Week 9: Days Trips

The day trip/excursion is a popular backpacker pass time with tour operators vying for your attention with offers of "free water" or additionally useless gestures. They will advertise a trip to some lovely idyllic place that shows the best bits of the country and you only have to pay "x" much to experience it. I have come to be a little skeptical of said trips since they rarely are what they appear to be. I have two examples on offer- one day of snorkeling and one trekking through a national park. I have to say the result of my snorkeling endeavor was completely self inflicted but the trekking was a little different from the advert.

After we left Phnom Penh we headed to the coast and Sihanoukville which is a little backpacker haven with a lovely stretch of beach, bars and restaurants. Self-indulgent perhaps but it was really too hot to care.

There are a few smaller islands around Sihanoukville which boast excellent diving spots. Of course for those who cannot dive there is always the option of snorkeling. There were numerous places that offered days trips and I was keen to explore.

Lizzie on the other hand preferred to stay on dry land so off I went on my own into the unknown waters.

When I arrived at the meeting point early in the morning it appeared that it would just be me and a middle aged Japanese man on the tour. We were later joined by a Frenchman and his eight year old son, a young Swiss man and many Khmer diving instructors. It turned out that I would be bobbing on the surface alone while the others did their dives. This made little difference to me since I realised that while snorkeling is hardly a social activity anyway.

The boat took about two hours to reach the first spot where we would have an hour and then lunch then another hour of snorkeling before heading back. The first "snorkel" was lovely. There were a lot of incredible coral formations, anemones and fish to admire.

We had a simple lunch on one of the islands and then headed out for our second dive. When I got in the water a second time I realised that my legs were beginning to sting a little. I thought it must just be the salt but then in a horrible moment of recognition the burning pain down the back of each pale leg was a little too familiar. I retreated back to the boat and dabbed my legs with lotion and tried not think about the pain for the two hour journey back.

When I got back to the room I examined the damage in the mirror; it looked as if someone had taken paint rollers to the back of my legs because now there was nothing to see but burnt red flesh. I spent the rest of the evening face down on my bed unable to put any weight on the delicate skin.

The next few days were a little difficult when it came to sitting down but with the aid of a lot of after-sun the skin finally healed. Well peeled then healed.

Just as I made this recovery we went off to Kampot which is a small but pretty town the main attraction being the nearby Bokor National Park. The park houses monkeys, tigers, pangolin and wild pigs. Safe to say the most we saw was some lizards but then again I think it's probably best we didn't bump into a tiger.

The trip was advertised as a "trek" so we did the responsible thing and asked just how strenuous this "trek" was. I don't know if I have mentioned this but I am not what you would call athletic. The guide warned us that the first part of the two and a half hour trek up was quite hard and then got easier. Full of confidence at our walking abilities (it wasn't as if we were getting in a boat or anything) we went back to our hostel excited about the following day.

We met our minibus with a young German couple and already inside were a French couple with their daughter who couldn't have been much older than five. I joked that she would probably find it the easiest while I would be sweating up the mountain but was comforted by the fact a child was allowed on the trip at all. It couldn't be that hard if the guides let a young child on the trek could it? We were also joined by an American girl our own age and an older German gentleman who seemed to be traveling alone.

The bus drove up the newly developed roads for the first ten minutes and then along with an English speaking guide and a ranger from the park (who had a rifle) we walked from the road into the trees and began up the mountain.

After the first few minutes I realised that this was going to be a little harder than I had previously thought. The first clue was the practically vertical slope in front of me and the second was the lack of things to hold onto while I attempted to do so. We were the last ones in the line (the little girl was having to be carried alternately by her parents) but we soon had to overtake the young German couple and the young American girl who looked seriously worried about the difficulty of the climb. We stopped in a clearing to admire the view and it seemed that the three we overtook had given up and returned to the truck.

As we kept walking the single German man asked us where the three had gone. "They had to go back" we replied. "Oh that couple were far too fat anyway" he commented, "I think the lady said she had asthma" Lizzie interjected, "They could do with the exercise" he carried on unperturbed by the potential danger the young German woman now faced. Now worried that my own size was being unknowingly commented on I tried to keep up as best I could. It was a hard climb but it wasn't nearly as bad as the bruises or scratches that I seemed to incur on the way due to my own clumsiness. It also didn't help that my walking boots we tearing my heels to shreds. We stopped again while the kind French lady offered me plasters for my blisters. The ranger with the rifle, who spoke no English, kept mock pretending to be out of breath while he easily bounded up the mountain in flip-flops. At first I smiled politely but when the impressions did not stop I began to wonder how quickly he might be able to run up the mountain if I had his rifle. His flip-flops would be of little use then.

Of course as a wise person once said, "What goes up must come down". We were to come down the mountain the way we had climbed up. I was not confident that I wouldn't just trip and quite literally roll all the way home.

We trekked for a further two hours and then the truck met us to take us to the very top.

Before the site was a National Park the top of the mountain had been a small village created by the French with a casino, hotel, post office and Church. The French colonialists had used the high altitude to escape the heat of the town. In the course of the many wars and internal conflicts in Cambodia the town was abandoned and all that remains are the empty buildings. It is oddly eery up there as we went through the casino, imagining a scene from the 1930s unfolding around us, we noticed the bullet holes in the walls from when the Khmer Rouge occupied the area.

The views from the top were incredible and it made the arduous trek worthwhile.

When it came to climb down the French couple couldn't carry their daughter and so asked if there was alternative transport. Lizzie and I also requested that we share what truck etc was provided, not trusting ourselves and knowing that gravity is a far stronger force than our balancing abilities. The insulting German didn't want to climb down alone with the armed ranger so he opted to join us too.

We waited at the spot we'd been dropped off at and up pulled a small hatch back. It had five seats. There were six of us on the tour and the tour guide, a driver and her son were already in the car. That made nine. Surely were weren't all going to fit? Like the sketch of clowns fitting into a mini we all squashed in with four in the back and five in the front- the guide and the woman shared the front seat while her son sat on her lap. The German was holding the young French girl and the four of us left were all sitting at odd angles in order to squeeze in the back.

It was exciting to say the least. We were glad that we had done it, in a sort of masochistic way, and the top had been extraordinary. It might just have been nice if they had told us that it was that hard. We still would have done it but then we could have felt stupid at our own fitness levels rather than deceived.

The snorkeling outcome was no ones fault but my own but I am still tempted to write to a certain sun-tan-lotion manufacturer to complain about their products water resistance levels.

After these strenuous outings we retreated to Kep and the tropical Rabbit Island where we lay in hammocks for two days and ate fresh seafood every night. I like to think we try to achieve some sort of balance on our travels.

Week 8: New Year

Cambodia, Laos and Thailand all share an alternative New Year to the West which is normally celebrated in mid-April. Each country has its own traditions but generally speaking it is a family time. They clean their houses and wash the temples to have a fresh start for the new year. In the spirit of cleanliness young people have water fights and plaster one another in talc as an extension of the more religious traditions.

We were excited to be in Cambodia for this national celebration and planned to be in the capital, Phnom Penh, for the three day event. First however, we were going to spend two nights in Battambang before heading further south.

We left Siem Reap to take a delightful boat trip along the Tonle Sap on one of the most scenic pieces of river in the country. It was advertised to take 4-5 hours. It took 9.

Battambang is a small Khmer town that, due to the French colonial buildings lining the riverbank, is quite beautiful. We spent our time wandering around and generally enjoying the peaceful atmosphere.

On one of these wanderings we passed a Wat and I was keen to have a look in the hope that one of the monks could explain to me a little more about the New Year celebrations.

I went in and sure enough a young temple boy took me round. The various statues surrounding the temple were decorated in coloured streamers and ribbon in preparation for the following few days.

The young boy also explained to me about basic Buddhist beliefs and stories. One story was depicted by a few statues and it couldn't help but catch the eye. It was the story of an Indian Prince who had never seen any unhappiness in his life because he had never left his palace. Buddha takes him outside to show him the real world including the old, the ill, the dead and also a monk none of which the Prince has seen before. When he sees the monk he vows to dedicate his life to Buddhism. The story I had no problem with the statues depicting it on the other hand were a little disturbing. More specifically the depiction of the dead man was really odd. They were all new statues, almost cartoon-esque, and painted in bright colours. The dead man was a man lying on the floor with a green face and a hole gouged out of his stomach where a statue of a bird was perched now eating his insides. For such a peaceful religion this seemed a little grotesque.

That evening Lizzie and I ventured to the only club in Battambang that was advertised as playing Khmer love ballads and house music. The intrigue was too great to resist.

Inside the "Sky Disco" we were unsurprised to find ourselves the only Westerners. The evening was evidently a special club night for the New Year. The only reason we knew this was because every now and again between remixes of American and Khmer rap, the DJ shouted "Happy New Year!" Also, there seemed to be some kind of special raffle where someone won an electric fan. We didn't get it but the winner seemed happy.

The following day we carried on to Phnom Penh. When we arrived at our hostel we asked the owner about any special celebrations going on for the holiday, "Not really", he replied, "Most people go out to the country to be with their families". We noticed that evening walking around the town that, for a capital city, it seemed quite quiet. We were hoping for huge water fights in the street when in fact we were lucky that things had stayed open at all.

The next day we saw some lights and heard music coming from a nearby Wat and went to investigate. The Wat served as a kind of roundabout and on this huge green space was a stage with a live band and families gathered to eat and dance.

We grabbed ourselves a drink and stood back from the crowd to watch the band. Soon we attracted the attention of a few young Khmer boys who were inviting us to dance with them. I say boys; Lizzie was asked to dance by a boy about our age who seemed genuinely friendly and meant no harm. I was asked to dance by a man in his late thirties with his front teeth missing. We both politely declined and retreated further back. We were just swaying and bobbing where we were when a small round woman, who was with the afore mentioned group of men, came up to us and indicated we should dance. We smiled and shook our heads. She then grabbed Lizzie's arm and dragged her towards the dance floor. Lizzie grabbed my opposite arm sending me spinning round before being dragged along behind. We found ourselves in the middle of group and could do nothing but dance. While dancing a few youths ran passed patting our faces with talc leaving hand prints across our faces.

All in all it was not what we had expected of the new year but we saw some celebrations and were invited to join in. I thought the dance must be the Khmer equivalent of singing Auld Lang Syne but without the organised handholding or everyone being too drunk to remember the words. Mybe the Khmer have it right.

Week 7: Children

I am not a naturally child-friendly person. I have no patience and I can't deal with snot making it difficult for me to be around these small people. Nevertheless it is difficult not to feel some obligation to protect them and shield them from harms way. In Siem Reap this was somewhat tested.

When we arrived in Siem Reap in Northern Cambodia after leaving Si Phan Don (Laos) one of the most obvious differences between the countries was the amount of beggar children. When we had breakfast at a street cafe on our first morning, at least three children approached us trying to sell books or postcards. Many were landmine victims themselves or had lost their families to landmines. I am ashamed to say how quickly we became immune to these horriffic stories; after that first day we would smile but politely and firmly decline the wares on offer.

It was our first day in the city, and my birthday, and not feeling quite up to the temples yet we wandered around the market and then, when it was too hot at almost 38oC, we headed to a nearby pool which had a little bar and restaurant attached.

The pool's entrance was almost hidden behind palm trees and when we entered the bar it seemed like a small oasis outside the bustling heat of the town.

We ordered ourselves two local beers and headed to the poolside.

The pool was absolutely full to bursting with children, screaming and playing with various inflatable toys. It was terrifying. One of the barmaids told us that it was an afterschool club for kids to keep them off the street and generally help them get a better life. I couldn't begrudge them that. I swiftly got into the pool, despite being gawped at by the children, to cool down.

Soon, I began to throw a beachball back and forth with one of the young girls and, to my surprise, had fun.

I turned around to see Lizzie surrounded by at least six young girls all shouting questions at her. The eldest couldn't have been more than twelve but their English was incrediblyy good. From what I could make out they were asking things like "Where are you from?", "How old are you?", "What's your name?". The standard questions.

It was only after these questions had been exhausted that they moved onto "Do you have a boyfriend?" to which Lizzie replied "No", to which they answered "But you old!" Apparently being single anywhere in the world carries a certain social stigma.

It was then that things got a little confusing. The children had already begun to climb over us and pinch us (inappropriately to say the least) but then asked Lizzie, "Where is your baby?" Lizzie was obviously even more confused, "Ï don't have a baby". Lizzie looked over to me for help but for once I was just glad to not be the focus of embarrassment. At this point a harmless young German man walked past and the children began pointing, "Does he have your baby?" The poor German looked even more confused than we did. "What? No!" Lizzie said while I just tried to shrug at the poor fellow to show we had no more idea than we did.

The German guy looked very confused and went back to sit by his girlfriend. She didn't look too happy.

Thankfully, the children were all retrieved from the pool and went home. It was a lot quieter after that. We are British and therefore have certain rules about personal space. These children managed to violate all of said social protocol.

In the evening when we went out on the road back to the hotel children were being sent out by their parents to beg. They would grab hold of your arms and beg to be bought food. There is no way to justify your reaction to this. If you ignore them you are being cruel but if you buy them some food will they not be hungry tomorrow?

Not knowing how to deal with this I walked quickly ahead only to turn around and see a child of about 5ft 3in climbing up Lizzie like she was a climbing frame. I gently tried to pry the child off her before quickly heading back to the guesthouse.

On another evening Lizzie refused to give money to a child and he smacked her bum really hard and then mine just for good measure. We did pity and try and empathise with these children but we did seem to attract a lot of (what we deemed unnecessary) physical abuse from them.

This I will admit is probably the blog that, so far, has been the least amusing. The way these children acted was funny only because they made us feel so uncomfortable and we were so stunned by their actions but if they were starving or relying on begging as an income I suppose they would try anything.

Saying that the children from the pool didn't really have this excuse. They just seemed to really like Lizzie.

Week 6: Health

I mentioned in the previous blog that Lizzie was unwell and this is no understatement. The poor thing was bed bound for 4 days. Eventually, we enlisted the help of a doctor (with some help from our guesthouse receptionist as translator) and, after prescribing various medicines, Lizzie began to get better. This all occurred in Pakse. We ventured on to Si Phan Don (the four thousand islands) but by the time we got there (a few hours in a mini bus) Lizzie needed to return to her bed.

Thankfully Si Phan Don is a collection of beautifully laid back islands where travelers come to do not very much at all. It has been described as a backpacker's mecca; it has good food (including an Australian baker), sun, and every night after the bars close (all close by 11pm) all the tourists go down to the beach and have a bonfire.

After a day of laying in bed again Lizzie could venture down to the beach with me and generally felt a lot better.

In this time my body had defied all rules of logic and I got a cold. Unexpectedly, I had also severely sunburned my forearms and the back of my hands. On a serious note should you ever get sunburned anywhere do not, I repeat, do not get tiger balm on it. It does not feel good.

For those who can prize themselves off the beach, off the Island of Don Khon one can glimpse the rare Irrawaddy Dolphins. The done thing is to rent bikes and stop at a waterfall on the way to the Dolphins to cool down and refresh. Lizzie said she was feeling up to it so, on her first day of restored health, we set out.

We had been warned by other travelers that the path is a little rocky and so it is better to get a mountain bike. We had too very professional looking mountain bikes and it still was so bumpy it hurt. As far as our health is now concerned I'm not sure whether Lizzie or myself will ever be able to have children.

We crossed the old railway bridge and followed the path down to the waterfall. By the time we got there Lizzie was feeling a little worse for wear again and I was just really hot. We swam in a little alcove on a deserted beach next to the waterfall and cooled down. We then retreated back to the makeshift restaurants that lined the road to the waterfall. Lizzie almost instantly fell asleep in a hammock and I spent the following two hours reapplying sun-tan lotion to my arms.

When Lizzie woke up it was getting into the late afternoon. The perfect time to see the dolphins because it's cooler and the dolphins begin to surface.

We cycled down yet another bumpy path, so much so that we actually had to get off our bikes and push them, and to the dock.

We were guided into a long-tail boat (a long shallow boat something like a punt with with more pointed ends) and a young girl took us out of the rocky cove and into the even rockier waters.

Once we had overcome our fear of the boat capsizing or it sinking (the girl kept emptying it with a small bucket) we could enjoy the fantastic sunset behind us. The sun began to glow bright red before sinking right down behind the mountains. Truly amazing.

In this time we still had not seen the dolphins and we needed to cycle back before it got dark. Lizzie thinks she saw a tail emerge from the water but we think it might have just been a big fish.

We returned to the shore just as twilight was setting in. We rushed our bikes down the dirt track again but unfortunately the same problems occurred as before and we had to push our bikes for part of the way. The path on the way to the dolphins had been a rocky but shaded path through a small forest which, in the heat, was a welcome relief. Now as it was getting dark it was terrifying. It didn't help that we couldn't remember the way we'd come and that I have the direction of a goldfish.

It was at this point that I decided to venture the notion, "Doesn't this remind you of a horror film? Two girls stranded in the forest?" I can quite honestly say that this is the stupidest thing to say in that situation. Should you ever be cycling through an empty wood at night sing crappy pop songs at the top of your voice (lizzie's method of coping) do not compare your situation to a horror film.

We just managed to get back to the railway bridge as it was really dark and the path along the river was full of bumps and rickety bamboo bridges. We also still had about another three kilometers to go. Reluctantly, we got off our bikes and pushed them. We arrived back at the guesthouse about 2 1/2 hours later and collapsed on our beds. We were both exhausted and hurt everywhere. My arms also still felt like they were on fire.

While it was undoubtedly a beautiful day you really needed to be in full health to cope in the heat. And the horrifically bumpy roads. We were not and seemed to suffer for it. The next day we lay on the beach which we could see from our room. Well, we wouldn't want to over do it would we?

Week 5: Translation

In our short time travelling we have discovered that there are a few universal signals for things. For example, to order the bill you pretend to write on your hand; if you don't understand something you smile and nod; or if you want to indicate a visa you stamp you punch your palm with your opposing fist. Well the final example may not be universal but we certainly found it useful.

When we arrived in Vientiane we had not known what to expect. Various other travellers we met either recommended not to go or bypassed it due to its lack of entertainment. We on the other hand found it quite pleasant.

There is not a whole host of things to do considering it is the capital but it is interesting for that fact alone. We spent our first evening at a bar on the bank of the Mekong drinking Beer Lao under the stars and getting bitten to death by bugs. Excluding the bugs, it was a wonderful sight.

One of the main reasons I had wanted to go to Vientiane was because there was a Cambodian consulate there and no matter how many times I looked through the guide books or checked online I couldn't seem to find a definitive "Yes" or "No" as to whether it was possible to buy a Cambodian visa at the border.

Since we were in the city anyway we thought we may as well check it out and then spend the day going to the markets and perhaps a Wat or two.

We hailed down a tuk-tuk and explained where we wanted to go and pointed to our map. After a few minutes the driver seemed to understand. He smiled and we got in. Already seated in the tuk-tuk was a middle-aged Cambodian woman and a monk listening to his ipod.

The driver half explained that we would need to drop the monk off first. We stopped outside a Wat and the monk jumped out and ran towards the temple. We waited for about ten minutes at which point the monk returned and we continued up the road. We hadn't really understood why this had happened but we were moving again so we thought it best not to question it.

My only worry was that the driver thought we might want to go to the Thai embassy. My reason for this was because every time I said "Cambodian embassy" he would nod and say something sounding like "Thai".

We kept driving further and further out of the city but we had no way to try and ask the driver where we were going. We just had to be patient.

After another twenty minutes we seemed to arrive at a large car park behind that was a big sign, "Thai Border Crossing". "No, no, no!" I shouted while waving my arms. I thought that, for the second time on our trip, we'd get stuck on the wrong side of the border. The driver simply laughed and pointed to the monk who was getting his things together, paid the driver and walked towards the border. After that we headed back into the city.

We stopped again just so the driver could double check our map and then set off. We arrived outside an official looking building with many other Western tourists crowding around outside. Trying not to appear too skeptical I quickly checked the sign outside to check we were at the right place. The sign read, "Thai Embassy". "No", I repeated. "Cambodian". Much more pointing and map twisting occurred before we set off again in what looked to be the right direction. The taxi driver then dropped us about 3km from where he picked us up. Almost an hour and a half after he'd picked us up.

Still smiling the driver let us off and just shrugged. We paid the nice man and Lizzie pointed out it wasn't his fault and he was just trying to help us. I felt quite guilty in the end considering the goose chase we'd accidentally sent him on.

The guard at the Cambodian consulate told us, from behind locked gates, that it was closed for lunch and would reopen in an hour and a half. Too hot to care we sat at a roadside cafe in the shade until we could speak to someone.

So a swift hour and a half later we passed through the gates to the Cambodian consulate which just looked like a big colonial house. We were then directed to a window where a small man in glasses sat behind a sign saying "Visas".

We asked him if he knew if we could buy a visa at the Laos-Cambodian border. He didn't know. Could he tell us who we might contact who would know? No. He told us the best thing to do would be to come back the following morning where we could get a visa to pick up that afternoon. Slightly deflated we thanked the man and decided to head for a nearby pool to relax and cool down and then return tomorrow.

We hailed down another tuk-tuk to go back into the city centre. In the back of our new tuk-tuk sat two American girls. We chatted and when we said about our visas they said, "Oh yeah you can get them at the border. We've just come from Laos and they issued visas at both sides." Success, even if it had taken most of the day.

The next day we travelled on to Savannakhet which is quite possibly the weirdest place we've been. It was a perfectly nice looking town there was just no one there. It was a ghost town. It seems a shame to say nothing about it but there really wasn't anything there. The people were nice and there was nice restaurants but apart from that very little to do.

More confused that anything else we travelled on to Pakse where we only intended to spend one night before going to Si Phan Don (the Four Thousand Islands). Unfortunately Lizzie developed a really bad stomach bug which kept her bed bound for a few days and so we stayed in Pakse for a few days.

Near our guesthouse was a hairdressers and one afternoon when Lizzie was asleep I thought I would be brave and get my haircut. I went in and asked how much it would cost to which I was answered with a blank stare. I made a motion with my hands as if I was cutting hair and then rubbed my thumb and forefinger together to signify money. The girl just began laughing and turned and said something to her friend who just looked angry. The laughing girl just waved me away saying "No". I repeated the gesture thinking that they hadn't understood but she just laughed more and said more emphatically "No". Why was this the moment that the Laos people decided to give definitive answers?

I didn't end up getting my haircut because knowing my luck I would have accidentally told them to shave half my head and I just don't have enough sun-tan lotion to pull that off.