7 /. 4 = A late start through faffing about, but then I hired a bike, so was on my way for some breakfast, then to put my laundry in. Awe inspiring stuff. I pootled around town a bit, up and down alleys. It is flat around here, which is good, the gear on this bike is a tough one. I fancied cycling over the Mekong bridge, but it looks a bit heavy going, so I cycled to the bamboo bridge. Believe it or not, it is constructed out of bamboo. It looks a bit rickety, but cars are supposed to go across it. It is built every year and is only used during the dry season, ferries are used during the wet season. I stopped to take a few pictures, it looks pretty cool, the closer I get. It links an island, Koh Paen, to the southern side of the river. There was a bloke lounging on a cart when I stopped, so I asked to take his photo. When I went over to show him, I tripped and almost took a slide into the Mekong. It’s a good job it is dry season and the river is quite a way off, otherwise I would have been swimming in the Mekong, that would have been another tick on my list that wasn’t meant to be there. The bloke dragged me up the bank, it was dry, so I was only dusty, not up to the eyes in clarts.
I moved closer to the bridge to see if I could do a better job of falling in. The sun is dipping, but it is still red hot, so I stood under a tree and minutes later my next English lesson arrived. Ton Kim his name and this turned out to be one of the most interesting chats I’ve had in Cambodia. After the usual round of questions, Ton began to tell me about when he lived in the jungle. How the wild pigs had eaten all the rice crop the first year, so him and his Dad would sleep by the paddy field, until they finished the fence around it. Also how he heard a tiger turn up one night, checking out his 2 buffalo. He didn’t get up, but saw the paw prints in the morning. Him and his brother used to go out with catapults for birds and he used to trap wild hens. How the locals used to fish with poison, I think it may have been a drug to send the fish dizzy. He obviously missed the jungle, by the way he smiled as he spoke of the times and by the enthusiasm with which he spoke. He told of how the forest is being destroyed by inconsiderate rice farmers and how the local militia lend their weapons to the locals to hunt, so the animals are becoming more scarce. He had some good stories and planted a seed in my thoughts to live in the jungle. Will it grow?? Not quick enough for this trip. For the future?? Who knows what is to come??
I headed back to the stalls by the hotel, that sell the beer, but decided to wait for the sun to drop a bit more, so went passed and sat on the prom wall for a while. Low and behold my 2nd English lesson of the afternoon turned up. It is great when there is no money chasing involved. This lad worked in a nearby hotel and had a definite eye for the ladies. He told me, in the nicest possible way of course, that I could get a lady at his hotel. We had a laugh about it, but I settled for a beer.
I tried a Khmer establishment to eat tonight. A bit posher than most I have tried. There were more waitresses than customers and I’d put money on it they were taking the mickey out of me. One lass sat on the window ledge and watched me eat. Foreigner watching seems to be a Cambodian custom and who am I to complain about people watching. Like me they are just curious, or nosey and I am used to being stared at. The walk is getting definitely more funky. I could qualify for the Ministry of Funny Walks, no problem. The dickie search is another quaint custom. Now you are thinking. I may have told you about this already, but just in case. It is mostly lasses, they sit and search each others hair for unwanted stowaways. I still get the smile and the wave and then they just carry on. It seems to be a popular tea break custom.
Fed and watered, I went back to pack. I am moving from the hotel to a guesthouse tomorrow. I don’t like the room I’m in, it is miserable. Some buildings are demolished because they have sick building syndrome, well, this room has miserable room syndrome. I don’t like the poisoned dwarf on reception either. He even has an elevated chair to bring him up to normal height, behind the counter. He is like a dwarf baddy in a James Bond film.
8 / 1 = Moved from my miserable room to a dump. It’s not that bad. It is about half the size, but looks out over the Mekong and is a happy room. I struggled to find a bike today. Eventually a moto man said he would take me to one. It was so close, he could have pointed it out, but he earned his money helping me to get a bike that wasn’t about to fall apart. The shop we went to didn’t have a bike with gears, so she pointed us next door, very good of her. After trying to get about 6 bikes to function, I gave up. The lady had gone off, so I went back to here later and took one from her without gears. I headed for the bamboo bridge again. If yesterday, I almost fell in the Mekong, today I almost cycled into it. The dirt track to the start of the bridge is dusty, rutted and steep, so as I braked a skid developed and I was on a direct path to miss the bridge, but due to my expert cycling skill, also known as being bloody lucky, I rounded beautifully onto the bridge, on the wrong side of the road, but come on, I’m on the bridge. It’s about 8 feet wide and made of sliced, interwoven bamboo. It took me about 20 metres to realise, one wrong move and I’m in the Mekong, there are no side barriers and there are plenty opportunities to slip, especially when a moto is coming the other way carrying this years rice crop, but I avoided him and the edge of the bridge, or more likely he took pity on me and avoided me. It is easy to miss oncoming traffic, just close your eyes and hope. I got about halfway across and couldn’t believe it, BRIDGEWORKS. 4 lads were crouched sliding new slices of bamboo under the thicker slices of the central reservation, also known as the cyclists trip up. They didn’t move either, so I played it safe, so as not to knock one into the river and scooted through the gap. I made it to the other side and bloody hell, if it isn’t a toll bridge, 50 cents each way. I suppose it has to be paid for and the toll booth was a hammock and a hut, pretty cool. The bridge ends and a track come beach starts, so I am doing a bit of off road racing on a ladies shopping bike that is too small for me, no wonder I am knackered. My sweat is bringing the Mekong back to wet season levels. The road becomes shaded after a while and seems to run for miles. It must go straight down the middle of the island, as I didn’t see any water for ages. There are stilt houses on both sides of the road, some big ones too. It looks like the majority of places are farms. There are fruit trees everywhere mangos, jackfruit, bananas and some I don’t know. Lots of the farms have sweetcorn and tobacco out drying. There are lots of tall tobacco drying houses along the road too, with groups of people tying the leaves together to hang in the drying houses. A group of people are gathered around a machine that strips the corn from the cob and then minces the cobs to a meal. I guess it has all been done manually before, to this is a spectacle to be watched. Sesame is supposed to be grown on the island too, but I don’t see anything that may be sesame.
As usual, there are lots of “Hello” s as I cycle along and some kids run onto the track to slap my palms as I pass. This is a good fun and interesting ride. It is going on a bit without any sign of coming out of the houses and trees, then I heard a call to prayers. I know there is a Muslim village somewhere, so I kept going until I realised the call had gone from in front of me to behind me. I guess I missed that turning. At last I came out into the open to see fields and the river. There is also a pagoda temple off to the left, but I did an about turn and headed back and then I spotted the turn for the Muslim village. I thought there were only houses either side of the track, but they go back a few rows. I eventually gave up looking for the Muslim village when I entered a few farms thinking they were roads. I got back to the track and spotted a bench under a tree at the entrance to a tobacco farm. I asked a young lass, leaving on a bike, if I could sit there. “Yes”. I did then she reappeared. It seems to be a Cambodian habit that if they don’t understand you they say YES. The lass was beaten to me by about 6 kids of varying ages, followed by Mam. I sat for about 30 minutes, probably more, having fun. The Mam was a good laugh too and kept order when it got a bit raucous. Everyone was interested in the LP and there was a photo shoot, only the younger ones were interested in that. I handed out some fruit I had brought along. At first nobody would take it, then the scamp of the bunch took it and everyone dived in then. The kids were good making sure the titchy ones got their share too. I got the binoculars out. This caused a ruckus, but it was all good in the end, even Mam had a go. She had a bigger laugh when I showed them to look through the wrong end. This meeting has made my day, but it is time to move on. I stopped at the last cold drinks stall for a sugar fix before the sand and bridge and 2 kids gave me a Khmer lesson, mostly in counting, after they had asked my age.
Back to the bridge, where the bloke tried to collect my toll again. I was getting a bit cocky on the bridge until a bloke came along with someone on the back of his moto, carrying a mirror almost as wide as the bridge. I pulled over. I made it across, passed the ongoing bridgeworks and sat in the restaurant next to my new abode with a beer as the sun set.
That was a cracking day.
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