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Published: February 21st 2011
“Kampot, why not?” is what I said to myself. I was ready to leave Sihanoukville, I had some relax time and I acquired my visa for Vietnam. The tuk tuk drivers were at there usual spot in Victory Hill when I came down the dirt road for the final time. Once I explained to each of them that I was waiting for a bus they showed me to the little sheltered break area. I sat on the wicker bench , shaded from the sun, on the corner of three unpaved roads. Some small talk got made, then a couple of the drivers started asking me to play some guitar. I got the guitar out and started playing a few chords, a few songs. I was getting surrounded by the non working drivers, then they started to request Cambodian songs. I played a few chords and the guys sang in their native language. Their was smiles all around. My bus was surprisingly near on-time and I packed up my guitar for another bus trip.
Arrived nearly on time, found a guesthouse and went for a walk around the town. I walked by a pub to see the girl I just met
at the guesthouse just seating herself. I joined her for a drink and after she left I decided to linger for another beer to wait for the sun to set. I was nearly finished my beer when a girl approached asking if I would like to join her and her friends. So I joined their table in the corner. In no time the four of us were laughing, drinking, eating and telling travel tales. Laura and Chris were both English and Barb was Dutch. They all just came from Vietnam and were eager to give me names of guesthouses, towns, trips and border crossing info and I shared my Cambodian experience with them. We were joined by a crazy American man named Patrick. We drank and laughed into the evening, switched bars and sometime during all this Laura, Patrick and I made plans to hit the Cambodian countryside on bicycles in the morning.
The next morning brought the arrival of my first Asian hangover. It was a light one though. I met my cycling buddies at their guesthouse for coffee. We got some advice on a good route to a nearby dam with a little place to swim. We
never made it to the dam or anywhere near the suggested route. We crossed the bridge with Pat in the lead, we neglected the first right turn to follow the river and instead took the second right turn. We pedalled for about an hour into the countryside, seeing no other foreigners, and were kept busy returning waves and hello's to the locals and children. With Pat still in the lead he decided that we should head in the direction to where the river should be. So we started down a dusty dirt road that had a little village, plenty of cows and a beautiful temple. Took a break at the temple to cool down, asked some kids which way to the river and continued down the dirt road. The distances between homes increased, the number of cows decreased and the road became a goat path. We kept to the track, we couldn't turn back now. Then we turned a corner, the trees lessened and a beautiful panoramic of a river was in front of us. We excitedly continued til we found a wonderful scene with a few boats nearby to stop for a swim. There were a few little homes
with thatched roofs on our side of the river and a few more across the way. After the refreshing swim we decided to continue forward as this trail would have to lead somewhere. It didn't. We got to where the trail stopped and there before us stood a man sent from the heavens. He spoke little English but confirmed that there was no road ahead, pointed to a boat and said five dollars. We understood what he meant. So in no time we had 4 adults and 3 bicycles onto a little boat that sat really low in the water. The water was within an inch or two of the sides of the boat. The muscular man rowed us across the river in no time (he knew how to row a boat). The three of us were like excited little children, high fiving, laughing and realizing how perfect this day was going. We stopped at the next little dirt road shop that sold beer. We sat with the owners and communicated through gestures, broken English and help from Laura's language guide book. As we sat with the couple owners more and more locals showed up to join us. To wave
and say hello, then smile and stare at us. I do admit we might just look like a funny travelling trio. Pat claims to be 62 (but acts many years younger), London born but has lived in L.A for 40 years plus he is a rock and roller (he actually worked in the business). Laura is in her late 20's, English, has short red hair, freckles and a great sense of humour. Then there is me, shaggy brown hair, red beard and I was wearing a Gun's N Roses t shirt. In fact some of the locals would touch my arm or arm hair or touch my saffron beard out of curiosity. We cycled our way back into Kampot town via the back roads. Then it was food and beer time. Sometime during this meal, I started talking about my upcoming border crossing into Vietnam. Then it hit me, “Why don’t we rent two motos and drive to the border?” It was cheaper for me to split the rental and fuel prices then hire a driver to do it and plus after our perfect bicycle journey we should do another adventure together. Pat and Laura both agreed to the border
run. Now the morning was to bring another adventure with these two and Vietnam.
Pat and Laura cruised over to my guesthouse just after 10 am. I choose to share a moto with Laura due to witnessing Pat's lack of bicycling skills from the previous day (Sorry Pat but your all over the place with a pedal bike so I was nervous about a moto). My backpack was carried on Pat's bike and my guitar and shoulder bag came along with me and Laura. We cruised along the highway sharing the narrow roads with buses, working trucks, tractors, cows, bicycles and other motos. We got a lot of stares but we also got plenty of smiles and waves. Kep is a seaside town about 30km from Kampot. We cruised into the crab market and sat down on a balcony overlooking the Gulf of Thailand that was busy with fishing boats and women catching crabs near the shore. Me and Pat had a breakfast of a few Angkor beer and watched the women work. The place was nothing short of gorgeous, and was the kind of place I could sit for days on end, observing with no ambition to leave.
We had a seafood lunch and lingered until we realized that time was rushing along. The Vietnam border was another 45km away and would involve some dirt roads plus Pat and Laura needed to return to Kampot before dark.
We cruised through the frames of Cambodian rural life, with the mountains seeming to only grow, the colours brightening, the beauty magnifying with the passing miles. The red dirt road weaved its way to the border through little villages, grand fields surrounded by mountains, past salt flats, farmland and little lakes. We were near the border, we needed once last beer, one last laugh. We pulled up to a little shop that we hoped had cold beer as we were dry, dusty and thirsty. We were greeted by children running to come see us screaming “Hellooo” and only warm beer. I stayed to chat with the little ones while Pat and Laura kept the cold beer search alive. We settled across the street in a little shaded shop with cold beer while the little children watched, waved and shouted every now and then. We needed to get a move on as the guys had about 2 hours to get back
to Kampot before dark. The little ones were still watching us so I went to say goodbye. They all shook my hand except the littlest one who would blow me kisses then when I went to shake her little hand she turned away scared. Too cute. We stopped at the Cambodian side of the border crossing. It was now our good bye time. We were a dream team of travellers, willing to accept randomness and consume beer at any given time. I have known these two for less then 48 hours and we had done so much. I started my walk and just as I reached the Customs booth I heard Pat's voice “Duffy”, I turned to see the two of them on their motos, sunglasses, smiles and huge waves in the air as they put their bikes in gear. A passport stamp, a quick chat about the guys family that live in Toronto, some bargaingwith a moto driver, another passport stamp and I was on the back of a new moto cruising through Vietnam already missing what was behind me.
When I sit in my mundane life in between travels, I look out the window through the frosted
windows and across the fields of snow, my mind lost in foreign landscapes, sunshine, chance findings, new friends and inspiring moments. These are the things about travel that just cant be planned but prove to be the memories that get casted with gold in our minds. The 48 hours of adventure with Pat and Laura is just one of those things that could never be planned and counld not have been more perfect. The travel gods in the sky had shone a light upon us.
Cambodia has become a mistress of mine. She is the girl in the dark, smoke filled room. A glance into her dark eyes and I was taken. She wears to much make up, looks a little uncomfortable in her high heels, her cigarettes too long, her smile charming but weathered. She floats about the room and into my helpless mind. Under her make up lies wrinkles beyond her years. Her eyes caskets of secrets and her kisses taste of cheap red wine. This is my mistress Cambodia. I want to walk away but I cant help myself to stay, to watch another scene. Just another distant glimpse, a silhouette. This is how I found
myself lingering in this country that makes me smile, feel joy then disappoints and disgusts me, then I want more.
The last few kilometres of Cambodia, the dirt roads, the smiles, the salt flats, the waving children. Soaking in the last moments of something special with my travel mates. Then only 15 minutes later I’m walking the streets in a different country, and I’m thinking of her. I’m alone, confused and wanting more even though I have seen both her beauty and her flaws. I think Cambodia has tatooed itself somewhere inside of me.
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mom
non-member comment
this is really something i take it this trip is everything and more than you ever expected you are truly making gifton history