The bus to Cambodia, as most border crossings in SE Asia was an unmitigated disaster. First I thought I'd miss the bus, I went to the office where I'd bought the ticket, no one there, 'righteo', next I later found the proper place for being was around the corner, I found this out seeing a group of 10 backpackers loaded up walking past me in convoy, two of whom I'd met while in Dalat, Phil and Jess from the UK. I'm not kidding, waiting for the same they were actually in convoy because the guy and were being guided by a pied piper with his ipod plugged in so loud you could here his music from his headphones, apparently we had to walk to another stop. 10-15 minutes later we arrived, this is now 1am, the trip to Cambodian border takes 2 hours, I asked whether the border would be open when we arrived, knowing fine rightly it wouldn't be, open at 7am, and was totally assured that it would.
The bus... when it came, was a joke, for 25 people there were 20 seats, most of the bus space taken up by bags and bags of rice, set for delivery across the border... we were told it was rice, but who the feck knows because each bag was marked 'DO NOT TOUCH' in big red letters. The 2 hour trip to the border saw us stop 5 times, the final time at the most random side of the road place Ive ever been, not even a shop area, just a bit of scrub ground, with no explanation but that we would be ther for at least 3-4 hours... til the border opened...
The border crossing is a joke, and because it was a weekend the cheeky $1 dollar foreigner surcharge applied, over the border and then ordered off the bus, which itself was rapidly emptied of the suspect bag and then drove off, leaving our luggage in a pile on the ground and 25 very confused backpackers looking slightly lost on the side of the road... this time Cambodia side. Eventually made it to Phnom Phen and then to Sionukkville, my description is a Costa Del Cambodia.
Stayed in an semi expensive place before moving 3 doors up to much better accommodation at Monkey Republic, bunking in with Phil and Jess all that time. Craic was good, out and about for the few days I was there for. It was nice and the one day I did go down to the beach, afraid to at first because of sunburn from Hoi An and my freshly pealing back, I came back with no chest hair and a bruised ego.
Hairy Phil or Hairy Hoff as he was dubbed had his back threaded by a determined old scrot of a Cambodian woman with strong arms and quick temper. Out of sheer sympathy for the pain he went through, looking back at it, the sheer stupidity of it, I offered to put myself through a similar, albeit minimal amount of pain, his choice. Chest it was, and instead of just doing a small sample the scrot woman when straight up the middle of my chest hair, tearing out great chunks with affable aplomb, her delight in causing so much pain was only measured by the pain in which I was genuinely suffering by the whole experience. Horrific is how I'd describe it, and so as not to have just to hairy patches covering my tits with a go faster bald patch right up the middle I said to take it all off, at a cost of $7. Those of you who know me know that I shirk pain as best as possible, I'm not a fighter, I'm a bleeder and there was even some of that. The initial shock of the pain wasn't even enough to numb it so a quickly chugged beer helped ease matters somewhat, though not totally. I dare say in comparison that child birth is a doddle.
Sionukville consisted of drinking sessions with the dudes, playing 'minesweeper' at which I've found I'm mightily adept, nursing back sunburn and a pickled bald chest, and getting a case of the Trotskys, not the communists, from eating possibly the worst curry I'd ever tasted at a western restaurant, bringing basis to the fact that the only times I've ever been sick on this journey is when I've ate at places where whiteys eat. To really put the nail in the Sinoukville coffin for me Arsenal lost 1-0 to Birmingham in the Carling Cup Final... another trophyless season I figured and... another dash for the loo.
Leaving Sinoukville I headed for Phnom Phen, planning to spend enough time there to see S21, the infamous prison used by the Khemer Rouge and the Killing Fields, I of course did them back to back, a grand and fun day if ever there was one. Wasn't totally feeling the Phnom Phen vibe so ditched it earlier than probably planned and skirted off to Siem Reap to get my Ancient Temple thing on.
Stayed in a place called Garden Villa, fancy by name, not so by nature but its $1 rooms... I say rooms, more sleeping in a barn sectioned off with straw mattresses and mosquito nets, was right in my budget. So calling it my home I bought a 3 day temple pass and rented a bike to do it, forget guides, tuk tuks etc, best way to do it is by yourself. Rocking up to the main gate in my pink bike with a pedal squeak and basket in front I started off with the main attraction, the honcho of temples, the alpha dog, le grand feu, the biggie, top dog, top banana, top hat, top cat.... whatever, Ankor feckinshaggin let down... it was cool in a big temple-y kinda way, with all the water around it, big walls, the sun temple in the centre etc, all good in the 12 century hood so to speak. I however, back on my pink bike a squeak squeakin down the road found the other temples, the smaller, lesser talked about, lesser invaded by Jap and fat German tourist temples far more interesting. NB- If you are to visit the temples of Ankor Wat, make damn well sure you leave the main attraction ones, like Ankor Wat... which is busy all day long so maybe not the best example, but places like Wat Phra or the one used in the Tomb Raider movie whose name escapes me right now but has all the trees growing out of it and is bloody epic looking... just not so much when there are 40 to 50 miniature asian types with pervert camera lenses crawling over every conceivable photo opportunity and just snapping blindly at anything and anywhere to the extent that you just have to sit, maybe lie down and sleep, til they've all departed and the sliver of opportunity to take the pic that you wanted is granted, that is til the next tour group arrives and its the back to snoozing on a rock with your camera turned off and tucked under your arm. A second note to point out is that after 3 days of temples, day one was Ankor Wat and the Smaller of the 2 main routes around the temple enclosure- you begin to hate temples, day 2 was the larger of the two main enclosures- you really hate temples, day 3 is a quick spin round to anything you may have missed, or perhaps couldn't have got a shot of because it resembled rush hour in Tokyo... with cameras- YOU REALLY HATE TEMPLES, REALLY REALLY, I mean so much. Having being to INdia and already had my fill of temples, churches and whatever else, Ankor Wat can really take its toll. You really are there in that town for one reason and one reason only, and the tourist industry that has grown from it and is thrust down your throat at every opportunity, damn well knows it! Despite this, having disliked Sinoukville, hated Phnom Phen and with misgivings regarding the Cambodian people, not Singaporean thank god, not Thai savvy, not quiet as greedy as the Vietnamese but getting there very quickly and with added abruptness, I began to slowly attach myself to the country and the ice began to thaw on my experience, just as I was preparing to hop on a 9 hour bus journey to Kraite, a small town, not quite on the border but close enough to Laos, and my last stop in Cambodia before hopping over the its northern neighbour.
Kraite, pretty much only famous for its positioning on the Mekong River and its proximity to visiting the rare Myrawaddy Dolphins, of which there are only some ridiculous number like 20 or 30 still in existence, smelled of garbage when I arrived. It was smelly, dirty and every hostel I rocked up to was either fully booked or tried charging me an extortionate rate to stay there. Eventually I had to succumb to paying the $5, yes $5 dollars, I know I said extortionate but when you've been paying $2 to $3 dollars tops for a room you tend to get bent out of shape about little things such as an extra $2 dollars. So peeved off with the room price and the disgusting garbage smell I wandered off, booking the earliest bus out of Kraite the very next morning, to Don Det and 4000 islands in Laos. It was however just when I had booked my bus ticket that I sat down on the river bank, ordered myself a beer and realised what was before me, the sun setting, bright red, a blood red sky mixed with purple and blue hazes, grey wisps of cloud hanging here and there and the vast power of the Mekong river flowing in constant ebb, like a murky ribbon beneath, on my bank a slue of small street vendors selling coconuts, beers, noodles, fruit, on the other bank, small huts, families lighting fires, tidying, washing, cooking, working in the final hours of daylight before settling for the night, it was beautiful. That night I also spoke to an Irish person, the first I'd met in maybe months and to talk about home, to talk without having to use puncuation or enunciate each and every syllable to ensure coherency, not having to repeat whole sentences, and slowly slip back into speaking in Irish colloquial terminology, bliss... I really liked Kraite, if not for the rip off hostels and weird ever present garbage smell, then for one of the most breath taking sights and a deepening of the already huge appreciate of what I have at home and what I have awaiting me on my return.
The bus... when it came, was a joke, for 25 people there were 20 seats, most of the bus space taken up by bags and bags of rice, set for delivery across the border... we were told it was rice, but who the feck knows because each bag was marked 'DO NOT TOUCH' in big red letters. The 2 hour trip to the border saw us stop 5 times, the final time at the most random side of the road place Ive ever been, not even a shop area, just a bit of scrub ground, with no explanation but that we would be ther for at least 3-4 hours... til the border opened...
The border crossing is a joke, and because it was a weekend the cheeky $1 dollar foreigner surcharge applied, over the border and then ordered off the bus, which itself was rapidly emptied of the suspect bag and then drove off, leaving our luggage in a pile on the ground and 25 very confused backpackers looking slightly lost on the side of the road... this time Cambodia side. Eventually made it to Phnom Phen and then to Sionukkville, my description is a Costa Del Cambodia.
Stayed in an semi expensive place before moving 3 doors up to much better accommodation at Monkey Republic, bunking in with Phil and Jess all that time. Craic was good, out and about for the few days I was there for. It was nice and the one day I did go down to the beach, afraid to at first because of sunburn from Hoi An and my freshly pealing back, I came back with no chest hair and a bruised ego.
Hairy Phil or Hairy Hoff as he was dubbed had his back threaded by a determined old scrot of a Cambodian woman with strong arms and quick temper. Out of sheer sympathy for the pain he went through, looking back at it, the sheer stupidity of it, I offered to put myself through a similar, albeit minimal amount of pain, his choice. Chest it was, and instead of just doing a small sample the scrot woman when straight up the middle of my chest hair, tearing out great chunks with affable aplomb, her delight in causing so much pain was only measured by the pain in which I was genuinely suffering by the whole experience. Horrific is how I'd describe it, and so as not to have just to hairy patches covering my tits with a go faster bald patch right up the middle I said to take it all off, at a cost of $7. Those of you who know me know that I shirk pain as best as possible, I'm not a fighter, I'm a bleeder and there was even some of that. The initial shock of the pain wasn't even enough to numb it so a quickly chugged beer helped ease matters somewhat, though not totally. I dare say in comparison that child birth is a doddle.
Sionukville consisted of drinking sessions with the dudes, playing 'minesweeper' at which I've found I'm mightily adept, nursing back sunburn and a pickled bald chest, and getting a case of the Trotskys, not the communists, from eating possibly the worst curry I'd ever tasted at a western restaurant, bringing basis to the fact that the only times I've ever been sick on this journey is when I've ate at places where whiteys eat. To really put the nail in the Sinoukville coffin for me Arsenal lost 1-0 to Birmingham in the Carling Cup Final... another trophyless season I figured and... another dash for the loo.
Leaving Sinoukville I headed for Phnom Phen, planning to spend enough time there to see S21, the infamous prison used by the Khemer Rouge and the Killing Fields, I of course did them back to back, a grand and fun day if ever there was one. Wasn't totally feeling the Phnom Phen vibe so ditched it earlier than probably planned and skirted off to Siem Reap to get my Ancient Temple thing on.
Stayed in a place called Garden Villa, fancy by name, not so by nature but its $1 rooms... I say rooms, more sleeping in a barn sectioned off with straw mattresses and mosquito nets, was right in my budget. So calling it my home I bought a 3 day temple pass and rented a bike to do it, forget guides, tuk tuks etc, best way to do it is by yourself. Rocking up to the main gate in my pink bike with a pedal squeak and basket in front I started off with the main attraction, the honcho of temples, the alpha dog, le grand feu, the biggie, top dog, top banana, top hat, top cat.... whatever, Ankor feckinshaggin let down... it was cool in a big temple-y kinda way, with all the water around it, big walls, the sun temple in the centre etc, all good in the 12 century hood so to speak. I however, back on my pink bike a squeak squeakin down the road found the other temples, the smaller, lesser talked about, lesser invaded by Jap and fat German tourist temples far more interesting. NB- If you are to visit the temples of Ankor Wat, make damn well sure you leave the main attraction ones, like Ankor Wat... which is busy all day long so maybe not the best example, but places like Wat Phra or the one used in the Tomb Raider movie whose name escapes me right now but has all the trees growing out of it and is bloody epic looking... just not so much when there are 40 to 50 miniature asian types with pervert camera lenses crawling over every conceivable photo opportunity and just snapping blindly at anything and anywhere to the extent that you just have to sit, maybe lie down and sleep, til they've all departed and the sliver of opportunity to take the pic that you wanted is granted, that is til the next tour group arrives and its the back to snoozing on a rock with your camera turned off and tucked under your arm. A second note to point out is that after 3 days of temples, day one was Ankor Wat and the Smaller of the 2 main routes around the temple enclosure- you begin to hate temples, day 2 was the larger of the two main enclosures- you really hate temples, day 3 is a quick spin round to anything you may have missed, or perhaps couldn't have got a shot of because it resembled rush hour in Tokyo... with cameras- YOU REALLY HATE TEMPLES, REALLY REALLY, I mean so much. Having being to INdia and already had my fill of temples, churches and whatever else, Ankor Wat can really take its toll. You really are there in that town for one reason and one reason only, and the tourist industry that has grown from it and is thrust down your throat at every opportunity, damn well knows it! Despite this, having disliked Sinoukville, hated Phnom Phen and with misgivings regarding the Cambodian people, not Singaporean thank god, not Thai savvy, not quiet as greedy as the Vietnamese but getting there very quickly and with added abruptness, I began to slowly attach myself to the country and the ice began to thaw on my experience, just as I was preparing to hop on a 9 hour bus journey to Kraite, a small town, not quite on the border but close enough to Laos, and my last stop in Cambodia before hopping over the its northern neighbour.
Kraite, pretty much only famous for its positioning on the Mekong River and its proximity to visiting the rare Myrawaddy Dolphins, of which there are only some ridiculous number like 20 or 30 still in existence, smelled of garbage when I arrived. It was smelly, dirty and every hostel I rocked up to was either fully booked or tried charging me an extortionate rate to stay there. Eventually I had to succumb to paying the $5, yes $5 dollars, I know I said extortionate but when you've been paying $2 to $3 dollars tops for a room you tend to get bent out of shape about little things such as an extra $2 dollars. So peeved off with the room price and the disgusting garbage smell I wandered off, booking the earliest bus out of Kraite the very next morning, to Don Det and 4000 islands in Laos. It was however just when I had booked my bus ticket that I sat down on the river bank, ordered myself a beer and realised what was before me, the sun setting, bright red, a blood red sky mixed with purple and blue hazes, grey wisps of cloud hanging here and there and the vast power of the Mekong river flowing in constant ebb, like a murky ribbon beneath, on my bank a slue of small street vendors selling coconuts, beers, noodles, fruit, on the other bank, small huts, families lighting fires, tidying, washing, cooking, working in the final hours of daylight before settling for the night, it was beautiful. That night I also spoke to an Irish person, the first I'd met in maybe months and to talk about home, to talk without having to use puncuation or enunciate each and every syllable to ensure coherency, not having to repeat whole sentences, and slowly slip back into speaking in Irish colloquial terminology, bliss... I really liked Kraite, if not for the rip off hostels and weird ever present garbage smell, then for one of the most breath taking sights and a deepening of the already huge appreciate of what I have at home and what I have awaiting me on my return.
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