23.06.15
More rain. Time to pack up and tuk tuk into town and then bus it to Sihanoukville. Am actually a bit sad to go. The days here have been so wonderful - relaxing, active, secluded, delicious... But it's too early on to get stuck somewhere. There's still too much to explore and, as a German saying goes, we still have too many "bumblebees up our butts".
In Germany we have a another saying, when you don't like a person and wish he was far far away from you. You wish him/her "dahin wo der Pfeffer waechst" - to where the pepper grows. Now that I've been here - I'll return gladly.
23.06.15
Our van to Sihanoukville dropped all passengers off, one by one, at their desired location –up tiny alleys, at Universities, at ferry terminals and guesthouses. All but us. We were told to get off at the last guesthouse and find a Tuk Tuk to take us to Otres Beach. Thanks a lot.
It was raining and the street along the quieter beach of Sihanoukville seemed deserted – lonely potholes and puddles and not a person in sight. Since we hadn’t booked a place, we told the driver to drop us at SeaGarden – recommended by a fellow traveler. Too bad it was fully booked. Too tired and not in the mood for a walk through the rain just yet, we had lunch there and watched the guests do what you do when you’re at the beach but can’t go to the beach – read, play pool and poker, eat and sit around staring into nothingness.
We walked along the desolate road and asked here and there if rooms were available – everyone had vacancies. Too bad they were either too expensive or just not very inviting. We decided on Mushroom Point by the beach – one of the few places that had bungalows right by the beach. And as the name suggests, they looked like mushrooms. So did the lamps, the beach huts and bathrooms. We were the only guests by the beach, as the other guests had opted for the branch on the other side of the road.
The round room was simple – a mattress on the floor, a mosquito net, a shelf, a fan. And a safe. Signs saying “This season brings rain…and theft” were posted everywhere and our welcome speech here was all about making sure we lock up all valuables in the safe at all times, make sure we padlock our door from the inside when we sleep and not leave anything around the periphery of the room, because people could grab through the thatched walls. Wow. We had heard about Sihanoukville’s reputation for being a bit dodgy around the edges, but this seemed downright dangerous. But we followed instructions and hoped for the best.
It continued to rain and we continued to get wet. Walking from our room to the bathroom, to the reception, to the convenience store… We sat around under a mushroom-shaped beach hut and stared into the waves and the solid gray horizon. And when that got old, we hid in our hut and watched movies. Our speakers were not really a match for the breaking waves outside our window. It was really too bad that we couldn’t unwrap our hut and free it from the tarps that kept us dry – it would have been a fantastic view.
When dinnertime came along, we decided to splurge and order something from the overpriced menu, but as it turned out, the cook had left the building. I guess two guests weren’t reason enough to hang around. So we donned our cold and moist rain jackets and wandered the empty street. We ducked into the first place that seemed reasonably priced, only to find out that the menu they had put outside showed fake prices. Oh well. In addition, we had strolled into a pub with a pure Russian crowd. The looks we got reflected that they wanted us there as much as we wanted to be there. But hunger won and we stayed.
After devouring our meal we crawled back into our dark little cave, watched more movies and fell asleep to the crashing waves, whipping wind and constant pitter patter on our roof.
24.06.15
Nope, the sun did not come out tomorrow. It continued to rain and we continued our routine of finding food, staring at the ocean for a while and then hiding and watching movies. Somewhere in between, we checked the weather report and, seeing no improvement whatsoever – not even a glimmer of hope – we booked tickets to Battambang for the next morning. Our plan of going to Koh Kong to do the amazing-sounding tour into the Areng Valley and see the Cardamom mountains by bike, kayak and on foot was cancelled due to weather conditions – damn you rain!
So, not much else to report and no pictures to show (since I didn’t bring my waterproof housing for my camera). Otres Beach is probably quite beautiful, but we got out of it was two days of wet feet, a bag full of moist (turned smelly) clothes and a reality check about traveling during the rainy season.
More rain. Time to pack up and tuk tuk into town and then bus it to Sihanoukville. Am actually a bit sad to go. The days here have been so wonderful - relaxing, active, secluded, delicious... But it's too early on to get stuck somewhere. There's still too much to explore and, as a German saying goes, we still have too many "bumblebees up our butts".
In Germany we have a another saying, when you don't like a person and wish he was far far away from you. You wish him/her "dahin wo der Pfeffer waechst" - to where the pepper grows. Now that I've been here - I'll return gladly.
23.06.15
Our van to Sihanoukville dropped all passengers off, one by one, at their desired location –up tiny alleys, at Universities, at ferry terminals and guesthouses. All but us. We were told to get off at the last guesthouse and find a Tuk Tuk to take us to Otres Beach. Thanks a lot.
It was raining and the street along the quieter beach of Sihanoukville seemed deserted – lonely potholes and puddles and not a person in sight. Since we hadn’t booked a place, we told the driver to drop us at SeaGarden – recommended by a fellow traveler. Too bad it was fully booked. Too tired and not in the mood for a walk through the rain just yet, we had lunch there and watched the guests do what you do when you’re at the beach but can’t go to the beach – read, play pool and poker, eat and sit around staring into nothingness.
We walked along the desolate road and asked here and there if rooms were available – everyone had vacancies. Too bad they were either too expensive or just not very inviting. We decided on Mushroom Point by the beach – one of the few places that had bungalows right by the beach. And as the name suggests, they looked like mushrooms. So did the lamps, the beach huts and bathrooms. We were the only guests by the beach, as the other guests had opted for the branch on the other side of the road.
The round room was simple – a mattress on the floor, a mosquito net, a shelf, a fan. And a safe. Signs saying “This season brings rain…and theft” were posted everywhere and our welcome speech here was all about making sure we lock up all valuables in the safe at all times, make sure we padlock our door from the inside when we sleep and not leave anything around the periphery of the room, because people could grab through the thatched walls. Wow. We had heard about Sihanoukville’s reputation for being a bit dodgy around the edges, but this seemed downright dangerous. But we followed instructions and hoped for the best.
It continued to rain and we continued to get wet. Walking from our room to the bathroom, to the reception, to the convenience store… We sat around under a mushroom-shaped beach hut and stared into the waves and the solid gray horizon. And when that got old, we hid in our hut and watched movies. Our speakers were not really a match for the breaking waves outside our window. It was really too bad that we couldn’t unwrap our hut and free it from the tarps that kept us dry – it would have been a fantastic view.
When dinnertime came along, we decided to splurge and order something from the overpriced menu, but as it turned out, the cook had left the building. I guess two guests weren’t reason enough to hang around. So we donned our cold and moist rain jackets and wandered the empty street. We ducked into the first place that seemed reasonably priced, only to find out that the menu they had put outside showed fake prices. Oh well. In addition, we had strolled into a pub with a pure Russian crowd. The looks we got reflected that they wanted us there as much as we wanted to be there. But hunger won and we stayed.
After devouring our meal we crawled back into our dark little cave, watched more movies and fell asleep to the crashing waves, whipping wind and constant pitter patter on our roof.
24.06.15
Nope, the sun did not come out tomorrow. It continued to rain and we continued our routine of finding food, staring at the ocean for a while and then hiding and watching movies. Somewhere in between, we checked the weather report and, seeing no improvement whatsoever – not even a glimmer of hope – we booked tickets to Battambang for the next morning. Our plan of going to Koh Kong to do the amazing-sounding tour into the Areng Valley and see the Cardamom mountains by bike, kayak and on foot was cancelled due to weather conditions – damn you rain!
So, not much else to report and no pictures to show (since I didn’t bring my waterproof housing for my camera). Otres Beach is probably quite beautiful, but we got out of it was two days of wet feet, a bag full of moist (turned smelly) clothes and a reality check about traveling during the rainy season.
No pictures of this chapter exist for fear of our cameras.
25.06.15
Travel Day
…and oh boy, was it a travel day. We woke up to the sound of – silence. No rain?! Whatever. Half asleep – before 6am, this is a given – we emptied our safe and tuktuked our way into town to catch our bus. Of course, it started raining again - for exactly the 2 minutes that we walked from our cottage to the tuk tuk, just so we would get nice and wet again. We had gone with the budget option and booked the slightly cheaper bus line, used mostly by locals. We stopped every few minutes in town and every few-minutes-more once we hit the highway. On board entertainment consisted of a very old, Khmer-dubbed kung fu movie followed by karaoke videos of Cambodian pop(?!). I finished by book, started a new one and read that one halfway – yes, the trip was that long. Also due to the fact that we were suddenly in Phnom Penh again and waiting for the next bus. We had no idea that this was going to happen and nobody had bothered to explain it to us, aside from chasing us out of the bus and pointing us towards the next ticket booth.
By then, we had been traveling for over 5h. Our second bus left an hour later and again, we picked up people along the way and made many many stops along the way. The final stop was by a tiny little roadside stall selling fruit shakes. Everyone got off the bus and so did we. After some time, we deducted that our bus had broken down. Once again, nobody bothered to fill us in. So there we were, standing by the side of the road, watching one group of Cambodians take dozens of pictures, posing next to our broken bus. Luckily, it only took about 45minutes or so for another bus to pick us up and by 8:30pm – after 14h of travel – we finally arrived in Battambang.
It was a huge relief to see that our hostel – Here Be Dragons - really had sent a Tuk Tuk to pick us up and in no time, we were checked into our very large room and ate our first real meal of the day, before crashing into a coma-like sleep.
26.06.15
Battambang Day Tour
Our trusty and fun-spirited Tuk Tuk driver DJ had invited us to join a day tour around Battambang – the more the cheaper per person. So we did. Along with an Aussie couple that has been working and traveling the globe for two years and is now cycling through Asia to get home (respect!) and a Kiwi girl, we embarked on a tour of Battambang’s highlights.
First stop: the Bamboo Train. To cope with the infrastructural chaos the Khmer Rouge had left behind, Cambodians created norries, flatbed “trains” consisting of a bamboo platform on wheels. While they used to be pushed along the rails using poles, much like a gondola, they now have little motors which can speed things up to 40km/h. We boarded one of those contraptions and took a 12km ride through the countryside. Left and right we were encased by bushes, through which we caught glimpses of the widespread rice fields that cover much of Battambang Province – the biggest rice producing province in Cambodia. Looking ahead, the tracks were definitely no longer straight and gaps every few meters cause the norrie to clatter and bang. If it weren’t for the cushions, we would have left with black and blue backsides. And what to do when you’re facing a head on collision with another norrie that is on its way back? You get off, take apart your train into three parts – bamboo platform and two sets of wheels – let the others pass and put it all back together again. And smile for the cameras of the other tourists, that find it hilarious that you are standing next to train tracks in the middle of nowhere.
Next stop: Some Killing Fields and prison temple called Wat Somrong Knong. Across from some newer temples sits the old, gray, locked up temple which was used as a prison during the Khmer Rouge era. The birds have occupied the nooks and crannies of the roof and the windows are all boarded up. It is no longer in use, but stands as a memorial for the horrors that took place there. Just behind the newer structures lay the former killing fields and mass graves. Battambang, being an important trade city back then, suffered badly as well during the Pol Pot regime. The memorial Well of Shadows, built on the site of a former killing field and across from a mass grave that today is a pond, looks like many of its kind – skulls and bones encased in a glass edifice. In addition, bas-reliefs depicting scenes of the life during the Khmer Rouge surround the two large tiers it sits upon.
A typical just-for-kicks stop followed: The Crocodile farm. We followed a dirt road, stopped by a large metal gate and walked into what seemed from the outside like a normal residential property. Just a few meters down a path and up a few stairs – and beneath us lay hundreds of crocodiles! The enclosures were small only because of the massive amount of crocs inside them. And they were surprisingly active, unlike most statue-like crocs in the zoo, where you’re never really sure if they are still alive. Here, we watched some take a dip, wrigeling out from underneath the pile, clambering up the steep concrete beach. Before we left, we got to hold a 1 week old baby. Yes, he was adorable and no, it didn’t bite or poop (apparently they don’t start biting till they are 8 months old – so don’t forget to ask its age next time you come upon a croc).
We went back to the hostel for some lunch and down time, before hopping back into the Tuk Tuk and journeying on to Phnom Sampeou. This hill is home to a confusing mix of temples that look like they are covered in cartoons with strange and colorful animal statues around it, yet another gruesome piece of Khmer Rouge history in form of three killing caves (need I further explain?) and, at the very top, a temple surrounded by monkeys (the banana eating kind) and more monkeys (the big white sandals-with-tennis-socks wearing kind that are dumb enough to bring a plastic bag of bananas to a temple surrounded by monkeys and then wonder why they aren’t being left alone). The view from up there was beautiful! It is always amazing to be standing on a hill, when the countryside around you is as flat as can be. Luckily, the week or so of rain had already worked its magic and the rice fields below were already a juicy shade of green.
The way down was a long set of stairs, that left my knees wobbling at the bottom. DJ took us to his secret spot to watch the bats emerge from their cave, away from the tons of tourists standing by the road, gawking into the sky. His spot required a steep rocky climb to the mouth of a small cave. He gave us guards for our nose and mouth against the smell and then we stood there and waited. A team of bat-researchers waited as well, readying their net to catch some specimens. The mosquitos were fierce and the white rocks came alive with cockroaches. The buzzing in the cave became louder and after a while, bats started flying in. IN?! For the longest time, it looked like bats from another cave were coming by for a visit, until, after a breathtaking sunset, a steady stream of little black bats came flying out of the cave. We watched just as long as light would allow a safe descend.
It was dark by the time we were on our way home. We noticed some commotion by the side of the road. An accident. There were too many people for me to see anything, but DJ pulled over and then told us some of the people involved were from his parents village and therefor he wanted to make sure they are okay. Mo got off and headed over. With DJ as his translator and mediator, he assessed the lady that had fallen. She was shaken up and possibly even had a broken ankle, but managed to get back on with the two other people she had been riding with and left. Only then did someone bring attention to the other guy – the man that had probably committed the accident (we never really found out what exactly happened). He was lying by the roadside, in and out of consciousness. No helmet and a slight whiff of alcohol on his breath. I have to admit, I stayed in the Tuk Tuk for all this commotion – there were too many people standing around as it was and I am not someone who can stomach the sight of physical distress. In waking moments, the man was ready to get up and leave, which Mo and other men around him tried to prevent adamantly. He was bleeding from one ear and according to those by his side, had a fractured skull. DJ called an ambulance – or at least tried to. The police had their phone turned off (on a Friday night) and the ambulance didn’t have a driver. So there we were, holding down a man who was trying to avoid hospital bills by walking off with a fractured skull, Mo monitoring him and making sure he stayed alive and the ambulance took its sweet time. When it finally arrived after around 45minutes, the drivers rolled out the stretcher and let everyone else heave him onto it (almost dropping him in the process). They wheeled him in, closed the door and that was it. Both drivers got back into the front seats and drove off.
Definitely an experience that shows – do not, under no circumstances, no matter now good your travel insurance is, get into an accident in Cambodia.
What a day it had been! Still shaken, we were all ready to get home, get some food and put our legs up… But, as our luck would have it, the Tuk Tuk had other things in mind. It just stopped working. Just like that. DJ immediately called his friend to pick us up, but after a day like that, we couldn’t just leave our driver by the side of the road. So we got out and pushed him all the way home. It was surprisingly light for such a big thing. We definitely got some laughs out of the people around us – not often they see 4 white people and a semi-brown-person-they-cannot-place pushing a Tuk Tuk through the night.
Home. Tired. Hungry. But before food, a shower was much needed, as we kind of smelled strongly like bat piss. But by the time we got back downstairs, although timed correctly, the ladies in the kitchen had decided they didn’t want to cook anymore. So we got us some 1$ fried fat noodles outside and enjoyed those instead. Our hostel had a “Cocktail Party” going on, with 2$ drinks all night. So we sat and decompressed and talked till 2am – a new staying-up-late record of our travels.
27.06.15
It was a day for rest and a day for slow movement. A chill morning in the hostel went over into a chill day strolling around town. We visited the four places to visit in the self-named Arts District and then ducked into the Seeing Hands massage parlor. There, wearing hospital scrub like outfits, we let ourselves be kneaded and stretched and painfully reminded of muscles we didn’t even know could be tight by blind masseurs. Man, do they know their stuff! It was wonderful and we zombied out of there with tiny eyes and our brains temporarily out of order – for the rest of the afternoon.
In the evening we stepped out again and watched the nightlife by the river. Much like in other places we had been to, people were exercising, line-dancing, playing ball, socializing… It was as if all of a sudden the entire population of Battambang came out to play. And eat. We followed suit (with eating - not line-dancing).
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