Bribery makes the wheel go around

The train ride costs $5 and this involves a ride of about 7km or so. The $5 are paid to the tourist police as officially you’re not meant to ride on the bamboo train and you therefore need to bribe the official! It’s a little insane that something so touristy is still masked in bribery, but hey-ho, here is the $5 and away we go!

The driver climbs on board, wraps the strap around the flywheel, yanks it back and the 6hp engine fires up. He takes his piece of stick and levers the engine back so that the fan belt catches and we slowly build up speed. The engine starts roaring, the wind is rushing into our faces, the rails are whirring and every so often there is a heavy clack as the warped rails bounce and jostle us along. The speed increases, the noise is all encompassing and Matt, Nat and I sit with huge grins on our faces.

Looking along the warped track which weaves in and out, we spot another train coming our way. We are giddy with excitement and anticipation – who is lightest? The trains race closer and we start to pick out that there is only 2 passengers – we WIN! Whoop whoop. I turn my camera on and start filming as our train slows, the engine cuts out and we glide to a stop. Our driver runs forward and they start dismantling the train…

Free revving engines are not a good thing

We start up again and the experiences of the start come flooding back. The speed increase. The noise levels rising. The clickety-clack of the rails. The bouncing around. The bushes hitting me as we speed past. The engine revving freely and then cutting out… uh, what?

The belt has slipped and torn. Our driver starts trying to put the belt back on and it rips some more so he cuts a section off with a rock. He puts it’s back on and it falls off again. This continues for a while until the driver just walks off without a word. We have no idea where he is going and it feels like we’ve been abandoned so that he can walk back to the station. We’re laughing and joking trying to work out what is going on.

After walking a while our man turns, his shoulders downcast and resigned and he starts pushing the train. He’s running along pulling faces at us as he does so and we’re just watching laughing heavily at the absurdity of it all. Matt jumps off and runs alongside. Shortly we arrive in the station at the far end much to the amusement of everyone around. Why on earth are we pushing the train and why is Matt helping?

A strange conversation

We end up sitting down at a little table for “cold drinks” and whilst sceptical at first, the cans are 75c, which is completely reasonable, so we buy one each and another for the driver. We then start chatting whilst waiting for the new belt to be delivered.

The conversation is weird and just continues with the shop owner asking questions, misunderstanding and then translating the answer – at one point he decides that all English people eat Soup for dinner every day much to the shocked expressions of everyone around us. It’s an full hour of this – the chatter, the bemusement of everyone around, the driver hugging Matt, looking downfallen when he realises I’m his elder… It’s entertaining but we start to wonder where the belt is…

I get up and have a wander around, beside us some kids are playing a game similar to “it” – one person is “it” and has to hop about chasing the others who are running. Other children come past us on bikes, cross the tracks and disappear off down a dirt path. Tractors loom large and rubble past… It’s a surreal place, made even more surreal when our drivers runs off again, jumps on his bike and races off to get the replacement belt – he’d been having so much fun chatting with us it’d taken him an hour to go and get the piece.

On the way back everything went tickety-boo and we arrived back at the station 2.5hours after we left. Just as we pulled up, we spot tourist after tourist piling onto trains – literally a tour bus load!

Our tuk tuk driver was visibly annoyed complaining that we’d been so long but was quickly calmed when we showed him the video of Matt pushing the train! He looked on in amazement as the video played and shouted back to the other drivers who all started laughing – I guess we were getting called names in our absence!

Early morning temples

My first glimpse of the temples was at 1700 as I took my rented bicycle through to Phnom Bakheng for the sunset – it turned out to be a little bit of a wash-out as not only did the clouds conspire against me, but the crowds and queues were so long it was impossible to get anywhere near the top. I started back towards Siem Reap early so that I could make it back before darkness descended. An early night was had in preparation for the 5am wake up call!

The next morning, I took off once more and rode the 8km to the entrance gates, blasting past the guards (I had my ticket from the night before so didn’t realise that they needed to validate it) and made it to Angkor Wat thirty minutes before sunrise. Unfortunately the skies once again conspired against me and it meant that the sun rose in all it’s glory, behind low lying clouds. It just got “lighter” and it wasn’t until I’d left the temple complex that the bright orange tentacles broke through.

Similarly, without any prior knowledge I didn’t go to the “right” spot in order to catch the sunrise – the pool on the right hand side is where you get the lovely reflections with the sun rising gracefully behind.

So, at 6am I rode away from Angkor Wat, across the moat, through the gateway and onto the access road. People rave about Angkor Wat, but with it’s huge smiling faces, Bayon is an impressive sight. The five towers reaching skywards and the faces all staring down on you, the small, dark passages and the huge steps – it’s an impressive building. I had it pretty much to myself and loved sneaking around exploring the different passages and carvings.

It was after Bayon that the fun really started and the bike started to come into it’s own – I could explore. Turning down a little track I came across a temple (Baphuon) which whilst on the main tourist drag, at 7am was pretty much deserted. This temple is covered in little painted numbers which were used by the French when they dismantled it entirely and then rebuilt it (maybe they should have played with Lego instead!). Taking the bike down the walking path I explored the areas behind and then got told off for taking the bike along the wall – I was still on the path so whoops.

The carvings became more and more impressive with entire walls featuring Gods and Deities and then elephants in various poses but to be honest they looked a little too good – I couldn’t believe that they are 1000 years old (or at least haven’t been heavily restored).

The bike leads the way

Not only was I loving the riding, but the bike allowed me to explore a little path just opposite the Elephant wall and whilst the structures there weren’t amazing, it was fun seeing two Elephant statues guarding an entrance and taking the pictures when no-one else was around. There were paths, it was 500m from the main road and the leaves were swept up into piles, so it’s not un-explored, but it sure felt like it at the time.

Finding one “hidden” gem gave me the desire to find more and thus every track I came across I took. First up I found a very quiet secondary west gate which was just as impressive as the main one, but with a dirt track rather than a road. Just after I came across a group of Cambodians beavering away and a little bamboo bridge I nearly fell off. Then came one of the best temples I visited.

Covered in moss and spiders webs. Stones strewn everywhere with their intricate carvings lying disjointed on the floors. Trees reclaiming spaces and their roots absorbing the temple walls… It was my little hidden temple and I had it to myself. I explored for a while and jumped back on eager to explore the next hidden gem.

The “Tomb Raider” temple

Given the amount of tourists, Ta Prohm hasn’t just been raided – it’s been raped and pillaged for everything it’s worth. Tourists are everywhere and huge queues of people line up to have their picture taken in front of the “special” tree. They are literally everywhere and it’s impossible to get “the” picture without waiting. Heck, it’s difficult enough to get a picture without anyone in it.

Still, I acted like Lara Croft and leaped about the stones and took pictures where I could. Hmm, maybe I should say I acted like Indiana Jones but hey ho, it is known as the Tomb Raider temple!

Onwards, always onwards

It’s now late morning and I’m not even halfway around the temples. Powering the bike along the road stopping off the various temples en-route (some better than others) I came across my favourite so far – Pre Roup with it’s yellow sandstone. The steep stairs forced people to crawl on all fours and delicately place each foot down as they tried to ascend or descend. Me? I’m scared of stairs like this so try and get off them as soon as possible so run both ways (ironically this potentially could be my downfall). It’s always fun to fly past people as they grasp the edge, their terror all encapsulating whereas I charge past…

So far there hadn’t been anything that took my breath away. Sure, the temples are impressive and the towering faces of Bayon were intricately carved but for me, the cycling and running up and down the stairs was proving more entertainment. Where was the awesomeness?

I tell you where it is, Preah Khan.

With it’s long walkway in, the huge walls and the seemingly abandoned little church, the low walls and the scattering of stonework, it’s amazing. The central corridor just keeps going and going and going and going. To the right and left similar corridors stretch out meeting parallel walkways. Entrances are blocked off by masonry and it’s got this grimy, dirty feel, just like an old temple should. This isn’t a perfect, restored places, this is a temple which has fallen into dis-repair and you are exploring it. It feels amazing to wander around.

Putting things into context with a tour

Back down to Angkor Wat, this time I actually entered the temple properly and took a $10 tour. The things I learned were:

• Angkor Wat was originally a Hindi temple and thus faces West as opposed to the other temples, which face East.
• The main walkway has been restored by different people – the first bit on the left is original though.
• The moat represents the sea and the bridge the causeway. Various railings around Angkor itself which feature a snake getting spun like a skipping rope by Gods and demons represent the churning of the sea.
• The five entrances to Angkor Wat are for the King (middle), the rich (two middle) and the common (outside two).
• The “rich” entrance to the right contains a statue of the Hindi God Vishnu was moved from the exact centre of the temple and has been converted into a Buddha by the use of a Gold sash (explains the Gold Sashes elsewhere).
• The Khmer Rouge and the Vietnamese had a battle here and you can see bullet holes in the outer wall. Similarly, you can see the remnants of stencilled graffiti on the wall.
• The two buildings on the inside are commoner’s libraries.
• The outer pools were designed to allow the commoners to bath before entering the temple and are refilled from a natural spring.
• One of the main carving’s show the Monkey army vs the demons. There is a display of the demon God getting killed by arrows. Apparently there are many more carvings but the guide didn’t show me these (a nice explanation is available here – the carving I refer to is number eight).
• The temple was built and then the carvings done in-situ.
• The temple wasn’t completed before the death of the King so some reliefs were simply left as drawings on the wall.
• The false ceilings have since disappeared but were intricately carved wood. This explains why the current ceilings look very rough in comparison.
• Bat poo is a dangerous thing and it is this that has corroded the bases of the pillars.
• Inside there are four pools which represent the four elements (Earth, Wind, Fire and Water) and are further cleansing pools.
• The main Buddha’s were taken or destroyed by the French with only parts remaining on the right hand side of the temple.
• The central temple consists of 5 towers which symbolise the highly religious mountain range of Mt. Meru.
• The Indians tried to restore the towers in the 1970’s cleaning them with corrosive water and destroyed the carvings. At the top you can see the Buddha’s blocking doorways but not much else.
• The queue as it stood would take ninety minutes to clear and allow access to the top of the temple.

The day draws to a close

I really wanted to make up for the previous nights sunset failure so headed back out to Pre Roup and sat on the top waiting for the sun to inch it’s way under the horizon. It was taking it’s time and to avoid the chatter of an annoyingly thick American lady (“Where are you from”, “The UK”, “That’s amazing, your English is really good – where did you learn?”) I closed my eyes and fell asleep. I woke twenty minutes later and decided that the cloud cover would shroud the sun once again and it was time to leave before I feel into a deeper slumber – thus, I started the 14km ride back racing the onslaught of darkness and the dangers this would bring.

In the end I rode 60km over 14hours and would highly recommend taking a bike, although maybe you should do it over a couple of days – I’m fit enough to do ride like this but it’s punishing in the heat and you end the day pleasantly exhausted.

For me, it’s about the biking

My old bike on the North Face Trail, Lake District

In moments of solitude, I relive the process of dismantling my bike to stow it in the boot of my car and taking it to a single track somewhere, be it near or far. I recall with fondness the drive, the expectation of the ride, the rebuilding of the bike, getting everything ready, the exploratory ride around the car park, the punishing climbs, the brutal descents and the feel of the bike bucking and twisting underneath me. I remember the crashes, the resulting limps, cuts and bruises and returning home to clean my wounds. Whilst travelling I tell stories to people of my crashes and of my victories as I try to enthuse those around me to the way of the bike.

I may be terrible at it, but Mountain Biking is my thing.

Pretty much every day I dream of climbing aboard my bike again and playing. I dream that when I get to Australia for the next part of the trip my bike turns up and away I go exploring pastures unknown. I’ve tried to capture the feeling a few times whilst travelling but haven’t really managed to get the sheer intoxicating escapism that my bike and familiar terrain offered me back home.

Go back in this blog and you’ll find posts from Sorata, Huaraz and Moab where I hired bikes and pushed my technical limits but I’ve never really pushed my physical limits the way I used to. I haven’t really pushed myself hard, reached my plateau of endurance and stamina and then kept going, pushing through the fatigue to achieve that endorphin high. I did this in Siem Reap and it felt good. Damned good.

Biking cures all woes

When I arrived in Siem Reap I was feeling quite down for various reasons. It might have taken nine months but Travelling had finally worn me down and I was sick of it. I wanted out and thus was feeling quite depressed, wondering what I should do with my life. I decided to write a blog post on the subject, Today I’m Hating Travelling and then got off my backside and did something.

I rode.

I picked up a bike from my hostel for $1 and rode it the 8km to Angkor seeing the sunset and it was punishing. The bike had a internal brake and gear hub on the rear and it was horrendous thing to cycle. Every turn of the pedal required huge amounts of energy and whilst I propelled it along at a fair rate I knew I couldn’t ride it the following day so picked up a basic Giant Revel 3 Disc and instantly fell in love. It was the same geometry as my bike back home and the grippy tyres were perfect.

The next day I set off early at 0530 (yup, thats half five in the morning) in the dark of night and rode through the town and out on to the dark roads which lead up to Angkor. Riding with my head torch blazing I was reminded of my Cross-Country runs back home at night, lights a-blazing, but only illuminating small patches of scenery directly in front of me. It reminded me of launching the bike into the unknown and the lack of peripheral vision giving me one objective – keep going forward. Always forward. The darkness is all consuming and all around noises demand attention, all whilst the tyres produced a beautiful hum on the tarmac. I was alone most of the time only overtaking (and been overtaken) by other early risers in Tuk Tuks. It felt good. Damned good.

The bike is the perfect tool to explore Angkor as it allows you to get lost, to take that little track and see what is at the end, to find the deserted ruin, the alternative gates and the workers beavering away… Actually this last one was one of my favourite experiences of my day in Angkor.

Taking a little path I came across a group of Cambodians clearing out the stream and sitting next to a little bamboo bridge. As I rode up to them, they looked on in bewilderment as I hoisted the bike to my shoulder and started to cross the bridge – I lost my footing and lunged right nearly tipping off the edge. The crowd gasped. I held my breath and threw my free arm to grab the railing. The railing came with me and I continued to slip sideways. I threw my weight to the left using all my strength in my legs to try and rebalance. The gasp grew louder as I continued to fall. As if in slow motion I slowly managed to regain my balance but it was sure a heart pounding moment. I made it to the other side, turned to the crowd as they stared chatting away and gave a quick bow. They didn’t understand the motion but nodded and chatted loudly pointing as I remounted my bike and continued down the trail.

Ah, back to the good ole days of falling off things.

The rest of the day consisted of pushing myself hard, always maintaining a fast pace. I would ride to a temple, walk around and run up the stairs, see what I wanted to see and then back on the bike to the next place. Given I was by myself, I got a little bored in the early afternoon and decided to challenge myself riding 4km without touching the handle bars. Eventually I hit traffic so redoubled my efforts, racing them. I flew along the road and then took the bike off-road, jumping the ruts and ditches and grinning the whole time.

As I neared town I was the fastest thing around, carving through the traffic in a desperate race against time to get the bike back before darkness descended completely and I had to pay for an extra days hire of the bike. I completed the 14km dash at the end of the day in 40minutes which isn’t that fast (it’s a 13mph average) but it was tremendous feeling to step off the bike knowing that was the best I could do.

That day I was on the bike for around 65km. I drank 6litres of water and 2 litres of pop. I was out in the sun for 14hours and I loved it.

My favourite quote goes “Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in one pretty and well preserved piece, but to slide across the finish line broadside, thoroughly used up, worn out, leaking oil, and shouting GERONIMO!!!”. That day in Siem Reap I did just that. I arrived back bleeding, bitten, covered in mud, drenched in sweat and completely exhausted, but I was shouting GERONIMO!

It felt so good, I did it again a couple of days later

One afternoon I needed some exercise again so picked up the same bike again and rode solidly for five hours completely 82km. The people at the place I rode too looked on in puzzlement as it is 35m outside of town and you don’t get many people riding there. To the Cambodians 10km is a long ride and takes them 2.5 hours to complete so for a foreigner to be there on a bike is a strange sight indeed.

Of course, the Cambodians showed no leniency and wouldn’t let me enter the temple as I didn’t have a ticket (even stopping me from sticking my head around the door, but hey, I was here for the exercise so meh!

It felt damned good. Mountain biking, I may be terrible at it but, it’s my thing.

I’m going to warn you now, this is not a nice blog post.

A short history lesson

Cambodia in the last century has been a turbulent place. To be brief, The French took over the country in the 1860’s and integrated it into French Indo China. WWII changed things slightly in that the French lost powers to the Japanese and then in 1945 Cambodia declared independence – this was short lived as the French regained control a few months later. In 1953, Independence was once again gained and the country continued this way for the next 20 years under a new Monarchy.

The 1960’s saw further destabilization due to the Vietnam War and opposition to the government. In March 1970 the monarchy was abolished during a military coup and the new government was forced to deal with not only the USA bombing of Vietcong troops but also the rise of Communist insurgents. In 1975, the insurgents seized control of the country and the Government collapsed – thus starts the rule of the Khmer Rouge and Pol Pot.

As soon as Khmer Rouge took control, the genocide started immediately with the city dwellers forced to the countryside, intelligence was persecuted and thousands were killed in Pol Pot’s attempt to create his utopian country. This is where the former school, Security Prison 21 (S 21) and The Killing Fields come in…

Security Prison 21 – S21

Walk through the gates and you see a school. You see the playing fields, the 3 storey buildings in big U shape which house the classrooms that taught youngsters. You see grass, trees, shady benches and flowers. People mill about and nothing seems out of place. It looks serene and peaceful.

Step into the rooms though and it is a different story. You see a bed with an ammunition box and a random piece of metal lying there and it looks odd. There is no context, no understanding of what that actually is until you look up and the photo on the wall. The photo shows how the room was when the Vietnamese liberated the camp, the faded ink depicts a barely recognisable body strapped to the bed – the person had been killed just before the soldiers broke in.

Every room is like this. Every single room in that first building.

Step outside and you see some gallows and you read the sign – it is when you notice the pull up and dip bars to the left that you realise the gallows were originally gym equipment. The “gallows” were used by the Khmer Rouge to torture the prisoners until they confessed to their “crimes” by hanging them upside down and dunking their heads into the big urns when they lost consciousness.

It’s not exactly nice.

You do have to hand it to the rulers of the prison though – everyone they tortured and killed was photographed and details documented. Many of these pictures are now on display in the prison and it makes for a chilling display. Mugshot after mugshot after mugshot fill displays in room after room after room. Men and children are all there, some with nooses around their neck, some with chains. All look forlorn and accepting of their fate. After a while I became numb looking at all these images. How on earth can this happen?

The next building contains tiny brick cells where the prisoners were housed when not tortured, it’s surrounded in barbed wire to stop the prisoners committing suicide…

The last room you visit contains details of life after the Khmer Rouge were removed from power in 1978. Amazingly, it details how the “Western” world (the UN, USA etc) all refused to acknowledge the Vietnamese liberators and continued to support the Khmer Rouge. It details how that now, after 30 years the rulers of the prison and the Government are just coming to trial for war crimes. I didn’t have my glasses on so couldn’t read it all but that which I did astonished me – I had no idea that such atrocities’ were allowed to happen and we knew about it.

I felt ashamed.

Walk around S21 and there isn’t a single smiling face. There is no laughter. There is no happiness here. People look down at the ground and talk in hushed ones. It’s presented in such a raw and dignified way that it can’t fail to affect those who visit.

The Killing Fields

Whereas everything in Vietnam appeared to be a joke and my cynical mind worked overtime finding flaws in the presentation of the the information, here at the The Killing Fields the matter-of-fact audio tour explaining what you’re seeing is, just well, horrible. If S21 had made me feel ashamed and upset, The Killing Fields almost reduced me to tears. Even now, writing this blog post my eyes are welling up just thinking about the atrocities’ that occurred.

Just like S21 the scene unfolding in front of you is of sereneness and calm. The green grass, the shade giving trees, the flowers, the dirt tracks, the brilliant white and gold tower and fluttering flags all look inviting. It’s the audio tour that gives you the perspective and depresses even the happiest of minds.

It all starts off easy enough showing you a couple of poles and plaques representing the original sites of the processing and detention buildings, a tree whose sharp bark was used to kill the prisoners, the path the prisoners were led down… “Look to your right and you will see a mass grave ringed with flowering trees”.

Oh, that is not good.

“Look to your right and you can see the depressions of mass graves. Sometimes, bones and clothes lie on the surface – please don’t disturb these”.

Oh, that is really not good.

And it just continues. Mass grave after mass grave. Images of death force fed into your imagination through the headphones attached to your ears. Stories of survivors and liberators beg you for your attention and make you feel obligated to hear their story. Men speak of the horrors of their experience and the realities of the tortured lives they now lead. Women speak of the loss of their children. A man speaks of the sacrifice someone made to save him as a child.

It’s harrowing and depressing to the extreme.

We’re not even halfway through and we’re far from the worst part. The part that will reduce any emotional barriers you managed to build up to harden you from seeing the realities of The Killing Fields.

It’s the tree that gets you.

A simple tree. A simple, innocuous looking tree beside a mass grave. A simple, innocuous looking tree which was used to smash the skulls of the babies and children before they were tossed into the mass grave to the left.

The audio tour has an account from one of the camp liberators who explains that upon his discovery of the tree he could see brain matter and skull fragments embedded into the tree’s bark and couldn’t understand why until he saw the grave. Behind is another tree which was used to house speakers shouting out propaganda which was used to drown out the screams and cries of those meeting their end. To the left, under the roots lie rags which the deceased wore and have worked to the surface. Flanking each side are the impressions left from the excavation of mass graves.

It’s just a horrible, horrible thing to imagine and see.

Tears welled up behind my eyes and you could tell it was having the same affect on everyone around as faces were solemn, heads hung heavy as everyone looked at the ground, there was a eerie silence and no one talked. A few camera’s clicked as people lined up their shots and then one-by-one everyone moved slowly on to hear about the tower which dominates the area – the Buddhist Stupa which contains the skulls of nearly 9000 people who were killed on the site.

I walked out feeling slightly numb. I’m glad I went as it had a very strong emotional reaction in me but I can’t say I enjoyed single minute of my experiences there. I’ll finish this post the same way as the commentary does with a harrowing sentence: “Genocide has happened many times in history, in Nazi Germany, Rwanda, Bosnia… and unfortunately it’s likely to happen again. Remember us when it does”.

I needed excitement

After a relaxing in Sihanoukville, going somewhere even more relaxed was a mistake for me. I’d had a bad stomach for a little while and was now feeling better so antsy – I needed to do something rather than just sitting around. I needed some exhilaration.

The hostel we stayed at offered free paddle boards so we got changed and went for a paddle around and it was lovely to sit there with a paddle in hand cruising up the river remembering all the paddling techniques that I learnt as a teenager. Still, though, I’m restless. I’m bored. I want to do something. Anything. Just gimme something to challenge me…

Kampot was quickly reaching one of those destinations that I’d leave quickly – the people were all just too relaxed and, dare I say it, “old”. Whilst I’m not a fan of the youngsters who party all the time, I’m similarly not someone who can sit back and read a book all day, every day. This is what you have in Kampot – a sleepy little place where doing nothing is an active pursuit.

I started to fidget and the urge to do something led to hiring a scooter.

The renting of scooters and Bokor Hill Station

I’ve shied away from renting scooters here in S.E. Asia as you see so many people with injuries. It was worst in Vietnam where so many travellers would arrive with no experience on bikes, buy a motorbike and then proceed to ride the length of the country. Still, here for $5 we picked up a couple of scooters and headed up the new road to the top of Bokor Hill.

>Bokor Hll Station was originally a refuge from the heat of the valley bottom for the French with it’s casino, hotel and shops. It was abandoned in the 1940’s but in 1970’s the Khmer Rouge entrenched themselves in the church and fought viciously with the Vietnamese. It has pretty much been a Ghost town for many years until recently when a conglomerate decided to restore the buildings, create a huge resort and a perfectly smooth, 30km road. It can’t be considered a ghost town any more.

I got my excitement though – I’m now a fan of the scooter – sitting on the little machine with the engine buzzing below you, learning to lean and swoop through the corners, feeling the wind rush into your face and tug at your clothes, twisting the throttle and feeling the little bit of power… It’s amazing. It’s like mountain biking but at the same time is completely different. I was taking it very easy since I really appreciated the level of danger, but even so, it was an intoxicating experience!

Is this the way to Kep?

The next day we kept hold of the scooters and took the busy and pot-holed road to Kep, 30minutes further down the road. The excitement and exhilaration of yesterday’s ride was replaced with nerves of the handling the Suzki in the traffic – did that truck really need to come that close?!? Still, we made it to Kep without incident and started to explore a town lots of people rave about.

We started at the Crab market, eating 1/2kg of fresh crab, squid and pineapple cakes. We sat watching the goings on, taking pictures of the little market and wondering if this is it. Is this what people rave about? We continued on to the horrid little beach and started to take the back roads searching for a way into the National Park – we eventually found the route in, paid our monies and accelerated the bikes up the dirt track.

This again was a genius idea as we tootled up the fairly un-interesting path, stopping at the mediocre viewpoints, but riding the bikes along the dirt tracks was brilliant fun. We were crawling along most of the time, avoiding all the big ditches and pot-holes, adjusting our weight to stop the bike from kicking and squirming underneath us and ducking to avoid the low hanging branches. If road riding was intoxicating, this was something else, this was sheer, slow-speed enjoyment. Having said that, I’m not entirely sure our enjoyment was appreciated by the walkers we passed. They looked a little agitated at our presence.

We left the park and hit the dirt tracks again and I went ahead to find if it was the right direction – Kasper and Edo came along shortly afterwards with huge grins, messing about on the bikes made us all feel like teenagers again. As I say, riding the scooters is an intoxicating experience.

The road less travelled

On the way back from Kep Kasper and I decided to take the dirt trails to the caves and explore a bit more. Whilst we didn’t find the caves, we found something better – the locals.

Riding along, feeling on top of the world. Cruising along past scenery that just seemed unreal with it’s flat land, singular trees and buildings on stilts. Children would run from their houses to scream hello at us. People we’d pass stopped, stared and then waved as we rode past. Tractors drivers would yell and then wave frantically. We’d stop to take a picture of a scene and quickly be the focus of attention. It was all just natural interest and was an amazing experience.

I found my excitement. I left Kampot a happy man.

It’s a shame I’m having to include this disclaimer… I’ve had lots of comments from back home about the content of this post – it’s ever-so-slightly rude and therefore not for the sensitive, but it tells the story of Sihanoukville and the type of people you’ll meet there. If, therefore, you don’t like rudeness, please don’t read any further instead, check out the story about Kampot and Kep!

Person #1 – the Italian lady has a one night stand and wishes to share.

I was lucky in that the dorm I was staying in had a lovely Welsh/American couple and an older Italian lady, later with Edo and a random guy so was spared from the nights of squeaky mattresses and heavy panting above me. I settled into a great routine of getting up early-ish and working on my laptop writing blog posts, replying to emails, reading Twitter, Facebook, News channels etc.

One morning the Italian lady hadn’t returned and it was obvious what had happened. Shagaluff +1.

What was unexpected however was that when the Italian lady came back to our hostel in the morning, she sat beside Edo and I and started to tell us, in detail, about her one night stand. Edo and I sat with slightly bemused expressions – why on earth was she sharing this information?!? She then decided to show us a picture of Bamboo island and I happened to glance across – she scrolled past all the nice scenery pictures, went past the pictures of the beautiful sand and the bright blue sea and elected to show us… a picture of her doing a handstand and the splits.

I mean come-on!

Don’t get me wrong, the Italian lady was lovely and we chatted at length about some things and when I left she wished me well in a very genuine way. She was just, well, overly open about things that to me should remain private.

Person #2 – an Englishman and his stories

On the day I moved into Monkey Republic I met an Englishman and we chatted regularly. He’s a great guy and was one of those people you can have intelligent conversations about everything. Lets call him Mr Finger for reasons I’ll explain later. Mr Finger is one of those guys who you could talk with. He’s not pretentious or fake, he just is. He does some crazy things, but this isn’t an attempt at gaining attention, this is just him.

I like Mr Finger. He is one of the good guys.

Mr Finger doesn’t have many clothes anymore as when he left his previous hostel he quickly grabbed his laundry, dashed onto the bus and realised when he got to Sihanoukville that he had the wrong bag of clothes. The clothes were several sizes too small and don’t really fit him so he is embracing this fact and by not only wearing his new clothes but is also wearing a women’s vest top which is clearly way too small for him – to him it doesn’t matter, his options were limited anyway.

Mr Finger tells me he is trying to become Gay as he doesn’t really like women but he just can’t get away with the sex side of things. He is repulsed by the idea. He tells me that whilst travelling he’s shared beds with mates when necessary (we all have) but he had to stop as it appears he’s a “narcoleptic gay person”. Apparently he’d be shaken awake at 4am by the man sleeping beside him – it transpires he’d been cupping their balls unknowingly. He tells me this in a matter of fact way. Mr Finger is very entertaining.

We go on the booze cruise and Mr Finger is there, dancing away in his lady’s vest top, his boxers pulled into a thong and his shorts around his ankles. He’s chatting away and his mates around him making derogatory comments about an event which he wished to remain quiet. It doesn’t stay that way for long – he looks slightly pained as the story is retold, he’s not too proud of what he did but he’s not ashamed either.

The stories goes that Mr Finger “had” to have sex one night. He didn’t want to have sex, but he was forced to. I queried this and got a shrug of the shoulders – I guess he didn’t understand the logic either. To make his protest at having to perform, he took said lady and bent her over a railing so that the she was looking at the rubbish below (for “romance” he said). He is then going through the motions, his hand cupping her breast and is apparently bored. He doesn’t want to be here so he decides to try and curtail the entertainment by sticking his finger up her bum.

At this point I’m helpless. Mr Finger’s face is of passive, resigned bemusement. His mates are creased with laughter. I’m almost crying.

Mr Finger gets progressively drunker as the day goes on and at the end of the day decides he needs a pee so uses the back the boat about 10m before we dock. The jolt makes him lose his wallet into the sea – it contains around $70 and his cards. He’s penniless and without any method of getting more money. The next morning he is a little worried about what to do so I suggest asking the scuba divers from the office next door to don gear and dive for it. He looks pained and answers “I can’t – I’d look a right tw*t asking them to go diving for a pink Barbie purse”.

Mr Finger, you are a legend.

First stop, a hell-hole of a hostel

When we arrived the bus dropped us off at the terminal on the outskirts of the city and the Tuk Tuk’s were there in force to take us down the beach. It was only $2 each, but we stopped here purely to spread the wealth. Oh, sod it, here’s $2, to the hostel James!

Ah, the desired hostel is full. The entire town is  filling fast and you have to act quickly to get a room. We took the first place on offer for $3 – a dorm bed with 23 other people. A meal on the beach ($3 for a delicious Tuna steak and baked potato), a couple of beers and an early night. Or at least, an attempt at an early night.

The hostel we stayed in has free accommodation in rainy season, plays music loudly until 5am, the air-con is “broken”, the room is like a sauna, the fans don’t work or are switched off, people run in and out all night shouting from the bar… It was a terrible, sweaty sleepless night. To further cement my hatred of this hell-hole I’d dropped some laundry off and when I went back to collect it, it hadn’t been washed – the owners response was “we said 3pm, not 3pm today”. He didn’t make it onto my Christmas card list.

Later I found out people have DIED in the hostel (admittedly through alcohol abuse and late night pool action) but come-on. Is there a worse hostel anywhere?!?

The next day I moved to Monkey Republic and all was right with the world. A small 4 bed dorm, comfortable mattresses, a nice cool breeze (to the point I was cold at night), a private toilet and good music which shuts off at 1am… Ah, bliss.

So… Sihanoukville then

There isn’t much to do here. You get up, go to the beach and then drink in the evening. There is a boat tour to the islands for $25 (which I didn’t go on although wish I had) and various booze cruises. It’s mostly about the drinking and we all know where that leads… Lots and lots of people having sex. People seem to be on heat and the bars at night are full of men chasing women and women chasing men. It’s all extraordinarily open and unlike anything I’ve seen before.

It’s fun to watch though. You get to see the rejections and the acceptance kisses. You get to see those rejected start to chase someone else. You get to see the guys looking around to see if there is a better alternative to the predatory lady which has walked up to them and the others stalking each other. You get to see those who don’t care and dismiss attention.  You get to see the overly confident jocks and the under-confident people standing alone. They are all here. They are all after one thing and it all happens in the dorm rooms, the pools, the beach, the side street, the toilets, the sea, the pier…

The beach

Whenever I read the words “The Beach” I think of the novel by Alex Garland. Sihanoukville beach is the exact opposite of the idyllic paradise described in the book. It is a little strip of dirty sand with loungers and seats lining the none tidal part. The sea is luke warm and pleasant enough but go to far and you’re at risk of been hit by the jet-ski’s or speed boats which come way too close to the shore. Sit on the seats for a minute and you’ll start to be pestered. The beggars, the fruit sellers, the masseuses, the bracelet makers, the pick-pockets the hair removal people…

Ah yes, the hair removal people. The slightly amusing but ultimately rude hair removal people. They offer to shave anything that is vaguely hairy using small pieces of string to pluck out the hairs. It’s effective, but not really the sort of thing I want to have done on the beach. One seller in particular disagreed though, she thought I should have my back shaved. She was insistent and for $10 would clean my back entirely. She used all her sales techniques from calling me King Kong, pointing out I looked like a Gorilla and even going so far as shaving my left shoulder. I didn’t want it done so pretended it really hurt which earned more derision from her until eventually she eventually stopped. The others were messing themselves with laughter as he continued her insulting ways and I’m just sitting there saying “no” repeatedly.

My shoulder was really smooth though.

Back to the sand strip, aka the beach. Move along past the Western area and you’ll find the locals and the filth. Piles of rubbish lie along side rotting food alongside people eating. Electric wires hang low over the walkways and everyone is crammed on top of each other on little stools under protective roofs. It’s messy and just plain nasty. Keep going past the stalls and you come to a more open beach which is strewn with rubbish. It’s everywhere and not particularly nice. Keep going and you come across more locals digging away in the sand collecting pebbles. I’ve no idea why, but they are all doing it.

Don’t go to Sihanoukville just for the beach *.

* I’m told that Otres beach is much nicer and worth the visit, but I didn’t make it for various reasons.

So, thats a lot of bad things, what was the draw that kept here for a week?

This whole post I’ve been talking that I didn’t like the place and I appreciate it’s odd I stayed for sevens days when I didn’t like the place. Thats not the entire story, I did like Sihanoukville and I was a little reluctant to leave as I’d settled into a nice routine. It’s relatively cheap at $3 a dorm and ~$3 a meal. The entertainment factor is high watching and chatting to people (see my anecdotes post for some stories).

However, none of these are the reason I stayed. I had a bad stomach and was forced to stay near a toilet and couldn’t stomach (literally) a bus journey for a few days. Not a particularly great reason eh

Propaganda ahoy

I’ve mentioned a few times in my different posts about Vietnam that there is something a little odd about the way it presents information about itself and it’s history. My first taste of this was at the Hanoi Hilton. You walk in the door and you are greeted by a poster discussing the “Imperialistic French and the engine of repression”, it goes on to explain in detail how the French were sadistic and evil people. you walk through the various rooms and are shown more and more things about how bad the French were to the people of Vietnam. Compare this to the rooms about the Vietnam War where where they say how well they treat the POW’s, how they were allowed to play Volleyball and receive the care packages from home…

At the other end of the country is the Cu Chi Tunnels where you get to hear from the guides about how the traps they built to maim the enemy. How their children won the “American Killer Award” for shooting American GI’s…

Then the Vietnamese Pièce de résistance, the main Military museum. You have pictures of showing you protests held against the American involvement from around the world, the atrocities the Americans committed, what agent orange did and more. The captions under all the pictures tell you what the picture is of, but often I had to ask myself “really?”.

Sometimes it pays to ask the question “really?”

Back in school I had a problem with English literature lessons when you had to analyse a poem, a story or a book. The teacher was always trying to get us to look for the symbolism the author was trying to portray and I could never understand why we agonised trying to work this out – can you not just take the poem or story at face value? Why was she so obsessed that Lord Of The Flies was not a tale of boys on an island but of a candid take on society as it stood. Given my opinion was different to hers, I was therefore “wrong”. I would write my essay about what I saw in the poem or story and I’d get a lecture about how I hadn’t learned to see the symbolism yet. Here, half my lifetime later, applying my way of thinking to the museums in Vietnam elicits the same response from fellow travellers – I am “wrong”. I guess I still haven’t learned.

I look at the picture of a GI holding a mutilated corpse up with the caption “An American GI holds up the mutilated corpse of a Vietnamese soldier killed by a grenade” and ask what was the Vietnamese person doing before the Grenade was thrown, who threw the grenade and even was a grenade thrown at all or was it a land mine?

The picture of an Vietnamese woman and child coming out of door with the caption “Even women and babies are targets of U.S. Americal (sic) Division mopping up operations” and suggest she doesn’t look too scared and the soldier isn’t acting in a confrontational manor. Was this woman really been led out to be slaughtered?

Then I see the picture of people tied behind a tank with the caption “GI’s tie up prisoners to their tank and drag them to death” and am horrified at the image. My cynical brain looks at it and thinks there might be an alternative explanation but surely there was a better way to have conducted themselves rather than having this picture taken.

Go into the room showing the affects of Agent Orange and against the bright orange paint, you will see shocking pictures of people with extraordinary mutations, of adults with stunted growth and of children with disfigurements. They show people born in 1994 who have no limbs and I ask myself if these are all the affects of Agent Orange or just naturally occurring. With no counter arguments and an obvious bias in the rest of the museum why should I believe this room? Where is the information on the American’s similarly affected? Of the reasons why the chemical was used in the first place and of the efforts made to clean it up.

I should say, I don’t condone the war

I don’t know enough to be able to argue the merits for or against the Vietnam War nor of the various politics that exist around the world so these are opinions formed from what I’m looking at. I don’t condone the Vietnam war and I’m completely sure that terrible things happened on both sides.

Having said that, I am still amazed at how the Vietnam government portray their history in such an obvious and biased way. Worse than that, I can’t understand why the visitors lap it up. Why do they walk around, mouths a-gap muttering quietly and just believing someone else’s interpretation? Where is the independent thought? Why aren’t they asking questions? Why are they so trusting of something borne of corruption?

Maybe I haven’t learned to see symbolism in poems, but heck, I prefer my method of asking questions!

So what do I mean by saying Vietnam has a Chip On It’s Shoulder?

In Vietnam, it feels like the people expect something. The propaganda machine is every where from the streets of Ho Chi Minh City to the tourist haunts of Cu Chi, the museums, the guide in Phong Nha… It’s literally spoon fed to the locals so it’s no surprise therefore that the locals feel aggrieved for the atrocities of the past and that we owe them something. It’s no surprise that they expect we’ll pay more money for everything. Having said that, I don’t think the tourists of the past have helped either as discussed in my other post, Vietnam has a Tourism problem either!

Look around you and it’s obvious corruption is everywhere. My basic understanding of Socialism/Communism is that people should be equals with no rich and no poor. People shouldn’t be begging on the streets whilst the wealthy drive around in Bentley’s and own apartment blocks. In Vietnam, this happens – you have the weak and poor beside a walled and guarded apartment block. Everyone is far from equal…

In Phong Nha the road past the hostel was meant to be paved, the monies were raised but then only 50m were completed and the funds ran out – it had lined the politicians pockets instead.

Someone was telling me that they built a new highway in Ho Chi Minh and planned it completely straight, simply destroying any buildings in the way. People were confused therefore when it would detour around a particular building – it turned out the buildings were owned by a Communist party member and therefore protected. Similarly, he told me that one of his friends bought an apartment building with a view to renting it out. He did his due diligence and the sale went through, monies exchanged hands and then a week later the building was taken off him for the new highway. He wasn’t a member of the Communist party.

Corruption and the sense of entitlement is everywhere. You can’t get away from it and you can’t embrace it. It’s best to try and ignore it but most of the time you can’t.

Is this the problem with Vietnam? Is this why the travellers didn’t like it?

I have no idea. I really don’t. I’ve been trying to work out what is up with Vietnam and wrote these two blog posts (the other about the problems with tourism) trying to understand what it was that makes Vietnam “bad”, but I am not convinced I’ve worked it out yet. I think it’s a mixture of everything – expectation, the sense of entitlement people have, the corruption, the apparent danger, the rain, the lack of true adventures and the constant battle to be treated fairly.

I don’t think I’ll ever return to Vietnam and explain this to people. Whilst I’m not about to try and persuade people not to go, I just hope they have a realistic view of what it is they will find there. It isn’t the utopia it once was!

Further reading

If you head across to the sister post Vietnam has a Tourism problem, you can find a some of other articles I came across in the week these posts were scheduled.

Expectations, un-met

Before I came here I spent a lot of time listening to a friend who had travelled around the world five years ago. She talked at length about how great Vietnam was and how she really enjoyed spending time there. Combined with my desire to hit the Phong Nha National Park, Vietnam was high on my list countries I was excited about. In fact, it was the only country in South East Asia I was interested in visiting.

Now that I’ve left, I can say Vietnam as a whole was a complete let down for me. Perhaps the surprising thing is that this is the feeling shared by many of the travellers I talk to. No-one can pin-point why they didn’t like it though.

I have two theories, first of all the contents of this post, the affects of tourism explosion. Secondly, the country seems to have a chip on it’s shoulder and is not what you’d expect from a Communist country.

Vietnam, tourism explosion

On my travels so far I’ve visited around 15 countries or so and it is sometimes obvious how each differ in terms of how they treat me, the tourist. Some places welcome me in with open arms and will do anything to assist you as they are so happy to have me visit them, whereas others consider you to be simply an ATM and try and take as much money from you as possible.

I personally think that the Vietnam most people sees has a problem and it’s to do with the way tourism has developed here – there are 6 main destinations in Vietnam that create a route from Ho Chi Minh to Hanoi (Ho Chi Minh, Mui Ne, Dalat, Nha Trang, Hoi An, Hue, Hanoi) and you can get a bus ticket with stops at each of these destinations for around $50. As a result, the backpackers & tourists pretty much travel from one spot to the next – the locals know this and they exploit it.

I’ve seen locals fighting with Westerners for no apparent reason (I saw a security guard hit an Ozzie bloke in the face with a Taser because the cue ball was stuck in the pool table). I’ve had security guards manhandle me because our group refused to pay the surprise “service charge” of 20%. I’ve heard of people getting robbed, of scams, incorrect change been given everytime and of motorbike bag snatching. I’ve heard of Gang Warfare on the streets of Mui Ne. I’ve seen the results of a man getting date-raped…The stories go on but they all tend to come from the stops between the main cities. The locals have become accustomed to the Westerners arriving by the bus load and exploit this with impunity. It has lead to an unpleasant situation where whilst you’re not loathed to go out, you are constantly on guard, watching the locals and what they are going to do next.

So, is it all bad and Vietnam is a corrupt, horrid country?

No. Far from it. I stopped off at some places not on the main Westerner tourist trail (Ninh Binh, Phong Nha and Vung Tau) and the Vietnamese people show what they used to be made of.

Sure they pester people asking them to buy things and they’ll try to charge you more, but it feels that they do so with respect and are open to bargaining. They’ll charge out of their homes as you go past just to say hello. They have open fascination with the Westerners and will just stop and watch what we’re up to. They’ll joke on and tease us for having a different culture. When they don’t speak English they’ll do everything they can to play charades with you so that we can communicate. They come across as brutally honest in their dealings chasing people to make sure they get their change or returning my camera when I left it behind.

So, as I said, Vietnam to me is a country of two halves – the places on the main tourist trail have become corrupt with the arrival of Western money whereas pop somewhere off the beaten track and you’ll find truly lovely people. I would hazard a guess and say that the unbeaten track is the Vietnam of 5 years ago.

Further reading

My companion post to this, Vietnam has a chip on it’s shoulder is worth a look but over the past week or so (whilst these posts have been sitting scheduled) I’ve seen quite a few interesting articles appear online such as Wandering Earl’s When Tourism Goes Terribly Wrong, yTravelBlog’s When Travel Destinations get Trashed And People Die, Nomadic Matt’s post on Huffington Post Why I’ll never Return to Vietnam.

See, it’s not just me!

What to do, what to do

As with every destination there is always the question of “what to do”. Sometimes it’s obvious and you went there with a specific purpose, other-times there is a devoid of knowledge. Ho Chi Minh falls into this category – it’s the last (or first) stop before Cambodia and is the stopping off point for the Mekong Delta and Cu Chi tunnels, but other than that?

There is a the Water Puppet show you can visit, but I’d already done that in Hanoi. There is the Military Museum which whilst worth a visit displays the corruption and that is prevalent across the whole country. There is an Opera house, but that isn’t my thing. You can walk the streets shopping in all the expensive shops buying your Guicci, Louis Vuitton… There is the Cathedral and the impressive Post Office. There is the river side and another market. There is the Western drinking area where the staff overcharge and the security guards are aggressive manhandling you when you complain…

I’m struggling to think of anything “great” and noteworthy.

There is cheap beer. That is a good thing. If you go to one of the streets a couple of vendors have little seats on the sidewalk and serve 50c bottles and 25c draft beer. It’s fun to sit with a beer and watch the people in the “bar” opposite.

Ho Chi Minh City, done.