Buffalo, Weddings, and Monsoon
Winds: Cambodia on Two Wheels
CAMBODIA (4)
902
Km – 30 Days
21
May – 20 June 2017
Prologue
I
slipped out of Trat during what I optimistically called “a break in the
downpour,” only to discover that Cambodia had prepared a full monsoon welcome
party. Within hours, I was flying down the Cardamom Mountains in rain so heavy
it felt personal, dodging potholes and oil slicks.
But
Cambodia has a way of rewarding stubborn cyclists. Between buffalo in ponds and
women in bright pyjama bottoms, children called “Hello, farang!” from stilted
houses. By the time I reached Otres, splattered in mud and slightly feral, I
was fed curry, handed a drink, and absorbed into a community of free spirits
who seemed to have forgotten to ever leave.
And
that’s how my Cambodian adventure began: soaked, muddy, and already in love
with the place.
Trat, Thailand to Koh Kong, Cambodia (106 km)
My journey kicked off under a blanket of pouring rain, and
I was holding off until the first teasing break in the downpour. With the scent
of wet earth in the air, I slipped out of Trat, ready to tackle the short but
picturesque ride to the Thailand-Cambodian border. The landscape was a feast
for the eyes, with majestic mountains to one side and the shimmering coast to
the other. But alas, the clouds looked threatening, and my plans for a
leisurely exploration quickly turned to a single goal—keeping the pedals
turning amidst the rain.
The border crossing was business as usual, complete with
the familiar exit and entrance stamps that often feel like a passport to new
adventures. Just a short 10 km ride later, I arrived in Koh Kong, the first
Cambodian town on the banks of the Koh Poi River. After securing a
budget-friendly room that provided much-needed shelter, I donned some dry
clothes and set off to find a Cambodian SIM card and a hearty meal. Navigating
the language barrier proved trickier than expected, but the menus featuring tantalising
pictures made ordering simple—thankfully, as my stomach growled impatiently,
and I really wasn't in the mood to mimic poultry or pigs!
I decided to linger an extra day in Koh Kong to tackle
some lingering tasks and take a breather. It turned into a blissfully lazy day
filled with laundry, updating my blog posts, and reminiscing over my time in
Thailand as I sorted through photos. Rest was exactly what I needed.
Koh Kong to Botum Sakor (103 km)
As I pedalled out of Koh Kong, the road snaked up out of
the river valley and began ascending the Cardamom Mountains. I huffed and
puffed my way up, fighting against the sweltering heat, beads of sweat
drenching me and pooling in my sandals. Yet, with persistence, I reached the first
high point, only to have ominous dark clouds gather above me. Within moments,
rain began to pour down like a monsoon, turning my descent into a thrilling yet
treacherous ride.
Dressed in my raincoat, I flew downhill with the wind
whipping around me, hoping to dodge potholes and oil slicks with my heart
racing. Sadly, it looked like the road maintenance crew had left a pitfall;
loose gravel lay in wait like a predator. Spying a taxi in a ditch only
solidified my determination to stay upright. The rest of the day was a
relentless pattern of uphill climbs, speedy descents, and fording rivers—each
cycle revealing the beautiful but sparsely populated area, where I was grateful
for the occasional roadside stall that helped fill my water bottle.
Finally, a final hill loomed ahead, and soon enough, a
tower marking the apex came into view, offering sweeping views of the valley
below. After a hundred-odd kilometres of riding, I rolled into Botum Sakor, where
I found a basic room and food waiting for me.
Botum Sakor to Otres (135 km)
The 135 km ride to Otres was a welcome shift—while not
completely flat, it felt much more enjoyable. A light drizzle accompanied me
throughout the day, keeping me comfortably cool as I cycled past charming
wooden houses on stilts, grazing buffalo, and women in bright pyjama bottoms
biking with their goods.
Upon reaching Route 4, the busy highway linking Phnom
Penh and Sihanoukville, the road transformed from peaceful countryside to a
chaotic hustle. The narrow stretch allowed almost no space for cycling. I
squeezed into the muddy no-man’s-land beside the pavement, caked in dirt but
laughing at the absurdity of the situation as I twisted and turned through the
muck. When I finally slipped into Otres, my bike, panniers, and I were
completely splattered with mud.
Just as I was pondering my next move, I was greeted by
Shelly, an old friend from Bangkok, who graciously invited me into her home in
Otres. I was met with a massive plate of mouth-watering curry and
rice—definitely a welcome change from my earlier struggles! The next day
unfolded at a leisurely pace, filled with chill vibes and catching up with Rad,
whom I had crossed paths with in Hanoi the previous year. What are the odds!
Shelly had made Otres her home for the last four years,
and it felt like I had stumbled upon a vibrant community of free spirits.
Friends flowed in and out of her bohemian abode, where laughter mixed with the
sounds of clinking glasses. In this colourful neighbourhood, I felt an
undeniable kinship with the eclectic crowd—each individual embracing their
unique quirks and dreams. Otres felt like the Wild West of Southeast Asia—a
place where the rules seemed fluid; here, creativity thrived without restraint.
During monsoon season, the muddy streets were an
unwelcome but familiar sight, and life flowed in a psychedelic haze. This
incredible slice of paradise drew people in, and it seemed like the wanderers
who arrived with plans often ended up staying longer than they ever intended,
living out dreams they hadn’t even known they had. In this sleepy and chaotic
haven, where parties and friendships blossomed amidst the vibrant chaos, I
found my heart echoing the spirit of Otres.
Otres to Kampot (100 km)
As the rain finally eased, I bid farewell to the warm-hearted
locals of Otres, eager to set off toward Kampot, the renowned home of the
world's finest pepper. Riding through monsoon season with roadworks at every
turn felt like traversing an obstacle course, yet I pressed on. Though the
route held no compelling attractions, I took time to capture the vibrant life
along the river, where houses perched on stilts swayed gently, and boats glided
by—each wave echoing the rhythm of daily life in Cambodia.
A stop for one of Cambodia’s celebrated snacks became a delightful
necessity. I tracked down a delicious Nompang, a baguette packed to the brim
with unexpected flavours. Settling into a cosy spot, I savoured every bite as I
watched locals plant rice, their hands immersed in the earth. Half my Nompang
vanished as I enjoyed the view, leaving a little treat for when my ride was
done. Arriving in Kampot, I found a welcoming haven at Uptown Guesthouse,
complete with ground-floor rooms, a bathroom, and mosquito nets—all at a price
that didn’t break the bank.
Kampot
Kampot revealed itself as a charming tapestry of
old-world allure—its dilapidated French colonial buildings echoing a rich
history, juxtaposed against the tranquil riverside setting. Wandering through
the bustling traditional market, I was greeted by a flurry of activity, though
the sweltering heat had me seeking refuge. Kampot certainly offered an
intriguing mix: quirky “Happy Pizza” joints coexisted with quaint French-style
coffee shops, while nimble Cambodian women hustled from their mobile carts,
trading wares with spirited conversations.
As I roamed through the streets, I couldn't help but
chuckle at the playful misspellings on signs, a reminder of the cultural dance
between languages—just as the Latin alphabet holds little meaning for
Cambodians, the Abugida script baffles me. Eventually, I returned to my
guesthouse, hopped back on my bike, and ventured out to explore some nearby
caves. Ironically, it was the ride itself that captivated me more than the
caves!
I passed cheerful women pedalling home from the market,
their laughter ringing out like music, a stark contrast to the stoic faces I
often encountered in the West during morning commutes. Dapper men on motorbikes
zoomed by, pigs securely tied on the back, and school kids rode their bicycles
alongside, giggling as they waved, “Hello, farang!” from their stilted homes.
In that moment, every pedal stroke felt like a celebration of life!
Kampot to Guesthouse (110 km)
Leaving the charming town of Kampot, I set my sights
northward toward bustling Phnom Penh. The sky stretched above me in an
enchanting shade of blue, perfectly framing the lush rice paddies that
overflowed with water from the recent monsoon rains. I was surrounded by the gentle
sight of water buffalo meandering through ponds and cows lazily grazing on the
vibrant green roadside. It felt like a postcard scene—truly, the very essence
of that phrase, “I was in my happy place.”
As I pedalled along, I encountered vibrant local markets
brimming with tantalising produce and curious trinkets. Dirt tracks branched
off into mysterious, inviting paths, each whispering promises of adventure. The
route was alive with friendly monks going about their morning rituals, and warm
smiles from women selling juicy watermelons and the emerald hues of colourful
temples lining the way. Children returning home from school giggled and huddled
together, their eyes wide with curiosity as they spotted a lone cyclist weaving
through their world. I couldn’t help but chuckle as meat vendors jovially
pointed out an unusual delicacy—buffalo penis—highlighting the resourcefulness
of a culture that seems to honour every part of the animal.
Suddenly, the day took a dramatic turn. A powerful wind
swept through, dark clouds loomed ominously overhead, and soon, big raindrops
began to plummet from the sky. Seeking refuge, I ducked into the nearest
guesthouse, where they must’ve recognised the look of a drenched cyclist
because the room rate felt a little steep. Still, they treated me to a
delightful Cambodian feast: rice paired with stir-fried vegetables and ginger,
all crowned with a perfectly fried egg and a kick of fiery chillies. Just what
I needed after a day on the road!
Guesthouse to Phnom Penh (40 km)
A short 40 km but chaotic ride whisked me into the heart
of Phnom Penh. Manoeuvring in and out of this bustling city is no easy feat—the
traffic is a maze of chaos! Yet, amidst the congestion, it was mesmerising to
witness the ingenuity of riders balancing impossibly large loads on their
motorcycles and how much my bicycle could endure.
Dodging through the honking vehicles, I found myself in
the beloved backpacker hub of Boeng Kak. Sadly, the lake that had once drawn travellers
like a magnet had been sold and filled in, diminishing the vibrancy of the
area. However, a few hidden budget gems were still tucked away, and I revelled
in the charm of the back streets, the eye-catching street art, and the quirky
long-term residents they seemed to attract. I chose the Grand View Guesthouse,
which ironically had no grand view to speak of, but at just $5 a night, it felt
like a steal. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by a lively group of travellers
from 13 different countries, gathering around the table and swapping stories.
The following day, I turned in my cherished Panasonic
Lumix camera for repairs. With that sorted, I set about applying for a Chinese
visa while I waited for my camera’s return. As I strolled through the city, I
was struck by the palpable tension in the air as Cambodian elections
approached. Large sums of money were visibly thrown around by the ruling
Cambodian People’s Party, even amidst whispers of staggering corruption. Unlike
the wealthy elite who seemed untouchable, the everyday people continued pushing
their carts, striving to gather enough to feed their families. It was a stark
reminder of the contrasts that define this fascinating country, where luxury
and squalor coexist uncomfortably.
Sadly, a message from the property agent in Thailand
revealed that the tenant was relocating. I couldn’t help but wonder if
purchasing the unit was such a good idea. I've only just left, and already I
need to return to sort out the room.
Finally, after two weeks, everything fell into place: my
camera was fixed, and I secured both a Chinese visa and a three-month Thai
visa.
15 June - Phnom Penh to Kampong Chhnang (97 km)
As I bid farewell to the wonderfully welcoming folks at
Grand View Guest House, a familiar tug of nostalgia pulled at my heart. It's
true what they say — “There’s no place like home.” But for me, that sentiment
extends to the open road after a long layoff. The thrill of cycling again was
exhilarating, and I barely stopped for photos. Instead, the refreshing taste of
coconut and sugarcane juice from local vendors beckoned me for a brief respite.
Along the way, I couldn’t help but marvel at the vibrant
markets bursting with life, watching farmers tenderly bathing their cattle in
the rivers, and greeting children with their cheerful “Hellos” as I pedalled
past. The smiles exchanged with surprised old ladies added a nice touch to my
journey. Arriving in Kampong Chhnang, I easily settled into Ly Hour Guest House
for the night.
Kampong Chhnang to Pursat (96 km)
If the previous day’s ride was pure joy, this day felt
like a test of patience on the rugged, bumpy road that stretched ahead. The
irritation of the jolts beneath me faded, however, as I soaked in the
relentless heat and the energy of the landscape. I passed the Andoung Russey
pottery factory, where heavily laden carts hustled their beautiful wares to
market. The recent rains had painted the rice fields a brilliant green, a stark
contrast to the seedlings eagerly awaiting replanting.
I encountered vendors selling zesty fermented vegetables
and artists skillfully crafting Buddha statues. The narrow, busy path kept me
engaged, although much of my ride was on a dirt section alongside the road. As
I rolled into Pursat, a wave of relief washed over me—though the ceiling fan in
my room wobbled ominously, it was a welcome relief after a long day. And there
it was—the sun setting over yet another extraordinary day in Cambodia.
Pursat to Battambang (107 km)
Each day on this journey unfolds like a new chapter
filled with fascinating scenes. It’s incredible how quickly we adapt, using
what the land offers, eating what’s available, and planting what the soil
permits. Yet, what continues to intrigue me the most are the diverse modes of
transport. In Cambodia, the motorbike reigns supreme, demanding profound
respect.
As the day wore on, hunger struck like a thunderbolt! I
stumbled upon a roadside eatery where I pointed to a steaming bowl of soup. It
was delicious, though I couldn’t shake the sensation of curious eyes fixed on
each mouthful I took, making me wonder about the mysterious ingredients.
Battambang, a charming town adorned with old buildings
and a lively market, welcomed me with open arms. I snagged a baguette from a
lady gracefully balancing food on a shoulder pole, and thank goodness I didn’t
question the ingredients—I was too hungry to care! With its array of sights and
sounds, Battambang captivated my heart. Choosing to stay an extra day felt
absolutely right, and I couldn't wait to see what adventures awaited me.
Battambang to Poi Pet (114 km)
The journey from Battambang to the Thai-Cambodian border
wasn’t particularly thrilling, and I toyed with the idea of taking an
alternative route. But then, just as I was about to veer off, I stumbled upon a
vibrant wedding procession that drew me in, offering a captivating glimpse into
Cambodian culture.
I watched in awe as families celebrated a traditional
Khmer wedding—truly one of the most joyous moments in a Khmer family’s life.
These grand festivities can last anywhere from three days to an entire week!
The scene was alive with colour, music, and energy, with traditional
instruments echoing through the air. The couple looked regal, and the bride
changed outfits multiple times throughout the day, showcasing the splendour of
Khmer bridal fashion.
What struck me most was the atmosphere among the guests;
unlike the often-formal Western ceremonies, here people were animated, fully
engaging with the rituals. It was perfectly acceptable to stand up and stretch
your legs, or even to wander in and out of the room, creating a relaxed
environment that felt inviting rather than rigid.
I learned that in this custom, the bride waits at her
parents’ home while the groom assembles a colourful procession of family and
friends, symbolising Prince Preah Thong’s legendary journey to meet his bride,
Princess Neang Neak—two monumental figures in Khmer folklore. As the groom’s
entourage approached the bride’s home, they bore platters filled with fruit and
Khmer desserts, led by musicians and singers who created an infectious buzz of
excitement.
After soaking in the joy and vibrancy, I continued my
journey, navigating a bustling road filled with a mix of strange and wonderful
modes of transport. At a coconut juice stall, I met Husan, a fellow cyclist
from Turkey who was embarking on a year-long cycling adventure. We exchanged
tales over refreshing drinks while stalls around us offered delicious rice
cooked in bamboo and tempting sausages that I guessed were made from buffalo
meat. Before rolling into the border town of Poi Pet, I captured a final burst
of joy as Cambodian children squealed in delight around me.
Arriving at the Phnom Pich Guesthouse, conveniently
situated on the main road, it hit me just how surprising travel can be, no
matter where you go. I chuckled at the sight of my fellow guests, realising I
was the only one not using the communal comb and sandals!
Poi Pet, Cambodia to Sa Kaeo, Thailand (85 km)
Morning arrived with a short, dusty ride from Poi Pet to
the chaotic Cambodian-Thai immigration. The border was a bustling whirlwind of
activity, with traders manoeuvring their produce-laden carts and foot
passengers winding through long queues. Motorised traffic swirled around us,
careening from right to left, but the thrill of my bicycle made that chaos feel
almost exhilarating.
As I weaved through this madness, I couldn’t help but
revel in the small victories; cyclists were waved to the front of the queue, a
privilege I graciously accepted while taking in the vibrant tapestry of life unfolding
around me. This journey was turning out to be richer than I ever expected!
Epilogue
By the time I reached Poi Pet, I had cycled
through monsoon storms, rice fields, wedding processions, and at least one meal
where the entire restaurant watched me eat. I’d slept under wobbling ceiling
fans, dodged traffic that defied physics, and learned that in Cambodia, even
the buffalo parts you didn’t know existed can end up on a plate.
At the border, cyclists were waved to the
front of the queue—a small but glorious victory after 902 kilometres. As
traders pushed carts, motorbikes swerved in every direction, and dust swirled
around us, I realised Cambodia had done what it always does: surprised me,
challenged me, and left me grinning like an idiot.
