Let’s start with a “wildlife” review, with these two still sleeping when I arrived for my pick-up:
Finally checked out of my “hotel”. I’d probably have stayed another night here if it’d been good, but I just couldn’t wait to leave. And nowhere to dry my clothes meant that I was down to my last pair of pants. So glad I brought three spares 🙂 On a positive note, Steve tried to make it up to me by providing an enormous breakfast. Here’s what a full English cooked by an Englishman in Cambodia looks like:
But then the “baguette and jam” arrived. It wasn’t so much the radioactive colour of the jam that perturbed me…
… it was the dead ants in it. But hey, this is Cambodia (and in Mondulkiri, I did actually consider eating ants… but didn’t summon up the courage before they’d all been eaten), so I scraped them out and down it went. Then down to the beach to soak up this view before the van arrived:
… when I was accosted by a lady offering any beauty treatment you could desire. There was no way she was getting her hands (and thread) on my eyebrows (what *is* that all about?!), but a quick haggle and she effectively waxed my legs using cotton thread. It stung a little, and took a lot longer than waxing, but it was pretty effective. I’ll report back whether it stayed away for the advertised “4 or 5 weeks”:
I like Kampot. It reminds me of Kratie (a coastal, functional town that’s alive, but not too touristy). Stopped at another local joint for lunch where there were only four things on the menu (and one was pudding!). And then a minor slip… off to find a massage place and inadvertently ended up at a brothel (or “massage with happy ending”). I can’t comment on her, er, “night job” but I hope she’s better at it than her day job – woke up with bruises down my legs. Will be more careful next time!
Loads of ex-pats here (or “Pot-pats” as they’re called). This may be exacerbated by the lack of locals due to Phjum Benh – the end of the 15-day festival when people return to their old country. Apparently, the temple visits are to “feed” the ghosts: when someone dies but doesn’t make it to the planned place they stay on earth as ghosts. Some of these may be your ancestors. So you go to the temple to feed the ghosts… whilst they’re working out a way to get where they want to be, I assume.
I really needed a ballet class (I’d even do adage;), but yoga was the next best thing and a lovely way to kick off Kampot 🙂
A quick risk assessment. Safe. I collected myself, took two confident steps forward… and jumped.
After breakfast and this view:
… we’d quickly piled on to the boats, people suddenly appearing from nowhere, and we were off into the beautiful waters of Cambodia’s southern coast.
First stop was snorkelling (at Koh Praeus?).
Grabbed some googles, jumped in and promptly choked. As a sprint swimmer I’m conditioned to “explosive breathe” when I’m in the water: inhale quickly, hold my breath (this aids buoyancy), then exhale quickly before the next inhalation. Doesn’t work with a snorkel, it just makes you splutter. Ok, I thought, better teach yourself how to snorkel. And fast. It took ten minutes to retrain a lifetime of breathing 🙂
And I was off. But without a waterproof camera so here’s what I saw, courtesy of Google images:
A leisurely lunch stop followed at a beautiful beach with clear water:
A hammock:
Fantastic views (note the cow):
And a ton of litter:
Or rubbish, really. To me, litter implies a bottle or two, but this was like fly tipping. It’s everywhere – beaches, streets, people’s houses. Cambodia is one big rubbish heap.
Back on the boat, we pulled up here:
Everyone fell silent, not sure what was happening. Snorkelling again? “Jump”, said the guide in his basic English. Err, what? People started looking round at each other. “Oh no, I didn’t sign up to this,” said a voice behind me.
But we did it! Almost everyone had a go. Standing on the top, I could fully experience how the kids I teach feel standing on the poolside, toes curled over the edge, trying to summon up the courage to jump in for the first time. I also knew that the longer I contemplated my fate, the more difficult it would be. So I checked that the water was safe to jump, collected myself, took two steps forward… and jumped.
I was in the air for ages – we guessed it was about 7m high. And didn’t do what I teach (keeping your feet together – it’s really difficult when you’re falling). Let’s just say that it wasn’t the most elegant water entry I’ve ever made. But I did it (no photo – I was otherwise engaged). And I felt a real sense of achievement 🙂
One final snorkel stop (not good visibility as last night’s rain had churned things up here) where we spotted this beggar floating nonchalantly around us:
… and then back to the number we first thought of tired, happy, wet and very very sandy. A quick shower and back to the beach for sunset.
Only six of us again, and a western-standard van. I’m going up in the world.
As ever, we stopped for “lunch” ridiculously early (10:30am), where they were selling these:
I was intrigued (she could only tell me the name in Cambodian, which obviously didn’t mean much), so I tried some:
Like a grapefruit but less juicy, so you can tear the segments from the pith.
It rained hard yesterday and you could see the flooded rice fields. You can’t mind the rain – it keeps the population (and me!) fed.
Dropped near the centre of Sihanoukville, I decided to wander round the town before heading out to my hotel – the main beaches are party capitals, so I’d settled on the furthest beach, 7km out of town.
In a mini-mart, I found garibaldi biscuits 🙂
And stopped at a local joint for lunch. Getting off the main tourist track is better, cheaper and more interesting. In Phnom Penh, I dined at a local cafe just one street in from the quay and feasted for half the price of one main dish on the main drag. You’ve just gotta have the confidence to try. Same here – at first I thought the $7 tom yam soup was expensive… until they served me enough to easily feed two (the lidded pot contained more rice than I could ever possibly eat). Lunch and dinner rolled into one.
I’ve noticed a number of western males with younger Asian females around. In the most part they appear to be in a mutually-consenting relationship. Jim was one such male. He explained it thus: “In England, I’m a fat, ugly slob; here, I’m like a demi-god.” And it’s true: females are conditioned to be attracted to mates that will not only produce good offspring (so handsome and intelligent), but who have the means to provide for them and their children (rich). And by western standards, you don’t need much to be considered rich here. And the men get attractive, young females. A win-win situation, it would seem. And they appear to be a small percentage of couples, so not adversely affecting the social equilibrium. But I don’t really know. Just interesting.
An hour later, the heavens opened. So I decided to head to my hotel.
“See!” I pointed at the big “Otres Marina” sign:
We were stood in the road, not more than 4 metres away. My tuk-tuk driver squinted. And then nodded enthusiastically, smiled a big grin and said “Ah yeah! My eye not so good.” He’d just driven me 7km in the pouring rain unable to see his hand in front of his face. It had occurred to me that I’d not seen any Cambodians wearing glasses, but had pushed it to the back of my mind. I resolved, at this point, to only use young tuk-tuk drivers. We’d been past my hotel twice already but when I’d said I thought it was here and pointed to the sign, he’d just nodded and carried on driving.
It was about to get worse: not only was the hotel not expecting me (“they don’t email us when they take a booking”; but I’ve not had a problem before so decided to reserve judgement) but my two room options were “awful” or “really awful”. Interestingly, it wasn’t the cold shower (not so bad when it’s 30 degrees outside) or the open-air bathroom option, but the sand. Sand everywhere so you never really feel clean. Even after a cold shower. On a (very) positive note, the wifi was super, the AC effective and quiet and no mozzies (I can deal with lizards – they don’t try to suck my blood). Still, I think I made the wrong decision. Went to book a snorkel trip at the bar down the road, turned round and saw this:
The place was beautiful, alive but chilled. Maybe I had made the right choice after all 🙂
Eek! Week 4 already. Here are some more observations, just for the record:
Laundry
Whilst in Kratie, I splashed out on some laundry – one kilo for one dollar. One small bag of stuff, plus a pair of very muddy trainers which, I explained, I was happy for them to put into a separate wash. Next morning, I realised that I hadn’t removed the insoles, and was directed downstairs to the laundry section… where I found a woman sat near a floor-sink scrubbing my clothes. OMG. First-world brain. I’d just assumed they’d throw everything in a washing machine. Duh – you silly moo! Felt very uncomfortable with someone else doing my washing. Nat pointed out that it was keeping her in a job, giving her money in return for a valuable service. Still not sure how I feel about it, though.
Sun cream
Thanks to terrorist activity, I was only able to bring one 100ml lot of sun cream (as I travelled hand luggage only). And I’ve been tanking through it. You can buy it here but it’s expensive (as the locals don’t need it) and, more importantly, not as good quality. So I decided to start economising… and got burnt. Stupid idea. Back to slapping it on. I mentioned it to Natalie… who not only had some left over and didn’t want to take all the way home in a week or so, but it was exactly the same stuff that I was using. Result. Thanks, Nat 🙂
Language
Sitting waiting for the boat back from Koh Trong on Thursday, I really wanted to talk to the old lady sat next to me. But I only know three words of Cambodian, so conversation was going to be limited. I’ve been frustrated before at not being able to converse, but suddenly it had crossed the line between “it’s frustrating” and “I’ve got to do something about this.” It makes me feel ignorant and rude. Figuring that with only another week in Cambodia it wasn’t worth starting, I decided to give Vietnamese a go. That lunchtime, the cafe had a second-hand book shop and what should be hiding between the trash fiction and chick lit, but a Vietnamese phrase book, complete with pronunciation guide. Vietnamese lessons have started 🙂
Butterflies
The butterflies here are enormous – more like small birds. And they’re beautiful. Unfortunately, they also don’t alight on anything for very long, hence no photos. Will see what I can do.
Independent children
Children here are independent from a very young age. You see them playing in the street, going swimming together, working in the family business and generally taking responsibility for themselves. A young boy on the boat to Koh Trong was working his way through a bag of lychees. His whole demeanour exuded confidence and maturity. A stark contrast from the cotton-wool of England.
Hard beds
Cambodians like hard beds. I can confirm this.
Electricity
Had quite a few power outages since I’ve been here. And I love the way everyone just gets on with life regardless. Apparently, electricity is supplied by Vietnam (certainly in Sen Monorom where I had this conversation) and when they don’t send enough, the town goes dark. For a few hours. Or until the generators kick in (for those businesses able to afford them). In fact, Natalie had a pizza cooked for two hours in a slowly-getting-colder oven. She said it was great.
Clothes
Fashion for pre-middle-aged and middle-aged women seems to be a matching top/bottom combo. Florals are especially popular.
Vegetables
Five a day? I don’t think I’m even getting my five a week! Veggies aren’t a staple of every plate. Instead of the tripartite carb/protein/veg of English dishes, it’s usually a 70:30 ratio of carb to protein. Veggies only make a cameo appearance, even in veggie dishes.
Planning. It’s obvious when you think about it, but on a trip like this you have to set aside time to plan: “where will I go” and “what will I do” is swiftly followed by “how do I get there” and “where will I stay”. And so it was this morning.
And then I ventured into the sunshine and hit Wat Phnom. Not literally, obviously, because that would rather disrespectful.
I like temples. Just as I like churches. And mosques. I’m not religious, but I feel comfortable in these places, because I let myself. And they are usually peaceful and a microcosm of all that is good. That people find comfort in belief is of comfort to me, even if I don’t share the feeling. I’ve never felt any need. But it also struck me as how strange it is to pay respects to an inanimate object. Visitors were mostly Cambodian and, therefore, Buddhist. They removed their shoes, stepped into the temple (left foot first, I assume), and knelt in front of the display of statues and various other objects:
Hands in prayer position, they touch their forehead with their thumbs and then bow down and touch the ground. Repeat twice. Then they relax. Various touching of the forehand with prayer hands ensues, but I think they’re free-styling at this point. All to an inanimate statue. Gifts and money are tucked into places all over the display, similar to the collection plate in a Christian service, I guess. I’ve never noticed how English society is secular, because it’s all I’ve ever known, so the way their religion pervades the Cambodian way of life is thought-provoking. The way that it seems to give them meaning and structure and a common ground is surely A Good Thing. And that people blame religion for so much conflict throughout history doesn’t hold either – religion doesn’t start wars, people do.
Walking back to my hotel (which is much better, btw, thanks for asking – the bathroom is bigger than my former prison cell, I’ve covered electrics, a bed that doesn’t feel like sleeping on an egg-box and plenty of natural light; it’s amazing what £4 can buy you in these parts), the heavens opened. Again.
I sheltered in a cafe until it subsided, and then crossed the street… and was met with a puddle at least a metre wide. Too far to jump onto the pavement. So I started walking… into the oncoming traffic. Not only did I not get run over, but nobody even beeped me. Welcome to Asia. Think I’m getting the hang of it 🙂
It’s not until you’re tested that you really know how much you’ve learned. I think I’ve learned quite a bit (and writing it all down has definitely helped, too). So to the National Museum to further cement my knowledge of Cambodia’s Angkorian history.
Pre-Angkorian statues show strong Indian influence as, in C6, the Queen of Cambodia married the King of India. Telltale signs are the relaxed posture (sitting into the hip) and skirts:
… whereas the Khmer style shows a more upright, assertive posture, a moustache and “trousers”, which are actually tied from from a single length of material. The method of tying the skirt reveals the age and province of the statue.
And later styles show Buddha (you’ll recall that King J7 was a Buddhist):
And it was kind of comforting to see that the statue of said King J7 was armless.
There was an impressive collection of Shiva Linga, with the exhibit towards the front really demonstrating how the Linga and the font represent the male and female genitalia (stop sniggering in the back):
One of the statues had someone’s lunch in front of it. And then I noticed another one with exactly the same lunch. And another. Leaving offerings for the various gods is considered good luck, courting their favour to ensure a smooth transition into the afterlife. When I went back to take a picture, they’d gone. Not sure what this means for the person who took them.
All of the temples have been subject to looting, and you may recall that some of it was to sell to westerners who, for some unfathomable reason, felt that buying a piece of another country’s history and moving it to their home was a good thing to do. So it was nice to see statues returned by the Americans.
And, luckily, the toilets had further instructions to ensure I did things right:
An impressive collection:
Then back on to the street, where it appeared people were actually living:
The trip started promisingly. A lovely boat, but not too big, with pot plants and good views.
And then the beats started. The pilot had plugged his phone into the stereo system and it was, quite frankly, bleeding awful. The whole “cruise” was spent with various people asking him to turn it down. The trip itself was nothing much – just a little way round the island in the Mekong and back again. But I wasn’t expecting the Vietnamese floating village (I assume it’s called that, but this time they were all in boats rather than houses on stilts):
An interesting alternative view of the city:
And the sunset was really impressive behind the Phnom Penh skyline:
Note to self: get some photography lessons. Again. And try to remember it all this time.
I wasn’t intending to stay. But the night market was fascinating.
And, happily, no hassling took place. Perhaps I’m losing my knack. The “food court” was particularly intruiging. Firstly, all the stalls were selling the same thing. Exactly the same thing. Not like in a western food hall where you get cuisines from all over the world. Raw wares were displayed, and customers took a plastic basket and filled it with their choice of foodstuff which was all duly dropped into a deep-fat fryer (presumably to make it safe to eat, as well as cooking it).
And then we all had a picnic in the middle.
This is “chicken porridge”.
But it’s not porridge, really, it’s rice soup. Delicious, cheap and very filling. Bon appetite.
Visiting the genocide museum and the killing fields was not a harrowing experience. There, I’ve said it. I was expecting the visit to be tough, but I felt strangely detached. I cried many times, but listening to what happened and seeing the photos, I was numb. I don’t think it’s because I’m an ogre. I think it’s because my brain just can’t comprehend it. This one’s a toughie, guys. But important. Really important.
What follows is my understanding of what happened. I’m afraid I haven’t verified and properly researched all this, which I’d really like to do but unfortunately don’t have the time as I travel.
In 1975, Cambodia’s population was between 7 and 8 million people. Over the next four years, the Khmer Rouge were responsible for the deaths of up to 3 million people (there is, and probably never can be, a reliable figure). Through systematic murder, malnutrition, forced labour and disease, Cambodia lost between 20% and 40% of it’s population, with anyone of intellect, education or direct opposition “destroyed”. Khmer Rouge’s communist fantasy was of a self-sufficient agriculture-based society, and anyone who jeopardised this dream was murdered. And their families, to prevent revenge attacks in the future.
In 1970, the Khmer Rouge waged war on the government (who weren’t particularly popular), selling the Communist ideal to the people. On April 17th 1975, they marched victorious into Phnom Penh, and many thought it a positive step … but within hours armed soldiers appeared on the streets and ordered everyone out of the city, spreading rumours that the US (who were still at war with Vietnam) were going to bomb. The Khmer Rouge then opened fire on people as they left. Within three days, the city was deserted as people duly returned to their “old country”, i.e. the province from where their parents had come, and were forced into hard labour. Overnight, all businesses, hospitals, schools, police stations, universities, post offices and any form of private ownership were abolished. Religion was banned. Money in bank accounts was no longer owned by the account holder, houses and land became the property of the state.
Soldiers were selected from rural families (so they had little or no education) with promises of equality and prosperity, and then brainwashed to carry out the abhorrent crimes of the Khmer Rouge who were now leaders of “Democratic Kampuchea”. Led by Pol Pot, security stations were set up around the country. Doctors, lawyers, teachers and other skilled and intelligent people were tricked into revealing their backgrounds with offers of jobs and then arrested and accused of various fictitious crimes. Soft hands or glasses were also a death sentence. They were then taken to the security stations. Here, they were systematically tortured until they confessed to, for instance, being spies for the CIA or the KGB, and had named others.
Tonl Sleng was one such security station. Originally built as a high school, the facilities and equipment were converted into cells, torture chambers and instruments of torture. It was code-named S-21.
Tortured to confess to a crime that they did not know, prisoners had their throats and stomachs cut, and were left to bleed. Toenails and fingernails were pulled out. They were hung upside-down until they lost consciousness and then dunked into chemicals, such as DDT, which awakened them so the tortune could continue. Once a confession had been obtained, they were marked for destruction.
Every few days (for the lucky ones), they were stripped and hosed down. They then could not lie on the floor until it had dried. Speaking was forbidden. Each prisoner was measured and photographed upon arrival – the documentation of the Khmer Rouge is extensive and detailed.
Each night, trucks containing 70 to 80 people would leave the compound “for a new house” and arrive at Choeung Ek, 17km south of Tonl Sleng. One by one, each prisoner would be taken from the truck, made to kneel in front of a large, deep pit with their hands tied behind their back and blindfolded, and were beaten to death. Hammers, machetes, hoes, axes, jagged edges of palm leaves. Anything the soldiers could find. Bullets were expensive, and not to be wasted. Babies were held by their feet and slapped against “the killing tree”, found in 1979 stained with blood and human flesh. The dead body was then pushed or thrown into the pit. And then they murdered the next one. And the next one. And. The. Next. One.
DDT was poured over the bodies to finish off anyone who hadn’t died, and reduce the stench of rotting flesh. Screams were drowned out by blaring revolutionary music. And it was deliberately far away from civilisation, so nobody could hear, see or smell what was happening at Choeung Ek, or “The Killing Field”. They were checked on to and off the truck to ensure nobody had escaped. Approximately 20,000 men, women and children were brought S-21. About 200 survived.
So, what the f*ck was the rest of the world doing at this time? The short answer, it would seem, is “not giving a sh*t”. Cambodian borders were closed, with only diplomats allowed in and out of the country. And the genocide was taking place in secret. It was the Vietnamese, along with Cambodian defectors, who liberated the country, with the Khmer Rouge falling on 7 Jan 1979. They went into hiding in the jungle, where they regrouped. Yet, they were still recognised as the ruling party of Cambodia by first-world countries. Not only were they given a seat on the UN council, but they were also given funding. Yes, apparently the UN saw fit to continue giving money to the Khmer Rouge. In fact, Pol Pot lived happily (albeit in secret) until the age of 73 when, it is believed (but, again, can never actually be proven) that, upon getting wind of the fact that the world was on to him, was poisoned by one of his soldiers. Nice get-out clause.
In Jul 2010, the commander of S-21, known as “Duch”, was sentenced to life in prison for war crimes, crimes against humanity, torture and murder. Most of the other perpetrators have died before trial, some murdered by others within the regime, with one or two awaiting a trial that is unlikely to come to court in their lifetime.
I’m no historian, but the similarities to the Nazis are frightening: the mentality of the leaders, the way in which they controlled others to carry out their crimes, the systematic torture and murder of vast numbers of people within a short space of time, the obliviousness of the rest of the world until so much damage had been done. That this could have happened so soon after Hitler is devastating. Did we not learn? How many times will this have to happen before we learn to predict it? Surely it’s just a matter of time until it happens again…?
And I got back to my hotel room. I turned on the TV. And my heart skipped a beat.
North Korea.
A leader who imposes their will on the population, in the pursuit of a warped ideal. Who keeps things secret. Who has the mentality of a meglomanic. What’s happening behind those closed doors? Is it any of our business? Yes, it is. It is absolutely our business. Just like acid rain in Sweden is our business. Because we are humanity, and we have a responsibility that crosses nationality, race and gender. And I suddenly felt scared, upset and utterly useless. Genocide could be happening right now, and nothing is known about it, let alone being done about it. Suddenly the Cambodian genocide and the Killing Fields became real for me in a way that it hadn’t done during the day. I still can’t comprehend it, but somehow the threat of it is something my brain can process. And it is a harrowing thought.
Doing the van pickups around Kratie, I suddenly realised the houses had changed, like we’d hit the Kensington and Chelsea of Cambodia:
But the next house was the usual wooden shack. It seems you buy a plot here and construct whatever house you can afford.
I like travelling by van as it gives a real taste of Cambodian life. There are usually just one or two westerners in a van of <insert number of tickets sold>, but today there were only five other passengers. And if you flew everywhere, you’d miss stuff like this:
I’d noticed that the pilot of the dolphin boat in Kratie had long fingernails. Really long fingernails. Apparently, he’s a classical guitarist… but that didn’t explain the long fingernails on his left hand. Surely they’d make it impossible to play? And then, in the van to Phnom Penh (PP), I spied this:
… and wondered if long fingernails were a sign of status, to show that you didn’t have a manual job. Bit difficult to verify this, but since then I’ve noticed quite a few men with extraordinarily long fingernails. Just an observation.
Phnom Penh is different to the other parts of Cambodia I’ve seen. As we approached the city, it became more industrial and whilst there were the same dusty streets with shacks, the shacks were now made of concrete and corrugated metal rather than wood. And the roads are sealed, whereas most other places they’re mostly dirt tracks, especially off the main drag. It gives a completely different feel to the place, without much changing. Same, but different.
One flower a day, which blooms and falls.
That’s the “canonball tree”, with branches that resemble creepers. Totally irrelevant to the Royal Palace, but an interesting introduction, followed up by the “travellers’ palm”:
Whichever way you plant the seed, it’ll align itself to north and south. I wondered whether the Angkorians could have done with that when building their temples.
And so to the palace.
The current king is a Buddhist monk, so is unmarried. When he dies, the council will select a new king from those with royal blood. None of this birth order stuff – they just select who they think will be the best person for the job, I suppose. Bit like choosing the Pope.
Remember King J7? He was the last great (and benevolent) king who united the country through religious tolerance. Apparently, he is often sculpted with no arms:
… the reason being that the statusefound of him had lost its arms so we don’t know what position they were in. To avoid getting it wrong, he’s now always shown armless.
Inside the temple (photos not allowed), there is a Buddha made of 90kg of gold and 2086 diamonds. And the floor is made from over 5,000 solid silver tiles, each weighing 1.25t. This is not the amazing thing. The amazing thing is that there is absolutely no security. Nada. The floor is just covered by a rug, and the Buddha is in a glass case in the middle of the temple. Everyone looks but doesn’t touch. Furthermore (that’s one of my favourite words, btw), the emerald Buddha who is the main event (I told you they’re free with their iconography) is the largest emerald in the world (according to our guide). And he has even less security – not even a glass case. It’s just there, admittedly quite high up, and you’d have to get through all the stuff below him, but still… The only time things have been stolen is during the reign of the Khmer Rouge, but we’ll get to that another day.
Surprisingly, I found the costume bit quite interesting. For instance, there is a different colour for each day of the week. I visited on a Friday, so many of the guides were wearing blue shirts. If you get married on a Saturday, you’ll wear dark red, but on a Monday and you’ll wear yellow. Wedding garb looked very elegant:
… although the bride will get through 14 or 15 costumes during the 2-day ceremony.
The buildings themselves were pretty impressive:
… but the same couldn’t be said for the ground around the complex which showed a decided lack of elegance and imagination:
And here’s another scale model of Angkor Wat – I think they might be a bit proud of it!
And, luckily, the toilets had instructions so I avoided a potentially embarrassing situation:
Then back to my “hotel”. It’s a complete dive. I’ve never been in a prison cell, but I suspect that it’s not much different – small space, no fresh air, no windows. So I’ve splashed out an extra £4 per night in the hope that I’ll get a room without exposed electrics in the wet room. Just call me flashy 🙂
Like everything out here, petrol stations are different. Some consist of fuel decanted into old Coke bottles (at least you know you’re getting your full 2 litres) sold at the side of the road (the vast majority of vehicles are motos and tuk-tuks; if you’ve a car, you’re wealthy, and a 4×4 means you’re rich (and maybe a little pretentious)). And this little contraption:
Joined the locals on the ferry across the Mekong to Koh Trong island. Locals, and cargo and motos, and anything else that people wanted to take over. A guy was running up and down the quite considerable number of concrete steps, loading up the boat. We crowded on.
Only westerner, and again I didn’t feel at risk in any way, and only slightly out of place – when I stood up to get off the boat, I towered at least a full head above all of them, even the men. Many were dolled up wearing white shirts, visiting the Koh Trong temple as part of the festival.
Bike is the best way to get around. Literally around. So I took my trusty steed:
… and started round the circumference:
… and then I hit the dual carriageway:
.. and the B-road:
Congestion slowed me down in places:
And the C-road:
… which rather disconcertingly went through the bottom of someone’s house:
They didn’t seem to notice, let alone mind. That’s the way here. A bit like the slowing down of life when you go to Devon and Cornwall. Except here it’s even slower to start with, so it pretty much ground to a halt.
People live round the edge in the now very-familiar wooden houses, with their cattle on the shore side. Inland is agriculture:
And a Vietnamese floating village is tucked on the other side:
Slowing down to let pedestrians cross:
And back to the ferry terminal where I was eventually joined by others waiting for the boat:
My slow day continued with a walk around the market. And I loved this tuk-tuk driver’s ingenious solution for reflectors:
Then a tuk-tuk ride back to the hotel, just as the sun was setting:
“The Irrawaddy dolphin (Orcaella brevirostris) is a euryhaline species of oceanic dolphin found in discontinuous subpopulations near sea coasts and in estuaries and rivers in parts of the Bay of Bengal and Southeast Asia.” Exactly. And it’s on Wiki, so it must be true. Kratie is one of the best places to see them. Well, two of them anyway (there are only 24 left in this area, staying within 5km of each other).
That they’re closely related to the killer whale is obvious (see it’s blunt beak in the photo below). Well, as obvious as anything gets with Irrawaddy dolphins, who are much more chilled than their cousins – perhaps that’s why they choose Kratie to hang out every year.
I’m telling you this because the photos contain, shall we say, limited visual information about them. They surface to breathe (a lovely sound when they exhale) and that’s about it. We saw some frolicking, but in a very relaxed kind of way. These are the best shots I got:
But I decided to enjoy watching them, rather than spend my time with them holding up my camera, making my arms ache, only for them to strike a pose just after I’d given up. So here’s one someone else took – they can take the glory, and the time investment, and I’ll just steal their photo:
Then it was off through the streets in our tuk-tuk:
… to “The Pagoda of 100 pillars” (English translation, obviously and not entirely accurate because it actually has 116):
Then to the turtle centre. Small, but interesting and I’ve never seen soft-shelled turtles before. Apparently the shells never harden because they have no natural predators in the Mekong. Due to poor survival rates, they take the newborns into the centre for 10 months, when they release them back into the wild:
They love to bury themselves (for cooling down?):
They also have a few bigger ones, I think it’s their retirement home. Most seemed pretty happy with their lot, especially this one:
The journey back, via Sambok, is worth mentioning: it’s a wonderful trip through real Cambodia life. Wooden houses line the street, with wooden ramps (for rainy season) up to the entrances. We saw many different designs, with some in brick with ornate staircases and mahogany furnishings, and others barely standing. Like a microcosm of Cambodia life.
The “mountain” is a hill. And not a big one at that…. said the Hampshire lass. Round here, it’s a mountain. A wonderfully peaceful place, there are three tiers and the site is a meditation centre with a reasonable contingent of disciples, who live in the wooden sheds around the commune (like beach huts, but not decorated and generally in very poor condition). And, like the rest of Cambodia, the place was full of litter. More about this later.
I’m not sure I’ll ever trump the elephants, but today’s wildlife review is pretty impressive with this chap:
And here he’s feeling threatened:
By this immature prat who was taunting him:
Tried the stern look on him, but it didn’t work. A good telling-off from one of the inhabitants did the trick though.
Good views from the top, peaking between the trees that contribute to the calm of the place, hiding it from the world:
And then dinner and sunset by the Mekong:
… followed by a massage and drinks in the hotel bar. Living the dream. Fantastic day 🙂
