The time had come to escape Siem Reap for what was intended to be a breath (or hopefully multiple lung-fulls) of fresh air, a cleansing dip in the ocean and general break from the intensity and poverty of life in Siem Reap.
On Friday night, Ann, Gill and I flew to Phnom Phen, where we met up for dinner with Nicole and her boyfriend Matt who had taken the six-hour bus trip from Siem Reap, and who were in considerably worse shape than us! Nicole had finished her volunteering stint at Angelie House and she and Matt were looking forward to a relaxing month exploring Vietnam.
Ann, Gill and I meanwhile got off to an early start, hitting National Route 3 just after 07:00, and experience that I can only relate in terms of ‘hairiness’ to the road from Delhi to Agra. With the exception of dancing bears and cobra, Highway 3 had practically everything else. What it didn’t have was much bitumen! Described in our guidebook as being the preferred route, “Paved and in good condition”, the author was clearly lying.
With hazard lights flashing, our driver navigated us through a three-hour dust storm, through shanty villages, passing markets selling meat and you name it, exposed to the heat, dust and masses of flies, and past huge lotus ponds and pom-pom palm trees camouflaged by an inch-thick layer of Ayers Rock coloured dust. In contrast, away from the road lay verdant rice paddies, just beginning to turn golden.
The traffic slowed at one point to reveal a cordoned off accident scene which was swarming with police and ‘bloody thirsty’ on-lookers. Our driver couldn’t let an opportunity like that pass without satisfying his curiosity and therefore stopped the car joining the throngs only to boisterously return to announce that an American moto rider had driven off the road and been killed. And, “Did we want to go see?” Tough call …
We made it to Kampot, described in our apparently increasingly credible guide book as “charming and compact … one of the nicest settings in Cambodia, situated on the north bank of the Teuk Chhou”. Compact, definitely. We stayed there for a toilet break, a stroll to photograph some of the desolate colonial Chinese-influenced shop houses, and to get tips on our next port of call, Kep. Try as we did, we couldn’t locate somewhere to buy the world-famous Kampot pepper that we’d all heard about.
Half an hour later we arrived in Kep, a tiny seaside resort dotted with the gutted shells of colonial villas, more tragic evidence of the Khmer Rouge’s wanton lust for destruction. Many of these are now home to squatters, including some policemen and their families who actually charge tourists to inspect. It was really quite eerie to imagine these homes during their hey day, before the American’s began bombing the south coast of Cambodia and then the absolute wipe out by the Khmer Rouge.
Our time in Kep was delightful; a mix of great seafood, just a few sunset cocktails at the sailing club, and plenty of relaxation and laughs. Good therapy to prepare us for another week.
No comments:
Post a Comment