 minutes.  She was relatively dim, as well (although I’m making no comment on the fact that she was from Essex) – she looked at me in surprise when I handed my passport over and asked, “Oh, do you have a British passport?” “Erm, yes”.  “Oh.  Are you from London?”

I do not have a London accent.  Maybe you couldn’t pinpoint me as Manchester per se, but I’m a proper northerner.  Eee by gum.

But yeah, apart from the constant chatter about how late we were (which after a while faded into a generic background hum), the rest of the journey passed without incident.  Even the border crossing was insanely easy – we paid the mandatory bribe (2000 Dong, and at 16,000 to the dollar I wasn’t whinging like in Thailand)(and, incidentally, whoever coined the name ‘Dong’ for the Vietnamese currency is an evil genius), wandered over and had a cup of tea, and that was it!  Through.  No problem.  All rumours we’d heard of evil border soldiers and their x-ray machines were thankfully just rumours.

In the late afternoon, we pulled into the port of Chau Doc – described in the Lonely Planet as ‘sleepy’, although it seemed anything but – a teeming, bustling little port town, not on the tourist map, but a nice place to hang out for a while.  I’d got chatting to two English guys on the boat, Dean from Essex and Richard from Yorkshire, and as we were staying at the same guesthouse, we arranged to go out later for something to eat.

I was still pretty tired from my late night – I’d got another hour or two’s sleep on the boat, and had shut my eyes for another half hour before I went out.  I’m actually trying to build a defence of sleep deprivation for what happened next, but the fact is, I’m on shaky ground.

All my life I’ve had a history of injuring my legs, and ESPECIALLY my feet.  All the time.  I got into the habit early, when I’d just started to walk and fell down the stairs, which sent me back to crawling for a while – and of course, the most recent injury was my spectacular catapult in Siem Reap which left my leg bleeding.  Other injuries inbetween have included falling at an ice rink and busting my knee, stepping on glass and getting a piece embedded in my foot, and, the most painful one by a long shot, walking barefoot smack into my stone hearth last year.  So you see, when it comes to injuries of the lower extremities, I’m a pro.

And so, when I fell off a kerb (it was dark!), twisting (or possibly breaking – I’ve done both before and can’t tell the difference) the big toe on my right foot, I should have been expecting it.  I knew straight away (from the searing pain) that something was wrong – and to top it off, the next day it turned a delightful shade of black, with the bruise heading down into my foot.

Luckily, because I’ve done this so many times, I knew the drill back to front – ice (which the hotel charged me for!), ibuprofen, raise it, strap it – but it still put a dampener on my entry into Vietnam.

I wonder what the Vietnamese for ‘Hopalong Cassidy’ is?

And so it came to pass that I should leave Cambodia, after a whirlwind month in every corner of the country. It actually doesn’t feel like I’ve spent a month here, despite it being much, much smaller than some of my old haunts like India and China.

So – what to say about a country that has been through what can only be described as hell on earth, and still somehow managed to come out the other side with dignity and smiles? I can’t think of anything that won’t sound patronising, so I’ll simply state my admiration for the lovely, lovely Khmer people. They are delighted to welcome visitors to the country, and proud to show it off – and rightly so; it’s a country rich with treasures.

I’ve had several lows and many highs during my month here. My stupid self-inflicted injury actually scuppered a few plans, and shook my confidence about getting on a bike again for a while. I realise now that this meant I didn’t get the best out of places like Battambang – apparently, the best way to see it is to get out on a motorbike into the countryside. Still, I did what I had to do at the time to keep sane with a gammy leg, miles from the nearest decent medical care. So, no regrets on that front.

Another low – but only because it could never be classed as a high – was visiting the old Khmer Rouge Killing Fields and S-21 Prison in Phnom Penh. The images haunt me to this day, so I can only start to imagine what hellish nightmares the people who survived, and who lost loved ones, are living with even now. It’s made me so very determined to do my bit, to add my name to the list of those who will not sit in silence while such brutality remains in the world. After visiting the Landmine museum in Siem Reap, my determination was further strengthened. Despite the majority of countries signing a declaration to stop the use and production of landmines, several big hitters (to name and shame – the USA, China, Russia – I’m looking at you) still produce these vile, cowardly weapons to this day. Again, I’d urge you to please click the like on the right for the Aki Ra Landmine Museum, read a bit more background, see if there’s anything you can do.

But to dwell on the lows would be to do a major disservice to this fabulous country. In Angkor Wat, they have a stunning, truly mind blowing temple, which deservedly draws people from all over the globe. I’d add it to any list of things you absolutely must see before you shuffle off this mortal coil. And not just Angkor, but other temples nearby – Bayon, Ta Phrom – all beautiful and wonderfully unique. Phnom Penh is a great city to visit, as well. Mainly because it still feels very much a ‘real’ city, where people live and work and play and shop and eat. It’s not geared up for tourists much, but mainly for the inhabitants – which, of course, is exactly as it should be. Other highlights include fun at the seaside, the gorgeous old riverside town of Kampot – including Bokor Hill Station which I would make a mandatory second stop for everyone after Angkor – my trek on the elephant in the faux-Welsh countryside of Mondulkiri, and, my personal highlight, finding true nirvana in a bungalow in Kep.

Cambodia is so very underdeveloped compared to many other places, even in Asia – I think, infrastructrue wise, it’s closest to India (and possibly my continuing love affair with that country explains why I fell for Cambodia so) – but it surely can’t be long before the developers go to town. And it really has a choice – to give into the corruption that is sadly starting to show in the upper echelons of the government and throughout public figures; to become some kind of Costa Del Cambodia; or, to do the people and the places true justice, and to become an ancient yet modern and forward-thinking country that it has the potential to. And God, I hope it’s the last.

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