And they load up the westerners first. This, on the face of it, is annoying, because you get picked up early and then spend up to an hour touring one square mile picking up everyone else. But it means we get the best seats on the bus. Because we’ve paid a lot more than anyone else. Bags, boxes and crates are also included, often dropped off at seemingly random (but most definitely not random) points along the way.
And the air-conditioning kept cutting out. “Why’s it not working?” I asked Natalie. She looked at me, smiled and said, “Because we’re going up hill – not enough umph for the both.” Ah yes. First-world brain moment again. It’s good to be conscious of them – puts our world and lives into perspective.
Liked Kratie as soon as we arrived – even the moto driver who tried to hassle us wasn’t too insistent.
Our lunchtime view:
Then we bought grapes and some fruit that looked like small, spiky sweet pototoes for breakfast. Much of the fruit seems to be in the same ilk: a hard, often spiky shell, with fleshy or opaque fruit, and a central stone. “Same, but different”, as they would say around here.
And then headed to the River Dophin Hotel, as we’d decided to splash out £12 on a room. It was so worth it. I had my first hot shower since Dubai (yes, I know I haven’t mentioned it, but I’m a stoical kinda girl). It was even better than coming out of the wilderness into Yosemite Valley. Maybe I’m just easily pleased 🙂
Most of the seats in Cambodia are hard. Really hard. And my bum hurts. This has been at the top of my brain for much of this week – it’s difficult to concentrate when it feels like your sit bones are being driven into a block of concrete.
Mosquitos
They’re having a field day:
… and I think they’ve told their friends I’m in town. And not just mosquitos either – anything that bites takes a liking to me. The feeling is not mutual.
Food
When you order starter and main in England, you’ll generally expect to get the starter, and then the main, right? Not here. You order what you want and it comes out when it’s ready. For logistical reasons (I assume), the soup often comes last. That it’s usually absolutely delicious is sufficient compensation. And it all ends up in the same place anyway, so I can’t get too fussed about it. Just interesting.
Music and TV
I’ve heard quite a lot of (old) western music (Westlife and Britney Spears seem to be popular), but also quite a lot of local “radio” music. And many smaller places in the sticks have a TV on (as they’re the family’s home, so it’s a bit like sitting in their living room). To my ears and eyes, it’s awful. Sorry, Cambodia, but creative kindred spirits we are not. But let’s have a reality check here – I highly doubt that they have any kind of budget at all, which makes the programmes that look like an episode of Doctor Who from the 1980s shot on a camcorder, really quite impressive.
Today I walked with elephants. It was a humbling and surprisingly spiritual experience.
But first we needed to feed the pigs:
Then it was off to find the elephants:
All are abused elephants who have been brought here to recuperate, either purchased outright from their owners or part of a “compensation” scheme where the owners are paid about $250pm to let them stay, mostly on a long-term (eg 10-year) contract.
Some ele info:
Life expectancy is 70 (wild) to 80 (captivity)
Only 300 – 400 wild elephants remain in Cambodia
Communication is using trumpeting, squeaking and rumbling (which can travel a long way in the right conditions)
All the eles at the Elephant Valley Project (EVP) are female – because males are stronger, they’re worked harder and longer, and owners are less amenable to parting with them
It costs $14k – $20k to buy an ele, dependent upon gender, age and condition (and whether they’ve just rampaged a farm and put the family into debt)
Despite appearances, their skin is quite thin and sensitive (y’know, to whips, bull-hooks and things like that…)
A raised spine is a sign of rib compression caused by extreme loads across their backs
Mainly worked in tourism (rides on their backs), logging and construction
Wild populations are difficult to track, and they don’t publish any info they do have for fear of poaching
The eles at EVP aren’t bred because most of them are too old; and it’s difficult to get a male elephant (it’s also against the beliefs of the local Bunong people, but when questioned EVP confirmed they’d prioritise the elephants’ welfare over this if there was a male in town – interested applicants can contact them via their website)
Unfortunately, animal welfare is pretty low on the agenda, and they have no authority to remove abused elephants from their owners
EVP has three other initiatives:
Land title: the indigenous people don’t actually own the land their families have lived on for centuries, and are at risk of being chucked off; so EVP have hired surveyors and lawyers and are at the final stages of securing the land for the people
Healthcare: ele abuse (and illegal logging) can happen to pay healthcare costs so EVP have set up a scheme covering about 2,600 indigenous people
Education: … and a similar scheme for education
All the eles at EVP are female, only one is of breeding age and hasn’t yet come into season (potentially as a result of the abuse) and males are very difficult to get hold of, so there are no breeding programmes (but lots in Thailand).
I spent the day simply following the elephants (one group in the morning, another in the afternoon) who are allowed, and encouraged to just be elephants (after years of abuse some have lost their natural instincts). We got pretty close (within a few metres), but didn’t touch them. Here are some more photos, because I think they speak from themselves:
Washing in one of the streams – afterwards, they throw dirt over themselves to protect their skin. The next day, that gets washed off and another lot “applied”:
This whip scorpion (harmless) also made an appearance:
And an outdoor toilet:
Great day – a highlight of my trip 🙂 That’s all, folks 🙂
Headed out to the Elephant Valley Project – a reasonable contingent of tourists. The “base camp” is pretty incredible, built in sympathy with the local forest (often called a jungle, but I don’t think it technically is). There’s a lounge:
And dorms with my bed for the night (complete with mosquito net, vital in these parts):
And today’s bug review is pleasingly full:
Then a game of cards, and off to bed for 9pm. There’s no curfew, but the generator only works between 6 and 9pm, so if you’re not tucked up, better get the headtorch out. Really looking forward to meeting the eles tomorrow.
Cambodians know what’s happening to their country: the illegal logging, selling land to line the pockets of key officials, corruption and suppression of free speech. Yet there’s a feeling of resignation, certainly from those people with all-too-clear memories of the Khmer Rouge. But remember the Arab Spring? A wonder if a similar explosion will happen in Cambodia. Whilst the elders remain subdued, the younger generation seem very clued up on their country in comparison to the rest of the world. Western culture gets through via movies and music, and it’s their dream. We are living their dream. And surely the bubble will burst, maybe not now or next year, but at some point I wouldn’t be surprised if the people take back control of their country and their destiny.
Dol, my (very good) moto driver knew the deal. He showed me rubber, coffee and fruit crops grown on land sold, and the trees cut and sold to Vietnam (ultimately destined for that global juggernaut, China). Mahogany is (was?) abundant here – dusty street cafes with incongruous mahogany dinner tables and chairs.
Cambodia’s border is moving, gradually being stolen by Thailand and Vietnam, like a small sapling suffocated by the taller, stronger trees around it.
“Bou Sra” is a large double waterfall about one hour from Sen Monorom. Being a bit of a water-baby I was keen to see it. Shoulda guessed that it would be touristified – stalls led down to the waterfront, as well as a busker:
It’s pretty here… and the land has just a been sold to a rich Cambodian who has plans for world domination:
A posh hotel and a zip line is all that’s there at the moment. Why someone would want to take such a picturesque place and ruin it with a zip line is beyond me. But they follow the tourists, because tourists mean cash. I’m sure you’re getting the picture… and it’s not pretty, not good for the majority of Cambodians and not sustainable.
“No tourists,” Dol pointed out. We were sat in a river propped up against a small waterfall for a massage. “You know why? No road, no signs.” Good point – he’d dived off in a dirt track and stripped off.
Much smaller than Bou Sra but just as picturesque and people weren’t trying to sell me t-shirts. We stayed quite a while, just talking. Dol is 45, is married with four children and has never been out of Cambodia. He used to be a trucker, but earns more as a moto driver (like Cuba, the best-paid jobs are those dealing with tourists). He works whenever a tourist wants to go out and doesn’t go on holiday (because he can’t afford the trip nor the time off).
At the coffee plantation where we stopped for lunch, Dol ordered an iced coffee and offered me a sip. I’m not much of a coffee drinker, but it was the strongest I’ve ever tasted – like neat coffee, bitter but not overly so.
Dol suggested the Ban Chav for lunch. “Do you know how to eat it?” asked the waitress and proceeded to demonstrate how to collect some of the leaves and herbs, tear off some of the omelette-like stuff (actually made with rye (or did he say “rice”?) flour) and then a pinch of the omelette “filling”. Wrap it up, dip it in the sauce (I bypassed the hot chili) and down it goes. Delicious. Kinda reminded me of fajitas in the way you construct it yourself.
The “minority village” on the tour was actually one house… and they admitted they’d had another built, so how much this one was used I’m not sure, but it was like stepping back in time. A fire burned in the middle of a shack made of wooden posts and weaved walls, with a raised platform with bamboo slats covered with a rug:
“Do you have houses like this?” the old woman asked. Hmmm, how to answer, I thought. “In the C16”, probably wasn’t too diplomatic even if it was truthful. They know Europe is very different but I’m not sure what good would come of them knowing just how much more advanced we are. So I resolved it by explaining we used to, but as England is much colder our houses are made of brick. And left it at that. But then her son-in-law appeared… with a really flashy mobile phone. And then my phone started beeping as text messages came in. I stepped outside to see their back “yard”, and there was a massive telephone mast in their back garden. All over Cambodia I’ve witnessed the same thing: poverty with technology slicing through it. But they’ve jumped in at mobile phones, skipping the “research and development” phase. Very incongruous, but only to a naive western mind, I guess.
People marry young here: 17/18 for girls; a few years older for boys. And children are important: with no state healthcare, children are your insurance policy. Dol explained that even women who don’t want to marry have children. Unfortunately some (and some of those whose marriages break down) end up in prostitution. I didn’t ask how he knew, but Dol advised that the going rate was $10, with the girl keeping $5 and her pimp getting the other half. He provides food and shelter… and almost certainly makes a handsome profit, too. But again, things are changing – when people go to school/college they now have boyfriends and girlfriends, something so far not part of their culture. Apparently, they sneak out to “have a good time” but use contraception. Just another inkling that things might change round here within our lifetime.
Cambodia is in the middle of a 15-day festival, finishing on 11 Oct. Temples start the loud music from 5am (aargh!), with a break between midday and 3pm (very like a siesta and for the same reason – it’s baking hot here). Their society is a lot more religious, so the majority of people will partake in the ritual of attending 7 or so pagodas within this time, bringing food for the monks (and for a corker of a party afterwards). It’s amazing to see, but makes me feel even more like an intruder, so I haven’t ventured into many. The temple on the hilltop near Sen Monorom was the same, but the view was great:
And this view is called the “Forest Sea” because the shades of green (not visible in this photo because I’m a rubbish photographer) look like waves. I just hope that they can hold on to it amid the government mass sell-off.
“Uh-oh”, said Dol with a sharp intake of breath, and he brought the moto to an abrupt halt. He tensed, and shut off the engine.
“What?”
“Snake,” he whispered. Sure enough, a pale leaf-green snake with a pinky-red tail was making its way, in its own time (as snakes have the prerogative to do), across the road.
“Cool! Is it poisonous?”
He nodded. I think he also thought I was mad. I got off the moto, but obviously didn’t go any closer.
It was going to be difficult to beat today’s wildlife encounter. I’ve seen snakes, but this is my first poisonous one (that I know – I didn’t stop to talk to the one in California).
Sen Monorom waterfall still kept its sparkle, though. It struck me that, apart from the types of trees, it could well be somewhere within England.
And then home, via the dusty track:
… with a bruised derriere (it’s not as padded as I thought) after a fantastic, educational day. Thanks, Dol 🙂
Getting into the travelling way of life: jumped off the van from Banlung to Sen Monorom, bowled up to a cafe I’d read about in a local mag and organised somewhere to stay. Gradually descending from flashpacker back to backpacker – the room was $4 (about £2.50). I was interested to find out what I won’t get for the extra $8. Answer: hot water, flushing toilet, toilet paper and sane neighbours. But I do get: paper-thin walls, an unlimited supply of ants and psycho neighbours. Sobbing and anguished cries from next door weren’t sleep-inducing, but another soothing voice gave me hope she’d be OK..
Callum is an Aussie who arrived at the cafe 5 years ago… and ended up marrying the owner. So many people I’ve met started out travelling and found somewhere they didn’t want to leave. Being on the road is great – I wake up each morning and can pretty much do whatever I like, including come home – but I definitely wouldn’t want to live here. Shows how different people are.
I knew Mr Sophann had overcharged me for my van ticket (and whilst I queried it with him I kinda had little choice, and he knew it) but was interested to know by how much. Callum confirmed locals would buy the ticket for about $5.50 and re-sell it for $8 (which is fair enough). I paid $15. Mr Sophann will indeed get the TripAdvisor review he kept nagging me for. I might even write him two 🙂
Natalie was also on the van – it was nice to meet another lone female traveller who speaks English, and she was good fun. We bought some lonigans (small fleshy fruit, with a large stone and potato-like hard shell) and sat on the main road munching and talking. This was a lot more fun than it sounds!
Spent the early evening sat at a cafe eating cake. This is significant – there aren’t many cake places in Cambodia. Sen Monorom has a relatively high ex-pat collective because of the various wildlife projects in town, and they bring beer and cake. Elephant Valley Project (see Sun/Mon) had warned that people might try to warn us off: that their elephants had run away, that it was all a scam, etc. And indeed it came true: the owner had called her son who lectured us about how the two NGOs in the area were taking work away from local guides. As the two NGOs in question own their elephants, I was intrigued to know what elephants he was going to take us to for the $35 he would charge (about half the NGO fee). I feel for them, and it’s so difficult to know what’s “right”.
A laid-back day. Surprisingly difficult to get your head round at first, coming from a life that’s constantly busy. But here it’s very different. Many people don’t “go to work” in the same way – they work long, but chilled, and the pace of life is slow. Allow yourself to, and it’s easy to slide into it.
Mr Sophann hadn’t been entirely honest with me. Firstly, it turned out that he’d charged me $35 for a guided tour of waterfalls and the crater lake but he knew absolutely nothing about them – he was just a moto driver. Secondly, he’d told me that I could swim at each of the three waterfalls (am) and the crater lake (pm). When we arrived at the first waterfall he explained that, during rainy season, the water was too dirty:
Too right it was too dirty, and with nobody else around, I wasn’t about to break the first rule of water safety either: never swim alone (if you knock yourself unconscious you’ll be a goner no matter how strong a swimmer you are).
Steps led down the pool:
“Are they safe?”
“Oh yes, very safe”. Problem was that he’d already lied to me, so I now didn’t trust him. They didn’t look safe.
The next waterfall involved a suspension bridge in only slightly better condition:
… but the view was worth it.
Huts in which a bride and groom would stay before a Chunchiet (local indigenous people) had been constructed (the higher one for the groom, as men are considered more important):
And the place that would be their home after the wedding (with the aforementioned Mr Sophann – he rarely took his eyes off his phone the whole day):
I’d noticed that huts around Cambodia were pretty similar with little variation (so far), except on the round into Ratanakiri (a mountainous province) yesterday where roofs were corrugated metal, not bamboo. Metal is hotter and more expensive, but lasts longer (5 years), whereas bamboo is cheap and cool, but only lasts c.18 months. This was the only interesting bit of information I got out of my “guide” all day.
The third waterfall was the highest. And, best of all, you could get behind it:
A swift round of waterfalls, worth seeing, disappointed I couldn’t swim as I’d been told.
He dropped me at his friend’s (deserted) cafe for lunch, but with a severely dented track record of recommendations (another friend’s hotel in my next destination had very poor reviews), I popped over the road to another (heaving with locals) for lunch: WWTBAM’s “ask the audience” at work 🙂
In my query about how much he was charging, he tried to pacify me that we’d also visit a village with local handicrafts. Not my thing, but interesting to see. It was one lady with a loom handweaving scarves and stuff. They were actually quite nice and, for once, I wanted to buy something to support them because, for once, I wasn’t being hassled. One week’s work cost $5:
Yeak Laom Lake was stunning:
A volcanic crater lake believed to be about 700,000 years old, it’s 800m wide and 50m deep. And it’s *the* place to go to relax in the afternoon.
I bought a mango and a pineapple, found a hammock, paid my 5,000 riel (95p) and settled in for the afternoon:
Groups of friends congregated in these little shelters, cooking, playing cards, generally chilling. A great place to relax.
I was keen to swim in the lake – I’d heard it was lovely. Decks acted as diving boards as (mostly) kids played in the water.
But there were no lockers and I was nervous about leaving my stuff. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” Mr Sophann had said. I hate that phrase – you need to explain *why* it’ll be fine. An American couple who had met that morning in their hostel said the same. I was still wary. So I waited until later in the day, choose the main deck but when it was empty, clipped my bumbag to one of the wooden posts and went in.
The water was delicious, beautifully warm and fairly clean. Unfortunately, you couldn’t swim more than 10m from the deck for safety reasons (not that anyone would have stopped you).
Then I saw him. He was taking photos and kept looking at my stuff. My bumbag was like a beautiful woman he couldn’t take his eyes off. I was watching him like a hawk and he knew it. Strategically moving round the deck, he started taking photos “of his friend”… and my stuff. Gut instinct told me this wasn’t good. Afterwards i wondered if he was zooming in on the picture to work out how I’d attached it to the post. For the next photo he’d lined up four people – it was like my stuff was the fifth friend… and I took the opportunity to politely move my stuff out of their way to the other side of the deck. He watched it go. He knew. I knew. He left soon after.
I played. About five minutes later another young man spied my stuff. He did the same, gradually moving round the deck nonchalantly. I wasn’t taking any risks. I couldn’t. I just got out and sat with it. He knew. I knew. He left soon after.
And that was it. I played with the group of kids in the water – they showed me how to jump from the ledge and I showed them how to do a dive roll into the water (great fun!). Indigenous people in these parts are embarrassed by too much flesh, but this was swimming, right? Wrong. I noticed they were swimming fully-clothed. I had no spares with me, so I tucked my t-shirt into my cozzie – nobody seemed to mind.
I knew I was late to meet Mr Sophann, but I’d never come back here and was enjoying it. The whole day he’d been more concerned with my money and his motorbike rather than my tour, so I felt no particular connection with him. I appeared, dripping wet and smiling.
At dinner, the same young girl who served me last night was there. Employing her wouldn’t be allowed in the UK. But this isn’t the UK. It hit home again not just how hard these people work, but how long. And then I went back to my luxury hotel room with a proper bed, running water and flushing toilet. I’ve always known I’m lucky, but the past few days have made it more real.
I was horrified. We’d arrived at Mr Ny’s farm to find him “making rice”. As the owner of a de-husking machine, he provides rice for the whole village. Working from 5am, his day doesn’t really start until he’s treated whatever bags have been delivered for that day. “Health and safety” would have had a field day: dirty bags, wicker baskets, unwashed hands… even one of the family dogs got in on the act. But Cambodia have bigger fish to fry (y’know, minor things like poor human rights and extensive, deep-rooted political corruption) before stuff like comes to the top of the agenda. And they all seemed fine to me…
I was keen to get going as I knew I’d have to walk slowly, but I couldn’t really pull him away from his rice-making so we eventually left at 0945. We = me, Mr Ny and his two dogs, Nanggap (female, 18 months, just had puppies,tended to stay close, protective, very obedient):
… and Perk (male, 3 years, a wanderer, disappeared for long periods, but always returned when called, handsome, also very obedient):
Mr Ny fashioned me a walking pole out of some bamboo – it saved me a fall more than once that day:
“An animal!”. Mr My stopped and watched. “A monkey.” Cool – I strained to try to see it. Then he picked up a stone and hurled it in the monkey’s direction. At first I thought it was to get it to move so I could see it… but then he set his dogs on it. I was horrified.
You could hear the squeals – long, anguished, painful… and then nothing.
“They kill the monkey?”
“Yes, they kill it, ” he said still looking at the forest. Then he turned and saw my face. Someone with zero EQ could have read my face.
“They no kill monkey. It ran up tree.”
Sounded like they bl**dy well killed the monkey to me, I thought. And he could give me no reason why. Maybe it was a language thing, but I strongly suspected it was because there wasn’t one. He looked sheepish.
Happily, things improved after that and we trekked steadily:
Lunch stop:
Dragon fruit:
He worked out that I was a slow walker and we took shortcuts, the last one straight up the river to the waterfall we’d been aiming for. I’d given up taking my shoes/socks off at each river crossing – they dried between soaks anyway. Just wish the rep had warned me.
The waterfall was tiny but pretty – a nominal place to head for a day trip (we were just in the forest – it’d have taken days to get to the national park and back):
And I was determined to swim after all that walking:
He’d told me the route back was 3 hours. Nothing shorter? No. But there was. People dream of going “off the beaten track” (not understanding that, unless you go to the earth’s extremes, there isn’t such a thing). By necessity and circumstance, we went off the normal track, his machete sometimes clearing the way, sometimes back-tracking.
We stopped for a rest at a hut about 30 mins from civilisation:
Then I witnessed something I am honoured to have seen: he invited me into the hut and, on a bamboo mezzanine level, the old man (who had a connection with Buddha – I can’t remember what they call it), performed a good-luck ceremony for the woman who was sick. A visit to the doctor hadn’t healed her, so they were trying alternatives. It involved two cows made out of folded leaves and toothpicks, each with a candle and a separate candle with a substance around the base. He squatted (amazing mobility – his butt was brushing the floor), spoke very, very fast and proceeded to melt something over the candle and wave it near the woman, then sprinkle the substance over each of the cows. He didn’t stop for at least 2 or 3 minutes. Whilst I don’t think the procedure itself has much scientific merit, the placebo effect is well-documented. I hope she gets better 🙂
Arrived back at Village 5 (a logical but somewhat uninspired name) two hours later.
And now the bit you’ve been waiting for – the wildlife review. It started well with my shoe this morning – must have come back with me last night:
Giant ants:
Pigs also featured:
And interesting flora and fauna:
I don’t much enjoy walking at the moment, but was determined not to miss this one. A good day 🙂
Two pairs of flip-flops *and* sandals?! Really? I’d taken the van from Siem Reap and had reached the transfer town of Stung Treng. You’ve got to pass through it to get to anywhere: over the Laos border to 4,000 Islands (inaccurately named) and Dom Det; down to Kratie and; east to Rattanakiri province. ST was a functional town. Yes, let’s call it a functional town. Quite big, very dusty and apart from the two “places of worship” the nearest thing worth seeing, according to my app, was 44km away. We’d stopped for lunch. Everyone’s packs were twice the size of mine and I was intrigued as to what they’d brought that I hadn’t. “Is that all your stuff?” she asked, pointing to my pack.”Yep, and I think I’ve got everything I need.” But I was intrigued as to what they’d brought that I hadn’t. Some answers: ten tops (I brought 2, making 12 items of clothing in total) makeup, an extensive range of toiletries, a snorkelling mask (I’m not making this up), plus the two pairs of flip-flops and one pair of sandals. Wow.
Whatever time you arrived, you’d be waiting one hour. Alarm bells started ringing when I asked about Banlung and a minor panic ensued. The van service is ad hoc: it seems that each day they see what tickets they’ve sold and run buses to cater. Booking to Stung Treng and “winging it from there” wasn’t part of the system. But it was, because they just fudged it. Bundled off the third van about 3 minutes after I’d got on, I was told “Bus to Banlung, this one, from here, 5 minutes”. From recent previous experience, I didn’t believe them. And it was just me. “By myself?!” I asked, horrified. “Yes,” said a toothy grin. Oh no, this wasn’t part of the deal – I’m not doing a two-hour trip by myself. But all four just smiled enthusiastically and nodded. And I realised I didn’t have much choice. Staying here wasn’t much safer. I needn’t have worried: the van (not the one they’d pointed to) arrived five minutes later and, already full to the brim, I was bundled on.
The terrain changed as we got higher:
But the houses were the same:
My first moto trip was to my hotel: $1, helmet not included. I can report that the back of a moto is more stable than it looks.
Hotel’s ok. Sunset was impressive:
Only one person at the hotel speaks (a little) English. Hate being in a country and not at least being able to get by. Booked a one-day trek in the forest tomorrow and a waterfall tour for Thursday. I declined the elephant ride: they’re bred in captivity and live in “less than ideal” conditions. I appreciate the locals need to make a living, but I fundamentally disagree with using a wild animal as entertainment.
And talking about wild animals, I had a visitor in my room:
Travelling’s one of life’s contradictions: how doing so little can be so tiring?
English really is the universal language, and I’m so lucky that it’s my native tongue, because it means I don’t have to learn it. The two most popular subjects at the monks’ school behind the first Rolous temple were English and computing: they’re seen as a route out of Cambodia and poverty. And I can now see why my previous attempts to at least try the local language wherever I’ve been have been met with surprised looks. Especially as I’m a Brit. Yet, I feel uncomfortable not being able to get by here – will brush up on a few phrases before I hit Vietnam.
Greeting
Bowing slightly with your hands in a prayer position is a lovely greeting, non-aggressive and friendly. And no physical contact, so it feels more comfortable than a handshake when meeting new people. I still like a hug from a friend, though 🙂
Clothes washing
Yes, yes, but it’s important when you’re on the road with two tops and only three spare pairs of pants. The trick is to wash everything in the shower when you get in from the day and hang it up – most of it is dry by morning. It’s really important to look after it. The Dr Bronners rather impressively removed a yellow curry stain, but I’m already running low so I’ve resorted to hotel soap for the day-to-day dirt.
Mosquitos
I hate mosquitos. I really hate mosquitos. They can smell sweet Scandi blood from three miles away. In Florida they were big, loud and heavy – “mosquito bite? It was more like giving a Red Cross blood donation” – but at least you could hear them and feel them land so you had a fighting chance (I once heard that if you wait til they start feeding and then tense the muscle, it forces blood into them and they explode, but instinct took over and I always swatted them before I could try). Here they have stealth mosquitos – small, light and silent. Only upside is that they don’t seem to be able to bite through clothing. But no less irritating. I hate ’em, I really hate ’em.
Tuk-tuks and motos
Am now an expert passenger. Roads here are often dirt tracks and very bumpy. Sports bra required.
Road rules
Everything is subject to what you feel like doing
On a dual-carriageway and your destination is the other side? No problem – take a shortcut down the other carriageway
Horns are used to signal “I’m here!” and are rarely used aggressively
Faster vehicles beep before they overtake slower traffic
Crossroads don’t have conventions, let alone traffic lights: slow down as you approach, and slowly make your way across
Give way to traffic joining the road (because, most of the time, they’ll have assumed you’ll let them in anyway)
It sounds chaotic, but it works – because very few people have cars, and motos drive slower and are more agile. And the main roads are in pretty good nick (let’s save the non-main roads for another post so we can end on a positive note).
