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.