Monday 17 January 2011

...With things that go bump, scuttle in the night.

We knew it had all being going too smoothly.
It was 4am and I just could not get to sleep - not helped by the music that blurred from our hostel in Sihanoukville, Cambodia, until 2am.
But things went further downhill when I felt something land and start scurrying up my leg.
The force of my volleying the invader across the room woke The One With The Common Sense, who quite reasonably explained that I was tired, and that I had probably just felt the fan blowing against my silk sleeping bag.
Calmed, I lay back down. But when I felt the same sensation again, I was up and the light was on. A quick inspection of the room revealed an inch-and-a-half long cockroach, which promptly disappeared when I went to fetch a broom to sweep it outside.
So, the rest of the night was spent with my fatigued imagination picturing legions of the little bleeders making a beeline up my leg and onto my head.
There are places around here where you can eat deep-fried roach, so I may yet get my revenge.

I guess you know you are becoming accustomed to Asia, when you are no longer surprised to see an entire family of four riding on a moped.
However, it must be a long time before a trip on a Cambodian trunk road becomes anything other than an eye-opener. Highlights so far have been a gaggle of ducks tied to a van roof, a minibus so full of belongings it had half a motorbike sticking out of the back and two blokes riding a moped with, quite literally, a piggy in the middle. I'm guessing it was dead.
One young girl came to our bus door offering a live hen for sale in a bamboo cage, which brings a whole new meaning to the phrase "chicken in a basket".
Our bus journeys have been a lesson in Cambodian driving.
The drivers' main tactic in overtaking the motorbikes that make up the majority of the traffic here seems to be to drive up behind them as quickly as possible, scare the bejaysus out of them with a few loud honks on the horn and then pull off a Schumacher-esque move to force them onto the dirt track at the side of the asphalt. One bus advertised a "Western toilet" as a selling point, by which I think it meant it smelled like the gents in the Melrose Inn at home because the odour permeated the entire bus.

All that said, it's easy to see why Cambodia holds such a special place in the hearts of those who come here.
The people really are lovely, with all the kids shouting "hello" every time we pass. The One With The Common Sense's army of admirers is growing, with one teenage boy shouting "I want your love" as we passed during a cycle ride to the waterfalls near Kampot today. Of course, it being the hot season, the waterfalls were dry (excellent planning on our part) but it was still a very pleasant trip. Not to be outdone by my better half, I too gained a fan in the form of a two-year-old girl, Nisa, who taught me how to count to five in Khmer when we stopped for a Coke and blew me a kiss as we left. I haven't lost it.

The food here is beautiful.
Last night I had crab fried in green peppercorns that Kampot province is famed for. The French influence - from their time as colonial rulers between 1864 and 1953 - can also be seen, not just in the architecture and boules games but in amazing baguettes filled with cheese and salad, but slathered with ginger chutney and chilli. Amazing.
The atmosphere in the smaller towns is great, so relaxed. Kampot has been a real pleasure to stroll around, its river flowing between homes on stilts on one side and colonial buildings on the other. We move on tomorrow. Not decided where to yet.

No comments:

Post a Comment