Small Bliss
There's a town in the south of Cambodia that has to be one of the most charming places in the entire country... an old colonial riverport that even now boasts a quiet grace, quietness and grace being rarities here. Days in Kampot were blissful, slow, uneventful, and most of all -- PEACEFUL.
I met up with a young french couple at an extremely inauthentic but acceptable-nonetheless sri lankan cafe along the Kampot riverfront, and we mellowed over coffee and breakfast curries before planning a lunch excursion to an island out in the gulf of thailand. Within an hour of leaving the cafe we found ourselves on a boat bound for Rabbit Island, a tiny strip of sand and coconut palms within sight of the mainland. The water was a green stretch of sea with mountaintops visible in the distance and formidable curtains of rain obscuring patches of the horizon as it fell; our little wooden boat didn't do so well on the waves but had the advantage of keeping afloat even when entirely filled with water, which didn't take long as wave after wave washed over the sides of the boat. It just slowed us down.
We were soaked by the time we made landfall on Rabbit Island and more than a little worried about how we would return to the mainland docks if the afternoon storms caught us off guard. But we had pineapples and coconuts and ham and baguettes and cheese and several packs of smokes. We had a small package of ganja and plenty of rolling papers. In our hammocks we lazed above the small crashing waves, lowering our feet into the new foam to see who could catch a crab with his toes. We soon forgot all about the boat and for a time we forgot about returning at all, what with the sun illuminating the distant storms and no one around except for a gang of naked toddlers and their grandmother (who was disturbingly capable with a machete, cutting open coconuts like it was some flashback from her days as a pirate). The green water. The breeze and birds. It was a paradise.
That evening back on the mainland we climbed to a hillside restaurant and watched the sun set in red streaks over the gulf and its islands and mountains, sipping wine before having an IMMACULATE fish dinner that really knocked the shit out of my usual diet of sticky rice and crickets. It was nice to lose myself in laughter in such good company, though it was alarming that i haven't done that in such a long time... making the next few days spent with the frenchies precious and bittersweet. It's not often you meet people you can relate to and lose yourself with... sometimes it's not often you meet people at all.
The next morning we went out to an abandoned colonial getaway that in its day must have been something like monte carlo. The road there is probably the worst road i've ever traveled on... i have bruises on my arms and back from being thrown about the back of the truck when we'd hit a pot hole at full speed. Still, the road led us through a jungle-scape with immense palms and soaring trees straight out of the jurassic while monkeys and brightly-colored birds darted in the road ahead of us. The jungle opened after several excruciating hours of bumps and crumbling villas could be seen clinging to the escarpment overlooking the sea. The old casino looks more like a palace that would have had lavish soirees than a place filled with cards ands roulette, whereas the old church... what remains of it... is covered in australian and danish grafitti. It was obviously a place for the elite, and in light of everything i've seen in cambodia it's a haunting place where the chipped scrollwork and shattered windows reveals a world of excess long before Year Zero and its years of scarcity.
The frenchies left for phnom penh a day before i did, and now that i'm back in the capital i can't seem to find them. I feel alone. I've been running around the city all day in an absolute FRENZY as i made last minute preparations for vietnam. I woke up in Kampot this morning and freaked: my cambo visa expires in 2 days and i have NO visa for vietnam, meaning i may well end up in bangkok instead (which is splendid anyway), NO idea about how i'm getting to the border, and i haven't heard from jackie in saigon in FOREVER. My theory is that, fabulous as she is, she most likely had yet another motorcycle accident and with that in mind i jumped on the back of a moto... backpack and all... and headed straight for the vietnamese embassy the minute i arrived back in phnom penh.
I'll get my visa in time unless they find something interesting in my passport or background (oh, nervous chuckles) and it looks like i'll make it after all. Today i ran around town tying up loose ends, went shopping, and made a dinner date with algiers in the process of explaining as rapidly as i could that i'm leaving and he shouldn't settle for a person with issues anyway.
We're going to the Foreign Correspondents Club for drinks after... to relive the bygone glory days when diplomats were suave and journalists were skilled. We're going as diplomats (hence the shopping)... representatives of our respective colonies. It's like halloween only it never ends.
This keyboard is electrocuting me.
I'm fucking serious. I have to go.
I met up with a young french couple at an extremely inauthentic but acceptable-nonetheless sri lankan cafe along the Kampot riverfront, and we mellowed over coffee and breakfast curries before planning a lunch excursion to an island out in the gulf of thailand. Within an hour of leaving the cafe we found ourselves on a boat bound for Rabbit Island, a tiny strip of sand and coconut palms within sight of the mainland. The water was a green stretch of sea with mountaintops visible in the distance and formidable curtains of rain obscuring patches of the horizon as it fell; our little wooden boat didn't do so well on the waves but had the advantage of keeping afloat even when entirely filled with water, which didn't take long as wave after wave washed over the sides of the boat. It just slowed us down.
We were soaked by the time we made landfall on Rabbit Island and more than a little worried about how we would return to the mainland docks if the afternoon storms caught us off guard. But we had pineapples and coconuts and ham and baguettes and cheese and several packs of smokes. We had a small package of ganja and plenty of rolling papers. In our hammocks we lazed above the small crashing waves, lowering our feet into the new foam to see who could catch a crab with his toes. We soon forgot all about the boat and for a time we forgot about returning at all, what with the sun illuminating the distant storms and no one around except for a gang of naked toddlers and their grandmother (who was disturbingly capable with a machete, cutting open coconuts like it was some flashback from her days as a pirate). The green water. The breeze and birds. It was a paradise.
That evening back on the mainland we climbed to a hillside restaurant and watched the sun set in red streaks over the gulf and its islands and mountains, sipping wine before having an IMMACULATE fish dinner that really knocked the shit out of my usual diet of sticky rice and crickets. It was nice to lose myself in laughter in such good company, though it was alarming that i haven't done that in such a long time... making the next few days spent with the frenchies precious and bittersweet. It's not often you meet people you can relate to and lose yourself with... sometimes it's not often you meet people at all.
The next morning we went out to an abandoned colonial getaway that in its day must have been something like monte carlo. The road there is probably the worst road i've ever traveled on... i have bruises on my arms and back from being thrown about the back of the truck when we'd hit a pot hole at full speed. Still, the road led us through a jungle-scape with immense palms and soaring trees straight out of the jurassic while monkeys and brightly-colored birds darted in the road ahead of us. The jungle opened after several excruciating hours of bumps and crumbling villas could be seen clinging to the escarpment overlooking the sea. The old casino looks more like a palace that would have had lavish soirees than a place filled with cards ands roulette, whereas the old church... what remains of it... is covered in australian and danish grafitti. It was obviously a place for the elite, and in light of everything i've seen in cambodia it's a haunting place where the chipped scrollwork and shattered windows reveals a world of excess long before Year Zero and its years of scarcity.
The frenchies left for phnom penh a day before i did, and now that i'm back in the capital i can't seem to find them. I feel alone. I've been running around the city all day in an absolute FRENZY as i made last minute preparations for vietnam. I woke up in Kampot this morning and freaked: my cambo visa expires in 2 days and i have NO visa for vietnam, meaning i may well end up in bangkok instead (which is splendid anyway), NO idea about how i'm getting to the border, and i haven't heard from jackie in saigon in FOREVER. My theory is that, fabulous as she is, she most likely had yet another motorcycle accident and with that in mind i jumped on the back of a moto... backpack and all... and headed straight for the vietnamese embassy the minute i arrived back in phnom penh.
I'll get my visa in time unless they find something interesting in my passport or background (oh, nervous chuckles) and it looks like i'll make it after all. Today i ran around town tying up loose ends, went shopping, and made a dinner date with algiers in the process of explaining as rapidly as i could that i'm leaving and he shouldn't settle for a person with issues anyway.
We're going to the Foreign Correspondents Club for drinks after... to relive the bygone glory days when diplomats were suave and journalists were skilled. We're going as diplomats (hence the shopping)... representatives of our respective colonies. It's like halloween only it never ends.
This keyboard is electrocuting me.
I'm fucking serious. I have to go.