Llew Wanders the World

After arriving back in Phnom Penh, I took a quick look at the television before heading out for dinner and was astonished by what I saw. I’d been up in the hills near Kampot for the past few days and had entirely missed the news of the tsunamis that had devastated much of southeast and south Asia. Thankfully Cambodia didn’t receive any of them, but I still had to phone my mother and father and let them know I was okay, both because I wasn’t certain that people were aware of Cambodia’s safety and because they might have worried about my having changed travel plans.

It was my first experience with an internet phone, and while it functioned well enough, they still aren’t really that well suited to normal human (or at least Llew) patterns of conversation.

After dinner at a food stall near my street (I think this was probably my first real southeast Asian street meal [as opposed to snack]) I headed back to my guesthouse to bed.

The next day I planned to explore the one or two tourist attractions of Phnom Penh that I’d missed on the first time around and to do some seriously needed updating of this ‘blog.

My first order of business was to find some breakfast, as my antimalarial medication needs to be taken with food. It was late morning, so most Cambodian breakfast spots were closed. Nonetheless I managed to get myself a pomelo (very large grapefruit like thing) and sat down in the park across from the royal palace to eat it and read for a bit.

As I sat, a young Cambodian came up to me and we started talking. He was one of many part time students/moto drivers in the country. I explained that I really didn’t need to be driven anywhere, since all my planned destinations were within about 400m of where I stood, but I’d be happy to sit and chat with him.

We sat talking for a bit and sharing the pomelo. It was almost lunch-time, and he did seem a genuinely nice guy, so I told him that I was going to go have lunch and he was welcome to join me. Our first stop, unbeknownst to me, was the bus station near the central market. (I’d mentioned that I was leaving the next day and didn’t yet have a ticket.) With that taken care of, we made our way to a student restaurant where we each had a very sweet tea and a sizzling cast iron pan covered with rice, a fried egg and some sort of breaded meat.

After lunch he insisted that I go with him to see his family home about 20 minutes ride outside PP. I agreed and we were off. It was an interesting ride as it took me through parts of the city I never would have seen on my own: the industrial areas with sawmills and petrol depots and so forth, and eventually out into his “suburb.”

His family had formerly lived in a cramped neighbourhood in Phnom Penh before the government forced the residents to move out to the countryside in 1997 because there had been too many fires and building collapses in the old neighbourhood. I’d already seen the homes and daily life of less affluent rural Cambodians, but it was interesting to see how the poorer city-dwellers lived as well.

After a short visit with his mom and young sister (who managed to stay asleep the whole time) we returned to the city and I was dropped off at the National Museum.

The museum turned out to be a minor dissapointment. The building it was housed in was gorgeous, especially the garden in the centre, where I sat and read for almost an hour. The exhibits were impressive enough, but given that the majority were Angkor era sandstone carvings, it was a bit anticlimactic. Compared with seeing such things in-situ at Angkor, it just wasn’t the same. In fact the collection wasn’t just out of its natural environment, but almost entirely without context, as many items were labelled thinga like “Unknown divinity, 6th to 8th century, origin unknown.” In the end, I suppose I did enjoy the museum, but it hadn’t quite lived up to my expectations. I suppose having the vast majority of the country’s cultural history destroyed by the Khmer Rouge means that it’s impressive that Cambodians have managed to put together a nice National Museum collection at all.

After the museum I spent the rest of the day writing (seven hours in fact!) finishing up at about 10:30. It was very tough to find something to eat at this time, but I managed (I’d hoped to go to the training restaurant for orphaned and disabled children, but it had just closed 🙁 )

The next morning I headed to the bus station and from there to the town of Kompong Cham, about 150km north of Phnom Penh on the Mekong River. The bus ride was comfortable, if not too eventful. The land to the north of Phnom Penh was considerably greener than that to the south, at this time of year at least. The bus ride itself was made a little more pleasant by the fact that, instead of the karaoke videos that plague (from my perspective) all southeast Asian buses, this one had a Cambodian film featuring people dressed as royalty and many cockfights.

The most memorable part of the trip came at our stop in the town of Skuon. Skuon, you see, was famous for its local culinary delight: deep fried tarantulas. Several women wandered around the parking lot with trays piled high with these glistening, dark brown/black things. It took me several minutes to divine what they were (though I’d read about them before, I hadn’t realized we were in Skuon.) When I finally realized, and found out that they were only 500 riel (about 15 cents Canadian) I had to buy one. And having bought one, I most certainly had to eat it.

It actually tasted very good. Even the crispy texture and the legs crunching between my teeth wasn’t bad. I just couldn’t get used to the fact I was eating a big spider though, so after about half of the legs and the carapace (yes, including the head and fangs) the remains went by the wayside.

The bus arrived in Kompong Cham, still before noon, and with the aid of the local moto-drivers I found myself a place to stay. The driver who took me seemed to speak relatively good English and also took me down to the boat dock for free so I could pick up my ticket to Kratie, on up the Mekong (of course it wasn’t truly free, since he got a commission, but it didn’t cost me anything.)

After lunch at a nearby restaurant, he (very persistantly) offered his services as a guide for the afternoon. I was hesitant, but eventually bowed to the pressure. We first headed out to Wat Nokor, a Buddhist temple just outside of town. The Wat was an interesting place, a new temple built on top of the sandstone and laterite ruins of an Angkorian one. Outside, the complex was surrounded by spire shaped stupas, most of them actually used for the interment of human remains, including one filled with the bones of doctors, teachers and others killed by the Khmer Rouge nearby. In many places in the central buildings, the old structure formed an integral part of the new one. The interiors of the buildings were similar to those I’d seen just outside of Kampot, with the walls and ceilings covered with brightly coloured paintings of scenes from the Buddha’s life.

Unfortunately most of this was marred by my guide. While my opinion of him has softened with time, at that moment he was nothing short of irritating. Reading passages copied directly from the Lonely Planet guidebook, I often had to stop and correct his pronunciation or usage of the words I’d read the night before. It would have been much better if he’d simply pointed out the odd interesting feature, or just answered questions, or even just kept quiet altogether.

Our trip back to town from the temple ended at the ferry docks for a trip across to Koh Paen, an island in the Mekong. At this point, I told him he could go his way and that I’d enjoy walking around the island on my own, paying him 2/3 of our agreed upon rate for about half of the time. I felt kind of guilty about this, as it seemed to me that there was disappointment in his face and voice as he departed.

I walked down to the boat dock and climbed aboard. The boat sat for some time as it filled up enough to make the journey worthwhile. Eventually there were enough bicycles, motorcycles and people aboard and we departed. The trip took only about 10 minutes, and I enjoyed all of them, dipping my toes in the Mekong and talking with an older couple from Florida and their guide (who was actually mentioned by name in the Kompong Cham section of the Lonely Planet guidebook.)

At the far side, we pulled up to the dock and everyone headed ashore, walking or driving across a rickety (and this, I think, is an understatement) bamboo bridge over the last stretch of water. I could only imagine what crossing the whole river on the soon-to-be-completed dry-season bamboo bridge would be like.

After a walk across the mud flats (covered by the river in the wet season) on a bamboo road I was on Koh Paen proper. I started walking more or less at random, following the small dirt roads and turning as my whims dictated. Koh Paen was a delightful place. Not far from the busy provincial capital, but a world entirely apart.

I wandered down dusty dirt roads, shielded from the sun by the bananna, pomelo and jackfruit trees that every house seemed to have in abundance. I was surprised, as I walked by how tightly spaced the houses were. This tight spacing, as well as the typical large size of Cambodian families meant that there was never more than thirty seconds without a chorus of childrens’ (and sometimes even adults’) voices saying “Hello!” “Hello!” or “What’s your name?” (Very often this was the extent of their English knowledge, but it was still fun to stop and try to talk a bit.) I could hardly believe how big the island was, but realized that the Mekong wasn’t the 10m wide Don flowing through Toronto, nor was this a little islet in the middle of Sunnybrook park. The river was more on the scale of the St. Lawrence (if anything it was bigger) and the island on the scale of Montreal.

As I continued my walk, I carried on past ox-carts, young kids playing volleyball (the game seemed to be very popular throughout the country) grazing cattle, houses being built by hand, and rural wats off in the distance. Eventually I turned down a “side street” and along a truly rural road. There were rice fields on either side, some being worked, some just soaking up the sunlight with the houses off in the distance.

As I walked I was beckoned by a group of men having a rest in the field they were working. They sat me down and gave me a taste of what I THINK was palm wine.

Shortly after this, I took a look at my clock. Often people say “the time just flew by” without really fully meaning it. In my case it truly had. I thought I’d been walking for half an hour, maybe a bit more. It turned out to have been an hour and forty minutes! I rushed back to the ferry dock and returned to the mainland with the sun beginning to set. On the way back to the guesthouse I saw a group of young men playing takraw by the river. Takraw is sort of like volleyball, except the ball is about 15cm in diameter and made of wicker. Oh, and players aren’t allowed to touch it with their hands. Feet and heads only. Even at this level of competition, it’s still an impressive sight. I’d been wanting to see the game ever since my arrival and was happy to have spotted them.

That evening I wandered out to the market and had a dinner of fried noodles from a stall and absolutely wonderful pineapple smoothie-type-things (less than $0.40 each!) before getting to bed early for the boat ride the next day.

I woke up and headed down to the dock by moto (driven by the same guy who had been my guide the previous day. He seemed happy enough this morning, so maybe his disappointment was just my imagination.) I walked down on to the dock and fastened my pack to the top of the long, narrow boat as securely as I could. I had no idea how bumpy the ride would be and didn’t want to arrive in Kratie (about 150km further up the river) to discover that all of my belongings were floating somewhere in the Mekong behind me.

The interior of the boat was actually quite pleasant, with a row of two comfortable seats on either side. I sat reading. looking out the tinted windows or talking to the person next to me (Rather conveniently, he was a Cambodian doctor from Ban Lung, where I planned to visit later) for most of the trip. For a few minutes, however, I climbed outside and loved the wind in my hair, the sight of the banks far away on either side, and the wake spreading out behind us as we sped on down the river at 40 or 50km/h.

Upon arriving at Kratie at 11:00, I was determined not to repeat my Kompong Cham experience with touts and guides. As it turned out, I did almost exactly the same thing, staying at the first guesthouse I was taken to (though for US$3 a night with A/C, cable TV, a private bathroom and a balcony looking out over the Mekong, I wasn’t complaining) and agreeing to a sunset trip to see the freshwater Irrawaddy dolphins at Kampi 16km north.

In the early afternoon I wandered around town and (very quickly) out of it. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was spending my time moving hurridly from one provincial capital to the next when it was very clear that I liked rural Cambodia the best. On the way back I walked with a group of children for most of the way, never getting past the two usual phrases. The vast majority of homes were traditional Cambodian stilt-houses, even within the city itself. We also wandered by another home where incense sticks had been left to dry out in the sun.

Back in town I stopped at the market for a lunch of baguettes and mangoes (as mentioned before, the Cambodians make great bread) and then returned to the guesthouse to meet my ride to the dolphins.

On the way north, we stopped at Phnom Som Bok, a hill maybe 6km out of town with an active wat at its peak. After climbing the 216 stairs to the main plateau, I sat in the shade with the breeze blowing all around me and read for a few minutes.

As I sat, I thought about why I’d been so unhappy with many of the guided tours I’d taken. The main reason was probably the loss of independence. The ability to climb up this hill, discover I liked it, and then sit there for the rest of the day reading was one I was unhappy to give up. But then again, with public transport being what it was in Cambodia, going anywhere without having a moto driver sitting waiting for you was difficult, and I supposed I was supporting the local economy…

After the climb up two more sets of stairs to the very peak of the mountain to admire the view of the land from the summit, I headed back down, sharing a big smile with the two ancient monks that sat near the top of the first staircase.

As we carried on up the road to the Kampi dolphin pool, I revelled in the wind in my hair, the sun shining through the palms on either side of the road, and the beautiful Cambodian countryside and villages all around.

Upon arriving at Kampi, I was impressed by how organized the dolphin viewing trips were. I’d read that they were simply run by local boat owners who often disturbed the dolphins by using the motor too much and getting too close. Thing had clearly changed, and now there was a centrally organized, very connservation minded visitors’ service.

I tramped down the stairway with about eight other people and on to the 8m long boat that would take us out to visit the marine mammals. Irrawaddy dolphins are shy dolphins, found mostly in salt water, but in three of the large river systems of Asia, they’ve migrated well up the river and into fresh water. The freshwater race is endangered, with perhaps only 100 individuals in the Mekong and perhaps even less in the other rivers.

We cruised around the swiftly flowing river, not seeing any sign of the dolphins for quite a while. Apparently they preferred to stay out of the harsh sun and usually only appeared just before sunset. Sure enough, one popped its dark grey head out of the water maybe 30m away from us. A few minutes later, we saw the backs and dorsal fins of another pair break the surface. By the time we’d finished our 40 minute trip out on the water, we’d spotted a dozen or so dolphins. Sadly, my camera batteries died shortly after we left, so I’ve only got one distant picture of a dorsal fin above the water. This was almost made up for by the sunset out over the river that my camera revived itself for just long enough to capture.

Back in town at night, I headed across the road from my guesthouse to the riverside for dinner. The noodle soup was good, but even better were the fruit smoothies. I have no idea how it took me so long in Cambodia to discover them! I sat under the lights of the food stalls by the and read next to the bank of the Mekong before heading off to bed in preparation for the journey still further up the river the following day…

Tags: Cambodia

This entry was posted on Thursday, December 30th, 2004 at 9:54 pm and is filed under Cambodia. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.