Gravel Roads, Kindness, and the Long Way South
2 October - 19 October 2024
1,042 Km – 17 Days
MAP
FLIP-BOOK
VOICEOVER
Prologue
Gravel Roads, Kindness, and the Long Way South
Cambodia has a way of pulling me back—not with grand gestures, but with
the quiet insistence of gravel roads, river winds, and the soft chorus of
“Hello Farang” drifting across the fields. Five years had passed since I last
cycled here, yet the border crossing felt like stepping into a familiar story
whose pages had shifted in my absence. I didn’t know what waited beyond the
first stretch of broken road—only that the country would meet me, as it always
had, with a mix of challenge, generosity, and the unexpected. This is the tale
of those seventeen days: of ancient bridges and muddy detours, festival winds
and roadside kindness, and the long, slow unravelling of the road south.
Crossing
Into Cambodia
Gravel,
Ghost Roads, and Festival Winds
I
began my day with a steaming cup of coffee as I prepared for my ride from Muang
Khong, Laos- across the bridge to join Route 13 South. Despite the brisk wind tugging
at my clothes, I felt a surge of excitement at the prospect of returning to
Cambodia after nearly five years, when I cycled the country with my friends
Megan, Erma, and Janice.
The
process of getting stamped out of Laos turned out to be surprisingly straightforward,
despite the border post’s notorious reputation for bribery. The officers requested
a $2 stamp fee, but I firmly declined, and they didn’t push the issue. The
Cambodian immigration process was much smoother, and I paid the $35 visa fee
before resuming my journey.
The
road leading south was in a sorry state due to ongoing repairs, covered in a
thick layer of gravel that made cycling a challenge. Fortunately, motorbikes
had carved out a single track next to the road. Although signs periodically
indicated the “End of road work,” the gravel would quickly reappear, and I kept
reassuring myself with the mantra, “This too shall pass.”
On
a more positive note, I had the pleasure of meeting another cyclist from Japan
who was also on a cycling adventure through Asia. I also discovered that
Cambodia was in the midst of celebrating Pchum Ben, or the Festival of the
Ancestors, one of the country’s most significant and grandest festivals. I
caught glimpses of the festivities, witnessing two-wheel tractors laden with
villagers passing by in the opposite direction.
By
the time I arrived in Stung Treng, it was late, and I struggled to find a hotel
with rooms available, most likely because of the festivities. I settled for one
that offered an air-conditioned room with a window for $12, but I found the
cleanliness lacking, and I wondered if my frugality was worth it.
I decided to stay in Stung
Treng the next day to withdraw Cambodian Riel or Khmer Riel (KHR) (4,000 KHR =
1 US$), a SIM card, and take care of a few other things.
Surge of Energy and the
Ride to Preah Vihear
The next morning, I felt
remarkably energetic, and the weather and the road were good. As a result, I
pushed on. I forgot just how scenic Cambodia is. Numerous unusual sights kept
me occupied, and I again realised just how comfortable the Cambodians are on a
motorbike, as twice I saw people returning from the clinic with an IV drip bag
on a stick attached to their arm.
I don't know what was in
the drink I bought from a roadside vendor, as I was so energetic that I cycled
the 140 km to Preah Vihear. Once there, I was more than happy to find Javier
Guest House, with a lovely, spacious room for only $7.
Koh Ker in the Forest: A
Detour into the Ancient Capital
I wasn’t all bright-eyed
and bushy-tailed, and my morning search for a baguette revealed nothing, so I
got on the road and headed toward Siem Reap. Again, the scenery was
unsurpassed, and it turned out to be a lovely day of riding. Sixty km later, I
came upon Koh Ker, a UNESCO World Heritage and Archaeological Site. This
Ancient capital of the Khmer Empire, between 921 and 944 CE, is now partially
hidden in a dense forest; I dropped my bags at a guesthouse and went exploring.
It was after six p.m. that I returned and headed straight to a restaurant,
starving.
Hello Farang: Rain, Rural
Roads, and the Chaos of Siem Reap
It rained throughout the
night, and I could still hear it pouring when I woke up. I stayed in bed with a
coffee and played on my phone until I heard that the rain had subsided. It was
thus late morning by the time I saddled my old iron horse for the ride to Siam
Reap. I felt immensely happy to be on the bike, pedalling down a rural road.
The sound of children calling “Hello Farang” always brought a smile to my face,
their voices blending with the sound of cattle. If you didn’t respond, they
would keep calling louder and louder, their excitement echoing through the
countryside.
This is such a rural part
of Cambodia that, at times, I could imagine I'm on a different planet. By the
time I neared touristy Siam Reap, 100 km down the road, I was somewhat taken
aback by the urgency of the drivers and the chaotic dance of traffic, which
sharply contrasted with the peaceful countryside. Still, I joined this dance
and made my way to Smiley Guesthouse, which has ground-floor budget rooms and a
swimming pool. It’s a good place to lay low, and I paid for three nights.
On stepping out, I thought
I could easily spend the three days eating as the aroma of the local delicacies
wafted through the air. I imagined myself exploring all the culinary delights
of the area.
The following day, I took
the bicycle to the bike shop to be cleaned and oiled. I was shocked at the
prices in Siam Reap. When prices are quoted in US$, you know you have been
overcharged. So, nothing much came of eating at all the restaurants that looked
so inviting the previous evening, as they were clearly priced with tourists in
mind. Eventually, I grabbed a baguette with egg and salad from a mobile vendor
at less than half the price of the sit-down restaurants. I also handed in my
laundry for a proper machine wash, since the fee is one I never complain about.
The Old Khmer Highway and
the Bridge That Outlived Empires
I made a bit of a detour because
I didn’t want to cycle along the main road, but the minor road I chose soon
spat me out on the main road south. I guess I’ll never get used to Cambodia's
ingenious means of transport. There is nothing they cannot transport by bicycle
or a two-wheel tractor.
Once away from Siam Reap,
the road was quiet and a pleasure to cycle. The rain lasted no more than 10
minutes, and soon, the sun was shining bright again. I met the nicest people; a
man stopped and handed me a Pocari Sweat. How nice was that? Later, I stopped
to take a break and met a mum and her daughter who could speak some English. She
was ever so helpful, and we took a few selfies.
I was on the old Khmer
highway between Angkor and Phnom Penh. It's a new road today, but surprisingly,
the Kampong Kdei Bridge is still in use. Built in the 12th century, Spean
Praptos, also known as the Kampong Kdei Bridge, was once the world's longest corbeled stone-arch bridge, with over 20 narrow arches spanning 87 metres.
I arrived in Stoung around
four p.m. It is a typical Cambodian small town with a market, a temple, muddy
roads, a petrol station, bug vendors, and the ever-present mobile food carts. My
guest house cost 8 Dollars, and the room was as big as a dance hall. Taking the
stir my presence created, I didn’t think a farang had ever stayed at this
establishment; great was my surprise thus when I discovered a young American
lady also staying at the guesthouse and travelling by bicycle. She was heading
to Siam Reap and this was her fourth day on her first cycling holiday.
Ambok Makers and the Rhythm
of Rural Cambodia
In a 2021 survey, it was
found that approximately 63 per cent of households in Cambodia are engaged in
agricultural production. It's thus common to see wooden houses on stilts with
chickens, buffalos, cows, palm and mango trees next to rice fields. Today, I
came across many "Ambok" or flattened rice producers along the road.
The rice seemed to be first roasted in a pan with a mechanical stirrer, then
pounded in a wooden bowl and separated from the husk in a sieve. During the
rice harvest, some rice is specially prepared for certain Khmer ceremonies and
family gatherings. I regret not buying any, but hopefully, I'll find them again
tomorrow. After 110 km, I found Win With Guesthouse, a perfect spot midway
between Phnom Penh and Stoung. Once again, the experience of finding food was
fascinating and amusing.
Spider Village and the Easy
Roll Into the Capital
The ride to Phnom Pehn was
surprisingly easy, as it is a new road. Still, it was pretty boring, and I
believe that my ride along the river trail was far more interesting. However,
it was easy riding, though not much happened except for a stop at Skun,
known as Spider Village. The reason is that it’s well known for its exotic
tarantula cuisine. Vendors sold deep-fried tarantulas coated in garlic and chillies,
and although the aroma was appetising, I don’t think I'll ever get myself to
eat one. The last stretch into the capital was easy-going except for the
chaotic traffic. I rarely made a booking, but this time I did, and as always,
it was a total disaster, and I didn’t stay at the place booked. I, however,
easily found a room, as nearly every second building in Phnom Penh is a
guesthouse.
I stayed in Phnom Penh for three
nights as I quite like the place, and I had the usual housekeeping to attend to.
I also met up with Matt, a friend for many years, and we had supper at the
Addis Restaurant. I love Ethiopian food, and the food at Addis is excellent,
which made for a lovely and relaxing evening.
River Roads, Chisor Temple,
and a Race Against Mosquitoes
As I left the bustling city
of Phnom Penh, I found myself navigating through the chaotic Monday morning traffic.
It always takes some time to adjust to the constant flow of traffic and to trusting the traffic around me. Once I cleared the city limits, I followed a narrow
path along the serene Bassac River. A sign directed towards Chisor Mountain
Temple caught my eye, prompting me to change my course to the west. To my
delight, I stumbled upon the ancient ruins of this 11th-century temple perched high
on a hill, accessible by a lengthy staircase. Despite the heat and swarms of
mosquitoes, I persevered and was delighted to reach the remains of this old
temple. However, my battle with the mosquitoes eventually forced me to cut my
visit short. By the time I finished, it was already late afternoon, but I
decided to cycle to the next village, which was only 30 km away.
The Predictable Highway and
the Slow Days Beside the Kampot River
Again, the Main Road to
Kampot was a dead boring affair. That said, the road was new, wide and in good
condition, so I shouldn’t complain. It’s just that I don’t like such
predictability. In any event, I stuck to the main road and soon landed in the lovely
riverside town of Kampot. I’ve visited Kampot on many occasions and this time I
chose to stay in the village. Good Morning Kampot Guesthouse was an ideal place
to stay as it was slap bang in the centre and right on the river. It also
offered spacious, budget-friendly rooms on the upper floors, with a restaurant below. Reviews
stated that the food was excellent; I think whoever made those comments must
have been British, as the food was so bland that I had to ask for a portion of
fresh chillies to make it more palatable. LOL
I paid for two nights and thus
rose slowly the following morning. With no plans for the day, I handed in my
laundry as whenever I have a chance of having my laundry done for a dollar, I can’t
resist. I did truly little the rest of the day except visit the Kampot market
as no one can be in Kampot and not go to the market or buy the famous Kampot
pepper, known as the best pepper in the world.
I was up early to collect
my laundry, but the lady couldn’t find it and asked that I return later. There wasn’t
much to do in Kampot, so I took my bicycle and cycled to the old fishing
village on the opposite side of the river. Much later, I returned and was happy
to find that my laundry was located. I was so happy that I treated myself to
Nachos & Gaugamela in Kampot Alley, where noodles are still handmade, and something
is always steaming in a pot.
The Minefield Road: Mud,
Madness, and a Brothel for the Night
After doing almost nothing
for two full days, I felt pretty energetic and was eager to get underway. I had
no specific plan and contemplated going to Sihanoukville.
The day started with a
lovely scenic ride, and I was happy to be out on the bike. This euphoria,
however, came to a grinding halt when the paved road abruptly disappeared after
approximately 25 km. It was not a disaster until I realised this was no
ordinary dirt road but one that had been neglected for years, and I thought it
resembled a minefield (not that I knew what it looked like). In any event, I persevered,
bouncing over the potholes and slip-sliding through the muddy patches.
Conditions worsened as the day progressed, and I had my eye set on the junction
20 km away, believing conditions would improve from there. I clawed onto the handlebars
for dear life, and after 5 km, I stopped to take a breather, feeling happy I
managed 5 km. My wrists and arms felt shaky, but I returned to the bike,
determined to reach the main road. And so it went until I reached the junction.
It was already quite late,
and instead of going to Sihanoukville, I decided to head straight to Srae Ambel. You can imagine my surprise when I found
the road (although paved) in dreadful condition, busy and narrow. So narrow was
the road that two trucks could barely pass one another, let alone avoid bicycles
or motorbikes. Motorbikes mainly used the no-man’s land next to the paved road,
and I followed suit. This was no easy ride, as the no-man’s land wasn’t meant
for vehicles and was, by then, potholed and muddy. I was in this mess and had
to persevere. The continuous rain didn’t make the ride any more manageable.
Once, I stopped for coffee to get out of the rain and rest my wrists, but I
still had a way to go and soon got back on the bike.
A new road was under
construction, making the way one huge construction site. The hills at the end
of the day left me gasping for air, but I pushed on. 5 km from Srae Amble, the
weather came in again, and I pedalled like a woman possessed to reach the town
before the storm broke. I reached the town just as raindrops started falling
and pulled into the nearest Guest House. I was relieved I made it, but soon
discovered it was a brothel, LOL, not that I could care less as I was far too
tired to be concerned about that.
The Impassable Road and the
Kindness of a Seatless Bus
I was optimistic that the
new road leading to the border would be completed, but unfortunately that
wasn't the case. Despite my determination to continue, the mud clogged the
chain and gears, forcing me to stop and clear the wheels. What a mess! Seeking
advice on the road conditions ahead, I stopped at a roadside eatery, only to be
informed that the road was impassable for a bicycle. Although I usually take
such warnings lightly, I decided to heed the advice this time. I was directed to
a bus, where I was surprised to find no seats, just an open space. As we traversed
the bumpy road, the driver and his companion were incredibly amiable, even buying
me a coffee and offering water and a baguette. Initially told that the journey would
take seven hours to cover 125 km, I was relieved when we arrived in Koh Kong
after just 5 hours. I paid the driver 50,000 riel for the ride, which I thought
was a bargain. He seemed content with the payment and even offered me change,
which made me chuckle. Afterwards, I cycled around town searching for budget
accommodation and found Rene’s Pasta Bar & Guesthouse, which offered a fan
room for only $11. The room was sparkling clean, the staff helpful, and the
food delicious. I couldn’t be happier.
The Border
Where Rain Becomes a Country
Morning in Koh
Kong held me the way a soft hand lingers on a shoulder — gently, insistently,
as if asking me to stay. The room was too comfortable, the air too forgiving,
and every small task stretched into a kind of slow ritual. But the bags were
packed, and momentum — even reluctant momentum — has its own gravity. I strolled
to the money exchange, watching the last of my Cambodian riel transform into
Thai baht, the way one life quietly becomes another.
The border was
only ten kilometres away, but borders are never measured in distance. They are
measured in waiting rooms, in fluorescent lights, in the slow shuffle of
passports across counters. By the time I stepped out of the immigration office,
it was past noon, and the heat pressed down like a hand on my back. Ninety
kilometres to Trat suddenly felt like a sentence rather than a plan.
Epilogue
What the Road Leaves Behind
By the time I reached the coast,
the mud had dried, the bruises had faded, and the chaos of the journey had
settled into memory. Cambodia had once again revealed itself in layers—its
rural rhythms, its relentless roads, its quiet acts of kindness that arrive
just when you need them most. I left the country the same way I travelled
through it: slowly, gratefully, carrying the dust of its backroads and the
warmth of its people with me. The long way south had been unpredictable,
exhausting, and utterly worth it. And as always, the road—imperfect, generous,
and alive—had the final word.
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