Faded Grandeur

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I loved Kampot and Kep. They have that kind of faded grandeur that I particularly enjoy. Kampot used to be the primary port until Sihannoukville took over, leaving it to drop quietly off the radar. Aside from the lovely colonial architecture and the chilled out riverine way of life, the primary attraction is Bokor Hill Station. This was established as hilltop retreat for the French, a cool and breezy escape from the tropical heat. There was a casino, a hotel, a church, a holiday villa for the king and a multitude of other buildings, all now long abandoned. If you can get up the hill (if…), you can explore the eerie empty buildings in the mist that rises from the sea. It’s a pretty unique and creepy experience, especially if you keep in mind the local history. Khmer Rouge and Vietnamese troups fought here during the war, the KR holed up inside the hotel with the VN based inside the church. Allegedly, hundreds of KR victims were massacred inside the hotel.

Of course, like everything in Cambodia, the hill station has been sold. Classic. Or at least, the road up to the top is owned by a company who are trying to develop a modern hill station, with a new hotel and casino complex. Most of the time the road is monopolised by construction vehicles, and closed to the public. You can still get there, but you have to walk. For three hours, uphill, through the jungle. Needless to say, the trip is now considerably less popular than it was when you could just drive. I wanted to go anyway, but I catastrophically underestimated how hard the climb would be. It was hot. It was wet. It was steep. Much of it was done on all fours, either intentionally or because we fell. Still though, worth it. The jungley hills in this area of Cambodia are awesome, and in my opinion (from what I remember of four years ago) even nicer than the insanely over popular trekking areas in the north of Thailand. It’s so gorgeous, I don’t know why the area isn’t more popular. Yes, ok, landmines, but those were (mostly, hopefully) dealt with several years ago now. It’s all good.

Our guide for the walking part was a cheerful khaki clad, rifle wielding park ranger. I thought the gun was overkill until he actually shot at some illegal loggers on the way back down. While we were tackling (with varying degrees of success) the steep, slippery descent, suddenly the ranger froze. We all did the same. Further back up the hill, we could hear the sound of trees falling. It’s something I’d never experienced in reality, a distinctive, organic sound, the sound of tree death. In the dense forest, it seemed to be all around us, coming up through the ground. The ranger slung his rifle over his shoulder, told us to keep walking and legged it back up the hill. We did as we were told. Five minutes later, we heard a single gun shot and then silence. We stood motionless, trying to discern any recognisable sound above the chorus of bizarre insect noises. Nothing. The sound of falling trees had stopped. We kept moving. After a while, we could hear something following us, through the jungle to the side of the path. We sped up. So did The Thing. Suddenly Ranger burst out of the forest, grinning broadly.

“I scared them!’

Yes mate. You scared us too. We thought you were a tiger.

Anyway, the hill station itself was as eerie as promised. My favourite was the hotel. We ate lunch on the roof, looking down at the mist. I ended up on the top of one wing of the hotel, looking over at the others on the opposite side but totally unable to find them. I was thoroughly lost. It was awesome. Because some places were boarded up or fallen down there is no logical route, you end up scrambling through windows or holes in the walls, going up or down a story to bypass a blockage. You find yourself running down a set of spiral stares when it disappears abruptly, leaving you looking at a two story drop. You could have one epic, creepy game of hide and seek in there.

We were supposed to have a sunset boat cruise on the way home, but by ‘sunset boat cruise’, they clearly meant ‘hour in back of pickup truck with 8 disgruntled looking monks and a large quantity of coconuts’. Must have been lost in translation. Anyway, because it had been so expensive and several other aspects on the trip had been not exactly as advertised, I went back and complained politely but persistently and irritatingly until I got a free river boat trip the next day, which was lovely.

After that I went to Kep, which I also loved. There is nothing to see here aside from yet more old abandoned French colonial houses and a small beach. I particularly liked these houses because some of the curvy, beautifully tiled swimming pools have filled with murky rainwater and are now inexplicably home to a variety of grim looking fish. The best thing about Kep is the crab market. I can’t actually express in words how happy I was sitting at the crab market, overlooking the sea, eating with my fingers a HUGE plate of crab in sweet Kampot pepper sauce. For SIX DOLLARS including a drink and two free green bananas for desert. So, so happy. No expensive restaurant in London could ever cook crab so lovely as the kind you eat sat on a plastic chair in a beach shack, having watched a toothless old lady wade out into the sea and haul the crabs from a wicker basket herself. Anyone in Cambodia should consider going to Kep just for the crab. Seriously. It was good crab.

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Photos

Aftermath of Crab
It took me literally two hours to eat. I was provided with no specialised crab eating equipment, like those pointy little forks or a crushing device. It was fingers only, an epic battle of girl versus crab. I won.

Drying Clothes
On a bush, inside a cloud. Good luck.