The Unexplained Battambang

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Of all the places I was going in Cambodia I was most interested in being in Battambang. Here was going to be a more untouristed side of Cambodia. Of course, as soon I arrived and disembarked from the bus there was a rush of tuk tuk drivers offering their services. One said he could take me to my hotel for $.50, but first he wanted to tell me about his tours. I didn’t really have any plans in Battambang anyway so I listened. He spoke very good English and I figured maybe he could actually give me some insight into the place. He told me about the numerous sights he could show me in one day, but I actually dislike cramming a whole day with sightseeing. We settled on him showing me everything to the south of Battambang the following day and everything to the north on a subsequent day.

I was staying at the Seng Hout Hotel which was awesomely located in the center of town next to the central market and overlooking the Sankae River. The stir and noise emanating up to my room from the streets was getting me charged up. I couldn’t stay still for too long. I had to venture out and get to know Battambang. I stopped at a streetside restaurant and had some truly excellent chicken and spring rolls. After that I rolled over to a local expat pub to find out what the score was.

The place was packed with other travelers, but I found a place at the uncrowded bar. The whole place was staffed by a mixture of French and Cambodians. I got talking with the French Bartender and another French guy, Herve. It was his first night in Battambang too. We began talking about finding the real Battambang nightlife. He mentioned that he had heard that on the other side of the river were all these container bars. I said that sounded great and that I’d love to tag along to investigate.

So it was that I found myself on my first night in Battambang wandering along the darkened riverbanks of the Sankae. As we walked I began to suspect that the real Battambang nightlife was not in any official establishment. It was hard to see, but we kept passing clumps of people sitting around on the pavement, drinking, and laughing. The life was in the streets.

The Container Bar complex was strange. The place consisted of about twenty different bar/cafes and some loud piped in Khmer music. I suggested we go right to the middle and centrally locate ourselves. We wound up a couple of tables over from a group of Cambodian kids drinking and horsing around. They looked to be about 14 or 15 years old. Occasionally, one of the them would come over and hover by our table, periodically saying cheers and then just hovering there, seemingly happy to be in our presence. Eventually, the whole thing just felt weird and we decided to call it a night. We planned to meet back at Madison’s Pub the next night and explore Battambang nightlife further.

The next morning, I was awoken early by the loud speakers of the market. No rest for the weary. After breakfast I went to the lobby to meet my guide. There was a Cambodian guy there who said that he could take me on my tour. I said no thanks that I was waiting for a prearranged guide. He said his name was Sok and that the guy from yesterday couldn’t make it and that he was filling in. I was kind of pissed off thinking about the bait and switch. The guy who speaks perfect English goes to the bus and signs people up for tours and then farms them off to minions whose English isn’t so hot. Although feeling tricked I decided to go along since what else was I going to do with my day. I plopped into the back of his tuk tuk and we headed south.

Thus, began my tour to various unexplained places. Sok was not a natural tour guide and his lack of English certainly was not helping. After a while he stopped at a random suspension bridge and without explanation said that I should walk across it. So I did, taking in the scenery, and after poking around the other side for about five minutes I walked back. Our unexplained tour through the Battambang countryside would continue. Next, I was dropped at a temple complex which actually had some pretty cool statues in it. Most of them involving different people asking Buddha for blessings and thanks.

At one point as we were passing through a village about eight laughing giggly kids ran at and jumped on the tuk tuk as we drove by. I wasn’t sure if it was a joy ride or if we actually were getting them to where they wanted to go, but they definitely were enjoying themselves. After a random stop at a winery we passed a cock fighting ring in the distance. Sok asked if I wanted to go and watch. I declined not sure how I would be welcomed, or in what creative way I was going to be parted from my money.

We then reached a temple of nearly 400 steps. I found out later it was called Wat Banan. Sok told me I should walk up so I did. He of course would be staying by the tuk tuk again. I started to trudge up the steep steps. I quickly realized just how hot it was. The sweat began pouring off of me. I unbuttoned my shirt. I felt like I was going to expire. I did however, reach the top. There I sat and rested for about 20 minutes. I looked out over the scenery until I felt refreshed.

When done with the temple I climbed down and spotted the tuk tuk, but no Sok. I wandered around aimlessly for a bit before returning. Still no Sok. Then I decided to do what I’d seen tuk tuk drivers across Cambodia doing. I took off my shoes, put my feet up and had a nap in the tuk tuk. It was surprisingly comfortable. I must have turned the head of many a passerby. The only white tuk tuk driver in all of Cambodia. Besides for my skin color I looked pretty authentic.

I struck up a conversation with a neighboring tuk tuk driver. When he found out that I was from America he got excited and exclaimed. “Oh yeah, Trump. I like Trump. I like Obama too. I like you the most”. And with that he burst into a huge guffaw.

A while later Sok finally reappears. He talks about going to see more sights. By that point I am through with the tour and the sightseeing. I just want to have lunch, but not at the nearby touristy setup. Earlier I had located a Cambodian restaurant right on the river. It was Khmer style thatched huts with large wooden platforms and hammocks to eat on. Each hut had individual Cambodian groups sharing time, eating food and whiling away the day. Sok said sure go have lunch. I said no he had to come with me to translate. I said he could order whatever he wanted. He said he already ate, but eventually agreed.

Sok talked to the staff and got us a hut. In the other huts I could see people eating this stew served in a metal hot-pot heated from within. The waitress said that they were out of seafood, but would chicken be ok. Sure. They have a system in Cambodia where they bring you a big bucket of ice cold drinks, soda, juice, beer, you name it. And then they charge you for whatever you open. Sort of like a mini-bar. Sok cracked open an orange soda. I chose beer. By this time, he was beginning to relax and realize that hanging out in here was better than driving me all over.

The soup arrives. And I reach into the soup to pull out my first piece of chicken. And you know all those scrawny chickens that are just aimlessly scurrying around Cambodian villages free range style? I am sure that it was one of them. The piece I had in my hand turned out to be an entire chicken head with a small portion of neck bone down to where the fatal chop was obviously made. Holy crap. I have just ordered chicken head soup!

I thought to myself well if I am going to consider myself a meat eater I cannot be a hypocrite and blanch at this. So I dug in. Trying to bite off what little meat I could from the skull, which wasn’t easy. Then I eat the eyes, socket and all. After that I thought I’ve gone this far I might as well crack open the skull. Yep, two small white gelatinous halves of brain. So I ate those, which did not go down easily. I reached in hesitantly for my next chicken head and what should appear, but a chicken wing. Oh joy. Oh rapture. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see a chicken wing in my life. What it appears that the chef did was take one chicken, chop the whole thing up, and then throw the entire thing into the soup. Sok ate the feet happily.

During the meal Sok and I really began to get on. Swapping stories and such. By this time he had happily hopped into one of the hammocks. He even gave some advice where to go for some good nightlife. I had my ipod with me and I shared with him some of the Cambodian music I was listening too. The meal I had ordered, rice included, was enough for an entire family so even Sok and I together couldn’t finish the whole thing. Two small Cambodian boys, about age 7 I’d say, wandered buy asking for food. Sok immediately served them up two bowls of food and I opened a can of coke for them to share. The two friends sat and cheerfully talked as they ate. Sok said that one of them was saying to the other that this was his third lunch today.

After we were done Sok had all the remaining food, which was still a lot, put into a takeaway container to bring back to his family. He now had a big smile on his face. We made plans to meet for another tour in two days’ time and he took me back to the hotel. It was mid-afternoon and I took the opportunity to nap and get ready for a big night out.

At nightfall I made my way to Madison’s Pub. Herve arrived a little later. He seemed to be in a more somber mood. He hadn’t been there ten minutes when his cell phone rang. He talked on it for about twenty minutes. When he hung up he said that he wouldn’t be able to go exploring Battambang tonight. Apparently, a relative had died suddenly and he needed to stay in touch with home and thus have a quiet night. I stayed a little and chatted about how difficult it was to be on the road during a family crisis. I knew from experience as my sister was diagnosed with brain cancer while I was living in Japan and my grandmother died while I was flying to Brazil to begin a two-month trip.

From talking to Sok and walking around the night before I had gotten a good idea of the area on the other side of the river that I wanted to explore. I passed one place with great Khmer music coming from within. Then I came to another place. There were a whole bunch of motorbikes and a hip lively vibe among the people hangout outside. I dipped my head and walked in. The place was absolutely amazing. The energy reminded me of the summer beer gardens in Sapporo. The chairs and tables seemed to be fashioned out of oil drums. The crowd was young, good looking, and obviously enjoying themselves. It was also 100% Cambodian. I was happy that the music didn’t screech to a halt when this towering American with the shaved head loped in.

Thankfully that was not the case. The Battambangers were all seated in groups, big and small. I was ushered to my own table. The Khmer band that was playing was absolutely amazing and the energy and buzz of the place was blowing right up into the night sky above. I ordered a bucket of beers and sat back to enjoy the show. I thought about how much Herve would have liked to see this, not to mention my regular Sapporo beer garden companions. I was pleased that my radar for nightlife was still spot on. Now if only I could gather a crew and bring them along with me.

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