Cambodian road trips

(These events took place November 15, 2008)

The day after Eric and I drove from Kampot to Kep, Eric, Steve and I set out again on our motorbikes into the South Cambodian countryside, but this time in the opposite direction from Kep.  I had heard that a boat ride from a small village called Takeo to a temple, Phnom Da, offered stunning views.  Putting that rumor to the test was our intended goal for the day.  As often happens when I travel, however, plans change and this day was no exception.  

On the ride from Kampot toward Takeo, we felt like a celebrity parade since almost everyone we passed, children and adults alike, waved and hollered out hellos to us.  We encountered and enjoyed the usual countryside sights and attractions … and some novel ones.  At one point, I pulled over to the side of the road rather suddenly to take a picture.  Steve pulled over behind me, but had difficulty stopping in time and his tires skidded in the gravel as he tried to keep from flying off his bike.  A sweet old man who was standing by the roadside saw the whole scene and came over with a bucket of water.  Speaking rapidly in Khmer, he poured water on each of Steve’s tires, smiling all the while.  Steve acknowledged the man saying, “Thanks! I think my brakes need some cooling after that move.” 

Then the man confused us all.  He went from bike to bike pouring the water first on the back tire and then on the front, muttering words we couldn’t understand.  At first I thought it was the Cambodian version of the man who washes your car windshield while you’re stopped at a red light and then requests payment for his unrequested services.  This man, however, neither scrubbed our fenders clean nor asked for any remuneration.  We all stood there, puzzled at the man’s gesture until Eric posited the most likely explanation: we had been given some kind of prayer or blessing for our safe travel. We all readily agreed and thanked the man for his thoughtfulness.  Whether we were correct in our assumption or not, receiving or imagining such kind-hearted good will put a smile on all our faces as we set off again toward Takeo.

Cambodian boy delighted with a homemade kite

About forty-five minutes into our joyride, the skies that threatened earlier that morning opened up and rain poured down on us.  We scrambled to the shop of a roadside vendor where we hastily purchased flimsy plastic ponchos no thicker than cheap garbage bags. We wrapped some around our camera gear and then each donned one. The boys were in yellow while I wore pink. We were instant anti-fashionistas.  

As luck would have it, the minute we had protected ourselves from the rain, the skies dried up. They still looked dark and gloomy, though, almost as if daring us to try to continue toward our destination.  We decided to explore a side road instead, rather than putting ourselves farther away from our dry rooms in Kampot.  

We headed down a promising-looking dirt road that lead straight to a mountain.  I had visions of us climbing to the top, something I’ve set as a goal for my trip, but have yet to actually do.  Several hundred yards from the base of the mountain, however, was a barricade that said “STOP.”  Worse, next to the barricade was a manned guard building. 

friendly Cambodians

Those of you who know me or who have been following my blog know how much I despise being told “no.”  It’s not that I’m spoiled (at least I don’t think so). I just think the world should be full of “yeses.”  No’s offend my relentlessly optimistic life outlook.  When  I encounter them, I either ignore them and plead ignorance if busted or try to sweet-talk my way around them so that they become “yeses” or at least “maybes,” which in my book are the same thing. 

This situation did not seem to be one in which I could just ignore the “no” and head down the road so I grabbed my notes from my recent Khmer lesson with Seng-the-monk (I hadn’t committed to memory all the Cambodian he had taught me) and bounced over to the guardhouse with a big smile.  “Hello. How are you?” I started. Blank stares.  Hmmmm….  This wasn’t going well.  “My name is Beverly,” I tried again. Still nothing. I looked over my shoulder, expecting the guys to chime in and help out, only to find that they were waiting on the motorbikes, leaving me alone in the quest to circumnavigate the stop sign.   

I turned back to the guards, still smiling, and started pointing at the things I wanted to say using Seng’s notes which were written in English (or Latin as he liked to call it) as well as Khmer.  I’m not sure what the turning point was, but the guards ultimately cut to the chase, recognizing that all my niceties were merely precursors to the fundamental question: can we please go around the barricade?  The answer was yes (Ah! Sweet victory!), but not with our motorbikes.  We would have to walk.  

Steve climbing to the cave entrance

 I have to admit that sometimes a quantified “yes” still sounds like “no” to me so I was disappointed and feeling a little defeated. I had already imagined returning to the guys and announcing that we had a big green light, giving them another opportunity to point out what a charmed life I lead (which had become the topic of much recent conversation … and which, although I’m not sure I believe entirely, I secretly love to hear).  But “no motorbikes” still contained the dreaded “no” so I headed back with slumped shoulders to report the outcome.    

Only Eric heard the “yes’ in the result and prodded Steve and I on to at least walk to the mountain and look around the bend in the road. I’ve come to admire and appreciate that trait in Eric. It’s benefited me on numerous occasions in the past month in which we’ve been traveling together.  So we left our bikes at the gate and walked to the base of the mountain. En route, three local kids, two girls and a boy, started trailing us giving us the appearance of a tiny rag-tag parade. At one point, the smallest girl started walking beside me.  It wasn’t long before she silently made eye contact with me, smiled and took my hand, never losing stride, as if we’d known each other a long time.

Our little group walked up to inspect a temple and discovered that the mountain behind it actually had a cave.  Now it was Steve’s turn to push our group forward.  His long-time fascination with caves propelled him to the entrance before Eric or I had time to blink.  Eric cracked me up when he speculated, “You watch. He’ll discover some unknown killing cave.”  The two of us scrambled up the steep rock behind him and squeezed ourselves through the narrow entrance into the cave, contorting ourselves into at least five different positions that would make Twister masters proud … or cringe.  Our efforts were  rewarded. The cave opened up into a vast and beautiful cavern.  We could see rustic bamboo ladders leaning against rocks off in the distance. The cave cried out to be explored. But the way from the rock we stood on to reach those ladders looked extremely precarious.  

inside the cave terrarium

While Steve was trying to plot the course, I looked around to make sure our little band of followers had made it through the narrow opening safely. I was concerned when I didn’t see them, immediately recalling a section in my guidebook advising about the many unexploded landmines that still plagued Cambodia.  The guidebook warned, “Don’t go off the beaten path. (Too late for that one.) If little children will not go into an area, you shouldn’t either as there are likely landmines.” “Great,” I thought.  Eric-the-mountain-goat had also disappeared, but farther forward into the cave where I was now convinced he was going to be blown to pieces. 

My rising panic subsided as quickly as it had swept through my over-active imagination as I saw the little children beckoning to us from a ladder at another, much more easily accessed cave entrance.  They had clearly been to this cave often and were now proposing with their smiling faces to become our miniature guides.  Steve and I laughed at how difficult we had made the caving expedition as we re-contorted ourselves back through the narrow opening and around to the entrance the children were showing us … that came complete with ladder and clearly marked path straight into the heart of the cave.

With the kids’ help, Steve and I caught up with trailblazing Eric who was so far ahead of us, he’d had time to discover heretofore unknown continents.  The children didn’t speak a word of English.  I’m shocked at myself to look back and realize that I never asked their names or offered mine, but strangely names and languages didn’t seem to matter.  We all knew we had a bond and every one of us basked in the warm glow of it. When they wanted to get our attention, they just clapped until we looked their way.  Hand signals and hand-holding took care of any directional issues and smiles filled in the remaining gaps.  

Eric with the kids

When I stopped to take photos, the kids were patient and waited for me to finish before heading deeper into the cave.  They wanted to make sure I knew the way.  In this way and many others, they demonstrated maturity beyond their young years. I was touched at their tenderness. 

At one point the cave opened completely up to the sky and the water that came in had created a sort of indoor cave terrarium where many lush green plants were thriving.  About one hundred feet high up ahead, we saw men working, harvesting or mining something.  “How had they gotten there?” we wondered and began searching for ways to start ascending the cave rather than just making our way through it.  Again, the kids came to our rescue and showed us the way.  

At some time shortly before our ascent, two more boys had joined us.  One was particularly young; he appeared to be about five years old. The older kids were mountain goats on par with Eric and easily scampered up the tricky, steep incline that required us to become pretzels again. The little boy, however, was too small and realized about half-way up that he had bit off more than he could chew, as the saying goes, and began to panic.  Eric came to his rescue, lifting the small boy to safety with the rest of the group to a decent size landing about half-way up the cliff face, staving off the alligator tears that had welled up in his eyes and threatened to spill over.  

our little group

Although the older kids could probably have climbed with ease to the top where the men worked, we now felt responsible for them, particularly the smallest, and opted not to climb any higher.  So our group of eight spent the next forty-five minutes hanging out on the landing enjoying the views and playing games with the kids. Like 99% of Cambodian children, they loved having their pictures taken and posed eagerly, especially the youngest girl who never tired of hamming it up for the camera.  At one point, I made a short video of Eric interacting with the kids.  This particular girl kept tugging on my shirt wanting me to aim the camera at her.  Thinking I was taking still photos, she’d pose, usually being silly and sticking her tongue out.  She made me laugh every time.

Eric introduced them to his iPod giving them turns listening and controlling the volume.  At this point, one of them uttered the only English we heard from them all day: “MP3.” Holy cow!  How did this kid know what an MP3 was?  Despite not growing up around electronics (we assume), they picked up on how to operate the gadget just as quickly as American kids would … and much more quickly than I did!  

Eric demos the iPod for the kids

After about forty-five minutes, we were ready to climb down. The littlest boy was over his earlier fear and confidently grabbed Steve’s hand to escort him down. Eric stopped halfway and helped the other kids and me to get down.  I noticed that the littlest boy scurried ahead stationing himself at the bottom and, following Eric’s example, offered a tiny helping hand to me and Steve as we made our way back down to the cave floor, bringing a huge smile to my face and tears to my eyes.  

At the bottom, we discovered a rope swing that we had overlooked on our way up.  The kids ran ahead and eagerly demonstrated for us, swinging from a rock pile to the cliff face where they would push off with their feet and swing back to the rock pile.  Eric joined in the game, needing only a “triple dog dare” to prod him into action.  I went for a ride as well.  As I took a breath and grabbed the rope, I recalled a situation when my younger brother, then about eight years old, got stuck on a rope swing only about six feet up over a dried up creek.  Our cousin, Barry, retrieved my poor scared brother at which John exclaimed, “Barry! You saved my life!” It’s been a family joke since.  

me swinging

I didn’t know it, but, with my lack of grace, I was about to give my brother some ammo to counter with … and Steve captured it all on film. Rather than kicking off the rock wall as everyone else had done, I kind of thudded into it, causing the rope to limp slowly back to the starting point instead of sailing energetically.  I struggled to regain my footing once I returned to the rock pile and thought for a minute that I might be going for a second involuntary ride.  Determined not to have to thank someone for “saving my life,” I made my foot stick and kind of toppled off the pile.  I was grateful that I enjoy laughing at myself as well as for my safe landing.

The kids lead each of us by the hand out of the cave and back to the guard house.  On the way, I started noticing the littlest boy holding out his hand and saying 500 in Khmer. The youngest girl soon picked it up too.  One of the older children saw them and seemed to correct them or instruct them not to do it anymore.  For a while after that, the two youngest kids repeated the request, but much more secretly.  “I think they’re asking for money,” I told Eric and Steve. “Surely not,” they replied. The two kids became more and more blatant until we all three concluded that they were indeed asking for 500 riel, which is about $0.13.  

We were disappointed.  We had thoroughly enjoyed the kids’ company and were convinced that they had enjoyed playing with us just as much.  To bring money into play just seemed to cheapen the day on some level.  As we walked back, we three discussed both our perceptions of the situation as well as how we felt best about handling it.  We ultimately concluded that begging had become an ingrained behavior among many Cambodian children as a result of their abject poverty and that we shouldn’t take the children’s request personally or allow it to tarnish the reality of what we knew we had shared with them.  We decided that they had, in fact, acted as tour guides for us which is how we justified giving them the money.  We later thought it an interesting commentary on ourselves and our perceptions of money that we felt we needed to “justify” it all and the entire exchange was the topic of much conversation that afternoon and evening.  

styling

Before we left, we got quite a laugh from the littlest boy (the one who’d gotten stuck on the climb up) when he hopped up on one of our motorbikes and, using the mirrors, began slicking his hair back. He was a fabulous piece of work!  The kids were all thrilled when we gave them each 500 riel and we felt good about making them happy.  

Shortly after we left the kids, we stopped at a roadside stand for some lunch.  We also succumbed to the temptations of an ice cream vendor who happened by.  He served us coconut ice cream that he cut with a knife from a block of the homemade stuff and impaled on two wooden skewers.  It started to rain so we lingered on underneath the canopy of the lady vendor who fixed us lunch.  Within thirty minutes, in true Cambodian style, she offered to let us stay at her house if we didn’t want to drive back to Kampot. She made light of the fact that she would move to her mother’s house for the night so we could have privacy, but noted that there was only one bed that all three of us would have to share if we stayed.  We declined her generous offer, but were touched at her hospitality nonetheless.

We took another detour down a random dirt road on our way home and ended up in a tiny village of about one hundred people where one woman was particularly friendly.  I got off my motorbike to talk to her, but she didn’t speak any English and I did not speak enough Khmer.  We ended up smiling at each other and hugging while Steve snapped away with the camera.  She and I started laughing and apparently it was contagious.  For some reason, the entire village started laughing too.  It was random and completely delightful.  I really started laughing when she went to kiss me on my cheek, but instead ended up just pressing her teeth against it.  That’s happened several times to me now that instead of kissing, Cambodians just press their faces next to my arm or cheek and don’t really do anything.  Just one more reason not to take Seng-the-monk up on his not-so-subtle offer.  I’m not really a fan of gumming.  

here I am being "teethed and gummed" by this lovely Khmer woman while the whole village laughs

Speaking of Seng, I received a text message from him that evening that said:  “Sour sedey (hello) sister.  How are you doing? Do you have dinner already?  I miss you so much.  Sister, I want to tell you.  Maybe two or three month later (after I finish at Royal School and Administration) I’ll leave the monk as the same you (sic) and I’m working in a police and has to continue at University.  I want to buy a motor(bike) for traveling but I have no money (it costs $1500 US) so I want you to help me.  I think my sister has ability to help me.  My family haven’t got ability to help me because they are farmers. Thank you sister. I wish you have a good luck and sweet dream!”  I’m still in touch with Seng, but politely declined his offer to allow me to become his sugar mama.

The icing on the cake of this amazingly over-the-top day was the elephant.  On our way back to Kampot, we came across a VERY large elephant lumbering down the road ridden by two Cambodian men. This was definitely not an elephant for tourists, but a true working elephant.  The Cambodians were fascinated too it seemed for the elephant had a little parade of admirers, both children and adults following on bicycle and on foot.   After all the events of the day, we could only stop and laugh.  

Cambodian working elephant

Over dinner, as we reflected on the amazing day we’d experienced, Eric, Steve and I marveled at the delightful, big-hearted people of this country.  In my opinion, the Khmer should usurp the “Land of Smiles” title from neighboring Thailand.  In many ways, even after being in Cambodia for only a week, I love this country every bit as much as I love Bali, but I love them differently.  

Cambodia is bittersweet in a way that Bali is not.  In some ways, that makes it easier to love Bali.  But I have a sense that my feelings for Cambodia run deeper because of its bittersweet nature.  Within my lifetime, darling Cambodia has experienced genocide on a massive scale.  Instead of being permanently scarred and defeated, however, surviving Cambodians, poor as they are, are delightfully happy to be alive.  They know that things can be MUCH worse so they embrace their lives now.  Their faces can barely contain their instant, broad and sincere smiles that spread beyond their lips and into their eyes.  These amazing people simply radiate love and I am helpless but to love them back. 

This is was the day that my love affair with Cambodia truly began.  To see a video of this magical day, click here.  To see more photos of Cambodia’s charming countryside, check out the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.