Cambodia 2023

Into Cambodia: Siem Reap & Angkor Wat

Words. One of our airbnb hosts in Vietnam has left a review of us on the website, as they do. When Michaela runs the Vietnamese text through Google translate, the review consists of just three words: “clean tidy happy”. Well, it’s hardly an extended character reference but “clean tidy happy” is a description which we’ll readily accept as a compliment. And on the subject of words, I picked up a T-shirt in Hanoi which carries a slogan which just about sums up my entire life philosophy just now. It reads…”think global, drink local”. Yep, that just about says it all.

As the end of our time in Vietnam approaches, we feel a little sad to be leaving a country with which we’ve fallen in love, and a little sad to be saying farewell to Saigon too – but by the same token, we are, as ever, excited about our next destination. 

Our last 24 hours in Vietnam are a bit like a highlights show as Saigon delivers little flashbacks of our past four weeks all condensed into an amusing fragmented collage: something brushes Michaela’s foot as we eat a sumptuous meal – she looks down to see a rat passing beneath our table. Almost as close to our feet are the wheels of the moped armada as their members ride across pavements to avoid stopping at traffic lights on red and, with a sweaty reminder of our time here, humidity levels soar well past 90 per cent and make keeping dry impossible. And finally….walking towards a bar we’d liked the look of during the day, we find ourselves filing past a whole street lined with what my Nan would have quaintly called “ladies of the night”, all looking for business.

Great country, great fun, great city. We will….ahem….miss Saigon, so to speak.

Twilight is bringing a brightness to the lights of town as we take our first walk out into Cambodia, in our first base, the town of Siem Reap, gateway to the Angkor Wat temples. In the great scheme of things we haven’t travelled very far, yet Siem Reap even on first viewing looks very different from most of what we saw in Vietnam, wider streets and lower rise buildings giving a much more open and relaxed feel.

It’s so incredibly hot next morning that the AC in the phone shop is a sanctuary even though we’ve barely walked a mile and it’s not long before the first coconut of Cambodia is on the agenda – whatever would we do without coconuts when it’s as hot as this?

“Good morning, it very hot today”, says a voice from beneath a banyan tree. There is straight away something about Sarim’s smile that says he’s a nice guy. Now, we know that conmen don’t have “I am a rogue” tattooed on their foreheads and one shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but our time in Siem Reap turns out to back up our judgment: Sarim proves to be a seriously lovely man and goes on to a play a big part in our time here.

For one thing, he introduces us to Vany, a highly knowledgeable and humorous guide who makes our first time at Angkor Wat enjoyable in so many ways. Our advice earlier was that, if we were going to visit the temples more than once, then arrange a guide for visit number one, and then take it ourselves from there. It’s very sound advice, the temple complex is so impossibly huge that it’s difficult to comprehend, let alone find your own way around and see all the major sights at that first visit.

With Vany at our side and Sarim ferrying us between temples in his motor bike-trailer-tuk-tuk, it’s a doddle, and the only “enemy” is the intense, sapping heat. (Blogger’s note: not complaining, intense sapping heat is better than a grey and drizzly English day any time). The temples of Angkor Wat are not only gigantic but they just keep on giving; the more you think you’ve seen the most spectacular bit, the more you go wow at the next one.

This is, after all, the largest religious structure in the world, stretched around some 402 acres. Given that the complex was constructed in the early part of the 12th century it is remarkably well preserved, including the carved graphics along the walls telling stories of royal battles, everyday life and even construction of the temple itself. These carved murals run for hundreds of metres along the walls: Vany’s guidance and knowledge bring a whole different level of understanding, without him there is no way we would know how to interpret the stories for ourselves.

Three levels of carving represent, in one section, Heaven, Earth and Hell; in the battle sections there are clear depictions to identify Khmer, Chinese and Cham fighters; pictures of everyday Khmer life in the temple include cooking, board games, sports, labours and even cock fighting. It’s a veritable encyclopaedia of 12th century Khmer life.

The three main complexes – Angkor Wat, Angkor Thom and Ta Prohm – are each a fabulous sight in their own right, majestic towers climbing towards the clear sky, the dark stone forming distinctive and pronounced silhouettes. Angkor is as fabulous as it is fascinating, it’s enthralling and captivating, but it’s the scale of the place which is mind blowing – and the extent of those pictorials on the walls too. 

It’s well documented and equally well photographed how nature has wrapped itself around the structures here, yet it is still an amazing sight when viewed up close and in person, tree roots and the ancient chunky tails of parasite plants enveloping and clinging to the dark walls. We are staring at the history of centuries, both man made and natural.

Away from the temples and for an extremely reasonable rate Sarim gives us an extended tour around Siem Reap: including the free hospital for women and children which was the life’s work of the much revered and much loved Swiss doctor Beat Richner, memorials and smaller temples, the Royal Palace and the French built Grand Hotel now owned and run by the Raffles Group.

Plus, of course, our first taste of the history of the Khmer Rouge and the brief but horrifying time of Pol Pot’s rule from 1975 to 1979, at the killing fields memorial on the edge of town. During this four year period, with Pol Pot’s twisted view of egalitarianism bringing mass slaughter, over 25% of the entire population of Cambodia was wiped out, most of them through callous, brutal acts of genocide.

Starting with the rich and powerful, moving through those perceived to be privileged – even those privileged through intellect and/or education – and on through the Buddhist monks for whom Pol Pot carried a particular hatred, huge numbers were massacred. One shocking legacy of the Khmer Rouge is that today, less than 30% of the country’s living population was born before 1979. 

We will, inevitably, see more of this appalling period of history as we move through Cambodia.

Back in town, evenings are delightful and convivial. The so-called “Pub Street” is alive but nowhere near as manic as Hanoi or Saigon, much more laid back and much kinder on the ear drums. And as for Khmer cuisine…..well, so far, if anything, it’s even better than Vietnamese. In fact, everything is so incredibly tasty that we’ve already concluded that you could choose a meal blind by sticking a pin in a menu – it’s still going to be amazing, whatever you end up ordering.

Away from Pub Street and its neighbour Pithnou Street, Siem Reap is so pleasing on the eye, a genteel town full of tree-lined avenues and graceful buildings, the seemingly stagnant river waiting for May’s rains to come and get it moving again. 

We could easily call Siem Reap a sleepy town – as, in the truest sense, it is. In daylight hours its people are asleep everywhere: workmen taking a break in hammocks hastily slung between trees, tuk-tuk drivers reclining in the shade of their carriage, stall holders creeping off for a kip under a tree while their trinkets lay unguarded, girls on benches with hoods pulled over faces, toddlers flaked out in parents’ arms.

It’s not altogether surprising. 37C and 90+% humidity is a combination which makes rest, and water, essential commodities. The sensible townsfolk of Siem Reap aren’t shy of helping themselves to either.

Seven Sultry Days In Siem Reap

It’s already getting warm long before first light as we head back towards  Angkor Wat, the clock ticking towards 4.45am and the darkness heavy with sultry heat even before the birds are singing. Michaela’s trusty weather app says today will be 39C but will “feel like” 45C and it’s clear that the mercury’s journey up the thermometer has already started. We’re up at this hour for the classic sight of the sun rising behind the temple’s five towers, a must-do experience for all visitors to Siem Reap. As we leave the tuk-tuk and start the long walk through the grounds, a silent pilgrimage of other early risers makes its way towards the well known photo vantage points.

Standing at the water’s edge is fascinating in a number of ways, whether one is studying the people or eyeing the world of nature, each of which is eagerly anticipating what daylight is to bring. Bleary eyed faces of multiple nationalities chat excitedly but in hushed tones, as if the early hour commands respect: a loud voice just isn’t right before dawn. Numbers steadily increase as the outline of trees becomes more defined, the majestic towers of Angkor Wat slowly taking form against the lightening sky.

Damsel flies and dragon flies wake up and start to circle, gnats and midges irritate bare legs and sweaty heads, swallows and swifts begin to swoop and dart, taking out large numbers of those insects as the food cycle begins its daily churn. The dawn chorus of birdsong rises in direct relation to the increasing light, the mechanical grating of the cicadas rasps more loudly, the water begins to plop and ripple as fish leap up to devour unsuspecting flies. Another day is dawning for Mother Nature.

While the natural world commences its daily business, the humans are here to see the sunrise, and pretty special it is, too, when it comes: the blazing orange ball rising right behind the towers, peeping around and above and casting both shadows and reflections on to the lake. No wonder this is a must-do: it’s a spectacular and beautiful sight well worth venturing out in the early hours for. Great experience, and all before breakfast.

We learn that Angkor Wat is one of those rare places where the barren time of COVID was put to good use. During the two dead years the authorities bulldozed all the restaurants, dug up the car park, cleared the entire area and planted a forest of new trees. New restaurants, souvenir shops and a replacement car park were then created several hundred yards further away from the temple, giving visitors a much longer walk but sensibly protecting the environment and all the history which exists here.

The sunrise is fabulous, the dawn fascinating, but Siem Reap holds an interest at the other end of the day too. Whilst the temples deliver their morning spectacular, the town itself delivers something worth seeing at sundown: not the sunset itself, but the sight of the colony of giant fruit bats, also known as flying foxes, leaving their daytime haunts in the trees near the Royal Palace to feed on the wing as darkness falls. There’s something undeniably sinister about these shadowy, oversized creatures, both in open winged flight and when sleeping upside down.

Everything we read tells us how it would be possible to spend a week exploring the temples of Angkor and still not see everything, and as we spend more sultry hours wandering around different parts of the site, it’s hard to argue. Just one of the temples, Angkor Thom, is a perfect square with four 3km long sides – big enough in its own right – but it’s really as you explore the other less visited temples nearby that you really get to comprehend the sheer scale of everything. 

Angkor Wat is the most spectacular and the most recognisable, Angkor Thom is the largest by area, Ta Phrom is impressively grand, but Preah Khan reaches out an astonishing distance in all of four different directions. Here, in relative peace with the crowds thronging the two main sites, ancient trees again choke the stonework, stupas and linga punctuate the corridors and carvings tell of battles between good and evil, right and wrong.

Often leaving the main routes, we discover relic after amazing relic, structure after amazing structure. Michaela muses at one stage that we’ve now seen an awful lot – in fact she says we’ve seen Angkor Thom, Cobbley, and all. She can be very witty sometimes. Thunder rumbles menacingly around the mountains as if something has disturbed the ancient Gods. Michaela’s irreverent humour, probably. Sarim says no, there is no storm coming and it won’t rain today – the rains are another month away yet. 

The Phare Circus in Siem Reap is a highly commendable concept: a school of the arts giving opportunities to large numbers of underprivileged Cambodian youngsters. Originally the brainchild of a group of young adults returning home from refugee camps, the project has been an enormous success, growing to provide career opportunities for hundreds of otherwise deprived youngsters throughout the Siem Reap and Battambang areas. The show we witness is truly superb, an hour’s worth of acrobatics, dance moves, traditional music and choreography, with humour ever present. These kids are good.

Phare’s full name is Phare Ponleu Selpak, which translates as “The Brightness Of The Arts”, and the joy on the faces of the performers is a brightness in itself. It’s very satisfying to know that our ticket fee is contributing to this wonderful concept, but, in any event, the show is so very entertaining that it would be money well spent even without the altruism. The hour in the big top passes extremely quickly.

Our intended last trip from Siem Reap, to a silk farm, is thwarted when we discover that the farm sadly hasn’t reopened since the pandemic, having had no way of supporting its 1,100 strong staff when income dried up. We guess a silk farm isn’t something you can just simply reopen when it’s been abandoned for two years.

Siem Reap has been a hugely satisfying place, offering more than the magnificent temples which are its obvious claim to fame. It has a pace dictated by the heat and humidity, a conviviality dictated by tourist levels and a vibe dictated by the calm personality of the Khmer people. And the food…oh, the food.

We bid farewell to Sarim, wave goodbye to Siem Reap’s welcoming streets and start preparing for the next stage of this adventure. From here we head somewhere which promises to be a real change…..

Tonle Sap: Going Off Limits & Sleeping With Toads

This next part of our South East Asia trip is one which we’ve been looking forward to with such anticipation, not just recently but before the original curtailed trip three years ago. Why? Because we do love pushing the boundaries of the comfort zone, and this short adventure will surely do that.

It starts when Var, our guide and companion for the next two days, collects us from Siem Reap and we climb into the nicely air conditioned 4×4. And when we say “companion” we mean it – Var will be sleeping in the same room as us tonight. 

“I will explain all we are going to do” he says, “but first, I should check that you are ready for your 1-star hotel room tonight”, grinning like a schoolboy as he says it. We assure him we’re more than ready.

We’re on our way to Tonle Sap, a true phenomenon of the natural world: a lake which increases its size five fold in the rainy season, and a flowing waterway which reverses the direction of its flow twice a year – two phenomenal facts in their own right. But Tonle Sap is also the location for the hundreds of floating villages which have existed on these waters for generations, for centuries even. 

This is one gigantic lake – in dry season, as it is now, Tonle Sap stretches 99 miles north to south, but as the Himalayan snows melt and the rainy season follows, the dimensions of the lake increase to an astonishing 160 miles long by 62 miles across. Water levels rise by over 10 metres as floods reach the maximum. The lake sits on, and is fed by, the Mekong, which flows into it from the north east and leaves towards the south. The Tonle Sap River flows southwards into the top part of the lake, with the Mekong joining and forming the largest section of Tonle Sap a little further south.

Thus, in dry season, all water flows southwards. As the water flow increases and the Mekong swells, the lake and the Tonle Sap River are forced northwards, completely reversing the direction of flow for the duration of the “flood season”, now northwards instead of southbound. As the flows decrease and the dry season returns, so the lake starts to recede and the waters resume their southerly flow. No other waterway in the world experiences such a radical change season by season.

When the waters do recede, they leave behind extremely fertile soil on perfectly flat lands, ideal for vegetable and crop growth as long as the plant life cycle is completed within the eight months outside of the flood. As you would expect from such terrain, Tonle Sap is an absolute haven for flora and fauna where bird life is particularly abundant. This unique country is under threat from a number of pressures though: we will endeavour to cover these in a later post.

Our destination is the floating village of Prek Toal, a 90-minute journey in a sampan boat from where the dirt roads end, picking up the water channels at their furthest reaches at this time year when the water level is at its lowest. Prek Toal is a static floating village: all properties here are tethered to wooden posts or to trees, making it necessary to keep re-attaching the house to a higher point as the water rises. On the way we pass Mechery, a mobile floating village where the entire community moves as the water level rises and falls; its dwellers are true water borne nomads.

Life in Prek Toal is so different, so unusual. Everything is on the water in floating houses: cafes, shops, coffee shops, schools, gas station, grocery stores… even the medical centre and a police station. And Prek Toal isn’t a tiny community, this long stretch of floating houses runs for a considerable distance down both sides of the waterway, with around 1,000 families housed here.

After helping to prepare our meal with the ladies at the community kitchen (no English, all done with sign language and actions, food delicious as ever), we speed down the water through the village to our home for the night. There is of course no running water – the shower is a plastic bucket, the toilet flush likewise. Our bed is a flat mattress on the floor hidden inside insect nets, Var in his cocoon next to us and our host lady – we couldn’t catch her name unfortunately – just behind. 

Fortunately though, we have friends to do their best to remove the insect threat; our house is shared with a large number of geckos darting around snaffling food – and those toads who are to share our sleeping quarters tonight. Seemingly completely oblivious to human presence, they happily crawl or hop around, shooting out a tongue and devouring another potential blood sucker. It’s an unusual phrase which we will probably never repeat, but it’s good to know there’s toads in the house.

Prek Toal falls quiet early, lights in the houses are extinguished, the shops closed for the day and the shopkeeper in his hammock, lightning flickering silently around the dark sky. We sit at the water’s edge chatting with Var about life in a floating village, batting away a billion flies and watching this oh so different community end its day – a day, for them, identical to every other: for us, a once in a lifetime experience. 

We drift off to sleep in the darkness, Var quickly silent, our hostess laying awake to ensure her unusual looking guests are content. And we are very content indeed, safe from bites inside our secure nets, listening to the sounds of a different world, rocking side to side each time a noisy boat roars by, feeling wonderful to be having this experience and privileged to catch a window to a different world.

Morning brings a surprise in the shape of rain. It isn’t meant to rain for another month yet, but as dawn breaks so does a thunder storm, fork lightning flashes in the sky and rain hammers the tin roofs and peppers the surface of the water. Var is surprised and disappointed: we were meant to be heading out early to the main lake to see today’s sunrise, but the unexpected storm has hidden the sun. 

Our time over the two days in Prek Toal is so brilliantly educational, Var is a knowledgeable and engaging companion and we learn so much about the unusual life in this extreme environment. Fishing methods are described in detail, likewise the construction of the floating houses, the difficulties of this lifestyle are explained; we visit the school and engage with the children, we help in the community kitchen, study the methods of cultivating food in this unusual climate.

Var is the only person we meet over the two days who has even one word of English – apart from the children who call “hello” and know how to high-five. The rest is sign and body language. Educational programmes are in place here and it’s fascinating to listen and learn. The village people have for centuries caught and grown their own food (fish and vegetables anyway, the rice needed to be brought in) and waste – peel, stalks etc – was thrown into the water. When plastic packaging arrived, they knew no different, so the plastic went into the water too. Given the massive flow of the Mekong, all this plastic disappears way south from Tonle Sap, leaving these communities in blissful ignorance of the environmental damage they are causing downstream. Education of adults has not been easy, so the projects wisely concentrate on educating the young. The children teach the parents, hopefully breaking the historical chain.

There’s another issue too: over fishing. With such an abundance of marine life there is no concept of endangering species amongst the villagers, and a refusal to accept any such possibility, so the educational angle has to be subtle. For centuries this community has fished for their own consumption but also to generate funds, taking the catch to market in the cities and returning with both cash and other foodstuffs. And so the programme concentrates on farming: teaching which crops can be grown in the time available, not just for consumption in the village but also for taking to market and providing an alternative source of income, in turn restricting the need for big hauls of fish.

It’s working – there are extensive vegetable plots and long lines of the chilli plants which are the most lucrative crop – but, again, trying to change the ways of a community steeped in customs handed down through generations is not an easy or quick task. We are in awe of those working so hard to get there.

The thunder storm clears after breakfast with the happy effect of significantly reducing the humidity levels. We may have missed the sunrise, but it’s still early and the planned birdwatching expedition is now going to happen. It too is brilliant, this place teems with wading birds: herons, storks, ibis and egrets, but there are plenty of others to see too.

An occasional pelican floats in search of fish, terns and swallows swoop overhead and now and again we spy the magnificent grey-headed fish eagle. The heavy looking greater adjutant stands like a fisherman at the water’s edge, a cinnamon bittern flies up from the greenery, now and again an oriental magpie-robin takes flight. The hilariously named racket-tailed treepie flits between trees; there’s a bright red flash as a scarlet-backed flowerpecker feeds nearby. Don’t these things have fantastic, exotic names!?

The birdwatching is amazing, but our time in the floating village of Prek Toal is an experience which will live in our memories for ever. Just seeing how life is here, learning just a tiny bit about this very different world, understanding just a fraction of what life means to an isolated and unique community like this, all of this has been an amazing, humbling experience.

It’s been wonderful. Even sharing our room with toads.

Caves, Carts & A Cartoon Character: Our Time In Battambang 

Considering its status as Cambodia’s third largest city, Battambang is a modest and quiet place, feeling more like a provincial town than how a bustling Asian city normally feels. The Sangker River flows lazily between its steep banks, in dry season anyway, while the traffic moves slowly through its docile streets which are noticeably free of beggars and hawkers, tuk-tuk drivers wait to be stirred rather than tout for business, and incredibly a car will sometimes even stop at a red traffic light. Battambang’s modest collection of restaurants is dotted around the city rather than centred on one area, there is nothing to compare to Siem Reap’s Pub Street here, though nevertheless there are several cheap food gems to be found without too much effort.

The internet consensus seems to be that Battambang is only worth a couple of days, but our decision to give it a little longer is vindicated by how calm and untroubled this place is and how relaxed we feel here. Gone is the manic bustle of previous cities, gone is their frantic pace. It’s easy to unwind here, and this is in spite of the fact that central Battambang is one big construction site where a massive flood defence project is underway. The banks of the Sangker are being eroded more and more during the rainy season and the city is in danger of sliding into the water – indeed some of it has already gone. It’s obviously a big, big project involving hurriedly shifting huge quantities of earth before the flood season returns – a race against time.

Our tuk-tuk driver here is Tin, though he likes to call himself Tin-Tin and even wears T-shirts sporting images of the cartoon character of the same name. He quickly becomes our source of local knowledge for reasons which are to become clear later. In the environs around the quiet town, Battambang has three claims to fame, or rather two to fame and one to infamy. We take the infamous first. 

Half an hour out of town are the Killing Caves of Phnom Sampeau, one of the many tragic scenes of genocide during the period of Khmer Rouge rule. As Pol Pot and his party ruthlessly extinguished the lives of a third of Cambodia’s population, these caves were one of the many sites of mass slaughter. Men, women and children were murdered here, their lifeless bodies then thrown down into the caves until the cave was filled with rotting, decaying corpses. Some estimates suggest that more than 10,000 bodies were left here, but the true number will never be known.

Visiting the caves today is actually not quite the chilling and disturbing experience we feared it might be: yes there is a display of skulls and bones but apart from that there is nothing to tell its awful story. No information boards, no facts, no history, just a hand written sign saying “killing caves 75 metres”. If it wasn’t for Tin-Tin we would just be staring into an empty cave, but Tin-Tin sure as hell has stories to tell. He was born in 1965, making him ten years old when the Khmer Rouge came to power – his life story is one full of horrors which we intend to detail in another post at a later date. Whilst the visit to the caves may not be chilling, Tin-Tin’s narrative certainly is. We wonder how someone with his terrible experiences can ever go on to lead the normal life that he appears to lead now.

A short ride from this site of human horror is a site of natural wonder, in fact one of the world’s most amazing natural phenomena. Inside the caves of Phnom Sampov live the most incredible size colonies of bat – the Asian wrinkle-lipped bat to be precise – where an estimated six and a half MILLION bats preside. Every day just before sunset, these bats set off from the caves in search of food and watching this unbelievable colony fly out in a constant stream is just fantastic.

It takes almost half an hour for the colony to file out, forming swirling, twisting columns in the air as the writhing black line disappears towards the horizon. Anyone who has seen a ululation of starlings will perhaps be able to imagine what 6.5 million looks like; it really is an incredible natural sight. These colonies venture up to 50km from the cave each flight – and it is estimated that their consumption of crop-damaging insects saves around 2,000 tons of rice crop every year.

And so we move on to the renowned Battambang bamboo railway, darling of travellers for so long. First, a note for anyone coming here – the internet is full of reports that the original bamboo train has been shut down and replaced by a tourist trap imitation which is no more than a plastic fairground ride. This is absolutely NOT TRUE.

Yes, the authorities have indeed built the new one, apparently an inauthentic crappy ride from car park to amusement park, but it is absolutely untrue that this has been at the expense of the original – you just have to make sure you go to the right one. News of its demise, by the way, is purely propaganda by the authorities to get tourists to go to the new one.

Anyway, the ride. It’s fantastic fun. All you have is two sets of wheels on two axles, a separate flatbed made from bamboo, an outboard motor nicked from a boat, and a young lad who will be your driver. Off you go, just a few inches above the track, nothing to hold on to, at around 32kph for about 25 minutes until you reach a small settlement where the locals try to get you to buy a drink, a T-shirt or maybe a silk scarf.

And then it’s back the way you came, rattling another 25 minutes through rice fields and countryside, past cows on the line, over open bridges, back to the start point. It’s an amazing thrill and a helping of adrenaline rush. The pinnacle of amusement comes when you meet a “train” (actually, the correct name for the cart is a “norry”) coming the other way, as there is only a single track. There is an etiquette: the lighter of the two loads now has to dismantle the norry, lift the whole thing off the track, and let the other norry or norries pass, after which, they rebuild your norry, sit you back down, and away you go to continue your journey. It’s probably the funniest most offbeat rail journey we’ve ever done – and that’s saying something!

Battambang’s back streets are an odd place to ramble, neighbourhoods where there is no perceptible boundary between the complexes of Buddhist monasteries and temples and the ordinary town houses where children play and washing hangs on lines. Two boys kick a ball against the base of a stupa. Tuk-tuk drivers sit on the plinths of statues to smoke cigarettes. The majestically designed temples are strangely scruffy and unkempt: frayed bunting hangs limply above dirty terraces where fallen masonry lies broken where it hit the ground. Weeds sprout between the ornate paving slabs, fallen fruit stains the tiles. Every door is closed, the temple interiors apparently out of bounds. It’s unusual to see such beauty being neglected like this, especially as they are still in use: the orange robed monks are evidence of that.

Checking on the sun’s position as she’s lining up a photograph of one temple, Michaela looks up to the sky and gasps. Above us is a rare weather phenomenon, a circular rainbow around the sun – apparently this is known as a sun halo, though neither of us have ever heard of it, let alone seen one before. We stand awestruck for a few moments, it’s an amazing sight.

Elsewhere in town, Battambang’s architecture is a fascinating mix of grand French colonial, Buddhist temple, Thai imagery and, perhaps the most unique, the older Khmer dwellings known as “shop houses” which run along several of the streets with their decorative balustrades hanging over mundane shop doorways. Our own base here is a huge French colonial house, now a hotel which the owners have chosen to split into only seven bedrooms despite its sizeable presence. Furnished in colonial 1930s style – in other words sparsely and more shabby than chic – we feel a bit like we’re entering a British Rail manager’s office in the 1960s, especially when I sit at the characterful wooden desk writing notes for this blog. It’s a British Rail office with a big four poster bed in it – it’s almost, but not quite, lovely. It’s almost, but not quite, ridiculous.

Our three excursions from Battambang have been varied, ranging from disturbing to thrilling, while all day the town itself ambles along at a certain pace, determined to be ordinary as if shaking off its place in Khmer Rouge history. 

Until the afternoon, that is, when storm clouds gather and shopkeepers rush out to batten down the hatches, pull in the parasols and secure anything which moves. Wow – when Asia storms, she really storms. Each of our afternoons here has brought a thunder storm, prolonged and more violent day by day, up to Saturday when the huge storm flashes, crashes and rages like you wouldn’t believe: palm trees buckle, terraces and streets flood in minutes and fork lightning draws vertical lines from cloud to ground. Thunder rattles window frames. Dogs cower under cars. 

Don’t you just love places like Battambang. 

From Province To Capital: Phnom Penh

Preamble: We thought long and hard about this post. It contains some horrific detail but also contains some light hearted humour. Can we really put those two things in the same post? We reached a decision. Please read on, we will warn you before you reach the more brutal words…

It was on our first night in Battambang, just as we were drifting off to sleep, when we first heard it, and we both laughed out loud. Something outside, some strange, semi-mechanical disembodied voice seemed to shout “f*ck it” five times, in a kind of rhythmic chant. Surely we don’t have a neighbour who has taught his parrot to swear in English?

Roughly every half hour it came again. F*ck it, f*ck it, f*ck it, f*ck it, f*ck it. Stop.  Every night, all night. What the hell is it? We go through several suggestions: is it a pre-recorded security device which warns intruders, in Khmer, not to enter the construction site? Is it a working generator which makes a noise which just happens to sound like English swear words? Or is that naughty parrot after all?

It’s our last night in Battambang and we’re taking one last look from our balcony across the Sangker River before we head for pastures new. “F*ck it”, it shouts from around the corner. Five times, as always.

“F*ck it”. This time closer, in the shrubbery beneath our balcony. The security guard is within earshot. I cup my hands to my ear and point to the source of the noise.

“What is that noise?”

“Toad” is his one word answer.

Are you serious? There’s a species of toad which rhythmically chants ‘f*ck it” five times once every half hour??! Well I’ve heard everything now.

And so we leave behind Battambang, with its sedate streets, crashing thunder storms and angry toad and head to the Cambodian capital Phnom Penh, six hours on a cramped minibus with a weak AC system. We’re glad to get off, and then absolutely delighted when we look out from our new base at the pristine, glorious riverfront stretched out before us. Phnom Penh looks every inch the capital city.

In fact, Phnom Penh is nothing like what we expected – for some reason we had a preconceived image of a dirty, scruffy city which was difficult to love, yet nothing could be further from the truth. The riverside area is a bold, confident, extrovert, westernised boulevard, bursting with activity and oozing joy, absolutely rammed with local families. Boats ply the water, traffic buzzes and people chatter and laugh, the lively cafes and bars fill street corners as if plucked from a French city and dropped into Asia, impromptu badminton courts fill spaces between trees. Smiles rule.

Disposable income appears to be in evidence: sharply dressed couples drift through the doors of swanky restaurants, taxis take diners right to the door, expensive cars park among the tuk-tuks. We can’t help but note that these scenes are the absolute antipathy of the visions of Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge, precisely and exactly the society that he/they sought to eliminate with their twisted take on egalitarianism and the murder of everyone perceived to have wealth or privilege. There is something terrifically satisfying that the backlash to such genocidal horror and ruthless ideology has created this city and this spirit: if he’s not rotting in hell like he should be then surely he must be turning over and over in his grave.

The Tonle Sap and Mekong rivers feed, as we said in a previous post, the gigantic Tonle Sap Lake, though the two mighty waterways do not marry there, instead making separate exits from the southern end of the lake. Moving southwards in rough parallels, the two rivers finally merge here in Phnom Penh, right in the heart of the city, creating a vast expanse of water so wide that it’s hard to convince yourself that you’re not looking at an estuary.

Indeed, so wide is the Mekong here that it has never been bridged, the two halves of Phnom Penh are connected only by the fleet of ferries which chug back and forth across the water throughout the day, rammed with people, cars, mopeds and sackloads of something or other.

Clean, cared-for green spaces provide regular shelter and respite from city life. Wat Phnom sits handsomely on a small hillock, its gardens surprisingly quiet even though surrounded by roadways, but the gardens of the Royal Palace are even more tranquil, and losing ourselves amid its temples is a little reminiscent of the temples of Bangkok but without the crowds. The fee for entering the Palace is a steep 10USD each, expensive for this part of the world, and, once inside, most of the buildings sit behind locked doors and “entrée interdite” signs. The Silver Pagoda, named after its silver tiled floors, has a protective floor covering which hides every inch of the silver after which it is named. The Palace is a beautiful place but we’re not sure it’s the best value we’ve ever got for 20 dollars, to be frank.

It’s when we ride the tuk-tuk out towards the killing fields that we really get a feel for the sheer number of different neighbourhoods in Phnom Penh, not so much any hint of suburbia, but more the different enclaves around shining shopping malls, or street markets, or commercial districts. Each crossroads seems to lead to another interesting pocket of modern life. But it is, inevitably, the killing fields that we are headed for, because, no matter what horrors they hold, all visitors to Phnom Penh are compelled to go.

In fact it’s best to do both the killing fields of Choeung Ek and the Genocide Museum of Tuol Sleng on the same day in order to absorb the full nightmare of the Khmer Rouge period. Or maybe to get it all done in one session, so to speak. This is a horror story which takes some taking in.

The Khmer Rouge revolution marched into Phnom Penh on 17th April 1975, claiming to be a revolution for the people after this nation had suffered the atrocities of the “American War” in neighbouring Vietnam. With Cambodia and its people already brought to its knees by years of bombing raids by the USA, the Khmer Rouge had overthrown a corrupt and intensely unpopular Government on the pretence of bringing freedom to the persecuted and devastated nation. Many welcomed their march into the capital, not realising that their real nightmare was only just beginning.

Within three hours of the triumphal march into the capital, the evacuation of Phnom Penh began under the false pretence of a revolution for the people, followed swiftly by similar evacuations of all major towns and cities throughout Cambodia. Khmer Rouge leader Pol Pot’s twisted ideological vision was of a nation wholly controlled by the “Angkar” (The Organisation), where dehumanisation was the norm. Every person was to work in the fields wearing their regulation issue black clothing and would own absolutely nothing other than that uniform.

Ownership of anything was an enemy of the revolution. The currency was nullified and cash became worthless, homes were confiscated or destroyed, land taken over by the Angkar. But worse, every “enemy” was to be eliminated. Anybody with wealth, privilege, an education or a profession was considered to be the enemy. Doctors, lawyers, teachers and lecturers were sent to their death, as were their families. 

The Khmer Rouge set up almost 200 hundred prisons for perceived enemies, the most notorious being Tuol Skeng, known at the time as S-21, and, even more shockingly, more than 300 locations which became known as the killing fields. Starting with the privileged, and those with wealth or education, or a profession, the soldiers of the Khmer Rouge began the process of “cleansing” Cambodia by murdering every single person who was seen not to be a peasant.

Every form of art was the enemy, every form of religion outlawed, Buddhist monks, seen to be “lazy” by Pol Pot, were not spared. Painters, actors, poets and clergy joined the professionals on the road to death.

Two of Pol Pot’s mantras drilled into his army by brainwashing:

“To remove the grass it is necessary to remove all of the roots”

“Better to kill an innocent by mistake than to allow an enemy to survive by mistake”

At S-21, prisoners were dehumanised, tortured and starved, and forced to sign false confessions of crimes against the revolution, the signing of which consigned them to being despatched to the killing fields. And in those killing fields, something like 3 million Cambodians were murdered by their fellow countrymen who had been brainwashed into seeing genocide as a worthy objective of their new world.

WARNING…the next two paragraphs contain some graphic detail of brutality.

At Choeung Ek and similar killing field locations, pits would be dug in readiness for mass slaughter, prisoners forced to queue for their turn whilst watching those ahead of them put to their death. And death was not by shooting or poison, these people were bludgeoned to death one by one by soldiers wielding farming tools, hammers, metal rods, bamboo canes and any other crude item which was to hand. The victims had to stand in line, tied together by rope, watching each person ahead of them slaughtered and then pushed into the pit, until it was their turn.

Mothers were forced to watch their children murdered, killed sometimes by being held by the ankles and swung around so that their head was smashed against the so-called killing tree. And then thrown into the pit. Some time later mother was killed too. (Note: when I heard this my heart broke. I can’t shake it from my mind. Ordinary people brainwashed into smashing children’s heads. Of all the terrible things we’ve ever heard….).

The rule of Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge began to fall apart three years after the revolution, and by January 1979 he, and they, were forced into hiding and out of power by a combination of rebels from his own ranks and the Vietnamese Army. By this time the revolution was imploding, Pol Pot had become increasingly paranoid, and in-fighting within the Khmer Rouge was seeing many of its leading figures putting one another into their respective graves.

The Khmer Rouge were ousted but Cambodia was not at peace for many years to come. And get this fact. After killing 3 million Cambodians, after committing acts of genocide, torture and extreme brutality, the Khmer Rouge held the legitimate Cambodia seat at the United Nations for a further FOURTEEN years until 1993, backed by most of the western world including the UK and the USA; and, of course, by China.

As we leave the killing fields, a young girl skips happily across the car park and giggles as she drops something, darting back to collect it and laughing with her friends. Ladies sell coconuts and Coca-Cola. Khmer soups bubble in cooking pots. Tuk-tuk drivers tout for business.

Our time at the two locations spreads across more than five hours before we return to the riverside, exhausted and emotionally drained. We sit on our balcony looking out across the modern Phnom Penh where laughter carries on, the new city thrusts itself forward and this new version of Cambodia fantastically, boldly shakes off its all too recent nightmare. We decide to shower and head to a sky bar for a beer.

One of the narrators at Choeung Ek is a survivor from both a Khmer Rouge prison and the killing fields: Youk Chhang, who later fled to Texas and is now Director of “DC-Cam”, the agency documenting the history of the genocide. We will have to paraphrase, but maybe in his words he explains more succinctly than anyone, how Phnom Penh, and Cambodia, has built such an amazing recovery of spirit:

“After the Khmer Rouge, everything was broken. Every city, every town, every village, every community, every family, every person…was broken. Cambodia was a broken sheet of glass. We knew that the way to recover was not to discuss how the glass came to be broken, but to try to put all the pieces back together”.

Closure: Phnom Penh exists with a new life despite its history. We wanted to reflect this so left this post intact, humour and all. The words of Youk Chhang speak more forcefully than visitors like us and have helped us to understand.

Phnom Penh: Happy Pizza, Dodgy Bars & Crazy Money

It’s very rare for us to eat pizza, it’s just not a food we ever seem to choose, even though these days it’s one thing which is available just about everywhere in the world. For those who like to, you may well be tempted by the “happy pizza” signs on A-boards outside many of Phnom Penh’s restaurants. Well, if you like a liberal helping of marijuana in the tomato base beneath your chosen topping, then “happy pizza” is for you, because that’s exactly what’s in the recipe. All drugs are absolutely illegal in Cambodia, including marijuana, yet somehow these pizza places occupy a grey area law wise and continue to operate untouched by the authorities. Maybe money changes hands somewhere.

How you pay for your pizza is another matter altogether because money in Cambodia is not straightforward. The two currencies of Cambodian riel and US dollar exist alongside each other, and keeping an eye out for outrageous conversion rates hidden in menu tariffs is all part of the “fun”. Most – but not all – prices are in dollars, but if you pay in dollars, you’ll get change in riel, and those punishing conversion rates kick in again in the calculation of your change. It’s a good job everything is cheap here because you soon give up checking too closely.

There are added complications. Cambodian currency has no coins and even the smallest denomination is in note form – it’s the 100 riel note which is worth about 2p. In no time at all I have a giant collection of notes which makes my wallet burst at the seams and pushes Michaela’s handbag to its limits. What’s more, offer a tuk-tuk driver or coconut seller a 50,000 riel note (about £10) and they’ll often shrug and say they can’t change it. And if you do decide to operate in US dollars, you will soon find out that any note with the tiniest tear, or pen mark, or even a deep fold, will not be accepted anywhere. It’s worthless because the Banks won’t accept them. Just to complicate it one more level – if you do choose dollars, the ATMs will only dish out 100 dollar bills. Unless you pay a hotel bill or tour operator with it, you don’t have a hope in hell of finding anyone who can change it…except professional money changers who will sting you so much that you soon go back to using riel.

Are you wondering how the US dollar came to be an everyday currency here? It’s because accession to the throne has historically been a matter of dispute between different claimant families, and a coronation would often be followed by the new king declaring that all bank notes featuring the image of the previous king were no longer of value. Six times in the second half of the twentieth century the cash in the hands of ordinary people became worthless overnight. The dollar was obviously more reliable.

As for tonight, there’s something in the air, something Michaela notices before I do. 

“Have you realised that we’re drinking in a street full of dodgy bars?”, she suddenly asks.

I hadn’t, but as I now look around I can’t believe I didn’t spot the clues. On the next table is an Aussie guy, somewhere around the same age as me, sharing drinks with a pretty young local girl about 40 years his junior, in her little black number, the two of them overtly and embarrassingly tactile. Across the road the waitresses are taking the “micro” bit of micro skirts to a new level, literally. Next door to them is the “Pretty Girls Bar”, and a few doors up is the best of them all: the “Step Wife Bar”. Now, given that a “step brother” is someone who looks like he might be your brother but isn’t really, then it doesn’t take a leap of imagination to guess what happens in the “Step Wife Bar”…does it.

One thing that’s nowhere to be seen in Strip Joint Street is a Buddhist monk, but they are certainly everywhere else in Phnom Penh, floating through the streets and boulevards in their bright orange robes at all times of day. Buddhist monks are of course an expected sight in this part of the world but there’s still an occasional glimpse which makes outsiders like us do a double take. Two oversized orange monks squeezed into a tuk-tuk; monks wearing sunglasses and soaking up the sun on a park bench; monks chatting or surfing the internet on an iPhone; monks sipping frappe with jean-clad “civilians” in Starbucks. All perfectly ordinary things of course, just makes us look twice when it’s a Buddhist monk doing it.

On Thursday May 4th there’s a different monk thing going on altogether as large numbers of orange robed Buddhists gather together for a walking procession which makes its way from Wat Phnom along the riverside boulevard to Wat Ounalom. Today is Visak Bochea Day, celebrating the birth, enlightenment and death of Buddha, all of which purportedly happened on the same date in different years. For some reason this date changes year on year, and, equally mystifying, is celebrated on different dates in different countries, but here in Cambodia in 2023, it’s today.

Phnom Penh boasts several cool bar- and restaurant-filled streets in different parts of the city. Along the riverfront and in the streets close to it are numerous joints with Khmer and western cuisine, and to the south, beyond the Independence Monument, is Rue Bassac, or Bassac Lane, or to give it its recently acquired moniker, the Bassac Quarter. Now recovering from the barren pandemic years, Bassac is a tight alley of a street with its bars housed in quaint looking, semi run-down buildings which ooze character.

Our favourite little enclave though is Street 172, a laid back street not far from Central Market where visitors and locals congregate to quaff cheap beer on the bar stools beneath whirring fans and talk about life. This slightly down-at-heel street would not be everybody’s cup of tea. It’s unmistakably a backpacker destination where hostels sit above the bars while the food of the world – Khmer, western, Chinese, Indian, Nepalese, Italian, pizza, sushi, burgers and even Ethiopian – can be bought without moving more than a few yards. 

Away from the shining skyscrapers, away from the riverfront with its green and watered gardens, away from the shopping malls and the towering headquarters of international Banks, and even away from the manic and untidy locals’ markets, it’s the likes of Street 172 which perhaps capture best the spirit of the new Phnom Penh – a place where people’s backgrounds are irrelevant, where everyone is welcome, where life is there to be enjoyed without so much as a glance over the shoulder.

Only at the site of the killing fields and at the Genocide Museum are you given that glance over the shoulder; otherwise this is a spirited vibrant city enjoying its present and relishing its future. Somehow Phnom Penh is doing precisely what Youk Chhang said: piecing together that broken glass and not dwelling on how it came to be broken.

It’s a fascinating, absorbing city with a horror story which, if it wasn’t for the tourist opportunity which the story presents, may well not be dwelling on its history at all.

As we gaze out across the blue waters of the confluence and feel the intense heat of the afternoon sun on our faces, planning for our early start to catch the morning train to Kampot, we reflect on a capital city which has surprised, delighted and appalled us over the last five days. And maybe taught us some lessons about life, which is, of course, one of the biggest reasons we choose this travelling lifestyle.

Experiencing a city like Phnom Penh has made a lasting impression and probably even shifted our understanding of the world a little. And it didn’t take a happy pizza to do it.

Kampot: A Different Kind Of Town

The train is almost definitely not our best option for getting to Kampot, given that there’s only one train per day which leaves Phnom Penh at 7am and takes four hours to do just 150km, but my love of rail travel wins and so we skip breakfast and make our way to the station early enough to beat the traffic jams which create the daily morning gridlock. An ambling train journey through drier and more agricultural terrain eventually delivers us to the little town of Kampot nestling on the banks of the Sangke River, just a few miles from the coast.

The smiley little guy introduces himself as Pat as he hands over the key and explains the usual stuff about breakfast times, wifi passwords and the like, but this is no ordinary welcome to our new base. Pat is hilariously and outrageously camp, skips around like a butterfly on caffeine, and within the first few minutes has told Michaela she has a beautiful smile and has called me “handsome” and “a cheeky monkey”. 

Kampot is in a beautiful natural setting. The Sangke River sparkles its way towards the sea flanked by palm and casuarina trees on its banks, while the surrounding countryside is as lovely as any we’ve seen in Cambodia. The backdrop is, for the first time in weeks, hilly – in fact the range is known as the Elephant Mountains, though they don’t appear to be high enough to warrant that particular title. It’s all very attractive though, whatever.

The rolling green character of the countryside means there are plenty of attractive and tempting destinations around the town and it’s with some relish that we set about enjoying as many as possible of these in our short time here, soon tracking down another tuk-tuk guide to show us around several of them.

Kampot resonates to the twittering of swallows, though for the most part this sound comes not from the birds themselves but from loudspeakers at the top of odd looking windowless structures all over town. This is part of a rather odd industry. The recorded twittering attracts the real swallows which enter the building via slatted holes in the wall and nest within the specially designed interior. Swallows use saliva to stick their nests to buildings, saliva which is highly prized for its export value as an ingredient in Chinese food – it is this ingredient which gives the famed “bird’s nest soup” its name. Kampot is one of a number of Cambodia towns where this oddball industry is widespread.

This pretty town seems to have something of a dark side to its character though. Kampot is very obviously a place where expats settle, joined by a steady flow of travellers like us passing through for a few days. There is a higher percentage of white western faces here than anywhere else we’ve been on this trip, and virtually all of the restaurants advertise an “international menu”. Unfortunately those expats seem to be mostly ageing men who have forgotten a) how to keep their weight down, b) how to have a haircut and c) how to make themselves look presentable. From mid afternoon onwards groups of them slouch around the bars putting yet more beer into their oversize bellies and puffing on an endless chain of cigarettes.

As darkness falls, scantily clad young local girls sit provocatively outside some of the seedier looking bars and the thought of what might happen when those fat old expats go to these girlie bars is a singularly unpleasant one.

But let’s not dwell on that, there’s still plenty to like about Kampot. Our tuk-tuk driver this time is Richard, so eager to please and to give us a day to remember that we are able to cram a lot of experiences into one single, really enjoyable day. But oh boy can Richard talk. He speaks at great length about the history of Cambodia, the life and miracles of Buddha, politics, agriculture and everything else under the sun. As a guide he is incredibly useful and knowledgeable, but there’s a couple of times during one of his lengthy chats when I catch sight of something moving out of the corner of my eye, and it turns out to be my Will To Live running for the hills.

Aside from this small element Richard is such a good guy, and wins us over because of the way he is so desperately eager to make our day enjoyable and memorable, how can you not like that? We can easily forgive him his rampant tongue.

Kampot is famous for its peppers, reputed to be among the best peppers in the world and granted World Trade Organisation’s Geographical Indication status in 2010. It is similarly recognised under the parallel EU designation scheme. Wiped out by Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge due to it being perceived as a bourgeois food, the pepper farm industry is slowly recovering, though it has taken time and still today only harvests around a third of the quantity produced in its pre-Civil War heyday. Our tour of a small pepper farm is full of interest, including a full-on peppercorn tasting session, and there is indeed a definable quality to Kampot pepper: munching on one peppercorn immediately brings to mind the thought of succulent steaks and a glass of full-bodied red.

Richard’s tour also takes in an ancient temple, another cave which houses bats though not on the scale of Battambang, and an extensive salt farm where the tides are channelled inland to the shallow pits in which the water evaporates in the usual salt-farming manner. Large quantities of salt are produced here, the pans taking just three days to dry out as long as no rain falls – though the farmers, and consequently the workers – receive a pittance compared to the prices the salt fetches in export. Not an untypical story, unfortunately. There’s also a fascinating mangrove village where some wonderful little wooden homestays sit on stilts above the water – how we wish we’d known about this eco friendly village before we came out here, we would definitely have overnighted in these great little sheds. 

Away from its sleazy centre, Kampot’s crowning glory is its riverside with a lovely promenade on one side and a whole fleet of floating restaurants on the other. Dotted along the riverfront on the town side are some better quality eateries, though “international” menu options still prevail alongside the Khmer dishes even here. We should make a point about the town centre places though: the menus may be “international” but choose a Khmer dish and they are as good and as tasty as ever – and they are incredibly cheap (try £7.50 for 2 dinners and 3 beers – the beer is 50p a go). And look carefully and there’s a handful of truly great restaurants tucked into quiet corners of the town.

On our last day in Kampot we head out to the backwaters for a bit of kayaking, steering clear of the bigger places and finding a lovely old couple who have two or three kayaks to supplement the income from their noisy chicken coup. It’s such a serene couple of hours, gliding through still waters through the palm trees, occasionally calling “hello” to someone at the water’s edge but otherwise having the graceful backwaters to ourselves. The overhanging trees which  form archways over some of the smaller waterways have given this picturesque route the apt nickname of “the green cathedral”. Paddling through here on our own is so peaceful, so graceful.

After so many weeks of the heat and humidity which has been like a two month visit to a steam room, the sea breeze which blows up the river basin and right through the heart of Kampot is so very welcome, calming the heat and providing the type of respite which we’d almost forgotten. It’s still hot, of course it is, but it’s a properly stiff breeze which is apparently constant right through the year.

Kampot certainly has some interesting sides and some characteristics which make it different from all of our other stops as we’ve worked our way through Cambodia. Even down to its curious industries: a town which produces pepper, salt and saliva is definitely different in our book.

From Kampot to Kep: Discovering A Seafood Heaven

The South East Asia Games are underway. This regional, Olympics-style event is being held in Cambodia for the first time in its history, with Phnom Penh the host city. 

The last night of our time in Phnom Penh coincided with the Games’ opening ceremony, a spectacular event encapsulating typical scenes from Cambodian history and everyday Cambodian life all delivered with the wonderfully choreographed routines that characterise these opening ceremonies. Packed with commentaries on the country’s bright future and full of pride and patriotism, the whole thing felt like another powerful statement, another big step, on Cambodia’s road to a new era. The enthusiasm of the crowd simply watching on the big screen by the river would suggest that there is significant buy-in to current philosophies.

Kampot is playing its part in the pageant: this small town is hosting all of the boating events for the Games and the excitement is moving towards fever pitch as we leave town. The courses are laid out on the river, the flagpoles are being erected along the river banks, and there’s the regular sight of international teams practising by frantically powering their paddles down the river. We wonder whether time may be tight for the organisers: the rainy season is getting ever closer and we’ve already witnessed thunder storms and strengthening winds in our time here. As it happens, we too are hoping the rains don’t mean business just yet as we are off to reacquaint ourselves with the sea after several weeks inland. 

It’s not a long journey this time, from Kampot to the seaside at Kep, so we do the 40 minutes by tuk-tuk, the three of us and our backpacks all crammed into Richard’s brother’s machine – though if like us you’ve previously crossed the whole of Sri Lanka by tuk-tuk, then this quick skip to Kep is a doddle.

Describing Kep is not going to be straightforward, but here goes. This sleepy town sits on a peninsula, but due in part to the steep hill in the middle, Kep is not continuous and is instead split into three distinct sections: the crab market, the beach, and the town. It takes us a surprising 90 minutes to walk from the first to the third. The overriding reason that anyone and everyone comes to Kep is the seafood – Kep has a certain reputation which we’ll come back to shortly.

First though, the town. It has virtually nothing going for it and is as devoid of restaurants, bars and even shops as anywhere we’ve ever seen. Second, the beach. It’s not natural, the coast here is rocky and the admittedly fine sand has been shipped in from further up the coast to form an artificial beach – despite its ersatz nature it’s much loved by Cambodians who flock here from the cities most weekends. 

Now then, there’s two things which in our opinion contribute to making this a candidate for the World’s weirdest beach. Firstly, everybody keeps their clothes on. Here we are, just 40 minutes’ ride from scantily clad girls outside bars, and there’s not a bathing costume or a pair of speedos in sight, let alone a bikini. Everybody is fully dressed, whether laying in the sun, playing volleyball, or even swimming in the sea. Women appear out of the waves and trudge back up the sands with their long dresses, comfy trousers, or even T-shirts and jeans, sopping wet and clinging to the body.

Secondly, there’s the big long row of what look like beach bars but are nothing of the sort. What they are is hammock fests – large wooden platforms with parasols and kiosks looking for all the world like a beach bar, but in fact simply a platform on which literally dozens of hammocks are strung between wooden posts. The world and his wife are either snoozing in a hammock in the shade or picnicking on the wooden platform beneath. In all of our travels, this is a first, we’ve never seen a hammock jungle before.

Across the street from the beach, families and large parties spread out their picnic blankets which they’ve rented from a street trader, and lay out a giant picnic of all types of food. On the pavement. Yep, Cambodians seem to see a dirty pavement (sidewalk), next to parked cars and fume-belching tuk-tuks and amongst the hordes of ants, as an ideal spot for a picnic.

All this brings us to the third part of town, the crab market. Believe me, we’ve saved the best till last. At one end of Kep beach, a statue of a crab stands proudly above the sea, its claws reaching for the sky – and there is good reason, Kep has a serious claim to fame, enjoying a huge reputation for some of the best fresh crab in the entire world, and, what’s more, a speciality dish which marries Kep crab and Kampot pepper.

The “market”, a considerable schlep from beach and town, is a makeshift set of ramshackle stalls on a rocky headland where the size and variety of the daily catch has to be seen to be believed. Along the road in front of the market is what looks to be a line of grubby takeaways with smoking barbecues, but look closer and behind each one is a restaurant with tables on the decking above the sea where it takes all of three minutes for you to know you’ve landed somewhere rather special.

Around us the smell of wood and charcoal fires fills the air, carrying the unmistakable aroma of smoking fish past the noses of eager diners. The waves lap beneath our table on the boardwalk, then before we know it it’s impossible to concentrate on the menu because the sunset over the Gulf Of Thailand is so incredibly, beautifully spectacular. The fiery red sun drops below the horizon, the clouds catch fire in blazes of orange and yellow, a pathway of diamonds sparkles towards us across the waves.

And then comes the food. Not just crab, but virtually anything you could want from the ocean, and all of it straight from boat to barbecue. The crab carries a succulent, sweet flavour which kisses the Kampot peppercorns in a tryst made in heaven, the giant prawns ooze the most sensational taste, the huge grilled fish is beyond to die for. Even the side dish, crabmeat rice, has all the flavours of a best-ever paella.

This is our message to every single traveller seeking the ultimate seafood experience: get yourself to Kep and your search will be complete. That’s how good it is! Best seafood ever, magnificent sunset, great setting, cheap prices. 

Kep’s history explains in a way the nondescript character of the town. Always famous for its seafood and sunsets, Kep became a destination for the wealthy during the French colonial era. The great and the good of Cambodia, and even more of the same from France, built large, sumptuous homes here, a retreat from whatever other excesses filled their lives. Like all of Cambodia, the region became a war zone during the America-Vietnam conflict, and then, of course, there was the Khmer Rouge.

What more ostentatious manifestations could there be of the bourgeoisie which Pol Pot sought to eradicate than luxury homes by the sea? The many proud villas were systematically confiscated, bombed, shot and detonated during the four years of the Genocide era. Few though were razed to the ground, and the remains are all still here, most of them in some state of dilapidation, many reclaimed by nature. Apparently though, most are once again owned by the wealthy, or by developers, waiting for their moment and secure in the knowledge that the land on which the building stands is their greatest asset.

Kep remains a favourite for Cambodian holiday makers and weekenders in larger numbers than international tourists; most of the latter seem to be from France. Among the favoured pastimes here is a boat trip across to Koh Tonsay, aka Rabbit Island, where the sea is incredibly warm – only on Tioman Island have we felt seawater to rival this for warmth. The shallows are positively hot. 

The hill, or hills, which form the centre of the headland and effectively separate Kep into its three parts, is in fact a designated National Park and presents an opportunity to climb its slopes, including a watchtower, and take in terrific views of the scenery and coastline. Around us, exotic jungle bird calls echo across the valleys, though we catch glimpses of just a few, including the unusual looking coppersmith barbet.

What an unusual and fascinating place Kep is, what a varied stop this has been. Watching the locals on their day at the seaside, and how differently they go about their day on the beach; skipping over to Rabbit Island; enjoying the lush greenery…have all been great. But those early evenings watching the magnificent sunsets, devouring the fabulous fresh seafood then listening to the waves as darkness falls, will be among the moments we treasure most from this entire trip.

People, Food And Funny Words: Last Day In Cambodia 

“Hi”, he says, his whole face illuminated by his broad smile, “how long you been in Cambodia”.

“Four weeks now, we leave on Tuesday”, says Michaela, and adds in response to his next question, “Siem Reap, Tonle Sap, Battambang, Phnom Penh, Kampot and Kep”.

He beams. “Thank you so much for visiting my country, I hope you like it”

When we tell him just how much we have loved it, his smile nearly bursts out of his cheeks. He can’t say thank you enough times. Big smiles, friendly manner, gracious attitude….and there you have our experience of the people of Cambodia summed up in one brief exchange. Honestly, we haven’t met a single person who hasn’t fitted this framework. We have felt more than welcomed, we have felt befriended, by just about everyone, just about everywhere.

But our time, like our visa, has almost run out, with one night back in Phnom Penh from where we fly to Singapore. The only train from Kep back to the capital gets there around midnight, the buses take hours and are going to get to Phnom Penh either too early to check in or so late that we have hours of kicking our heels – so we take the rare indulgence of a private car with driver and thus keep control of our timing. 

OK let’s talk about words. Now look, we all know that it’s not big and it’s not clever to laugh at foreign words which are naughty in English, nor is it funny to be amused by errors in translation. So we didn’t giggle at all when we saw this coffee shop all over Vietnam…

Nor did we chuckle at all of the other places called “Phuc” this or “Phuc” that. Nor at a temple called Bich Dong, or at a stadium named after someone called Tu Duc, or even when we drank Krud beer (“brewed for good times, brewed for Krud times”). Or at a restaurant called “Cao Dung”. I mean, they’re just not funny, are they. However, we couldn’t help ourselves when we saw some literature promoting Kep crab market, with two misspellings of the same word, each of them hilarious. I mean, how can you not laugh when you read….

“In Kep there is a big crap market, where you can enjoy the best grab you’ve ever had”.

One last one? Oh alright then…..you don’t always get to pay by card here, it’s mostly cash only, and even more rare to be able to pay contactless. But back in Phnom Penh, we grab a frappe, and get the rare chance to tap the card and walk away. The name of the guy who served me? Well, his lapel badge tells me it’s……Tapmony. Honestly, you couldn’t make this up.

We leave Cambodia with such fond memories and so many experiences. Places which we have liked immediately (Siem Reap, Phnom Penh) continued to deliver; places which didn’t immediately appeal (Kampot, Kep) grew on us to the point where we were sad to leave when the time came to move on. 

In both Vietnam and Cambodia we have been so enchanted by the people, we really don’t know whether we’ve been anywhere in the world where friendliness, courtesy and kindness has been married to such honesty and integrity. Truly lovely people everywhere, and so, so appreciative of our custom, and of our love for their respective countries. Both countries have been an absolute joy on the people aspect. The rudeness and the arrogance of those self-righteous wealthy Indians on the Buddha train seems such a long time ago now.

Two wonderful, varied, exciting countries where the history is both terrible and wonderful but where the massive bonuses are the food and the people, both of which are up there with the very best on our travels so far. And this is all despite the presence of oppressive and dictatorial Governments in both countries. This has been a wonderful trip, one we have really loved.

We have some stories to tell about some of the people we’ve met, we may well post these while we’re back at home. For now, we leave behind this part of Asia and head to the very different world of Singapore, just two hours by air from here in Phnom Penh and yet a world away in many respects.

We’ve been to Singapore before, we know what to expect. So very different from here and a joy of a completely different kind. Absolutely cannot wait to see it again.