Real Crazy Cambodia

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Once I arrived back in Phnom Penh, I checked back into the Okay Guest house where I knew I would be sure to meet some fellow travelers. I checked into my old room and headed down to the common area. Before I was finished my dinner, I had already met a couple of people including Dave from Canada, who I would get to know better over the next few days. I hung about the guest house the following morning contemplating my next move? Dave had mentioned something about hitchhiking to Ban Lung, too see a crater lake, and do some trekking in the jungle. Throughout the day I continue to meet a bunch of others, Malu, Olly, Chelsea, Shannon, and Efrat.

Talking around the tables is the best part of the Okay guest house, and Dave mentioned that he knew a tuk tuk driver who could take us out for some authentic real Cambodian restaurant and that it would be way cheaper. Chelsea, Shannon, Olli and myself decided to give it a try. And the five of us meet the "Famed" Martin our tuk tuk driver and host for the evening. Martin takes us up and down some back roads until none of no where we are and stops in front of this roofed open air cafe, with plastic chairs, and wooden fold tables. OK? Crosses a few minds. As you walk in you notice little stoves with woks on most of the tables, there is fresh vegetables and all sorts of meats placed at each table, so you toss on the food and cook your own meal right on the table. This actually looks like fun, Martin orders up two woks for the 6 of us, and then orders all varieties of veggies, and some beef, chicken, prawns, and squid. Pitcher after pitcher of beer is ordered as well as second rounds of prawns, veggies and beef. The six of us all indulge on the seaming unlimited supply of food and drink, it was phenomenal!! The whole ordeal only costed each of $6 including paying Martins share.

At one point in a conversation Martin invites us (adamantly) to see his wife’s village, where he will be celebrating the Cambodian holidays of Sept 30, one of only two times a year he leaves Phnom Penh. (None of us can remember what it’s called, and it’s not in the guide book). Dave is excited by the idea straight away, and I also think this will be a good idea, as it was probably safer than the hitchhiking idea, and other transport will be difficult over the period of time as well. Olli was at the end of his adventure, and both Chelsea and Shannon where game for going to the village. One weird thing about this was that the four of us are all from Canada; it had probably been a month or so since I last met a fellow Canadian, and here we are all going out to some Tuk driver’s village for three days. I find it’s often best to make these types of decisions after a few jugs of beer.

The next day Dave and I rent some motorbikes and checkout, leaving our big bags at the guesthouse. Chelsea hops on my motto, and Shannon on Daves, Martin has his wife on his, and we embark on an adventure that we will not soon forget. Just the drive out of Phnom Penh was enough to give most a heart attack, I'm weaving in and out of traffic, driving on sidewalk (go with the flow), and often in muddy ditches, passing seemingly endless lines of jammed traffic. The further out of Phnom Penh we get the less crazy it is, until we turn off the highway. After that it is all dirt roads, with moon crater sized potholes, slippery clay patches, and ruts that could be used as shelters if only they had a roof. You have to really be on the ball as other motto's are coming passed you, at you, and around you at all times, as they are also trying to miss these hazards. I try and find someone who looks like they know what they’re doing and go where he goes, but to keep up you have to increase speed, so it’s hard to balance the benefits of path over negatives of more speed. I watch the guy I am following slam into a pot hole the size of a car and I slow and go around on the left, as completely stopping isn't an option at some parts. OK he didn't know what he was doing, new strategy, just watch really carefully and try and go the same speed as everyone else. I should get a metal for not crashing! Poor Chelsea on the back is completely reliant that I know what I'm doing and she helps by not screaming and sitting still.

We arrive at this Ferry crossing and have to push forwards, and fight for every foot towards the docks as everyone in Asia has a different view on line-up edict, meaning there is none, and it doesn't help that there are a million Cambodians leaving PP for the weekend. We are getting weird looks (mostly smiles) from much of the crowd; this is a local ferry, what are they doing here? No-one speaks English and Martin is our only savior for paying and getting in the right line area. Martin being Cambodian makes it on first and Dave and Shannon squeeze threw leaving Chelsea and me on the wrong side for an extra 25 minutes alone, no problem. Loading onto the ferry was a little hectic as there are putting 80 bikes on a boat the holds 30 neatly, you can't get off your bike the whole time, and have to really push to get a spot on the ground for one leg so as you don't trip into someone else. Longer than getting on the ferry to get across the river is the unloading of the ferry at the other side. On the other side everyone has to back their bikes out, and the organization isn't exactly world class. We eventually head down the road a few more kilometres.

Crazier than the ferry, was the next 'ferry' across a lake where there ought to be a road (still wet season and everything is flooded). It was a complete shit show; seriously, we packed ten or more bikes on a freaking canoe. A canoe with a motor strapped to the back, complete with women and children filling in the gaps of the bikes. You loaded your bike from shore up a wobbling board that slipped back and forth as the canoe rocked whaaaaat? Once inside you menuvor your motto towards the back and park diangle as the canoe isn't wide enough to park sideways. I was lucky to be in the front and vertical as I was the last one on, and I'm telling you a spot is hard won against the hoards on shore who also want on. The canoe gets pushed away from shore and rocks each way as people shift and lean there motto, you can't even see the other side yet. I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little scared. Once on the other side the roads continued as before and we reached a bridge just wide enough for two to walk, suspended over a river with ropes, and it’s swinging, swinging!! Ok I'm no show-off, and I really didn't need to fall in the river, so I walked my motto across the 150 meter bridge. The village was only a short drive after that.

We arrived in Martins village with welcoming hellos from kids, smiles from the older generations and a few confused looks. We were shown to the showers, given food, and then the drinking begun. We started at Martins wife’s brother’s house, and sat around on a raised wooden platform covered in a mat made from bamboo. These are considered tables. You can sit on them or around them, but mostly on. Family and friends all sitting in a circle everyone is included, soup bowls and platters of food are placed into the center, quite often a personal bowl of rice is used as filler, and you just take food from the center group as required. It's not uncommon for someone to pick a piece of food out of the center and feed it directly to another at the table, as a here try this. (Note, get good at chopsticks before trying) And of course, just keep passing around the beer and fill each other's cups when you think they haven't had as much as you. We repeat these acts for the rest of the evening until we are shown to Martins wife’s brother’s house, where we would be sleeping.

It being 3am and us all being extremely drunk helped the fact that we had to sleep on a floor with no bug net, and pillows that smelt like cat urine. Somehow we all manage and wake up to shots of rice wine (for the men) and Chelsea opted for a breakfast beer. We were invited to check out the village's pagoda where every man, woman and child was making their offerings to their ancestors. It was a huge mass of people sharing rice and walking around with incense, chatting, chanting, praying, doing whatever it was they were doing. Volleyball was being played outside by some guys, and of course Dave and I joined in for a while. Later, we were all invited to one of the brother's/cousin's/uncle's homes (I lost track) to drink beer and visit. This goes on as the night before with food, drinks and conversation. All the locals were really helpful in trying to teach us more Khmer, Cambodia's official language.

After awhile we decided to give Martin some family time, since he only goes home two-three times a year. A little drunk by noon and riding a motto further out to see some boat races, with no English translator by our side. Chelsea and I were on one bike and Shannon and Dave on the other. We arrived at the races but no action had developed yet. We wandered the crowds for a while and when people saw us, they found whoever could speak English and sent them our (glaringly white) way to practice, I ended sharing a conversation with a monk for awhile. Pretty cool. Anyhow, we think we should go further and try our luck swimming in the water. Instead we got split up, and Chelsea and I made our way back to the Village without Dave and Shannon, (Hope their alright?). Back in the village, as you would have guessed, could only possibly entail more drinking. The diversion to the boat races was also a good way to sober up a bit for what we already knew would be a long day of partying.

Cambodians take their celebrating seriously, family piggy banks are busted open, and no matter how much they hold, it’s not enough. The money is splurged on items the family may not otherwise afford, such as duck, shrimp, crap, and not to mentions tons of beer. We were welcomed and seated in large circles house after house, then food is paraded out course after course, everyone eats until they can't eat no more, and drinks beyond their limits. The cans of beer were countless. The coolers were bottomless pits of alcohol, food was never scarce, we ate mostly duck meat, and it was delicious. A variety of banana leaf wrapped sticky rice treats, and every kind of soup. In fact, that night at the dance party, we were privileged to watch the whole butchering process of the chicken whose neck would make a delicious soup. These people know how too seriously party and the four of us should receive metals, for not getting sick and passing out in front of our hosts.

We kicked off the dance party, everybody was keen on making us go dance, but really at first it was the westerners and some kids. Later on the Cambodians our own age danced in a very defined pattern. The boys on one half, somewhat chaotically, and the girls on the other - in perfect pinwheel formation where they dance in rows, simultaneously with small steps and hand gestures. I continued dancing with the kids, and for the first time actually enjoyed kids and teaching them new things and playing with them. Cambodian kids (no offense) are way cuter than yours, maybe it’s the lack of English, or maybe they just are cuter. Dancing goes on for hours and rice wine gets introduced, I make it a hobby to get shots of the stuff and pass it along to all the other Cambodian guys out dancing. I remember being asked over to almost everyone's house, but managed to sneak away in the early morning hours back to my floor retreat with the smelly pillows.

The following morning I awake and head out to the local restaurant, but this time, shots of rice wine were encouraged for the ladies too, that was funny. It was only 9am and I wasn't ready for more drinking, but being the polite Canadians were are, we all drank anyways. I ended up getting the brunt of the action as I was sitting at the table with all the men and being passed multiple shots (more than 12, then I lost count), to be honest I didn't even get a chance to eat breakfast. We then made rounds to various relative households to say our good byes, which involved even more drinking. Cambodians we hadn't yet met were even trying to flag us down to come drink at their houses. So, now that we have happily and formally met all the important people, including the 'King' or 'Big Man' of the Village who is Martin's Uncle, (Apparently construction is a good business to be in, in any town!), we were free to make our way back to Phnom Penh. The families we stayed at were of the elite in the village, however where still by no means well off.

The drive home was complete insanity, far too drunk to walk; driving in the conditions of the road was one of the most sobering actions I could have taken. Now I'm not condoning drunk driving, but in this case we quite honestly did not have a choice. Chelsea and I still road together, but Dave and Shannon ended up also having to take one of Martins kids Tannon. Martin also had his wife and one other kid on his bike (whom I saw sleeping on the way home). We did go slowly on the way but the ride included putting the bikes back onto the canoes and heading towards the bigger ferry. The big ferry is where it really when Shit Show, a monsoon struck as we're boarding and the rain is coming at us sideways, the rest of the way home included slippery clay roads, intense traffic and sharp pounding rain. You couldn't wear sunglasses because it was too dark and they would fog up. So squinting through the pelting rain we drove our soaked bodies through massive puddles, potholes and more traffic than you can imagine on such a tiny ass road. I managed to pull through and didn't crash or spill the bike; however there was some close calls, especially when we arrived back in the mayhem of Phnom Penh. I can honestly say that I've never been so wet in my life. It was like swimming in your clothes, while walking on the ground.

We spent that night at Martin's house. While his wife made dinner, and the other washed up, I was invited briefly over to a neighbors house and Martin introduced me, they like everywhere had the food laid out in the center of the room, and passed my some chopsticks. Ok I know the drill, try a little of everything, or they'll just feed it to you. I tried the meat and it was very different, so I tried it again, "Martin" I ask "What is this?" I broke the most important rule again; never ask questions you don't want the answers too. The point is, I had just been eating dog!!! Worse yet he didn't answer verbally, he just picked up a dogs skull that had been sitting behind him, and showed it to me. I get later get back to Martins house and its supper time, I resist telling the others during dinner. Martin’s wife prepared a very nice dinner of chicken, veggies, and even some french fries. We later were drinking some herbal liquor that reads like it cures all, and does not cause morning headaches, when the neighbors came over with just the dog skull I had seen before, yes folks, dog meat, and right from its skull. We have photographic evidence, although I may not post it. It only gets worse, when every little piece of flesh is scraped from the skull Martins neighbor breaks the skull open and Martin has some brains dug out with his chopsticks. OMG, he's passing it my way.... I explain I can't, but just when my mouth opens, in it goes. I quickly swallow and have been trying to forget it since. We end the night sleeping on tiled floors, and Martin takes us to return our motto’s and back to the OKay Guest house the next morning.

Wow what an adventure, Thanks Martin.

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Photos

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Don't try this at home