February 20, Monday, 2007 Krong Kep Cambodia

I’ve had some trouble finding a convenient and comfortable place to write the last couple of days. Or I’ve just been too sweaty and sunburned and tired. Let’s see how this place goes.

I’m in a little seaside town called Kep. I came here without much of an idea of what the place would be like and it has been a total surprise. The LP tells me that Kep was once a popular seaside resort for the French. As far as I can make out, the French built pretty much the entire place and put up big houses everywhere. King Sihanouk himself came down here a lot and had a couple of summer houses built. But then when the Khmer Rouge took over the country they pretty much destroyed the whole place. All the big French houses are now just empty concrete shells. But now Kep is becoming popular again with Cambodians. How popular I found out when I cycled here yesterday. I came down a dirt road from the main road, and I was passed by car after car after bus after bus after scooter after scooter. My heart started to sink. It especially started to sink after I spoke to a young Cambodian tour guide type I met at an intersection. He said that because of Chinese New Year, Kep was very busy and that there were no rooms available anywhere. A lot of Cambodians came, and he said that there were a lot of Peace Corps volunteers on holiday from their placements.

Kep sits on a kind of loop of road that comes down from the main road and then follows the coast for six kilometers or so. I guess I came in from the wrong end, because I started to think I was in the wrong place. I kept looking for a town center or guest houses, but I didn’t see anything. I cycled through some normal farming land and then through an area of normal housing. It started to look a bit more like a beach area, but I still didn’t see anything like a guest house or hotel. Suddenly I came upon a large area that was jammed with cars and buses. There were a couple thousand people along the beach and in the water. People had come down for three things – to swim, which they did fully clothed for the most part, to sit in the shade, and to eat. I have no idea how much of this activity was because of Chinese New Year, so I don’t know what Kep would look like on a normal weekend or weekday.

The road followed the coast like I said, and there was a wide cement sidewalk area. Enterprising locals had put down mats on the cement and raised tarps for shade and then rented out these spots as picnic spots. Families would show up in their trucks or cars, park, and then pile out with tons and tons of food. Or they would go shopping in the seafood markets here and buy crab and squid and fish. They would all sit in a circle and eat and eat and eat and pile all the garbage in the middle of the mat. By the end of the day, the amount of garbage I saw in Kep was extraordinary. There is no garbage disposal system in Cambodia that I’ve seen, and most of this garbage just gets shoved into back areas and then lit on fire. It ends up being pretty disgusting. It looks like plastic bottles and plastic bags are going to be a real problem, just as they are in many countries. If you don’t turn them down at stores, you get a plastic bag with every single purchase. And with no method for disposing of them, they just end up everywhere and get added to the burning garbage piles. I remember this was a huge problem in Guinea and other parts of Africa and there were campaigns underway there to reduce the amount of plastic bags used. I guess there is little more toxic than the gases produced from burning plastic. I remember cycling through large clouds of garbage smoke in Guinea.

I found myself in the middle of quite a large traffic jam in Kep at one point, and I started to wish I had stayed in Kampong Trach for another day. Hopefully, I’ll get to that story in a bit. My journal-keeping here is all mixed up and out of order.

I was still keeping my eyes open for a guest house or hotel, but I hadn’t seen anything. Then I spotted a little corner place called Led Zep cafe. I had actually seen a sign for the Led Zep cafe way out on the main road where I turned off. It was a small sign on a tree with an arrow or something that said “Led Zep Cafe 10.5 km” I figured I had to check such a place out – being a big Led Zeppelin fan.

I saw a couple of more signs for the Led Zep as I cycled along, and then there it was. It was essentially a small cooking shack with five or six plastic tables and some chairs set underneath some pleasant shade trees. There were some speakers in the trees and they played classic rock. On the wall of the shack were a bunch of pictures of Led Zeppelin on tour.

I pulled up on my bike and saw two foreigners sitting in the chairs and looking like they’d been there a while. I instantly thought of these two as Hunter S. Thompson and his lawyer from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. One fellow was tall and thin and sat slouched in his chair like he could almost disappear into it. He wore sunglasses that hid his eyes and a white hat that was pulled down over his whole head until all you saw was his rather large nose sticking out of the end. All he needed was a cigarette in a cigarette holder and the look of Hunter S. was complete. The other fellow was wearing a Hawaiian style shirt, flip flops, baggy shorts, sunglasses, and a sunshade visor like a Vegas dealer. Beside them were two beat-up old scooters. I had a vague memory of these two racing past me on the highway, and they confirmed that memory and said they remember me and my bike from the road. I guess they had also stayed in the hotel in Kampong Trach where I had stayed.

I asked these guys if they knew where any guest houses were. They pointed up the road behind us and said that there were some backpacker places up there to the right in the hills. I’m glad I asked them. I think I would have found these places eventually, but it would have taken me a long time. They weren’t exactly out in the open. Kep has a very stretched-out shape and it took me quite a while to get a feel for where things were.

I didn’t talk to these guys for long, but it was interesting. I was pretty out of it from the cycling and the sun anyway. They must have thought I was some kind of lunatic by the way I babbled on and on. I never did talk to Hunter at all. He settled back in his chair and let his Lawyer do the talking. The Lawyer told me that he had taught English in Taiwan for a couple of years. He learned that I was living in Taipei, and he said that he could never do Taipei. He couldn’t take the weather there. He lived in Taichung. He said he had friends in Taipei, and whenever he went up there to visit, the same thing happened. It would be beautiful and sunny in Taichung and when he got to Taipei it would be gray and drizzly and awful. Hunter struck me as the kind of guy who wouldn’t put up with anything that he didn’t like. He knew what gave him pleasure and he would track it down. He struck me as a person for whom pleasure came easily and naturally. No matter where he ended up, he would find the groove of enjoying himself. He would find the job that allowed him the maximum free time to drink and sleep in the next day. That and a girl and a scooter and he’d be all set. I don’t think he was the type of guy to worry about much.

Now he was teaching English in Phnom Penh. I didn’t get a lot of details out of him, but he was happy. He didn’t have to work very much. The pay wasn’t anything to write home about, but you didn’t need much money to live well in Cambodia. He did, however, mention some figures that seemed like a lot to me. Certainly it was more than I was expecting. I wondered if it was the usual thing in English-teaching circles where people tended to exaggerate how much they made. I think I’ll look into it when I get back to Phnom Penh. I might as well spend a day or two looking around at the schools while I’m here.

I left Hunter S. and his Lawyer after half an hour or so and rode up the road. After a kilometer or two I started to think I’d been led astray. I was heading away from the beach and I saw nowhere that looked like it contained guest houses. There were just tree-covered hills on all sides. Backpackers like to be close to the beach and this seemed too far away. But then I spotted a sign up ahead. I got closer and saw that it was for the Verandah Guest House. I remember reading something about this place in the LP, but I couldn’t remember what I’d read. I might have gotten out my LP before this in order to get my bearings except that it was buried deep in one of my Ortliebs and I couldn’t face the prospect of digging it out and then putting it back.

I turned onto the dirt road and started powering up a steep hill. This was practically the first hill I’d had to deal with on this trip and it was a hard climb. This bike just didn’t gear down low enough for roads like that, and the thin tires sliced into the dirt and rocks and I lost all traction and direction. I also found out that somehow my gearing had gone all out of whack. When I geared down to what I thought was first gear, I was actually forcing the chain right off the last sprocket and it jammed between the freewheel and the plastic ring. Everything on this bike is a mess at the moment. The worst thing is that there is suddenly some play in the crank. I assume this is connected with the crank arm coming loose all the time. I hate it when there is any play at all. It makes cycling very awkward. You go around on a pedal stroke and suddenly you’re pushing against nothing and then the pedal flops forward and hits. It’s the sort of thing that I associate with the crappiest of twenty-year-old bikes. I stopped my bike a number of times yesterday trying to figure out where this play was coming from and whether there was anything I could do to fix it. But there was nothing I could do. As far as I can tell, the play is right inside on the main bearing and I don’t have the tools or expertise to mess around with that. All I can do is hope that it will hold together long enough to get me back to Phnom Penh. I doubt very much at this point that I’ll have the time to do any more serious cycling after this loop through the south. I don’t think there is any way I’ll attempt the ride along the Mekong up to Kratie. My experience on the back roads has shown me just how bad the roads can get and if I hit more stretches like that, I think the bike would just collapse. I could ride the main roads still, so I could ride up to Siem Reap. I don’t think I’ll have the time to ride up and back, so I could ride there and take a bus back or vice versa. I’m just going to play it by ear and see what happens.

Anyway, I persevered and kept riding my bike up that hill. In order to get the chain back onto the freewheel, I had to turn around and go down the hill, then turn around and start all over again in first gear. It was a short but tough climb and my thin tires meant I kept veering off into the ditch and I had to struggle to stay on the main road. I felt like a bit of a fool. When I reached the top of the hill, I was drenched in sweat. I found a parking area for the Verandah Guest House, locked up the bike and then walked in. The Verandah is an extraordinary place, certainly not what I was expecting. Someone had had a definite vision when they built it. The entire complex is built up on wooden platforms and walkways with beautiful stone walls curving here and there. The rooms are all individual bungalows with nice balconies and hammocks. They are all connected by wooden walkways that make me feel like I’m in the Swiss Family Robinson’s tree house. These aren’t flimsy little walkways either, but solid constructions with heavy beams and thick planks, all pleasantly rough hewn. I never expected to see anything like this in Cambodia.

I walked along paths between stone walls and then down some wooden walkways and found myself in a gorgeous restaurant and bar with a spectacular view of the town and the ocean. I asked there about rooms, but they said I had to go to reception, and they led me along a complicated set of walkways and wooden stairs till I arrived at a wooden counter. I wasn’t surprised when the woman asked if I had a reservation. When I said no, she just shook her head and spread her arms wide. This was the kind of place that required a reservation, especially during Chinese New Year. They had nothing available. I could book a bungalow for the following night if I wanted to. I don’t know what the average prices were, but this bungalow was $20 a night – a bit pricey for Cambodia, but still worth it for the atmosphere. I didn’t reserve it though. I figured I could check out some other places first and see what was out there. And you don’t have to stay at the Verandah to enjoy the views and the restaurant. You can stay somewhere cheaper and then just come up for a drink or a meal.

The receptionist told me about another place nearby. It was called the Vanna and she told me that I could go back up to my bike and then cycle along the road to get there. I climbed back up and got on my bike. The road now went downhill. The first place I passed was called Le Bout du Monde or something like that. I remembered that place from the LP as well and I think it is the oldest guest house in Kep. I’m not sure what that means in English. The top of the world? The bottom of the world? I can’t remember what “bout” means.

I didn’t see any obvious building for reception, and I decided to check out the Vanna first, then go back to the “bout” later. A man at the gate of the Vanna told me that they had rooms, but when I got to their reception building I found that they were full as well. The receptionist suggested I try the N4. She pointed down the road to a high water tower and said that was the N4. The N4 was as big a surprise as the Verandah had been. It looked somewhat like a large resort. A large gate leads into a manicured center courtyard with a pool and grass. The main building was very large and looked very modern and new. Other buildings with rooms stretched out on the other two sides. It wasn’t at all the kind of place I imagined myself staying in, but they had rooms and a room was a room. They charged $7 a night, which was less than I expected. The room was actually quite nice. It had a large double bed, a TV and fan, a bathroom with good water pressure, and a nice desk and chair. The bed had clean white sheets and a blanket and they supplied the usual towels, soap, toothbrush and toothpaste that I’d come to expect in hotels here. Outside each room is a pleasant seating area with two comfortable wooden chairs and a table.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that the room next to mine on the end was full of the Cambodian support staff for a 16-member cycling tour group. I’m not sure where their tour began, but they told me that they had come from the Thai border and gone through Battambang, Siem Reap, Phnom Penh, and then down through Takeo to here. They had two support vans carrying all the luggage, and a truck to carry the bicycles from time to time. They need three people to drive these vehicles. Then there were two Cambodian cyclists, one who cycled ahead of the main group and a second who cycled behind them. I saw their bikes up at the Verandah later (the cyclists were staying at the Verandah which is one of the reasons it was fully booked) and they were all the same Trek 4500 mountains bikes. They were just basic mountain bikes with no racks or attachment points for bags because all the luggage was carried in the vans. They had come all the way from Takeo that day through Kampot and then to Kep. They said that was a total of 117 kilometers. Of course they weren’t carrying any luggage and if anyone got tired they could just hop into one of the vans at any point. Still, that’s a serious distance for anyone whether you’re carrying luggage and water or not. Under this sun, just one kilometer is some serious distance.

I can’t imagine going on a tour like that, though. The only advantage to being on a bike is that you are free to go anywhere you want at any pace you choose. But when you are part of a tour, you don’t even have that. You have to leave when they say and go where they say to go. So really all you have is the hot sun and physical difficulty of cycling without any of the advantages. You don’t even get the fun of kitting out your bike and playing with gear. They supply the bike and you just get what they have.

My other neighbor was a man from Germany. He was leaning over the stone barrier between our verandahs and listening in on my conversation with the cycling tour guides. I spoke to him and asked him if he was the “editor” that was listed in the register at the N4 hotel. When I registered and wrote down editor as my occupation, I noticed that a foreigner in the line above me had also written editor. I never did get his name, but we talked for a while and then we had dinner together up at the Verandah. He was a copy editor at a weekly magazine in Munich. It was kind of a housewives magazine with lots of celebrity gossip, horoscopes, recipes, and stories about the royal families of Europe. The content obviously meant nothing to him. It was just a job, and as jobs go you could do a lot worse. Since he worked in Europe he got the standard six weeks of paid holidays a year. That’s 30 actual paid days off. That seems extraordinary to me. But everyone in Europe gets that.

The Editor had flown in to Bangkok and then taken buses and boats along the coast to come into Cambodia. Flights into Bangkok were a lot cheaper than flights in Phnom Penh. Plus, it made more sense for his route. He could start in Bangkok and do a nice loop through Cambodia and/or Laos and end up back in Bangkok. For his purposes, Phnom Penh wasn’t as convenient a place to start and finish.

I couldn’t resist, and I had another pizza at the Verandah. The Editor had more imagination and ordered a pepper steak. This area around Kampot is apparently famous for the quality of its black pepper. Perhaps I’ll have that for dinner tonight.

After I had checked in to the N4 and taken a shower, I got on my bike with the idea of having lunch at the Led Zep cafe. The burritos that Hunter and his Lawyer were having looked pretty good. When I pulled up at the Led Zep, Hunter and his Lawyer were still there. Hey, that’s what life in Kep is all about apparently – hanging out and eating and drinking. They had been thinking about staying in Kep, but when I reported back that both the Verandah and the Vanna were full, they changed their plans and decided to go to Kampot or “KP” to those in the know. I heard the expression “KP” from two other foreigners that showed up while I was at the Led Zep. I sat at my own table this time because I wanted to either read or NEO. While I sat there, two white guys on 250cc dirt bikes roared up. The suspension on these bikes was so jacked up, they practically needed ladders to get on and off the things and these guys weren’t small. I’d actually seen quite a number of these 250cc dirt bikes around. They seem to be the standard things that foreigners rent. I find them to be obnoxious and intrusive (the bikes, not the foreigners). I’d much rather rent a little 125 scooter like Hunter and his Lawyer had. When I first cycled into Kep, I ran into an entire motorcycle gang on these big dirt bikes. I assumed they were the Peace Corps volunteers en masse. They certainly seemed to know their way around and were comfortable on those bikes. They all had helmets on and brightly covered scarves around their necks. They roared down the road in a pack and I half expected to see a camera crew behind them filming the new Peace Corps Hells Angels flick. They looked all set to get out into the countryside and terrorize the farmers. I couldn’t imagine what the impact of this group would be as they pulled into a little town for a cold drink. Would the locals run for cover thinking the end of the world had come? Perhaps they never stopped and just roared from Phnom Penh for the day and roared back again.

The two guys that pulled into the Led Zep while I was there sat for a while with Hunter and his Lawyer. They pulled up chairs and threw down their gear like it was their second home, which it probably was. They raved about the amazing seafood lunch they had just had – crab, squid, fish, all done to perfection they said and dirt cheap. Then they leaped back to their feet. They were off to “KP.” Hunter and his Lawyer were in no hurry to go anywhere. They just ordered beer after beer and settled deeper into their chairs while the Lawyer’s scooter’s rear wheel got lower and lower on air. He bounced the back seat from time to time to see how it was doing.

When I arrived, the Lawyer called out “Sorry mate. We ate all the burritos and pizzas. There’s nothing left but pancakes.” I laughed, thinking he was joking, but it turned out to be true. They had eaten so much that the Led Zep had nothing left. That was disappointing. I didn’t think a banana pancake was quite going to do it for me. But I thought I might as well have something. I ordered a banana pancake (hey, how can you hit the backpacker trail and NOT have a banana pancake?) but without the chocolate and peanuts. It was actually a pretty good pancake – more like a crepe with delicious banana inside. I could have eaten a dozen of them, but I contented myself with just one. When it came time to pay, the mastermind behind the Led Zep came out from the kitchen. He was a French man in his thirties. I got the impression that the woman who was waiting on the tables was his wife and that his life was here in this cafe on a street corner in Kep. He’s another person I’d love to get a bio from. What is his life like and how did he end up here running the Led Zep cafe? I guess how do any of us end up where we are doing what we do? He probably just drifted there. I can’t imagine one deciding to do that and making plans. How could you know that the possibility even existed?

The banana pancake with chocolate and peanuts was listed on the menu as 5,000 riel. The owner of the Led Zep only charged me 3,500 though because I didn’t have the chocolate and peanuts.

From the Led Zep I didn’t have a clue where I could go. The layout of Kep still hadn’t sunk in. I cycled right up to the beach first and looked out at the hundreds of people in the water. Then I tried to ride west along the coast, but I hit a traffic jam in what seemed to be a parking lot. There didn’t seem to be a way out of that parking lot, so I turned around and followed a road that climbed up into the hills along the coast. From there, I could see into the back area of a number of little food stalls and other businesses and the garbage of months and perhaps years was piled up there. At the top of the climb was what looked like an abandoned hotel. Then the road went down and joined up with another road that was going in the same direction but right on the water. This road had to start at the other end of that parking lot, so there was another way other than the high road I had taken. This coastal road was quite lovely and I rode along it enjoying the views out over the ocean. I stopped from time to time to just look around and I started to spot lots of monkeys that were climbing around in the trees around me.

After a kilometer or two I came what looked like a small fishing village. It was very picturesque with the fishing boats in the water and I snapped a couple of pictures. When I came up to this place on the road, however, I found that it wasn’t a village at all, but a big market. There was a row of buildings along the water. Many of them had little porches built out over the water and you could sit there and have all kinds of seafood that was cooking on grills all over the place. I cycled past all these buildings and then found myself in a pleasant beachside area with lots of trees. It was nicely shaded and full of activity and I rolled my bike there to see what was going on. After a while, I figured out that this was the crab market. People from Phnom Penh would pull up in their cars and pile out. Instantly, women and girls would wade out into the water and haul out cages full of live crab. They’d pull the cages to the shore and then open the little hatch door on the top and start pulling out crabs and displaying them and talking, I assume, about how fresh and tasty they are. I know nothing about crabs or seafood of any kind. But these weren’t big king crab or anything like that. They were small crab and very active, waving their little arms and pincers like mad things. The women would pull them out by the half-dozen and hold them in their hands like a deck of cards, spreading them out upside down for the customers to see. I don’t know what happens after you buy crabs here. Do you simply put them in a plastic bag and take them away to cook them yourself? Or do they get taken to one of the buildings and cooked there for you? I never did figure that out because no one bought a crab while I was there. I don’t know what the problem was, but none of the people in their cars seemed to approve of these crabs. Were they too small? Not fresh? I don’t know. They looked fine to me, but no matter how much these woman waved them around and extolled their virtues, there were no takers in the time that I hung around. The crabs all got tossed back into the cage with the hundreds of others and the cages were dragged back into the water.

I’m so naive, that when I first showed up on this beach and saw the cages out in the water, I thought they were crab traps and I was astonished that they could catch so many crabs right there so close to this shore. And what about the swimmers? Do they really want to be out there swimming with all those hundreds of creatures ready to nip their toes? But it finally dawned on me that these were not crab traps but just holding pens. The crabs were caught by the men in those fishing boats somewhere else and then brought here to be sold.

I took a few hurried pictures and of course some of the women had fun with me trying to sell me some crabs. I always use the bike as an excuse in such cases and point at it and say that I’d surely buy dozens of crabs, except I have nowhere to put them. A couple of women fanned out a deck of crabs for me to look at. Then they’d quickly turn one over upright and jab at my bare arms with the crab’s pincers.

I rolled my bike along this crab market and took some more pictures. Then I strolled past the buildings where all this seafood was being cooked and sold. One man enticed me into his little shop and got me to buy a cold Sprite. He showed me a menu in English and said that if I came back that night, he’d put together a seafood feast for me. He was a friendly fellow like everyone I’ve met here and was very concerned when my bike suddenly tipped over and crashed to the ground. He thought it was his fault and apologized many times. He also sold sugar cane juice and had a little machine there to crush the sugar cane stalks and squeeze out the juice. This was then ladled into plastic bags and given to people with a straw.

After the market, I cycled down the coast road a bit farther. It curved sharply away from the beach and to my great surprise I found myself right back at the N4 guest house. The road along the coast started literally right from the guest house and I had had no idea. With that information, I finally had the lay of the land in my head. I turned around and cycled back along the coast road and rode it all the way past the market and through the main part of Kep itself and then out along the coast road on the other side. The sun was starting to get lower in the sky by this point and I thought it would be nice to stop somewhere for a cold beer. I saw a very new and nice hotel and restaurant right in the main part of Kep. It was particularly appealing because it was built up on the hillside and there were comfortable tables right on the edge looking out over the water and all the action around the beach. I picked up my bike and carried it up a flight of steps and locked it up there. Then I was shown to a comfortable cushioned chair right at the railing. I ordered a beer and then settled back to enjoy the good life. Just as I had looked up at the people in this restaurant with envy as I cycled past, now everyone who went past looked up at me. I felt somewhat conspicuous as entire truckloads of faces would turn and stare up at me as they passed.

Before it got dark, I paid for my beer and then rode back to the N4 guest house. This was when I met the cycling group and the Editor for the first time. The rooms had been empty when I had checked in earlier. The Editor and I had dinner together and then I went back to my room to read. For some reason, the room didn’t cool down like all my other hotel rooms had and it stayed quite hot all night and I didn’t sleep that well, but I can’t complain. A comfortable bed and a cold shower. You can’t ask for much more than that.

At one point, I had this idea that the next day I should “do something.” The main thing that foreigners do in Kep is take a boat out to Rabbit Island. There are some nice beaches out there that the Cambodians don’t generally frequent. A guest house had also sprung up out there. The Editor had plans to go there and stay in those guest houses and lounge on the beach. This started to sound pretty nice to me and I thought I might take a boat ride out to the island. I went back up to the Verandah where there was lots of information about boats out to the island. However, it didn’t feel right once I started to get at the details. I thought I could just join a full boat that was going out for the day to the islands and back. But it wasn’t that simple. The Verandah didn’t actually run any of this and they would have to make arrangements with other people who had boats and because I was by myself I didn’t seem to fit in. They kept asking how many people and I kept saying just me, but that didn’t appear to sink in. We’d get a bit further into the discussions and then they’d want to know how many people again. Of course, the more people you have, the less it costs per person. In the end, I just gave up and left. I thought I could spend the day in Kep writing in my NEO and hanging out. I could go cycling around again and take some pictures of the burnt out buildings and other things.

This is certainly a nice spot to break a cycling trip. I only rode 40 km yesterday to get here (that includes all my riding up and down the coast road). And the next major town, Kampot, is only 20 kilometers up the road. I’m liking those short distances in this hot sun.

The town before this was Kampong Trach, which I’ve already mentioned once or twice. I got there from Takeo in a fairly long and tough day. Looking back, it was a pretty good day and night, but it wasn’t easy.

Even leaving from Takeo was not that easy. I could choose between taking a 12-km connecting road over to NH3 and then go down to Kampot or I could head south on NH2 toward the border with Vietnam and then cut over on a back road to NH31 down to Kep. That was the much more appealing route. The problem there was that back road. I wasn’t sure that it was really there, nor was I sure that I’d be able to find it. And if I could find it, would I be able to ride on it? In the end I thought it was worth the risk. Even if I ended up unable to find that road, I could then just turn around and come back to Takeo and I’d have that wonderful guest house waiting for me.

This was the morning when I had so much trouble putting the bags on the bike while the owner of the guest house was watching. I was feeling less and less confident in the bike at this point and I started to feel some looseness in the pedal crank.

It was nice to set off and be instantly in the countryside without having to go through miles of urban sprawl first. I found I was in a pretty good mood and I wasn’t totally hung up about getting to the day’s destination. I cycled slowly and stopped now and then to take some pictures. At first, the sky was clouded over and I was quite comfortable. The skies are actually clouded over every morning. If I got on the road earlier, I’d have several hours of cycling without having to deal with the sun. As it is, I’m still not getting on the road until 8 in the morning. Then just an hour later, the clouds clear and the sun starts beating down.

After twenty kilometers or so, I came to a series of small roads that branched off to the west. I had no idea which one could be my road and I had to stop at each one and then flag people down and ask them where the road went. I really didn’t understand much of what anyone said, but road after road I concluded that it wasn’t the road I was looking for, the one that went to a place called Tani. On my map, it is called Angkor Chey, but no one knew what that was. They kept calling it Tani. I finally came to a cluster of buildings that felt a bit like a town. I thought it could be Phumi Kompong Chrey, the town where the road started. This is a case where all the shouting of “hello” works to my advantage. It makes an easy opening to go up to people and ask for directions. This time, a group of about ten people lounging in the shade all shouted out “hello.” They were a little surprised when their “hello” resulted in me riding right up to them, but they took it in their stride and after a lot of conversation and pointing and confusion, I concluded that the road I saw led to Tani.

The road started off as a smooth dirt road and I thought it would be a joy to ride along it. But within just a few meters it all changed. Rocks started to appear and then more rocks and more rocks until I was cycling down probably the worst road I’d ever ridden on. At least it felt like that on my narrow tires. Perhaps on my other bike with its big fat tires it would have been better. I ended up just inching along with my tire slamming into rock after rock. I thought that if I made it down this road without snapping spokes I’d be very lucky. I contemplated turning around and going back to Takeo, but I couldn’t face that. I thought I’d get off the bike and push it before I did that. The sun was beating down by this point and navigating this rocky road meant that I had to use my whole body much more to control the bike and the extra exertion brought out a sweat that poured down my body till I left a trail of water drops behind me in the dust. I drank, and drank, and drank but never seemed to get to the end of my thirst. Luckily I had brought as much water as I could carry with me. I felt I was going to need all of it. And if I ended up having a series of flat tires or broken spokes and had to do repairs out there in the sun, I’d be very glad to have as much water as I could lay hands on.

I had some interesting companions on the road, though. Starting out with me was one of those big wagons being pulled by a motorbike. One man was driving the motorbike, and two other men were on the wagon holding onto a big pile of speakers and other music gear. These were huge speakers suitable for an outdoor concert and if I had to guess, these guys made their living providing music and karaoke at wedding parties. They probably traveled from town to town and from wedding to wedding. I can’t imagine why they would risk their sensitive gear on a road like that. The wheels of this wagon crashed and smashed from rock to rock and the tall pile of gear threatened to go over at every crash. The shock to the equipment probably took years off its life. None of it was covered either and the sun burned down on it and the dust worked its way into all its cracks and crevices. If I were them, I would have taken the long way around. We went at pretty much the same pace for a while and I cringed as I listened to the smashing and banging as they lurched over the rocks.

Occasionally a scooter or a motorbike would go past. Some were picking their way carefully and going around the rougher sections. Others just raced along and smashed over everything. I thought two trips like that and the bike would be finished. A few horse-drawn wagons were also taking this road. That seemed the most sensible way to go, if slow.

I passed through a few small villages and the children there all called out hello. I stopped to speak to a couple of young students and they asked me the usual questions before I cycled on. Some drunken men gave me a hard time in one place, but it didn’t amount to anything. One small boy had a machete and he pantomimed how sharp it was and then he pretended to slash at me with it. I thought that if this kid thought he was scaring at me, then he’d never been to Ethiopia. His counterparts there could teach him a thing or two about hassling foreigners on a bike. What he was doing was positively friendly by comparison.

My mood started to drop as this road seemed to go on and on. I thought there would no end to it. Then the villages disappeared and I was cycling through endless burned rice fields with nothing in view – no people and no houses and no animals. I looked at my map from time to time to reassure myself that this road did indeed end and it wasn’t that long. On the map it looked to be only about 20 kilometers. I made the mistake, though, of asking some people I passed how far it was to Tani. They just moaned and groaned and said “far far far!” I asked how far and they came out with numbers like 50 kilometers, 40 kilometers. If that road was the end of my day, it would still be okay. But when I got to the end of this road I would still only be halfway to Kep, the only place where I was confident there would be any place to stay.

After what felt like an eternity of banging and crashing with three stops to tighten up the pedal crank, the road started to smooth out and a few houses started to appear. I felt this had to be the end of the road and a couple kilometers later I found myself at the intersection with NH31. I was amazed the bike had made it.

I stopped there for a drink and a chat with an older man, who proudly told me that he spoke Latin. He was concerned that I was doing the mad dogs and Englishmen thing and cycling during the hottest part of the day. Sane people in Cambodia don’t venture out from 11 to about 2. That’s the time to get out from under the sun and lie in your hammock. He even offered me shelter inside his house across the road until the sun wasn’t so strong. This is one of my regrets so far about this trip. I have had a few offers like that and it would be interesting to see into their lives, but I’ve been pretty focused on getting down the road and I’ve turned them down. On my first day, an older farmer came up to me when I had stopped in some shade to have a drink and tighten up the pedal crank. He had just driven a pair of bullocks from the fields back to his house and he came over and invited me to come relax in the shade by his house. I didn’t feel I could spare the time and didn’t go. Now I wish I had. It’s this sun that puts me in such a hurry. I feel this urgency to get to my destination so that I can get out of the sun. And I don’t feel like there are too many places to stay. I have to make it to the next large town to find a hotel. One of the surprises in Ethiopia was how much simple accommodation could be found in almost every village and town. So you didn’t have to worry about covering any distance. You could just meander through the day and do whatever you wanted and then just stay wherever you wanted when the sun went down. Here, I feel I have to get to a certain place and with that thought, I’m more reluctant to hang out on the road and dawdle.

At Tani, I was back on a paved road and I raced along. The sun suddenly felt even hotter though as it reflected up from the dark pavement. The first major town I hit on my way was Banteay Meas on my map. Everyone called it Touk Meas, though, and I was very confused until I figured that out. I stopped there and had a couple of cold drinks. It was here that I suddenly saw the giant system surrounding the delivery and use of ice.

I was starting to get tired and sore and I wasn’t pleased that I still had so far to go to get to Kep. I started to ask people if there was a hotel in Kampong Trach, the next town on my route. I didn’t get any answers that made sense, but it seemed there was some hope of accommodation there.

Twenty kilometers later and at the end of my rope I arrived in Kampong Trach. I stopped for a cold drink and enjoyed more of the ice chopping. Kampong Trach was a bit of a shock for me at the end of that day. I guess it is an ordinary Cambodian town, but I was somewhat overwhelmed by its harshness. The main part of the town had built up around the road and there was lots of activity there, little food stalls and businesses and motodup drivers. The sun was beating down hard and the garbage that was everywhere was putrefying in the sun. Every stall and little restaurant or whatever you want to call them was surrounded by garbage. Most of the men were hanging out in these mini-theaters where they sat in plastic chairs and paid for the privilege of watching whatever was on the TV at the front. I went down some side roads around a big market area and here especially the garbage dominated. Huge pigs wallowed in some mud and rolled in the garbage. Flies filled the air. I went this way and that trying to find a place where you could sit in semi-comfort out of that savage sun. The sun had started to seem like an enemy that was tracking me, a relentless enemy from which I couldn’t hide.

Back on the main road, I saw a sign that said something about a resort. It seemed to be pointing down a dirt road and I followed it for three or four kilometers before turning back. I turned back after stopping to speak to an older man about this resort. He spoke only French and I struggled to come up with French behind the Spanish which is the first language to pop into my head after English. I found enough words in French for us to talk and he said there was nothing on this road, certainly not a resort. I thanked him and turned back. When I got back to the main road I cycled up and down it a couple of times stopping here and there to ask people about hotels. Everyone said there was a hotel, but no one could tell me where it was. They simply agreed that there was a hotel in Kampong Trach. One guy waved vaguely off to the right. I took that direction and rode along the main road. I stopped at each corner and looked down it and then asked someone if there was a hotel down there. At the fourth road, a man said yes and pointed to a big yellow building down that road on the left. I cycled down the road and to my surprise found a massive hotel. It felt like one of those places that had been built in a surge of optimism and then left to simply fall apart. I went in the front doors into a cavernous empty lobby and looked around. A man lounged on a bed against a wall and he roused himself and came over to me. I really didn’t hold out much hope that this hotel was still operating. It looked like it hadn’t seen a guest in years, perhaps decades. But he grabbed a key and took me up some dirty and stained stairs to the second floor. He brought me down a hallway with room doors on each side and opened one up for me. It was a big room simply appointed. There were two beds, a fan, a rotting wardrobe, an old table and a plastic chair. The room hadn’t been cleaned in a long time and had a powerful odor of decay. I didn’t mind any of this of course. I was just pleased as punch that Kampong Trach actually had a hotel and I cheerfully forked over the standard $5 that he asked for.

The bathroom was as dirty as the room and there was a disturbing amount of litter strewn about. I gave some medicine containers and discarded syringes a wide berth. But there was good water pressure and, failing that, there was a huge tank filled with water in the corner with a dipper. I took a shower to get the dust off and then lay down for a good while to get my equilibrium back. It felt like it was quite a journey to get here.

After some time, I felt cool and collected enough to head out into the city and look for some food. I walked up and down the main road, marveling again at the amount of garbage that was piled up everywhere. The whole place felt unlivable. I couldn’t imagine being a resident of Kampong Trach. I saw nowhere that I could eat. There must have been food there. I just don’t know what to look for yet. I then turned down the streets around the market. I thought I’d take some pictures of the pigs that were lolling about. They were easily the happiest creatures in Kampong Trach. I was starting to think I’d have a hungry night when right beside the hotel I saw an actual big restaurant. The place was completely empty, but when I looked inside, I saw tables that had place settings. I approached a couple of people that were hanging out and I was pleased that they sprang into action and showed me to a table and brought me a menu. The menu was extensive, but I settled on a basic fried rice again. Having a hotel and a restaurant like that opened up the whole town for me and I now wish I had stayed there a day or two. I did find it a harsh sort of place, but it was also interesting – a slice of Cambodia. I particularly wished I had stayed at least an extra day when I got to Kep and realized what a massive tourist town it is. Kampong Trach felt more natural than this place.

I was surprised when I left the next morning to find the hallways filled with debris that the maids had emptied out of each room. They were busy cleaning and it was apparent that the hotel was not as abandoned as I had thought. Every single room on that floor had been taken that night. I’m surprised that I slept through the night and didn’t hear any noise from the hall or the rooms. One of those rooms had been occupied by Hunter and his Lawyer I found out later. I don’t know why they would have stayed there when they seemed much fonder of Kep and KP.

I kept my bike in my room that night, and in the morning I carried it down to the lobby. Then I went back up and got my bags and brought them down. I’m getting a bit better at putting the bags on the bike and I got on the road without too much trouble.

I was looking forward to the day because I knew it was only a short distance to Kep and I felt confident of finding a place to stay there. It still ended up feeling like a tough day, though. The sun really sucked the life out of me. Then I arrived here in Kep and found my current home at the N4.

 

 

Tags: bike, Cambodia Bike Trip, Kampong Trach, Led Zep, Phnom Penh