There’s such a lot of world to see

OK, so where was I?  Ah yes I remember – to quote myself (and frankly, who better to quote?):
“In a few minutes I’m going to set off for Kep, about 12 miles further east along the coast, and then I’m going to try and stay on Rabbit Island for a night or two.”  So, did it happen?  I think you already know the answer…

As I was writing, tip-tapping away, the rain started falling, falling, falling, until it was the usual deluge.  I refused to be daunted, though, and splashed my way back to the Blissful guesthouse, Sri Lanka palm-tree brolly aloft over my head, my trousers growing ever more sodden by the minute.  By the time I got back there I might as well have just jumped in a – well, not a swimming pool, they weren’t that wet, but maybe a child’s paddling pool.  Undeterred, I thanked my lucky stars that I’d had the foresight to buy a backpack with a waterproof cover.  This unfolds from a little zipped pocket at the back, and covers the whole thing, so when it’s on, I look like a silver-backed turtle.  Which is kind of cool.  I could look like a silver-backed terrapin, and everyone knows what geeks they are.

So that was my backpack sorted.  Now for my other bags – I have a small rucksack that I call my daybag, although this is just to disguise the fact that it’s where I carry the stuff (already too much stuff) that won’t fit in my rucksack and then, because I don’t like carrying such a big bag round with me all day, I bought another small handbag in Beijing.  It’s LeSportSac, which I have never heard of before but apparently is known in the USofA, so I’m guessing it’s another fake.  Still, it’s brown and pink and blue and very pretty and, on a good day, it will fit inside my day bag for moving around.  This was not a good day.

So, eyeing the rain that still insisted on swamping Kampot, I purchased a delightful blancmange pink waterproof poncho thingy, that was voluminous enough to go over me AND my bags.  I think it was my foxiest moment ever.  And off we set on a moto.  Add in the factor that it stopped raining as soon as we were out of Kampot, and the sun resulted in me glowing for England underneath my non-breathable poncho – I tell you, if Prada had seen me then, they’d have called off the search for a new muse.

It’s a 20 minute drive from Kampot to Kep, though some tiny little villages where my attire drew a few laughs.  Kep itself, when we finally arrived, is tiny – just a cluster of houses together, really.  It has a population of about 4,000, and these hardy souls have hung on though the desertion of Kep – the rest is little more than a ghost town, stung badly by the ravages of war. 

My moto took me up to the jetty from where the boats for Rabbit Island departed.  Unfortunately, though, because of the bad weather, no boats were running at the moment.  I was told to come back in a couple of hours, and sped off again on the moto, glumly eyeing the grey sky and building winds.  I went to a beach-side hut (really, that’s all it was – just a mat on the floor for sitting on), and had a delicious meal of crab with local Kampot pepper – claimed by many to be the best pepper in the world and, let me say, I’m not going to dispute that.  Plus, how cool will it be when I’m in the pub and the conversation takes that inevitable turn towards condiments:  “Of course,” I will say loudly, “I refuse to use anything other than Kampot pepper.  It’s the best, you know, and I cannot compromise the quality of my food for inferior peppers”.  Man, I’m going to be Little Miss Popular when I get back!

After I’d whiled away two hours, I headed back up to the jetty, and was told that there was still no luck.  Maybe, she said, after 5.30, but I knew enough about me and jinxed journeys to know when to call it a day – the sea looked pretty rough, and the boats were basic rowing boats.  Didn’t fancy losing all my stuff (or me!) to the deep.  Giving up on the idea, and realising that, by that time I’d missed the second bus of the day to Phnom Penh, I decided to stay the night in Kep.

And wow, if ever the old saying about every cloud having a silver lining was true, this was it.  I found myself at the Veranda resort and, while at $20 it was over my budget, was it ever worth it.  I figured I was prepared to spend $15 on the boat trip, then $5 a night is the going rate over on Rabbit Island – this was merely redirecting the funds.  And also, breakfast was included, so I planned to fill my boots.  The place was gorgeous, just gorgeous.  And this was by my pre-travelling standards, not those depths I’ve sunk to over the last few months.  The bungalow was completely isolated, and had a perfect view down to the sea – I’d have sworn I was the only soul around for miles.  The decoration was lovely, there were definitely no bugs, and the bathroom was something to write home about – or at least blog about!  The wall was head-hight, but the roof was higher, and set on a slope, so there were a few feet round the top of the wall which were completely exposed to the elements.  Taking a (hot water!  Oh my!) shower while it showered outside was fabulous, and I loved it.

The peace was simultaneously energising and relaxing.  It was so utterly dark that I just hung in my hammock for hours, reading with a small light, feeling for the first time in weeks wonderfully, fabulously, alone – and by that, I mean the very opposite of lonely.

Not surprisingly, I woke up with the biggest smile on my face and, reaching for my ipod, put on the most apt song I could think of – “Ain’t got no (I got life)” by Nina Simone, and danced around my room to it, just celebrating – I was in a gorgeous place, my leg is definitely on the mend and so I’m fully bipedal again, the memories of people and places are getting so full I’m going to have to arrange some kind of storage facility for them.  Life is wonderful.

And that, to misquote the genius Ms Simone, is something that nobody can take away.

The next morning meant time for Matt and I to say goodbye – I was carrying on east along the coast, and he was heading back to Phnom Penh to catch a flight. So it was farewell to my fellow boat-trip survivor, party person extraordinaire and scrabble champion (God, it was tough to type that – perhaps you could just forget I said it?), who is now a big chunk of my happy memories of Cambodia. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – there are so many wonderful, interesting, intelligent, kind, funny people in this world, and I’m lucky enough to be meeting tons of them on this trip.

I’d read a bit about Kampot, but not a huge amount – I knew it was one of the last places that tourists started visiting in Cambodia, being one of the last Khmer Rouge strongholds (to this day, there are quite a few KR still in these here hills). It seemed to get similar reviews to Battambang – a charming lakeside town – so I wasn’t holding my breath, to be honest, what with Battambang being a bit of a let-down. But first, I had to get there.

I often wonder if it’s at all possible for me to have a completely uneventful journey. I swear, though, I’m not making these things up (I know that some of you believe I never got the nerve to leave the country and so am holed up at Manchester Airport Travel Lodge, hunched over a laptop, using a combination of Google and Photoshop to fake my journey). The best and quickest way to get to Kampot was to get a seat in a share taxi. I could have the whole car for $25, or I could have one seat for $5. Seeing how chocka these cars get (none of this four-person max in a taxi nonsense they have back home), I asked if I could have two seats, for $10, which would mean having the whole front passenger seat to myself. Usually there are two people in there. This was agreed, no problem. So I was sitting there like Lady Muck, enjoying all my space, when the back started to slowly fill up, and fill up. Not only the back seat, but also the boot. I’d put my backpack in there as I was the first in the car, but soon the boot was wedged open and two double sized mattresses were balanced on top of the open boot, tied down with a flimsy looking rope. It was, I suppose, the ultimate boy racer spoiler. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had taken off in a big gust of wind, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang style. Soon there were six people on the back seat, and me on the front seat, and I expected to set off soon. But no. Apparently there was room for one more passenger – sharing the driver’s seat. He was squashed up against the door, and the driver was leaning right over on to my side, controlling the pedals with the tips of his toes. Road safety rocks! These people would beat the world record for “Number of Cambodians in a taxi”, I’m sure of that, so get me Norris McWhirter’s phone number. (Or did he die? I’m never sure).

At the regulation lunch stop -despite the journey only being 2 hours long – I stayed in my seat, loathe to risk losing it, and so carried on reading my book. Some little girls came up to try to sell me some fruit, but became engrossed in the pictures in my book. No, no, it wasn’t a picture book per se, I’m pleased to report my reading level is now past the need for pictures – but it was “Billy”, the biography of Billy Connolly. The pictures they were looking at were of Billy’s beautiful, intelligent, and very, very, very blonde wife Pamela Stephenson. I was therefore highly amused when they pointed at the pictures and asked if it was me – I can’t think of anyone who I bear less resemblance to. Still, it was deeply flattering!

Against all the odds, including a heavy rainstorm during which the driver didn’t slow down one jot (perhaps he couldn’t reach the brakes?), we arrived in Kampot. I could instantly see it was a delightful little town, full of the sort of charm that was promised, but never delivered, in Battambang. The river runs sleepily through it, and most of the place is just set up for locals. Tourism is only just on the move here, which makes it quiet, friendly – in short, everything I needed to recharge my batteries, which were running pretty low. Perfect.

I got a room in the Blissful Guesthouse (and the name don’t lie), and spent the rest of the day doing not much at all. Just what the doctor ordered, methinks. The Guesthouse has been one of my favourite places I’ve stayed on the trip so far – the rooms are basic, but lovely and bright, and the people are so very, very friendly – not in the OTT Monkey Republic way, though, but just in a relaxed, feel right at home way.

The next day was an early start. I’d booked a trip to the Bokor Hill Station, built in the 1920s as a luxury hotel, but abandoned because of war. It was then taken over by the KR and used as a base and a prison, and was the scene for a good few battles. It’s now been deserted for years, and is just the shell of a few buildings. To add to the eerie nature of the place, because of the altitude, mists frequently come rolling in through all the open windows and door, thick enough to seem like a physical presence. I tells ya, I’m not a superstitious person, but being up there certainly caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up.

Mind you, getting up there was an adventure in itself (it would be, wouldn’t it?) There were 10 of us in the group, and right from the start we were getting on so well and laughing pretty much constantly. Good job, really. We were in a pick-up truck that could seat 8 of us in the back, while two of the guys went inside with the driver. Weren’t they the lucky ones? As soon as we were on the road up the hill, the path got narrow and very bumpy – it’s getting on for 100 years old, and a combination of the ravages of war and a lack of maintenance means that it’s a series of potholes, loosely joined by a spot of road. We kept getting thwacked in the arms and heads by passing branches, so we had to devise a system whereby the people at the front shouted “duck!” and we all did. Closest thing I’ll ever get to the SAS. This was tough enough, until suddenly one of the girls said “Oh my god, did you see the size of that spider?” Now this girl has spent two months living in a jungle, so we were guessing she wasn’t a cissy when it came to spiders. Soon, though, we saw what she was taking about – huge, absolutely massive, Bird Spiders (so called because they eat birds). On the side of the road they were bad enough, but when the webs strung right across the road – well, let’s just say we got very, very friendly with the people sitting opposite us in the pick-up – our heads were flat on our knees, and our laughter had that slight touch of hysteria about it. We turned to our guide and asked, “But are they poisonous?” “Hmm”, he replied, “A little bit”. Not the answer we were looking for. Turns out they probably won’t kill you but even so, the day you get bitten by a Bird Spider – not the best day of your life, for sure. After that, every little bug that landed in the truck had us shrieking like little girls, and waving our hands around. And I’m not even afraid of spiders but these bad boys – I wouldn’t cuddle up to one, that’s for sure. Although I’m glad to report that I held a stick insect that the driver found, and only one of the other guys would. I kept stum on the fact that we used to keep some as pets in Quality Street bottles, and so was very used to them. In fact, I went so far as to big up my bravery. Sharks – no, but Stick Insects – bring them on!

We went for an hour’s trek through the jungle at the top of the hill, which was amazing fun in an Indiana Jones way (although I was concerned by the axe that the guide took – there are a few tigers out there), and we got to see some of the bird spiders really close up, including virtually doing a commando roll underneath some of the webs, they were that low. We also had to be on the lookout for leeches – our guide got one, and one of the Canadian guys had one go down his shoe, but got it before it bit him. None of them seemed to want my sweet blood though. Either that, or there was none left after the mozzies had been at me.

Next stop was lunch (a delicious vegetable curry, one of the best things I’ve had here), and then we were free to explore. The place was a photographer’s dream, so I’m afraid I showed the customary lack of constraint. The place is incredibly atmospheric, all rust and crumbling walls and moss and just – well, just plain walls. Every single thing, light fittings, the lot, has been stripped out of the place, just leaving it bare. Likewise is the church (it was a Catholic church before it was abandoned, so I’m not sure on whether it still counts as consecrated land or not) – just eerie and sad.

The journey down was just as much fun as the journey up, although this time, the two guys who had been in the front previously were up in the back with us, swapping with three others. They hadn’t seen any of the spiders on the way up, so, as we ducked one time (it becomes second nature after a while), we heard a shriek. The guy sitting next to me, Sun, started laughing his head off and I asked him who was freaking out. “The rookies”, he replied.

Back at the guesthouse we all ran for the shower, a particular relief to find out there were definitely no spiders anywhere on my person, and sat down for a few well-deserved drinks, congratulating ourselves on surviving the creepy crawlies, and the creepy buildings alike. It was truly a marvellous day, incredible fun, and I would recommend it in an instant to anyone coming to this part of the world. A real highlight.

I spent another couple of days in Kampot, but made an executive decision to do not much whatsoever. I became a big fan of the hammocks at the guesthouse, and spent many a happy hour just hanging out (pun intended). We watched the England v Ecuador game at the guesthouse, although I think I was being punished for missing the Sweden game – due to a heavy storm, the reception on the tv went down. I had my phone though, and Michael and CL became the official football correspondents for a whole room of people, sending me updates like the stars they are. Better than John Motson, and at least twice as good looking. Thanks, guys, it was appreciated by a whole load of people, not just me.

And you know what? For the first time in weeks, I’m bang up to date with this blog. In a few minutes I’m going to set off for Kep, about 12 miles further east along the coast, and then I’m going to try and stay on Rabbit Island for a night or two. Off I go. Until next time… Look after yourselves – and each other.

As the bus wound its way to the south coast and the promised land of white beaches, Matt and I exchanged nervous looks as the rain continued stoically. Trying to bolster our mood, I got manic at the first ... [Continue reading this entry]

After my thought provoking sightseeing day in Phnom Penh, I was really glad to bump into Matt, from the boat to Battambang. We chatted over food (after the harrowing day, I was aching for comfort food, so you can ... [Continue reading this entry]

Here are a few recipes from my cooking class. I'd really urge you to try them, they were veh, veh easy and scrumptious at the same time. If you are observant you will notice that the first recipe, ... [Continue reading this entry]

Man's inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn!

This Robert Burns quote became a resounding echo in my mind on my first full day in Phnom Penh. I'd arrived the afternoon before, and got a highly bargainous (and thankfully bug-free) ... [Continue reading this entry]

Booking the boat from Siem Reap to Battambang was a little bit of luxury. Or that was the plan, anyway. It cost three times as much, and took double the time, of the bus, but I'd heard amazing ... [Continue reading this entry]

My mother is a wonderful woman.  Apart from raising two intelligent, charming, and astoundingly good-looking offspring (so I know at least Michael is on my side in this post), she is talented and can turn her hand to pretty much ... [Continue reading this entry]

As soon as we got to the guesthouse in Siem Reap, we had a much-needed shower (I know ladies don't sweat, so suffice to say I was glowing like a carthorse), and arranged a tuk tuk to take us to ... [Continue reading this entry]

"To travel is better than to arrive".  So said someone, once (I want to say Robert Louis Stevenson, but I'm not 100% sure, so don't quote me in an exam).  Whoever it was, they have obviously never made the journey ... [Continue reading this entry]