decompress

We arrived in Sihanoukville at nightfall and took a few days to decompress. There are nice beaches but not as many as you'd think. We just spent the time swimming, reading and writing. The snorkeling is somewhat unspectacular as the area has been overfished by dynamite. But it is a beautiful setting with lovely, unusual sunsets.

We took a day out and decided to head east to Kampot and Kep, the old French Colonial Towns that there wasn't much left of anymore, but ride was pretty wonderful. With Andy driving and Sarah on back, we took off helmet-less (the Cambodian way) up Highway 4 turning East on Highway 3. In the distance we see the huge lurking figure of Bokor 'Hill,' an enormous plateau 1000+ meters high stretching miles and miles in every direction, consisting of a National Park and the French Ghost town at the Hill Station with shells of hotels and casinos and water towers still standing. We had heard you could get up there and thought it might be an interesting detour.


But first we had to get through the dust choking roads and unstable rocky layout to Kampot. After holding our breath and protecting our eyes as much as possible, we made the 3-hour trip without incident, and saw some amazing scenery along the way, with kids (and adults) greeting us with hearty "Hello(s)!" the entire way. This time we treated ourselves to hot water and air conditioning and did something a little different -- sat in our room and watched HBO, one cheesy movie after another and did absolutely nothing except eat grilled chicken and frog.

After checking out the surreal little seaside town of Kep the next day, we came back through Kampot and found the entrace to Bokor Hill. It was 12pm and we learned that it would take 3 hours to come up and 2 hours to come down and the sun set at 5:30pm. And the entire 30km road up was in disarray. 4x4's or mountain bikes are recommended, but moto-bikes have made the trip. Andy asked the woman taking the $5 for the 'privilige' of using the road if we could do it on our little moto-bike. She turns to some old man sleeping in a hammock in the other building. He says something back and she tells Andy, yeah you could do it. After much internal debate we decided to go for it and just stay up on the mountain for the night. The woman said there was a ranger station and that we could find good "Thai noodles" up there.

We knew the road was bad but didn't realize just how bad. It was pretty much intense concentration for not 3, but 4+ hours just keeping the bike from falling over through big stones, dirt gullies, little stones and the worst -- miles and miles of medium-sized stones stretching end to end that simply ate tires up and felt like a hand was reaching over and trying to pull the bike down. At 4:30 pm and pretty exhausted, we saw the glorious sight of hulking old buildings on the horizon -- Bokor Hill Station. Before we checked in, Andy noticed another problem, we had used so much gas struggling to the top, we only had a little over 1/4 of a tank of fuel left. Surely they would sell fuel there, right? Anywhere there's a way to make a dollar, they're there.

We checked in at the Ranger's, got supplies for an immediate picnic stat! (we hadn't had any food since 9am) and set out to watch the sunset from the shell of the old Palace Hotel -- a glorious structure built by the French in 1908, briefly used by the Khmer Rouge as a hideout, and now a ghost of its former self, covered with brightly-colored orange moss, with glass shards and original French tiles scattered about. On the middle terrace of the grand structure at the edge of the plateau, we watched an almost indescribable sunset over the horizon in the distance 1000+ meters below. Enormous grey clouds gently wafted right over our heads like an giant, abducting spaceship. You better believe that drive was worth it, but next time we might hop in the back of a truck!

When we got back to the Ranger station, we found out, amazingly, that they did NOT sell fuel. A couple of the Ranger guys looked at the gauge and said that we could still make it down as it takes much less fuel. We guessed we really didn't have a choice!


The next morning we ate the 'thai noodles' which were really just a dyhadrated cup of Nissin. We decided before we left to hike to the waterfall, which ended up being a disappointing trickle. We wondered how it could be the gusher all the books were talking about because we were already on top of the giant plateau. Where exactly was the river coming from? The main story though was Sarah who, wearing flip flops, somehow got stung by a giant black ant on her foot. It really smarted, and she was writhing in pain for a few minutes collapsed to the ground almost on the verge of tears. Andy thought if she passed out or something, he might have to carry her or run back the 6 miles to get help. Luckily, it retreated to simply a big red welt and she was able to hike on and not even notice it for the rest of the day, but it was a real scare for a few minutes. We hoped this wasn't a bad omen for the ride down!
Actually, the ride down turned out to be much easier (relatively speaking) than going up. It was the same road but it seemed as if the rocks were bouncing off a little more gently, the road falling a little more easily in our direction. That said, it was still a ride from hell that lasted well over 2 hours, took the life of a disfigured the right brake pedal, and after the pounding our bodies took the day before, just seemed like it would never end. At about 2pm, we emerged from the park, saw the same non-plussed lady from the day before and went on. We did manage to convince a couple of locals to try to bend back the brake pedal to its original position, but it was still pretty messed up. We got plenty of gas and made it back to Sihanoukville a day late, but in fine fashion, and well before sunset (You don't want to be on those roads at night). Luckily the renter never discovered the cosmetic damage to the brake and took the best $12 we ever spent for four days.



A couple of more days and then we're on to Angkor Wat, then either Northeastern Cambodia or directly to Laos. See? We don't have EVERYTHING planned out. Sometimes we even make it up as we go along!



Thanks: to everyone who is still following along and enjoying the details. And thanks to everyone who is replying to the blog. We really love hearing from you, as many times, the only other friends we find ourselves having is subtitled HBO! We miss you.

'on cue'

The bus of course took not 4, not 5, but 6 + hours. Two ferries and one nightfall later we were in the dumpy town of Chau Doc set to hightail it out by boat in the morning. We ended up taking a rickshaw to the docks where the guy with us from the hotel found a woman willing to row us by hand in her long boat. While boarding with our big packs on the unstable, narrow vessel, Sarah almost fell and we almost capsized, right there in the dock. A few moments later, we were off. The woman was rowing hard for a long way and we were passing right through the middle of a fascinating floating village complete with blaring TV's and children waving to us (almost 'on cue') then met up with our real boat, which only had about 10 others in it as we chugged up the mighty Mekong River and stopped at the border. As promised, formalities on the Vietnam side were not a problem. We had lunch, then got on another boat. A boy was pleading with Sarah to give him her pen. She gave it to him thinking, "Poor thing,he has nothing to write with. How will he ever learn, get ahead or have a descent chance at life without a measly pen?" She then looked on the other side of the boat and there appeared the same boy with the pen asking another guy filling out a customs form if he wanted to buy it!

The boat left and crossed the border into Cambodia. We then disembarked for formalities there, which was also painless. 

A couple of hours later, the cattle along the river changed from being velvet-y brown to white. They also seemed to grow in size and a few were even being bathed in the river by their meticulous Cambodian owners. Almost every group of children that saw us let out ecstatic screams of "Hello! Hello! Hello! Goodbye!"

We boarded a bus at our stop and were soon on our way to Phnom Penh, the capital, when we noticed another change. Now there were huge groups of people riding on the TOP of buses and minibuses. And we were iffy about our luggage being up there.

We arrived in Phom Penh and had a little trouble finding some place to stay as it seemed like everything was really booked. Once we did, we stayed there for a few days visiting the Palace, Silver Pagoda, S. 21, and the Killing Fields, witnessing firsthand the horrors of the Khmer Rouge regime, and how they orchestrated the most bizarre, closed-off government and social experiment in recent memory. Supposedly, from 1975-78, they abolished the calendar and made everything start at year 0, sealed all borders and canceled all flights except one night flight to Beijing, suspended the entire postal service, and required every citizen, including all women, children, elderly and infirm, EVERYONE to go out into the fields to work every day in backbreaking conditions, abolished schools and were suspicious of anyone intellectual -- to the point of executing an estimated 2 million people. Apparently no one in the world had enough political currency at the time to intervene except the Vietnamese, whose border was being crossed and attacked by the Khmer -- a decision they perhaps regretted as the Vietnamese invaded the entire country and kicked the Khmer back into the hills. Andy spoke with a few people who said the Khmer were still around 'in the hundreds,' mostly in the mountains, but that most people, in their words, "No like."


We also went to the only hill in town and saw monkeys -- TONS of monkeys playing around the temple -- so many it was almost a little gross. Andy also tried a few of the popular local delicacies including spider, which the leg tasted like crispy pork skin, cricket or grashopper (not sure which one), which tasted the same, and silk worm, which was the toughest psychologically to get past just because of the squishy texture, but in the end, it actually tasted like a creamy brazil nut. All were fine, it was just getting past a huge mental roadblock.

Our next stop was to go south to the coast and Sihanoukville, the beachside 'resort' that was a favorite of the old King Sihanouk. There we'd rest up, catch up and maybe have a little side adventure. At 1pm, we were on the promised four hour bus ride. This time, the times turned out to be accurate!

grotty but not dirty

The train in Vietnam was grotty -- but not dirty (unlike in China, where it kinda felt like staff assumed that bathrooms would eventually clean themselves with moving air drying everything -- including squatting toilets on a moving train!) and with few stops in the night, we slept very soundly in our own compartment. Awoke to beautiful jungle and rice fields passing by in the pouring rain and when we arrived in Hue, realized just how heavy the downpour was. We decided right then and there to skip Hue entirely (as the rain seemed to be settling in) and move on to Hoi An, the beautiful little town to the south, 4km from the beach. We had a couple of hours to wait out the downpour with all our stuff in the train station.

In the meantime, Andy met Mr. Pho, a driver/guide/ticket-broker from Hue. Over some noodles at his friend's outdoor cafe, he regaled Andy with some snapshots of Vietnam life. When asked about the feelings towards the police (and rumoured corruption) here, Mr. Pho said, "If I did something wrong, I'd be afraid of them." He then said that there was indeed a huge neighborhood watch-like network justice system here. If someone stole a moped, his description would be broadcast over enormous loudspeakers used for Communist messages and everyone would be on the lookout and talk about where they had seen them and where they were going. And if someone "from the Middle East leaves a bag in the railway station, people will talk to each other/the police and jump him and get rid of the bag." He believed that it was only a matter of time that terrorists would want to disrupt the tourist infrastructure there. He also said his father and four sisters were lost to a bomb near Hue during the American-Vietnam war. He wasn't sure if it was an American, South-Vietnamese or North-Vietnamese bomb, (and he did actually hear it explode but couldn't really talk about that part as he started to choke up) but when asked about his feelings toward America now and Americans coming to visit, he said that, he understood that at the time, the "Americans had to come" because of "the world politics" and to stop the "spread of communism." But now, "No one hate Americans. We try to look to the future and move forward." We would also hear many other travelers who spoke to locals say that they said the same thing, although some questioned if the sentiment was true and perhaps a well-organized propaganda effort. Our feeling was, if the sentiment wasn't true, the responses were certainly well-organized, because virtually all said the same thing.

The bus was an hour late from promised departure and two hours late from promised arrival. Nevertheless, we made it into Hoi An just after dark, and enjoyed the cuisine the town is famous for, having our best meals of the trip. There's also tailors all over the place that can make anything. And all four of us got clothes made in one form or another. Andy and Steve went fishing one day. But this was fishing in an overfished river, so the trip ended up being more for the view than for the fish. We also visited the ancient Cham remains at My Son (MEE-SON) and enjoyed the wavy beach 4km away.

A few days later, we decided to hard-core it with an overnight bus to Nha Trang, then another bus to Mui Ne beach, arriving around noon (of course this time taking promised times with a huge grain of salt). The bus turned out to be almost pleasant, making few stops and all of us getting descent rest. The ride from Nha Trang to Mui Ne was especially pretty as the route runs through lovely mountains and rice fields, then gives way to rolling red and white sand dunes after the main turnoff of Highway 1. !

In Mui Ne, we enjoyed the beach, mopeds and the giant reclining Buddha, as well as the fact that we narrowly missed a category 4 Typhoon that hit Hoi An the very day after we had left



They say you truly haven't experienced Vietnam until you've ridden a motor bike on Highway 1 (actually I'm not sure if they say it, but if they don't say it, they should). It was an experience that didn't disappoint. Sarah was on the back with Andy and Anne was on the back with Steve. After the initial 'shock and awe' of careening vehicles that seemed to obey few rules except perhaps 'Might makes right,' it was one of the most memorable of all our experiences. We did catch a huge downpour, got soaked and Andy ran out of gas, but we were soon in a cafe sipping on world-famous Vietnamese coffee as the rain passed over us. The next day we also rode to Vietnam's largest Buddah, the Giant Reclining Buddah in the mountain 30km away. The experience of riding sans helmet through the aroma of nuoc mam (fish sauce) fermenting in clay barrels and passing dragon fruit and trees stretching for miles was unforgettable.


We decided to check out Dalat before heading into our last days with Anne and Steve in Saigon. The bus ride there was impressive as Dalat is high in the mountains, but perhaps the most interesting thing about the town (aside from a few kitschy Niagra Falls-ish honeymoon places) was the cool relief it offered. We decided to head out for Saigon the next day which turned out to be a beautiful drive through coffee and tea trees in the mountains descending to house after house with religious statues and icons on each of the porches. It was mile after mile of Virgin Marys, Crucifixes, and Ark Angel Michaels before we arrived in Saigon.

Turns out, Saigon proved to be less of the theft-ridden, aggressive-tout-laden city the guidebooks built it up to be (that award goes to Hanoi) and was actually quite pleasant. We did some awesome walking tours, shopping and actually found the city generally quite charming. We were sad that it was our last couple of days with Anne and Steve but were thankful that they came such great distance to visit and that we had the chance to spend a Vietnam adventure together.

We said goodbyes at 4am in the morning, and for the next couple of days we toured more of the city (few different neighborhoods, got haircuts, the War Remnants Museum) then realized we only had three more days left on our visa. We had to get out of the country! We booked a bus/boat combination that took advantage of a small, less-traveled river route into Cambodia, our next destination. It would take two days to complete and, in theory, we should cross the border on the day the visa expired. Andy tried to confirm with the tour guy that this was okay, leaving on the day of expiration and not the day before. If not, there could be a hefty fine or worse. He said "Sure. No problem." Then again, he also promised our bus would take only four hours...