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Published: October 15th 2007
Kingdom of Cambodia
A rough sketch of my route through Cambodia. The dotted line was the boat ride from Siem Reap to Battambang.September 29th - October 9th -- 1478.4 KM to date
There are certainly things to see in Phonm Penh, from the peaceful gardens of the Royal Palace to the haunting Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum and Killing Fields. But my attraction to the city lay in it's more sinister applications. In the ride throughout Cambodia I had been frequently passed by the honking horns of Lexus' and Rangerover's. I found it strange that in a country as poor as Cambodia there would be such an abundance of expensive vehicles. I wasn't surprised to find out that these are driven mostly by corrupt government officials ($30 a month is not going to afford them such luxuries, believe me) or NGO and foreign aid workers.
Wandering the streets and chatting with random people I found myself running into more expats than fellow travelers - most foreign aid workers and English teachers. When I asked an Englishman, who owned a cozy little bar at Lakeside how he ended up living in Cambodia his answer came honest and simple, "Aww, well, I like to smoke weed, mate. And both weed and rent are really cheap here."
And so it goes with much of
Lady
After nearly 1500 kilometres the bike is still going strong. More than I can say for myself. the expat population (most, surprisingly, older men) who are attracted, as the colonial French surely were, to the idea of living in something of a Utopia, with cheap living expenses and beautiful young maiden's to service all of their wildest desires. There are also the young idealists (see: hippies/yoga guru's etc.) who can't seem to differentiate between real social work and things like vegetarianism, lesbianism and the occasional opiate. Of course there are the sincere people, like Brian, a British man I met who has been living with his wife in an old renovated factory on the outskirts of the city, helping supply local schools with resources like textbooks, desks, paper and pens, and setting up training and mentoring programs for teachers.
Aside from making sweeping generalizations about the city and its inhabitants, my only goal was to get my Vietnamese visa, a process which was fairly straight forward. I chose October 9th as my date of entry, meaning I had nearly two weeks to explore the South Coast of Cambodia before crossing into Vietnam. The night before I was to leave Phnom Penh I received sad news that my grandfather had passed away.
Takeo was the first
On The Road
Heading to Kampot stop on my south coast journey - an easy 80 kilometres south of Phnom Penh on paved roads, but I spent much of the day lost in a hazy and disconcerting state. It made me sick to my stomach that my family was at home suffering the loss of a family member while I was off on some pointless adventure, thousands of miles from home. I wouldn't be able to make it to the funeral. I kept thinking how selfish it was of me to be off wandering around chasing senseless dreams when I knew that family and friends were all that really mattered. These guilty thoughts raged on throughout the day.
Still depressed in Takeo, I slumbered towards the central market looking for dinner. I found a dingy little restaurant and sat down in the cheap plastic chair. The walls were lined with random advertisments for Pepsi, Coke, and Budweiser, none of which were sold there. On the wall to my right was a poster of Bruce Willis and Die Hard. The restaurant was crowded with groups of hungry young men coming back from a hard day's work on the farm. They ate noisily, wiping their faces with
Bokor Hill
Stuck on the top of a hill in a storm alone surrounded by abandoned buildings = good times... napkins and tossing them aside on the floor as an ancient television set showing a Muay Thai fight distracted them. I was approached by a young kid dressed in a school uniform who smiled shyly, invited me over to his house for tea, and then walked away without waiting for my reply. For the first time that day a smile crossed my face. Maybe I wouldn't be there to say goodbye to my grandpa, but surely he'd understand, knowing that my thoughts and prayers are always at home with the family. I went to bed early with an added motivation to finish out this journey.
Riding day in and day out one eventually gets into a bit of a routine. Aside from morning coffee and cigarettes my routine now included a morning dump, knowing that bathrooms in Cambodia can be few and far between, and most are in a rather undesirable state. Heading southwest to Kampot I broke my morning routine and spent the first twelve kilometres riding down bumpy highway with wide eyes and tight ass cheeks. When I finally found a restaurant with a bathroom the locals were shocked and amused to see a big sweaty white
On The Road
From Sihanoukville back to Kampot man doing a duck walk towards them.
As the afternoon passed on I eventually found myself riding through small mountains that jutted out of the rice fields, breaking what was starting to become monotonous landscape. At one point I stopped for a water break and from a monastery on the mountain I could hear the hollow chanting of a monk as I looked out over a swamp filled with lotus flowers. Only kilometres from Kampot I was hit with a heavy rain and by the time I found a guesthouse I was soaking wet and cold.
Coming into this trip I knew that it would be rainy season and chances are I would get wet. The only real rain I had faced so far was from Poipet to Siem Reap, but considering the absurd road conditions, the rain only made things more interesting. Now, closer to the coast - the Gulf of Thailand, I was faced with several days of rain.
The most popular trip out of Kampot was the Bokor Hill Station - old French ruins on a 1000 metre mountain overlooking the coast. The French built the town as a sort of retreat for when
On The Road
Views of the coast... the heat of the tropics became too much. Today all that is left is ruins of the old casino, post office and police station. Being the independent traveler I am, I wanted to rent a moto and tackle the road by myself. The road was said to be in horrifying condition, and even the Cambodian's I talked to said that it was inadvisable to try and do it on anything other than a dirt bike, especially in the rain. But I was persistent and eventually met a Sri Lankan restaurant owner who told me it'd be no problem and arranged for me a bike. The road truly was in horrible condition. It took me over three hours, riding through pouring rain on steep rocky paths that soon became nothing more than rapids. I only saw one other vehicle - a car coming down the road, and in it sat two foreign faces who looked petrified. They returned my friendly smile with the look that one would give a walking dead man.
It was nearly 4:30 pm by the time I made it to the top of the mountain. The fog was so thick I couldn't see 5 metres ahead
On The Road
Rainy days on the coast... of me and the wind and rain made driving nearly impossible. I stopped to check my map, hoping it'd give me some direction, but the rain disintegrated it in my hands. As I rode around, fingers frozen, knowing that it'd soon be dark, I kept coming across old abandoned buildings. The wind whistled through them and I wondered if maybe I'd have to try and take refuge in one for the night. Eventually I came across the old casino, which sits at the top of the hill. I could see a small light on, like a beacon of hope, and I crashed through the door frantically, hoping there'd be someone there. A family of three was living there, squating perhaps, and I had busted in on their dinner. Just seeing another person helped calm me, and the man kindly pointed me to the ranger station where I could spend the night. I half wanted to stay there, knowing that I could easily get lost in the fog outside, but I trudged on and found the ranger station, grateful as hell. I spent the night drinking hot tea and eating noodles until the generator was turned off at 8:00 pm, and
Kampot
Sunset over the river I fell into a deep sleep. As I neared the bottom of the hill the next day, happy as hell to be down, I saw a eager and giddy group of tourists all huddled in the back of a truck, heading straight up into the madness. I gave them a big wave and smile, wishing them the best of luck.
From Kampot it was 110 km southwest to the beach town of Sihanoukville (Kompong Som). There were no other options for me other than to ride to Sihanoukville, spend a few days relaxing on the beach, and then come back down the same road, back to Kampot. The road to Sihanoukville had been recently paved, and was a pleasant and scenic route, passing through fishing villages with mountains to the north and glimpses of the ocean to the south. But the rain persisted, and I arrived in Sihanoukville, after a few small climbs, soaking wet.
Sihanoukville is essentially a beach town, with little else to offer. The beaches aren't spectacular, but as my British friend says, "The drugs and rent are both cheap." Some guesthouses on the beach were offering free accomodation (the thought being, of course, that
they will make their money from you on drinks and food) and joints were smoked casually in beachfront restaurants by people of all ages. Because bike riding has essentially isolated me from other people, I enjoyed two days of smoking big fat joints, swimming in the sea and chatting with other travelers and ex-pats, trying my best to be sociable. Though I doubt it will ever rival the beach towns of Thailand, and the government seems to be making plans to demolish the huts and guesthouses along Serendipity Beach and opting for large private resorts, I found it an agreeable place to spend a few days. But it was time to get to Vietnam.
Riding the same road twice should have made for a fairly boring ride back to Kampot, but with little to no traffic and the quiet calm of the country side, I rode carefree down the highway. I rang my bell at the cows, had imaginary conversations with water buffalo and nearly pissed myself in laughter when I had to stop six or seven times to let ducks cross the road. I knew I would miss Cambodia.
From Kampot it was a short ride eat
Kep
The old coastal town of Kep. to the coastal town of Kep, where I feasted on crab and relaxed with a friendly group of Australian's - my last night in Cambodia.
I had no idea how long the ride to the Vietnamese border would be because there were no distances marked on my map and everyone I asked gave me a different, seemingly random estimate. I figured that it would be rougly 110 kilometres to Chau Doc and about fifty of those kilometres would be on a secondary road, which in Cambodia could have meant anything. I headed out early, hoping that I'd make the border crossing before it closed, and since I had no idea when the border closed, I knew I should get there as early as possible. The morning was beautiful, a deep blue sky and bright sun guided me along the coast as I passed fishermen heading out for the day and the crab market was already alive and moving.
Rounding off fifty kilometres by 10:00 am, I stopped for some noodles before hitting the secondary road. I knew that the road wound east off of the highway to Phnom Penh in the town of Tuk Meas, but I had
Kep
Crab Market no idea which road it was, so I found a group of men relaxing in the shade on their moto's and they pointed me in the right direction. After double, triple and quadruple checking (you have to be careful when getting directions I tell ya) their directions I headed off. The road was dusty and rutted and very sparsely populated, but trees lined the road, giving me some shelter from the deadly sun that was starting to take it's toll on me. As my odometer passed 100 km I found myself connecting with highway number two - only seven kilometres from the border.
I stopped for a quick break, guzzling three full glasses of sugar cane juice and then prepared for the border. I was dusty and sweaty, my face burnt and my ass was sore. I took one last look back at Cambodia and then made my way to the border, crossing without complication into Vietnam. Another thirty kilometres took me to Chau Doc. Exhausted after the toughest day of riding yet, I settled into a hotel room and started flipping through a guidebook to Vietnam. Only being in Vietnam for a few short hours I could already
Kep
Coastal town of Kep tell that life moves quickly here, and that travel in this country was going to be full on.
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Peter Phan
non-member comment
Fantastic blogs!
Hi Travis -- My buddy and I just returned home (California) from extensive travels in Cambodia and Vietnam. Your writing is very poignant for me, and I really look forward to reading your upcoming entries. Best wishes on your amazing bike trip! --Peter Phan