Kampot, you're pretty hot

A recent visa run led me once again across the border of Vietnam and into the kingdom of Cambodia. I was joined by a Welshman and three Vietnamese students from homestay. A schooltrip where the students mind the teachers. To get to Cambodia we took a night bus from Saigon to Hà Tiên, a taxi from there to the border and then another bus to our destination: the riverside town of Kampot. Almost as soon as the border was crossed, a chorus of "it's just like Vietnam" began from our Vietnamese companions. With such a shared history, it is not surprising. In 1698, under the Nguyen Dynasty, South Vietnam officially began a separation process from the Khmer kingdom. Divorce proceedings can be a lengthy process however. For me, a visual reminder that we had crossed the border was the sight of delightfully colorful, wooden stilt houses. Under the bulk of the main house which is raised on four stilt pillars, is a shaded area perfect for hammocks and overflow. Above is the main home, primarily open plan. The stilts protect from flooding and are conceivably designed to emulate Mount Meru, the ancient home of the Hindu and Buddhist gods. Many temples in South East Asia, including, you've guessed it, Angkor Wat, are also built to honor and replicate the holy mountain. 

Our first hostel in Kampot was Billabong, located in the main town on a stretch of straight, wide dusty road. Sadly it lay slightly apart from the main back packer area of the town which, unsurprisingly, is the more attractive, colonial and 'retro' area. A dizzying amount of advertising was present above all shop fronts, predominantly for Angkor beer or for 'True Money' money exchange. None of these signs ever seemed to bear any relation to the business that they were emblazoned across. 
Kampot town offered exciting foodie spots and cultural gems, namely the 'Epic Arts cafe', a social enterprise designed to provide work opportunities for locals suffering from physical disabilities. Many of the waiters were deaf or blind so for ordering food, customers must mark what they want on the menu. A 'tick the box, hope for the best affair'.   The space also offered an inclusive arts course for adults in drama, dance and art. Graduates go on to lead workshops in the local community and in schools. The cafe, as well as providing delicious food and drinks (served with reusable straws), also sold jewelry and other arts and crafts pieces made by participants of the course. 

By far the best feature of the town, in my humble opinion, was Praek Tuek Chhu river with plenty of accommodation opportunities lying right on its bounteous banks. Once we had tired of staying in the, rather ghostly, town we moved on to Acadia Hostel which boasts its' very own water park complete with a 'Russian Swing', a terrifying waterslide-- leading to a very red and sore back upon water entry if failing to right yourself, absolutely not speaking from bitter experience--and rubber tyres for lazily floating and beer sipping. Disappointingly, Acadia's security led a lot to be desired and we cut our stay short after learning of a burglar in our midsts. Three rucksacks were taken from the hostel room and our friend Thuyen (DJ Rio)  was left with just the clothes she had on her back. 

Our spirits were put firmly to rights again during our stay in the Hideaway Hostel which straddles itself neatly between a small dusty track and the glorious river lying just beyond a simple wooden deck. A mere ten steps from your dormitory will land you in its warm, wet depths. The ultimate morning wake up. Rounded off, of course, with an ice coffee and condensed milk for an extra health kick. Throw a friendly dog, 'Barks Twain', along with several kayaks, Stand Up Paddle boards and Wednesday night Woodstock vibes into the mix and the picture is complete. 

A sunset kayak around the aptly named Green loop provided the ultimate transport alternative to the motorbikes of noisy Saigon. The river alternatively widened and narrowed as we made our way around like pieces of food squeezing through a small intestine. Low bridges slung across the narrowest parts providing limbo training opportunities and small children jumped off them, testing slalom skills. Fronds of palm leaf dangled teasingly in our paths, creating wonderful and ever changing green kaleidoscopes. The sun set as we clinked our Angkor beer cans to the tune of 'Mot, Hai Ba, KHMER!' This, needless to say, is not the correct parlance for 'cheers' in Khmer, but we tried and that is important. 

We cannot be parted from motorbikes for long, especially travelling with Vietnamese, and another evening saw us racing up to the top of Bokor mountain which rises majestically from a National Park of the same name. At the top we dined on a picnic dinner of Barbecued chicken, bread rolls, sweet pastries and fruits.

We sat on a large rock in Wat Samprov Pram, meaning 'Temple of the five boats', a Buddhist pagoda built on the mountaintop by King Monivong in 1924. Looking somewhat like an eastern 'Shire' from The Lord of the Rings, its interesting history I only learnt posthumously.

Bokor mountain was a Khmer Rouge stronghold right until the end of their brutal reign; prior to this, a luxury holiday resort and Palace were built and frequented by the French. Collectively these are known as Bokor Hill Station. The faded, eerie grandeur can still be seen in the abandoned buildings. 
The Pagoda however tells a more beautiful story: a Khmer Prince named Preah Thong decided to travel the world, feeling depressed as his father, the King, favored his younger brother. On his travels he fell in love with a beautiful Nagini (half human, half serpent) Princess. Her father gave his blessing along with five ships and the couple were soon married and sailing the high seas. Eventually tiring of life at sea, they landed their five sailing boats on an attractive looking piece of land, lo and behold, the site of Bokor mountain. Over hundreds of years the waters receded and the ships slowly turned to rocks on the top of a dramatic viewing point to the sea far below, perfect for picnics and pensive moments. 


For our last day in Kampot, we went to Kep and, from there, Rabbit Island. Kep is famous for its crab and black pepper and Rabbit island is not famous for Rabbits. We managed to secure a very reasonably priced TukTuk to drive us the one hour long journey from Kampot to the ferry port in Kep (and back again). This felt like the equivalent of having a private limo, but better because the sun was shining and we were out in the elements instead of an air-conditioned bubble on wheels.

Rabbit Island is small and undeveloped bar several restaurants and beach huts on the main beach. Myself and Welshman Jamie decided to venture around the rest of the island, away from the maddening crowd but, inevitably toward the rubbish which lay in droves on the side less traveled by. Like the well seasoned and sensible travelers we are, we set off on this walk with no sun cream or water. The sun was hot and we were hotter. On our return journey, after asking a confused fellow walker "excuse me, but is this Cambodia" and leaping in unbridled joy upon her confused affirmation (we did not manage to complete a full loop around the island, surprised?) we submerged our sweaty selves into the cool waters of a sandy and secluded beach to the eastern side of the island. This secret beach, admittedly it also held a brown and leathery German couple and elderly gentleman intent on securing a handkerchief to his head by way of sun protection (British?), was home to dozens of starfish which revealed themselves a short way out from the shore. Once we saw one, two more appeared in much the same fashion as plates of food in a Vietnamese restaurant. No complaints. 

Sunburnt and exhausted we made our way back to the mainland by ferry and lay spreadeagled across the deck as if mimicking the starfish.

 The next day we sat like hungry sardines on our bus to the city of Phnom Penh for this was where the Vietnamese embassy and thus our visa approval letters lay. Two necessary evils to allow a further staycation in Vietnam. After a night in the city and a coughing up of unexpected dollars for our 'visa processing' we were on our merry way. The road between Phnom Penh and Ho Chi Minh impressed me by its determination to reject all the usual qualities of a main thoroughfare; namely lights, road markings and smoothness. Looking lazily out of a window lined by brocade curtains, I gazed at open top trucks acting as impromptu buses and filled with locals, penned in like cattle on the way to market, perhaps with higher stakes. I dragged my eyes away, as I do now, to look forward to my final few weeks in Vietnam.