Part III - Phnom Penh, Koh Rong, Kampot

Phnom Penh was a bit of a shock to the system. Unfortunately there is a seedy side to the city. I won't go into detail but at any one time there is a surprisingly high number of single middle aged caucasian males in town.

We were lifted however, by a happy coincidence. It transpired that we had arrived as the biggest festival in the Cambodian calendar was about to kick off. As we sipped frozen Daiquiris on a rooftop bar (treat day), below us, vast crowds stretched for miles along the banks of the enormously wide Mekong River. One of the main events was a Dragonboat tournament involving 400 dragon crews from across the country. These slender vessels are seriously lengthy, each carrying some 50 oarsmen. The event made the annual Oxbridge fixture look like an inebriated water boatman and a rather maladroit nymph going for a lazy afternoon jaunt in a drainage ditch. 

The Water Festival boasted endless market stalls offering a plethora of weird and wonderful food stuffs. I noted a few Phom Penh delicacies and I shall now do my best to describe them in layman's terms: 

• Genetically modified fried insect pick&mix selection 
• Fluorescent green horror sausage
• Bulbous 'Bush Tukka Trial' larvae 
• Pizza-base-like disc of glued together shrimp. No toppings. Adhesive unknown
• Spherical mystery meat skewer
• Desiccated flat fish alien, in grey

Last night we had a lock-in at Salty Dog Tattoos, an ink parlor owned by one of Grace's old school friends. Coincidentally, one of the other twenty something expats I got chatting to used to work for Cambodia Daily, the very same recently shut down independent news outlet I mentioned in my last post. As a journalist working in 'a secret dictatorship' George knew his stuff and clearly enjoyed delivering a detailed, if a bit slurred, account of Cambodia's recent history. He also gave me the inside scoop on the incumbent despot, Hun Sen, who recently imprisoned the leader of the opposition and passed a massively controversial law allowing his ruling party to dissolve any opposition party. One last fact: He also happens to be the world's longest ruling Prime Minister. Not a good sign. 

Sadly, what I gleaned is that as the West has little interest in the country, economically or strategically, our media largely doesn't bother with its plight either. 

Update: at midday today the Cambodian Supreme Court officially ruled in favor of 

the government actually dissolving the opposition party, accusing them of plotting to overthrow the government. And yes, the supreme judge is a friend of Hun Sen's. So this court decision has effectively ruled out a democratic vote in the 2018 general election. Just imagine for a minute if Theresa attempted to disband the Labour Party. 

Thought of the Day: 

One of Grace's favourite funnies is literal or simply incorrect translations in foreign menus. 'Fried Species', 'Special Porn', and 'Filed Rice'.

What are these meals!? 

I particularly enjoyed the mental image of the latter option. Presented on a bed of old office filing cabinet etc. 

Our visit to the Killing Fields was, as expected, a difficult experience however an absolute must. The brutality and inhumanity of the Khmer Rouge regime is incomprehensible. S-21 was the Rouge's answer to the Nazi's Colditz Castle, soon becoming Cambodia's most infamous high security prison. Thousands were tortured and executed here. A former secondary school in the heart of the city, S-21 was turned into a museum within a year of the Vietnamese army's "liberation" of Cambodia and as such it persists as a 1979 time capsule, well insulated from modern Phnom Penn. Ominously, its 1960s brutalist architecture is prophetically prison-esque in appearance; something in the plan-view symmetry, the layout of its four constituent four-storey teaching blocks-cum-prison wings. Such a sinister place. I shall never forget it. 

We left questioning how on earth intelligent people like Pol Pot and his inner circle can become so deluded and lost in their ideological fantasy that they actually think they can turn an entire country upside down and establish an 100% self reliant agriculture-lead utopia, founded on the deaths of 2.5 million of its own. It beggars belief. Pol Pot and his Khmer Rouge brethren were spot on about one thing though, the international community would largely turn a blind eye.

The restaurant opposite our hostel is simply named 'Come Here'. Bold, authoritative, instructional, brilliant. And no question mark, the audacity, I love it. Needless to say we went there, ate there and never returned. This most genius of names now portraying more of a desperate plea for patrons. 

Critter Watch: 

Not technically a critter but cockerels are everywhere, even in the city centre. Charging around, looking strange and flirting with the local chicks. It struck me that, as a true urbanite, I all too easily forget that the common male chicken can sport some surprisingly exotic plumage. And what on earth is going on above the shoulders? I wouldn't be surprised if there is an old Cambodian myth that describes the day Johnny Cockerel, with his beautiful floor length feather coat, took the forbidden grain from the forbidden grain silo. A divine being appeared and immediately struck him down with a wicked curse. Cockerels would forevermore retain their luxurious velvet smoking jackets but be born with a scarlet red sort of clitoral daysack attachment thing swinging beneath their chins. On top of that they would be given silly jesters hats and ferocious facial complexions. Oh and a lifetime flying ban to boot. 

Harsh.

In my last post I wrote 'Angkor Wat could Koh Rong', with regards to our trip to the beach paradise of Koh Rong. Unfortunately these turned out to be famous last words. 

• We arrived at our hostel only to realise that we had booked the wrong arrival day. We were a full twenty four hours premature. Not a great start. 
• The whole village was booked up because of the Water Festival, however one guy offered up a spare room in a hostel closed for refurbishment. The shower wasn't plumbed in, he fleeced us on the price because we were desperate and later on, once drunk, he was quite rude. Even to the point where he aplogised for his behavior the following morning. 
• Having arrived for our six day beach holiday with no cash we soon discovered that the island has no ATMs and the two restaurants which offer the only means of getting cash out charge a budget busting 10% commission. Sure enough, the web is awash with backpackers warning each other to take all your cash out to the island. Those who know me can imagine this was a particularly bitter pill to swallow. 
• We trekked a few hours to a beautiful beach only to find it teeming with miniature stinging jelly fish.
• Both Grace and I caught a bug, which wiped out a couple of days.
• An enormous spider checked into our room uninvited. This led to hours of panic, sweating, hunting and then guilt. All on my part I might add, Grace is a grown up. 
• Grace is the biggest book worm I have ever known and so to wake up one morning and find it inexplicably dead as a dodo was truly heartbreaking.
• It was overcast for all but one day.

Having said all that, of course we had an amazing time and met some fun people. Literally as we stepped off the ferry a rep invited us to 'the biggest bar crawl in Cambodia'. Being a couple of (former) seasoned Freshers Weekers, we signed up there and then. Richy Rich's* Crawl was complete with free vests, free people drawing on you and free drink spilt all over you at irregular intervals. 'Ooo I'm 18 again' Olly cried, brashly.

*Mr Rich looked about 40, however I estimate he was probably close to 28. A gaunt, lanky yank with <50% of his skin left untattooed. I couldn't imagine a time when Richy Rich hadn't been hosting a bar crawl. 

We also went to the Full Moon party; fortunately a more modest affair than Thailand's original Ko Phangan behemoth. Five hours of Techno wouldn't usually be my cup of terrible, intolerable tea, however London's clubs don't have the luxury of an en-suite beach. Plus, pootling around in the tropical shallows at sunrise is magical. The perfect experience for one of romantic disposition. 

The highlight of the week for me had to be our final day. 20 or so backpackers on an eight hour boating odyssey, with the sun braving a ridiculously belated appearance. The snorkeling sites were pristine and once darkness had fallen we apparently had ideal conditions (back to cloudy again) for a bioluminescent plankton swim. Apparently there aren't many places in the world where this phenomena occurs. Diving into the mysterious inky blackness was exciting enough but that immediately paled once we got under water. Every arm swing/ leg kick set off a chain reaction. Literally thousands of tiny fairy lights brightly glowing when disturbed. It was like floating in a Disney inspired corner of the cosmos. Amazing. 

Tour rep Nemo encouraged me to dive down for optimum pyrotechnics. That was a disconcerting experience; swimming straight downwards into pitch black 20m deep water. In the moment I was more concerned with head-butting a reef shark than a light show.

Booking our bus to Kampot we didn't expect much from the understated company name, however the Diamond Limousine Express was actually not bad. Saying that, I do feel we were slightly mislead. Waiting at the bus station I was rather excited at the prospect of a jewel encrusted pimped-out stretch limousine. So yes I was disappointed when a clapped out, moth-eaten coach of 1970s vintage pulled up.

Thought of the Day: 

I am really enjoying eating out. Since Heathrow we have had one solitary meal in. The other 100 plus lunches or dinners have been prepared to order. I feel like the relentlessly animated Rob Brydon in episode after episode of The Trip, with my dishy dining partner Grace Storm as Steve Coogan. Boy I would love to double date with those two. As in date both men concurrently. 

Our first hostel in Kampot was cool but the second one really hit the spot. High Tide is situated upstream, a few kilometers out of town. The bar is literally on the river (raised up on stilts) with our thatched bamboo bedroom adjoining. As a result, one could wake up, open the door, shout a coffee order at French Andy (Frandy) and jump in the river all in one unnecessarily obnoxious move. Needless to say we extended our stay. Twice. 

High Tide is nestled in a stretch of riverside jungle with no other signs of life in view. It's run by a bunch of real life 'dudes', who have an impossibly carefree attitude to life. The bar is home to an equally chilled pet troupe; three dogs, three cats, two geese, two ducks and a pig called Piggy the Pig. 

Grace and I have since agreed that our favourite traveling day to date was Tuesday's High Tide group outing to a secret waterfall. At first I thought secret shmecret, it's just another tourist trap complete with ticket kiosk and loud obnoxious tourists. After all, Kampot's so called 'Secret Lake' is clearly mapped on Google. This however was the real deal. 

Firstly I got to fulfill an adulthood dream of participating in a motorbike 'ride-out'. Our 10 strong moped convoy off-roaded through some pretty hairy terrain whilst I hummed the Sons of Anarchy theme tune and pretended our Honda Airblade was a Harley Davidson. Once the path became too narrow and rocky we ditched the wheels and headed into the jungle proper. Two and a half hours of scrambling, climbing and swimming then ensued, as we ascended up the steep river, pausing at each mini waterfall/ plunge pool for obligatory backflips. The climax was a beautiful river cascading down the front of a 10m tall chunk of red sandstone. I've never been somewhere that's felt so isolated and wild, or felt like such an intrepid explorer. A rain storm of biblical magnitude saturating everyone to the core only served to heighten the Bear Grylls factor. 

It was an incredible experience, made all the better by the effort in getting there. Miraculously, Lola the hostel Pit Bull was there every step of the way, from riding the petrol tank of Frandy's dirt bike to the summit and back. 

Critter Watch: 

Suspected biscuit crumbs in Grace's rucksack result in a night raid by a local ant colony. By the morning thousands of the wee ones were hurriedly maneuvering bag detritus out of the bag and down the path. I'm a bit disappointed that we didn't witness the bag actually walk off to be honest. Why do we lie to our children with dangerously misleading cartoons?

One aspect of this country I didn't expect was the rather sour Chinese sentiment amongst expats and some seasoned travelers. Yesterday a middle aged Aussie labeled them predatory; casual xenophobia seems pretty rife. To be honest, having learnt so much of Cambodia's suffering these last few weeks it's hard not to get emotionally embroiled when you hear stories about China exploiting Cambodia's natural environment to fuel it's insatiable expansionism*. And how the biggest benefactors are Hun Sen and his deeply corrupt establishment. 

Did you know, Hun Sen even has his own private army? A touch paranoid perhaps?

*yes I know I'm a child of the biggest empire in human history. 

Our final night was an early night for an early start, however I shouldn't have bothered. Metres away the bar played endless minimalist Techno till late and someone was banging an African drum ever so slightly out of time for what seemed like hours; pure torture. I imagined myself sitting bolt upright, palms over my ears and screaming in a cartoonish fashion. 

Ok guys, it's our final night at High Tide, it's 2.30am and I'm live streaming my thoughts. I usually write my blog posts with hindsight, on bus journeys but this time, it's realtime. I'm the hottest I've ever been and for the last two hours I've been scratching a number of itches on average once every five to ten seconds whilst Grace sleeps, silently, arrogantly immobilised just centimeters away. Completely unaware of my perpetual fidgeting.

In a Critter Watch special we are now live from the scene. Earlier I constructed an impenetrable slash very penetrable (critter dependent) mozzy net cocoon around our bed. Mozzies, beetles, roaches and (crucially) arachnids, no. A few determined bitey ants, yes. In this creeping state of delirium I have identified four distinct types of itch: 

• Ant induced 
• Swinging fan air flow tickling my leg hair (a bad time to be covered in a million exterior nerve endings) 
• Fan causing mozzy net to gently caress feet. Our bed is weirdly short
• Repetitive heat itch (this is a new and very irritating dermatological phenomenon for me)

Ok so it's the next day and I have just read back what I wrote last night. I agree, it's a bit weird. 

I'm going to leave it in.

Grace has just taken possession of her replacement credit card. This is splendid news. Having said that I'll have to stop referring to myself as 'Master of Coin', which is a shame. 

I do miss Game of Thrones. What will I do when it ends? Discuss.

Cambodia Summary: 

Lovely people, horrible past, uncertain future. Sadly the current political trajectory has civil unrest written all over it. Although having said that it will probably only take a popular uprising to topple this (excuse my français) nasty piece of work. 

Thanks again everyone for tuning in. How is cold old England by the way? (Olly laughs heartily). 

Saying that, we did both admit to missing Bonfire night. I mean emotionally, not literally. It's likely one of us would have noticed had the other popped back to London for a night of razzle dazzle . 

Next stop Vietnam. 

Regards, 

Oliver Brown. 

Part II - Kuta, Siem Reap, Battambang

When I last wrote, Grace and I were on a terrifying (wave defying) boat journey, heading for Bali's very own Sydney-on-Sea, Kuta. 

So Kuta isn't as dreadful as we had been led to believe. It's the end of the season so the atmosphere in town certainly feels calmer. Even the myriad market sellers sound weary as they holla 'yes shopping', 'morning price', 'afternoon price', 'sunset price'. NB: of course the time of day is irrelevant. Ultimately the end price will depend on how much haggle you have in you. 

Wandering along the main strip, one can note the catalysts that help feed this town's reputation. Here's an example: the Sky Garden's mega deal. £5.60 will get you a BBQ with bottomless sides and salad. Oh and five hours of free booze 16:00 to 21:00!!! This is just one of a number of eateries/boozeries offering similar gluttony deals to pop you into an early bed and/or grave, on a shoestring. 

  

We visited a couple of coastal temples during our second Bali trip. One was called Tannah Lot*. We had read a rather damming Lonely Planet review (overpriced,  overhyped) and were about to dismiss it when we realised it was a one hour moped ride away, i.e two hours of my favourite activity. 

*turns out I do tan a lot, well a bit anyway. Since visiting cremation station in the first week I've actually bronzed up proper good like. 

Through past experience I always assumed my father's apparently dominant milky white gene wouldn't allow Julie's preferred Tannah Lot gene to get a look in on this trip. However it would appear I just needed more time. Time is great healer. Or skin cancer inducer. One of the two. 

Thought of the Day: Amazon have named their tablet 'Kindle Fire'. This is 50% misleading. Those of you who own the original old faithful Kindle know that it allows one to read an ebook in any conditions. The Kindle Fire allows a beach goer to crank up the screen brightness to eye watering and then simply stair at their own reflection through one squinted peeper for a couple of hours, at which point the battery melts. Book worms be warned, this firey imposter is nooo a Kindle. 

This blog's got everything I hear you cry; geography lessons, puns, consumer advice. And now for some history:

Of course I was aware of the Bali bombing, 202 people lost their lives. However, at the time I was only 16 and Newsround didn't provide the in-depth analysis today's me would usually seek out following such an tragic incident. 

As well as the default emotions; sadness and sympathy there's also factual intrigue and morbid curiosity. Reading into it now I find myself once again donning my job hat; a kind of investigative deerstalker. NB: I'm not actually comparing myself to Sherlock. He got mad skills. 

With Google Earth and helicopter taken images of ground zero I worked out where our hostel was (just 200m west). The enormity of what had occurred suddenly felt accentuated by its very close proximity. In my mind, I measured the scale of destruction against the hundreds of WWII-era black and white RAF aerial photographs of Blitzed London that I used to analyze. 

The destruction reminded me of Hitler's terror weapons, the V1 cruise missile and V2 rocket. Each delivering a 1,000kg warhead to the streets of London. Sure enough, the Bali bomb comprised 12 boxes containing a cocktail of high explosives totaling 1,020kg. 

Approximately 2,800 V Weapons fell on London during 1944 and 1945. And that was subsequent to the initial 1940-41 Blitz, when the Luftwaffe's bombers pounded the Capital during numerous air raids. In terms of damage sustained, these two campaigns were roughly equal in scale. Imagine living in a city subjected to >6,000 Bali bombings! It was a truly terrifying time. One largely unknown to, easily forgotten by and/or probably incomprehensible to your average 21st Century Londoner. 

Anyway, I appear to have become sidetracked. Time for some news:

Critter Watch:

Tonight on Critter Watch - GrOlly discover that their wetroom drain doubles up as an access hatch for a family of cockroaches. Over the next few nights Olly dedicates an embarrassing amount of time to chasing the speedy little rascals around, cup in hand. I told them I was offering a hug in a mug, but they weren't interested/

listening/

understanding English/

don't have ears? 

One of the above. 

Kuta's yellow sands stretch for miles. The town is on the island's southern coast, however the beach faces west. It's almost as though the coastline rotated itself 90 degrees clockwise to provide the ultimate sunset experience. Hostelling just a short walk away, we found ourselves drawn to the flat expanses of sand at sundown on four consecutive days. Strolling through acres of inch deep warm water, listening to the rhythmical crashing of Bali's world famous surf, whilst a small orange ball disappears over the featureless blue horizon, setting fire to each cloud as it descends. Beautiful. Of course I repeatedly tainted the moment by taking a photo every minute, promising myself each time 'ok just one more'. 

Bidding Bali a fond farewell, we hopped on two uneventful flights to Siem Reap (Cambodia) via Kuala Lumpur. NB: yes I will be adding Malaysia to my list of countries visited. Three hours. It still counts.

A hostel TukTuk driver picked us up from the airport and provided us our first look at this new country. My first impression of Cambodia took me back to Africa. Bright red dirt colouring everything it touches. Tumbledown shop fronts, vibrant almost fluorescent green vegetation and every now and again a truly impressive feet of human ingenuity. I am of course talking about the guys and girls who appear to be running their own one man band removals businesses. These ex circus performers succeed in stacking, attaching, balancing what looks to be their client's entire estate onto one clapped out moped. And then, for a laugh, they actually drive off!  

An Irish couple we bussed with had previously recommended 'the Pool Party Hostel' so we booked ourselves in. True to their word / name, our first evening turned into a pool party and we did some socialising with fellow back packers. It transpired that a Kiwi couple who worked at the hostel were massive Etherwood fans. On one occasion they flew all the way to Prague to see my old DJ friend! Embarrassingly I pretty much forced Woody to send a me a personalised video. Thanks mate, they were 'stoked'. 

Thought of the Day: 

Cambodia uses both US currency and, to a lesser extent, its very own Cambodian Riel. Having never visited the States I am really enjoying using American money. Essentially pretending to be a gangster and referring to them as 'bucks'. 'How many bucks is that Grace?' etc. And repeatedly counting our massive wad of one dollar bills. Completely unnecessarily of course, i know there are eight. 

I like my history but to be honest, after you've seen Angkor Wat itself (the biggest religious monument in the world) the rest of the ruins on the Angkor tour are much of a muchness. $47 each is a lot for the same visual experience over and over. Indeed the highlight of the day was the very beginning; sitting in front of the monument at 6am as the sun rose behind it's five towers; a truly magical experience. I imagine a potentially spiritual one too, had it not have been for the few hundred additional tourists all filming the same spectacle. 

After the second stop on the tour we felt we had seen it all. Apparently determined to fuel a British stereotype in our politeness, we sat in the shade and waited until a time when we felt it acceptable to return to our TukTuk driver. I was adamant that we respect his national treasure (his nation's flag icon none the less) by pretending to have an insatiable penchant for old stone walls and statues. 

Who am I kidding, I love all things stone #geologygrad08.

In a bid to inject some fun into the afternoon I treated Grace to a short seminar on the two different sedimentary rocks used by the Kmer people to construct Angkor. However, I had to admit defeat when my lecture was suddenly upstaged by two Macaque monkeys. They sashayed over, paused to listen, presumably recognised the boredom on my audience's face and then did what any respectable couple would do in that situation. Copulate. 

Typical. 

I was also a bit disappointed that the eldest of the Angkor monuments was only 900 years old. They're hardly even categorised as Ancient History, according to the UK's national curriculum. Having said that, I do enjoy a good ruin. Touching the intricately carved stone work always feels like such a tangible connection to the persons who built and used the building in question. I like my ruins like I like my women; old, grey, falling apart and sexy. 

Olly's Top Tip: if you can't afford a tour guide, surreptitiously tag along on someone else's English speaking tour. NB: doesn't work with large Chinese tour groups; they all wear matching tour caps. 

Critter Watch: In order to overcome my fears I've decided to keep my enemies closer. I'm in the market for an insect themed timepiece; a Critter Watch if you will. NB: I do hope you enjoyed my crowbarring-in of that jokette as much as I did. 

No? Fair enough. 

Anyway, on with the show:

Tonight on Critter Watch - yet again, Olly clumsily plants foot on red ant dual carriage-way during the evening rush hour. As a result, freaks out and throws bike in a bush. 

Grace strokes a cat. 

NB: Cambodian red ants are massive. They work-out. Gym bunnies, the lot of them. They wouldn't look out of place marching onto the set of Love Island, barely clad in skin-tight vests and banana hammocks, fresh from a back, sack and crack. 

In Bali people sell litre bottles of bright blue petrol on the street. In Cambodia it's the same deal however it's a dark yellowy orange colour. I'm pretty sure British Octane is dull as dish water in appearance. This is an area the U.K. could improve in. Dear* Chris Grayling MP, why not combine shocking pink fuel and transparent pipes. 

You idiot. 

All my warmest wishes.  

Oliver Brown.

*there is nothing I hold dear when it comes to our Transport Secretary. 

Thought of the Day:

Which reminds me, I am really enjoying a break from the daily water-boarding of Brexit news streamed directly into my face. I've gone done it back to Brexit by doing my own exit on Brexit. Ollexibrext?

We bussed to Battambang (Cambodia's second city) and, having done our homework, booked a full day cultural tour with the best reviewed option. Thank goodness for Trip Advisor, bringing power to the people since 2000. 

DJ's TukTuk your was a delight. Between 9am and 7pm we covered some 80km at a thrilling 20mph. We tried traditional food, met the locals and learnt about various cottage industries, obviously the most interesting being the production of rice wine. Don't be fooled by the name, this booze packs a punch; between 40 and 60% proof. The chief winer even treated us to a shot of the top shelf ops stuff, a variety marinated in three dead cobras for several days. Yum. Makes men 'strong like bull' apparently. 

DJ was full of knowledge and his personal experience of the genocide was both deeply moving and fascinating, but I won't get into that now. I've already dedicated this post to another example of death and destruction. 

At sunset, we also witnessed a remarkable site; two million bats flying out of a cave in a steady undulating stream giving new meaning to the phrase  'blind leading the blind'. 

Everywhere you go in Cambodia, even right out in the sticks, there are blue signs with images of two male politicians and 'Cambodia People's Party' written beneath. 

Of course my immediate assumption was that Cambodia is one of the more progressive Asian nations, being run by a gay couple in their mid-sixties.

Unfortunately, after conferring with our tour guide DJ, the signage appeared more sinister. The country's ruling party is both corrupt and unpopular. Like Russia, they have recently closed down the biggest independent media company, leaving a monopoly of state propaganda. Never a good sign. The numerous images of Cambodia's leading civil partnership peering down, keeping their eye on the populous, seems indicative of the way the country is actually governed. 

Every morning in Battambang there is a cacophony of cockerel chorus. Most nail the classic line. However, there's this one guy who drunkenly staggers through the first four syllables in a high pitched gurgle, only to stop prematurely. Much like British wood pigeons do when they get distracted mid-senten... 

(coo coooo coo coocoo etc)

So we've just bussed to the capital Phenomenal Penh without incident. Which is fortunate as the hostel recommended company are described on Trip Advisor as 'NEVER USE THIS BUS COMPANY!' (Jason, Melbourne).

We decided to gamble. 

This blog is actually a little delayed. As I post this, we have just completed four days in Incredible Biro and now we're bussing to the coast and the beautiful island paradise of Koh Rong. Angkor wat* could koh rong? 

*thought I'd missed a trick with that monumental pun opportunity earlier didn't ya? 

Well this has been a lot longer winded than... etc etc (see Part I). 

Thanks again for listening. 

Much love. 

xxx

P.s why not click subscribe. 

I've always wanted to say that.