The Southern Coast - Cambodia

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Sihanoukville

We took the bus from Siem Reap back to Phnom Penh for one night before heading back out and onto the beach. We left Phnom Penh by bus for a four hour ride to Sihanoukville, the best known beach area in Cambodia. S’Ville is little more than a stretch of beach shacks on the Gulf of Thailand, with guest houses and hotels behind. It is more of a locals’ retreat, for “well to do Phnom Penhers.” We made a reservation at a more secluded guest house on a beach that has absolutely nothing but peace and quiet. We heard that the main beach area - Serenity Beach - was not so serene, known more for loud parties and dancing. After taking a tuk tuk out to the middle of no man’s land - down a dirt road, through a construction site, and then up a hill to the resort - we found out they did not have the room we reserved. Our tuk tuk driver offered to stay until we checked the room, and good thing, we high-tailed it back to main area and he dropped us off at another guesthouse, which was fine, but had a weird smell. We asked our driver to bring us to another place where we had a reservation, and he suggested yet a different place. Generally the drivers will get a kick back from guest houses when they bring tourists by. At that point, despite the mid day heat, we decided to walk down towards the beach to find something. As we turn the corner and realized that we seemed to be several more hot blocks from the main area of rooms, we saw a Westerner on the side of the road - an Irish lass, Karen. We asked her for the lay of the land, where was the best area to stay in, are there places on the beach, etc? Karen replied, I just opened a guest house this week, want to take a look? So, that is how we found the Hou Hua House. We were the first tenants for our room, and the sign was not even up. We were about two nights from Khmer New Year, so to find a clean, tidy room, for $12, about two blocks from the beach was fantastic. It got even better with their “free beer at check in” policy. You have to love the Irish. The sign was not up yet, the restaurant not finished, and the rooms were barely finished, but the draft beer was cold. Karen’s business partner, a Scot named Richie, also owned a beach shack restaurant called the Green House and Karen suggested we check it out.

My expectations for S’Ville were pretty low. I had heard that, in addition to the partying, it was dirty and crowded. But, it was the first beach we had access to since Australia (I am not counting New Zealand where it was usually too cold to swim). I think because my expectations were low, I was pleasantly surprised. The beach area was separated into three different areas. Facing the beach to the left was the party area with the beach dance clubs. To the far right was more of the locals’ scene, which was designated by more crowded beaches, more people in the water, and honestly, more trash on the beach and in the water. In the middle was the chill out zone. We spent our two days and three nights in S’Ville bouncing back and forth between Richie’s beach bar and some of the others on the center of the beach to just chill. During the day we would buy a cheap bottle of water and to gain access to beach chairs with an umbrella just off the water for the entire day. The shacks did not charge for the chairs and did not continuously hassle you to spend more money to earn your stay. At night, the bars played music with happy hours specials making draft beers only .50. The barbecued meat and fish right on the beach. We could sit in a wicker chair, only feet from the water’s edge, sipping our beers, and people watching. It actually was fairly relaxing. It would have been more relaxing without the touts.

No Money No Honey

If the beach was swarming with anything, I would not say that it was Western partiers. Instead, it was the touts - people of all ages traipsing through the sand selling everything from bracelets to sarongs to sunglasses to squid. Prior to S’Ville we had learned about the phrase “No Money - No Honey.” It was on t-shirts all over Cambodia. We were using it to joke with the kids who were selling bracelets. The kids were persistent to say the least. Sometimes we would just say no thank you or shake our heads, but some of the kids would want to talk more with us and used it as a time to practice their English. Usually when we said no, they would ask us why, ask us how long we were staying, and since it was a short time try to convince us that we needed a souvenir. When we told them we had no money, they would say to Eric “No money, no honey, but you have honey.”

The older women would offer manicures, pedicures, massages, and even hair removal, right on the beach. Their sales tactic would be to make you feel uncomfortable in front of people. They would look at my toes, which admittedly have not had a pedicure since last fall, and point out that my toe nails were too long. They would find a patch of hair on my legs, rub my legs, and say “hairy hairy I remove.” None of their sales banter phased me, though.

All the kids asked us to play a game. They wanted to play tic-tac-toe, and if we lost, we bought a bracelet, and if we won, we would get a bracelet for free. Now, we were convinced these kids were taught some sort of trick to ensure we lost and we repeatedly declined. With one kid, Eric tried to get him to play a different game, asking him questions about geography and capital cities. The boy was around 12, and told us he went to school Monday through Friday. He said the game was not fair because he had never been to any of the places Eric asked him about. He called Eric a cheat and after finding out we were American, told us he wanted to burn America, to light it on fire, and burn us. We were shocked. We scolded him saying that was not nice to say, and that it was mean and cruel and we would not talk to him anymore. Then, he started grabbing my arm, which made Eric mad. The kid would not leave, but after we ignored him for a bit, he finally moved on. It broke my heart that our fun banter with the kids turned into this. It was a downer on an otherwise surprisingly relaxing stay in S’Ville.

French Colonialism

For our last night in Cambodia before heading to Vietnam, we stayed in Kampot, a former French colonial town about 35 kilometers from the border. Kampot is a riverside town surrounded by mountains that I am sure was once beautiful. You could still see some of the traditional architecture that survived years of war with Vietnam and US bombing. But, similar to other areas, it would be a gold mine to redevelop the river front and clean up the streets. We had dinner riverside, and watched the sunset during the locals’ evening stroll along the promenade. In the morning, we made our way into Vietnam.

Eccentric People

I can only imagine the stories I would have about our time in Cambodia if I spoke Khmer. Instead, I can only share stories that revolve around Westerners and either the stupid things they say and their interactions with the locals. When we were at our riverside bar in Phnom Penh, we got to talking to an older gentleman possibly British or Scottish. He was sitting at the next table and had a big ass lens for his camera. I tend to get lens envy looking at other people’s cameras. He had filled up his memory card and returned to his hotel a few doors down. On his way out he faced a barrage of “Hello Tuk Tuk” to which he responded “Where? Where? Where do I want to go? I am only going to my hotel. Where?” It was pretty funny. He returned a few minutes later and having lost his table outside moved to one just inside the door. As we sat at our favorite outdoor table, Eric was playing some solitaire on his iPod. There were many young kids selling books to the tourists in red plastic baskets slung over their arms. It is sad to see the kids on the streets selling books instead of in school learning to read them, particularly because all of the books relate to the Khmer Rouge. This one boy came up to Eric and noted that he was playing a game and Eric kept pretty quiet. We try not to buy from the kids on the street to encourage them to get off the street and go to school, particularly after just watching Slumdog Millionaire. Then, surprisingly, Eric yelled at the boy to get away, I don’t want any, you shouldn’t be selling this stuff. I was a bit surprised at Eric’s reaction, but did not question his response right away. The boy next went inside to our older gentlemen friend, who started yelling at the boy “Get away! Get out of here! Go! No drugs here!” He continued on until the boy, who was maybe 10 or 12 years old, finally left the restaurant. Turns out, the boy offered to sell Eric marijuana, which is why he was so abrupt with him, but our older gentlemen friend took the cake on his reaction. It was not the first time, and it will probably not be the last time, Eric is offered drugs. It happened a few times in Luang Prabang too. They never ask me, only the man. But, for such a young kid to be selling on the street in such an open manner is sad.

One of our favorite phrases became that uttered by a European woman on the bus ride from Siem Reap to Phnom Penh. Shortly after we boarded, the woman brought her tickets to a bus employee. She said, “I am not sure we are on the right bus. I was told this was a luxury bus, with hot breakfast.” Eric put his head in his hands and shook it side to side saying to himself “This is Cambodia lady.” He was right, though, this was one of the luxury buses. Especially when were remembering our “bus” ride from Nong Khiew to Luang Prabang. For the next few days we continued to make reference to the luxury bus comment.

When on the beach in Sihanoukville we saw Speedo Santa, an older German gentleman in the world’s tiniest Speedo. He had clear tan lines and a large pot belly. He also had long grey hair twisted up in a woman’s hair clip. I mean, the picture was priceless, but we did not have our camera with us. His wife had the longest toe nails I have ever seen in my life. Her toe nails were longer than my finger nails have ever been. Eccentrics.

Deep Thoughts

Overall, I enjoyed our time in Cambodia. I do not want to seem like I am complaining about our time. I think my expectations were too high. Eric and I always talk about how we never want to go to Venice again. People say you can "do" Venice in a day. We went during our first solo trip to Europe (first being to Ireland with family). We spent five days there and loved every minute of it. I have heard too many people complain about Venice being too touristy, like a Disney World in Italy - it is too hot, too crowded, smells bad, etc. We had none of those experiences and loved every minute we were there! I do not want to return to Venice to have a bad experience, or return there now that we have toured more of Europe and see the charm in less visited locales, like Camogli, Italy or Kilkee, Ireland. I think Cambodia was similar. We loved Siem Reap as our first real taste of Asia, and were taken in by the wonderful people. I think our expectations were too high, trying to recreate what we felt the first time. I honestly hope that the government begins to take more of an interest in the population, and tries to create sustainable tourism and a better way of life for the people, including an interest in hygiene, the environment, and other health issues. I understand the country in its current state has only been around for thirty years, but seeing the disparities between the rich and the poor is awful, with every member of Hun Sen's family and entourage driving a Hummer or a Lexus, and building monstrous mansions in Phnom Penh. Maybe at last the US can become more involved in helping the country remerge successfully from the past tragedies, that we were at least somewhat implicit in creating.

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Photos

No Money, No Honey
Eric getting the hard sell.

Beach Food
Nothing says the beach better than an English roast dinner with Yorkshire pudding.