Monday 13th February 2012. Sunny Side Up

Well. What can I say? Battered, burned, bitten, scratched, bit of tooth missing, scared half to death, but it was a pretty good weekend. That’s what I can say.

I’ll start on Friday night. I went for a couple of beers...not many, I add. I had a couple of beers, followed by about three or four whisky and cokes. I went to a few of the hangouts on Street 104 where they have those dodgily-named bars full of thirsty, touchy-feely ladies. Starting in the Pickled Parrot with a couple of beers and a bite to eat, I was joined by a chap who works for one of the other companies on my job who I’d met last weekend. He is British but hasn’t been in the UK since he emigrated at the age of ten or something. We went across the road to a bar or two to listen to some good music and get a nice neck massage for the price of a rum and coke.

I departed at 12am, as I had forced myself to promise. I was on a mission, with an early start. I had been allocated the services of a driver to take me over to Sihanoukville, the coastal town in the south west of Cambodia. The distance: 185km. The time to drive there: 3 to 4 hours. Really? Why? Anyway, the driver was picking me up at 7.30am, giving me time to pack my socks and pants and get my breakfast at the cafe downstairs.

I was about 5 minutes late, but managed to get up and dressed and ate my breakfast in a big hurry as I feared the driver might bugger off without me, but he didn’t. I walked out of the apartment complex and there he was in a Lexus 4X4, waiting to despatch me to the coast. I had been told to expect a crazy journey, and was expecting something along the lines of Sheik Zayed Road in Dubai.

How wrong was I?

It didn’t start too badly. I drove – sorry, was driven - along the familiar city roads of Phnom Penh, with a nice big, solid barrier in the middle of the road. I’d soon pine for that barrier. We passed the airport, took a right at what looked like a roundabout but without any rules, and headed west. There was no longer any barrier, and I started to get a taste of what was to come. Mopeds, tuk-tuks, cars and mini-buses all competing for space and prominence on the dual carriageway, but with no central divide, the overtaking could begin.

And begin it did; with reckless abandon. I started to get nervous. To make matters worse, there were mopeds, bikes and other vehicles pulling out from every angle to join the stream of traffic. My driver stuck steadfastly to the fast, middle lane, honking his horn now and then to warn an errant moped driver and swerving once or twice to go round slow-moving tuk-tuks.

We were still in the city after an hour. I started to understand why the journey takes so long. We reached a toll gate where I had to cough up my dollar and 1500 riels to the toll booth operator, and off we went again. I assumed that a toll road might be in decent condition, but assumptions are the mother of stupidity, and the road actually got worse. The mass of disparate vehicles was joined by trucks moving at varying speeds, between about 10mph and 60mph. They rarely stuck to the slow lane, forcing everyone to overtake the crawly ones.

It was getting hairier by the minute. My driver drove without comment, even as cars, bikes and lorries whizzed by on each side (often on the wrong side), flashing their lights and sounding their horns. It was mayhem.  I saw my first accident aftermath: two mopeds had hit each other head on and were laid on the road, their drivers standing with heads in hands, looking dazed but at least alive. I was almost watching through the fingers of my hand as this went on for another half hour or so.

Then we were out of the city. Green fields opened up beside me, lined with palm trees and dotted with tin shacks and wooden huts. There were white, emaciated cows here and there, and no stock fencing to keep them in their fields. The double lane “highway” became a single-carriageway road, with a wide, red-soiled shoulder at either side. Thank God for that shoulder, say I. The pattern for the next hour or two was one of coming up behind a line of cars waiting to overtake a lorry or bus. The indicators went on. When it was possible, we overtook. When it was probably unwise, we overtook. We drove on the clay shoulder to avoid other overtakers. I had words. Four-letter words were quite popular, as it happens.

We came to another toll booth after about two hours total travel time. The driver handed over part of the ticket he’d been given earlier. I told my driver I needed to go pee-pee, so he just pulled over about 250 yards past the toll booth and we peed into the line of trees. I was surprised to see how much litter there was by the road. I thought the UK was bad, but this was just terrible, with all kinds of bags, cans, bottles and other things slung to the side of the road.

We continued our trip after the stretching of legs. Hills and mountains appeared in the previously-flat landscape to give me something to look at other than the back of another lorry. We were soon on a relatively quiet stretch, and the road started to meander as we climbed and descended hills. There were fewer motorbikes out here, but still plenty of wagons and buses. We spotted the aftermaths of two other accidents; one where a lorry-load of sand was on its side and another where a truck had completely gone off the road and hit a tree.

The more “quiet” stretch lasted half an hour at best. We soon came across another settlement, which seemed to be stretched along several miles of tree-lined road. Bikes and tuk-tuks reappeared, along with tractors and home-made machines that looked like elongated go-karts with lawn-mower engines on. There were also mini-vans or buses laden with the worldly belongings of entire villages hanging from the back, but also containing the population of the village towards the front. The words over-laden just don’t do them justice. There were mopeds and bikes laden with everything from trees to barrels of beer and large bottles of gas as well. There was often a baby squeezed in there somewhere as well. To add to the fun, there were loose cows everywhere, sometimes just stood in the middle of the road, imploring the traffic to come and have a go if it thinks it’s hard enough.

Finally, we approached Sihanoukville after just over 3 hours of driving. I sighed with relief, but was wrong to assume anything. We were still on manically busy roads, and there were still all manner of vehicles joining the wacky race to the coast. I spotted the sea and felt excited. We came to the back of a long line of container lorries waiting for the port I could see down the road. We nipped between two lorries and headed left, up a hill and into the town itself. It’s more basic and “rustic” than PP, it has to be said. Mostly shacks, some with the ubiquitous red signs for beer (Angkor or Anchor, pronounced An-chaw to prevent confusion) and the odd modern building. We seemed to be driving round in circles and passed a strip of tourist-targeted restaurants and bars, down another hill then we were pulling into the OTT hotel entrance. Finally, finally. I was just glad to be alive. The three and a half hour game of chicken was over. I didn’t want to think about the return journey. I noticed there is an airport in Sihanoukville. I might even chance my arm with local airlines than this shit in future, let me tell you.

They let me check in early, which was nice. I had a shower and a chill, had a spot of lunch and decided to head for the beach. This hotel had its own beach, thankfully, so I hoped it would be free from hawkers and other nuisances. It was pleasant enough, I noticed; narrow but sandy, with shade-giving trees along the landward edge. There were plenty of loungers available, too.  

So I lounged under some shade then had a look at the water. It looked nice and blue from a distance, but then I noticed something floating in there. And something else. I was gutted. It was garbage...detritus...trash. There was loads of it. Plastic bags, cans, bottles, even rubber gloves. This wasn’t the tropical paradise I’d imagined. Where was it all coming from? Further down the beach I noticed an overall-wearing man sweeping the sand for rubbish. I guessed it must come in on the tide here. The beach itself was in a natural, wide alcove, so it’s possible it gets trapped here. I looked to my right and in the distance saw a ramshackle collection of coloured huts right on the edge of the water. Maybe it was coming from there. It was somewhat disappointing, but then not too surprising, when I consider the state of some of the side streets I’ve seen in PP and the litter by the road on the way to this place. It’s a very throw-away society. I would have hoped that people here would take more care of a country with so much natural beauty. Is the poverty some kind of excuse for it? I hate being judgemental about things when I’m just a visitor, especially one earning more in an hour than most people here earn in a week.

I spent a lazy hour or two more lounging on the beach under the shade of coconut palms. The cool sea breeze took the edge off the heat, and I listened to the rising whoosh and falling whisper of the waves lapping on the beach. I forgot about the litter and thanked my lucky stars I wasn’t freezing my bum off back in the UK. The only thing I would have changed was to have my family with me. The two rubber ducks my kids gave me were my only companions. I took a photo of them on the lounger and hoped nobody could hear me talk to them...

As the sun started to fall towards the horizon I went along the beach towards the Sunset Bar. It sits on the promenade area just above the beach and you get a view of the sun setting just behind where the western edge of the alcove juts into the sea. I ordered a gin and tonic to sip on as I sat on a bar stool and watched the sun gradually sink and redden as it approached the horizon, casting a rose-gold glow on the sea. I pulled my camera out and took about twenty shots of the sunset, taking turns with a German man who had the same idea. I tried to strike up conversation but he pretty much ignored me, so I took sips of my long cocktail between shots and waited for the sun to disappear behind the trees in the distance. This simple moment was probably one of the highlights of the weekend.

When I returned to the hotel I decided to book a snorkelling safari with the company who run them from the beach near the hotel. I figured that it was a chance that I might not get again anytime soon. I would really love to try scuba diving some day as well, but haven’t had any training, so snorkelling would have to do for now.

That evening I bumped into a British chap from the project who happened to be staying in the same hotel. He was there with his Cambodian wife and insisted we meet up to go for a spot of dinner in the town. I decided that company was going to be better than sitting in my room or at the bar on my ownsome, so agreed and we met up a while later to take the short ride back up the hill to the strip I’d seen before. We went to a restaurant-cum-guesthouse (there are many here) with a large outdoor terrace and ordered food and drinks. I was bitten a couple of times by mosquitoes, despite having sprayed the insect repellent on, and the lights went out once or twice whilst we sat eating, but it didn’t spoil the enjoyment of the meal. It was cheap as the proverbial chips and really good quality. The fish I had for my main course was fresh and tasty. What did threaten enjoyment was a bit of one of my back teeth coming away when I bit into some bread. Looks like I'm going to need to find a dentist.

After eating we had a drink in a bar just up the hill, where I had to explain three times what a whisky and ginger was, before we set off back to the hotel, walking casually between the stray dogs who seemed to be wandering around but not really bothering anyone. I’m a dog-lover generally, but have this fear of getting bitten or licked by some rabid mutt here and having to find somewhere to get rabies shots, so it wasn’t altogether comfortable seeing them. I’ve seen dogs in PP, but not as many and not as openly stray.

Back at the hotel, my companion and his wife turned in early, leaving me to nurse a Long Island Iced Tea at the bar. It was a strong one and when I’d finished meandered back up to my room at just after 10.30, switched on the TV and watched some ridiculous film about Jack Nicholson turning into a wolf before going to sleep at about 12.30am. I had an earlyish start for my snorkelling trip, with the boat leaving at 10am. I wanted a good breakfast in me beforehand.

Breakfast was an unspectacular buffet affair with over-cooked bacon and bitter, burnt coffee from a metal cylinder. I ate plenty of carbs, knowing I shouldn’t, but I’m on me holidays, so didn’t care too much. I changed into my swimming shorts and an old t-shirt, and stuck my rubber-soled, slip-on deck shoes. I packed all my bits and bobs into my rucksack – camera, sun cream, sunglasses - and headed downstairs to get the complimentary transport to the beach where the trip was departing from.

At the beach I spotted the boat I was going out on. It was a little yellow speedboat with a sun canopy over the middle section, tethered by a rope to the wooden struts of a beach-side restuarant. It seated about six to eight people at a push and was bobbing up and down quite a lot on the decent-sized waves that were coming off the sea. I signed a waiver form at the travel company’s kiosk; feeling slightly alarmed at how many times it mentioned possible death, and then met the young Cambodian man who would be my guide. I was the only one doing the trip today, it seemed.

He guided me down to the boat and clambered aboard with consummate ease, timing his climb up the back end with the movement in the water. I managed to get on board without making too much of an arse of myself, planting my feet on the blue, non-slip stepping areas and squeezing under the canopy. The guide then untied the boat from the wooden strut, weighed anchor, and started his engine. After pointing out the lifejackets and big orange box containing the life-raft, he asked me if I wanted a beer before we set off, pointing to a polystyrene hamper on the deck, but I opted for a bottle of water and took my seat on the port side of the boat, opposite the guide’s driving position. The sea looked a bit choppy out there and I didn’t want to unsettle my stomach with gassy, canned beer just now.

With that we set off. We skipped over the waves at a good rate of knots, sometimes slapping back down with a good bang. I made a couple of suitably-impressed noises then got accustomed to the ride. I actually don’t mind little boats. I feel a lot safer in them than I do in big ferries and so on. I guess being close to the water helps as well as being able to see an easy escape route if there is a major malfunction.

We headed towards the green humps of some islands in the distance. The sun was getting higher in the sky, making the sun and sea glorious in colour. I turned round to see the beach, the hotels and the town shrinking into the distance. The sea breeze blew in my face and I felt at peace with the universe. Well, maybe just this part of the world, but it was thoroughly pleasant.

After maybe 25 minutes we were nearly at the first small island. It was completely covered in dense foliage, but I could see the odd wooden hut at the water’s edge. I inquired as to our destination and the guide said we’d be going past this first island. As we entered the next stretch of water, the guide suddenly dropped the power and came almost to a stop. We couldn’t be near a dive spot, I thought, and I was right. He had slowed down to negotiate a large floating mass of garbage, evidently brought together by the tides and now floating here in the sea a mile or two from the coast. Again, I felt a little disheartened to see such foul grubbiness. The guide steered us round it as well as he could, making sure we didn’t get something stuck in the speedboat’s propellers.

We came up to another island; this one was a little bigger than the first. As we drew near I saw a few huts on a sandy beach and a long white jetty. The guide aimed the boat for the area between the jetty and the beach and stopped us maybe 300 metres from each. He pointed to the darker patches visible in the water between us and the shore and told me that there was a coral reef there with fish galore to look at. He dropped anchor, and then pulled out a large plastic bag containing flippers, masks and breathing tubes and handed me one set of each. I pulled my t-shirt off, slapped a bit of sun cream on my neck, arms and shoulders, thinking that would do the job, and then followed the guide’s lead. He moved to the back of the boat, sat on the edge and pulled his flippers on. He then slipped his mask over his head and slid off the boat into the sea. I followed suit, edging out onto the rear deck, dangling my legs over the edge and then pulling my big, black flippers on. They weren’t easy to get on, being rubbery, tight and quite unwieldy, but got them on I did and felt like a bit of a berk. My guide beckoned me to jump in, so I pulled my mask onto my head and flopped into the water like a big, white walrus.

Thankfully the water was warm to me. It felt nice, actually. I followed my guide as he swam around the boat towards the area he’d earlier indicated, and was eager to see some fish. He told me about using sea water to rinse my mask, and then proceeded to snorkel, swimming around with his face down in the water. I rinsed and pulled my mask down, put my breathing tube into my mouth and looked down into the water. There were some amazing and colourful coral shapes down there, and quite a few black spiky objects (sea orchids, I think). There weren’t many fish at that early juncture. I guessed they’d been scared away by the boat’s engine and our splashing, so was patient in waiting to see what might venture out once things calmed down.

The water wasn’t crystal clear, to be honest. It was a little murky, but I could make out quite a lot of detail. The reef was so complex and made up of all different kinds of shapes and colours. My guide called for me, saying he’d found a big group of fish, so I swam slowly towards him, rinsed my mask again and looked down. There were now fish here, in shoals that darted to and fro or which moved with the gentle waves. I spotted several different types of fish, including bright yellow and zebra-patterned ones. When I found big groups I just stayed as still as I could, looking down into this amazing alien world. I had to rinse my mask and blow salty water from my tube every so often, but I was happy to stay there for a good while, even after my guide had complained he was cold and climbed back onto the boat to dry off. Cold? It was lovely in here.

After something like an hour I decided it was time to get back aboard the boat, so swam back to it. I didn’t reckon for the problems that I would have in getting on. There was no ladder into the water, just a single, low rung that was about level with the water when lowered. I took my flippers off and started to try and climb on, but with my metal hip and my not-inconsiderable bulk, I soon realised that I was going to struggle. My guide tried to assist me, mainly by showing me a variety of ways to stand on the outboard motor with one foot, the rung with the other and pull myself up. I just couldn’t do it, and the slippery handrails were no use whatsoever. I did manage to haul myself half up onto the boat, but felt like a floundering fat fish of some kind and slipped back into the drink. I got quite annoyed and was getting tired now, and felt cramping in the back of my thigh. My guide seemed to have little notion of what to do, and offered no suggestions. Would he have to tow me back to land? I guessed that would be dangerous with an outboard motor near me.

I suggested that I could swim to the beach that was only a few hundred yards away and he could come and pick me up there. He agreed to that and I put my flippers back on (not an easy task in itself when in the water) and swam very slowly to the shore. It seemed to take me forever, although it was probably less than five minutes. As I neared the beach I saw there was a family gathered in front of a hut. Did they live there? As they had (rather barky) dogs with them, I guessed so. I couldn’t see a boat, maybe some of their contingent were out fishing on one of the old boats I’d seen on the way here. The guide was talking to them, probably telling them that he’d rescued a strange breed of pale-skinned narwhale and had to get it back to shore before sundown.

I finally slumped back into my seat on the boat with a towel round me and felt completely done in. I wondered what would have happened if we’d been further out to sea.  There was always the life-raft, I suppose. I guess it’s best not to think too much about this stuff. I was fine. I noticed a few nasty scratches on my leg, and the guide dabbed some iodine on them with cotton wool before setting off once again.

We took a little tour round another nearby island, stopping so I could take some photos of the beaches and holiday huts on the shore. People come here for day trips from the mainland, or so I’m told. I spotted a big diving boat with nice ladders and other, easier access means like that. Much as I enjoyed the experience of snorkelling,  I have learned my lesson in terms of boats that I can use for such things.

The trip back to shore was quick, thankfully. I felt a bit sickly for a while, probably due to the salty water I’d swallowed. I sipped at some water and soon felt fine again. The weather above us was changing as we neared the mainland. Large clouds were moving across from the east towards the land, but at least the swells of before weren’t so big. When we arrived back near the restaurant I half-dreaded having some other ordeal with getting off the boat, but a man on the shore helped my guide tether the boat up and I managed to time my jump down quite well and staggered ashore, rucksack and shoes clutched to my chest. I thanked my guide for the trip and told him I had enjoyed it, then turned on my heel and marched towards the stairs up to the beach-side restaurant.  We had been out nearly 3 hours, and I had worked up an appetite.

I had a very nice lunch of some tempura prawns, calamari and chips before heading back to the hotel lobby where my driver was due to meet me at 2pm. I used the spa facilities to shower and change, but found myself sweating profusely in the warm tropical air as I waited for the car to arrive. He was as punctual as could be, if not a few minutes early and we were soon on our way back to Phnom Penh. I relived the wacky races / game of chicken a second time, and I guess I must have been slightly less fraught on the return. I think finding some distraction with games on my mobile phone helped a bit, even if I had to look up now and again to make sure we were still on the road and not upside down in a field.

The drive back took 4 hours, and by the time we got back I was starting to feel the sunburn on my back. I hadn’t done a very thorough job with the sun block, and just that hour and a bit of snorkelling had cooked my back. I asked the driver to take me to a pharmacy before taking me to the apartment and I bought some aloe vera gel to apply when I got back. It was very angry and red when I finally got to bed, and today has been quite a struggle with the pain from it. Another lesson learned, I guess.

So that was the weekend in Snooky, as it’s known. I have two more 1-day weekends now, and then another long one. I might head up to Siem Reap next time to see the temples at Angkor Wat. The roads up there are even worse, allegedly, so I may well just bite the bullet and take the 45-minute flight. There are several flights each way a day so could conceivably do it in one day.

When I got back from work tonight I saw the hugest gecko on the wall near my door. It must have been two feet long. I edged towards my door, hoping that old adage of “it’s more scared of you” would hold true, and it did. The gecko scuttled off round the corner when I moved closer. I don’t mind having little ones in my apartment, but not something that size, thank you very much. It might just mistake me for a very big bluebottle...