My two favorite things about exploring a country on motorbike are the access to the locals and the ability to be spontaneous.  As they often do, these two elements came together one afternoon in South Cambodia for me and my traveling companions, Eric and Steve.  We had motorbiked from the riverside town of Kampot to the sleepy seaside  village of Kep.  The funny thing about motorbiking is that even when you’re not looking for an adventure or possibly even trying to avoid one, the fact of being on a motorbike seems to bring the adventure to you. 

In our revelry the night before, we’d all been a bit “overserved” and were feeling the ugly effects that next day.  As a result, once we drove through Kep, I was ready to turn around and head back to Kampot without seeking out any local interaction … something I hardly ever do.  But on this day, as many, the locals gave us no choice and I’m quite appreciative.

honored guests at a Cambodian party

We pulled up to an intersection on a slow section of the main road.  At the corner, some locals had erected some brightly colored tents and were holding a festive gathering of some kind.  At first glance, it appeared to us to be a wedding.  We slowed down at the corner and turned our bikes around.  This seemed as good a place as any to make a U-turn to head back to Kampot.  But the locals were having none of it.  

An old man who looked a bit more impoverished than the standard Cambodian stood in the road and grabbed hold of my motorbike handlebars.  At first he appeared to be begging for money, but on occasion he would also motion toward the party going on just  forty feet away.  Within minutes, some people emerged from the party and also grabbed onto our bikes, forcibly guiding them to the side of the road, indicating that we should park them among the other motorbikes and come into the party.  I was exhausted and hung over, but even under those conditions, I couldn’t resist the invitation.  So I allowed myself to be pulled from my bike and escorted into the party.  The guys followed.  

Eric with his host

The three of us were given seats of honor at a central table and were doted on as if we were royalty.  Each of the one hundred plus Cambodians at the party watched every move we made intently.  One young woman in particular seemed to have appointed herself as being in charge of our comfort.  She filled three glasses with orange soda and practically every time any of us even took a sip, would refill the glasses to the top again so that they never got remotely close to empty.

At one point, I stood up to take photos of the event and of the places of honor we’d been given, but our hostess apparently felt very strongly about orchestrating our experience and had me sit down.  One older man who was also a self-appointed caretaker very much wanted his photo taken with Eric.  Before allowing me to obey the woman’s instructions, the man grabbed Eric’s hand and had me take their photo.  After that, I obediently sat in my seat.

The lovely lady who never told us her name gave us each a bowl of some of the best seafood/rice soup I’ve ever had.  In the face of my puzzled look at the condiment tray, she jumped to my aid and prepared the soup for me adding a little of this, double of that, even taste-testing it to make sure it was just right.  I felt like I had a concubine.  In fact, after the events of that day, I’m seriously considering finding one.  

Steve making a donation

After Eric, Steve and I had eaten our fill of soup and couldn’t take another sip of orange soda, we began to look up and take in our surroundings.  Where was the wedding couple?  Was this even a wedding we were attending.  None of our hosts spoke a single word of English so we merely asked each other and tried to figure out the comical situation. We noticed a very old man standing behind a table with a microphone.  People seemed to be approaching him with money that they put into a silver pot.  I figured the donations were for the new bride and groom … wherever they were … and suggested to the guys that we should make a donation.

We each got out our money, but our hostess indicated that Eric and I should put ours away, tapping Steve’s intended donation instead.  We interpreted that to me $5 (Steve’s donation) was enough.  She guided Steve up to the “offering table” and guided him through dropping his donation in the bowl, but surprised us when also lead him to raise his hands to his forehead in prayer.  Hmmm…

Then she returned to me and tapped my purse.  Guess $5 wasn’t enough. I got out my original donation again and followed Steve’s lead, giving my homage and my donation.  Eric did the same.  Everyone was all smiles.

the happy couple

The three of us were headed back for our seats at the table when a strange thing happened.  Our hosts grabbed each of us by the elbow and began, somewhat forcibly, walking us to the “exit.”  Were we being given the bums’ rush?!  Our hosts were smiling all the while, but we were definitely being escorted out.  I headed back for my photo bag which was still at the table, but wasn’t permitted to walk back to the party.  Instead, the bag was fetched for me and I was escorted to my motorbike as were each of the guys. 

Just as we were about to take the hint and hop on, a nicely dressed couple appeared (the long missing wedding couple?) who seemed to be thanking us.  I took a few photos of them, but apparently there was a limit. After snapping off six shots, my hosts took my camera from my hands, hung the strap on my shoulder and literally put me on my bike.  Eric seemed to have managed a few photos before being put on his bike as well.  Only Steve was permitted to linger.  Our hostess seemed to have taken a shine to him and kept her arm so tightly wound around his, he probably had difficulty getting on his motorbike.  The entire event from sweeping invitation to smiling, pushy dismissal probably lasted only about thirty minutes.  I was stunned but laughing at how ludicrous the entire sequence was.  

smily happy (and extremely efficient!) people

I had turned my bike around and was facing the road, ready to pull out and head back to Kampot when I encountered the icing on the cake of absurdity.  A cargo van drove by that was literally packed to the point of overflowing with Cambodians.  And in typical fashion of Cambodian efficiency, the van had been outfitted with a cargo carrier for the roof and in the carrier rode at least fourteen smiling and waving Cambodians.  God, I love this country!

We found out later that the event we were swept into (and as quickly swept out of) was liking a party to celebrate someone’s new house.  Someone familiar with local customs told us that people hold these parties to help raise funds to cover the expense of their new house.  To have Westerners attend such an event significantly raises the status of the new house owners which is why we were ushered in so eagerly.  Apparently, these parties are held on a rotational basis so we were given the boot to make room for others who might attend and make donations.

invited to the wedding ...

When we arrived back in Kampot, we came across what was a definitely a full-blown wedding.  We were invited in for that as well, but we felt underdressed and concluded that enough adventure had found us that day.  So we made it an early night.