Days 8 and 9 - Sihanoukville

(In reference to the missing days - check out Spencer's blog for his posts about those happenings.  The link is at the top of this page.)

On the road again....though we decided to make it easy on ourselves and get the nine o'clock bus so we could enjoy sleeping in.  Not that this made a difference, since buses aren't exactly timely over here.  Given that I have a knack for running a little late, Spencer claims that these buses were designed for me.  The difference with this chartered bus is that the tourists are out-numbered by the locals. Apparently, we aren't the only ones wanting to head out of the city to a little beach town called Sihanoukville. This was actually never on our schedule, but we ran into enough people so far that mentioned the town as a definite place to check out. With a schedule like ours, which is really no schedule at all, we figured we could spare the time for the beach.  Here's a quick picture of our tedious time on a bus.  Apparently I caught a picture of Spencer contemplating either what the beach will be like, or why he chose the seat next to me on the bus... I haven't figured that one out yet. 

As we took the highways away from the hustle and bustle of Phnom Penh, the mosh pit of buildings transformed into a colorful pattern of streets side stalls and small houses, which often doubled as stores during the day.  The concrete structures later gave way to small tin shacks.  However, there were two constants: motorbikes and advertisements.  As I've already mentioned, everyone rides on the motorbikes and it is just impossible to escape them.  Granted, there are less of them the farther you get from the city, but they're still here.  In fact, as the bus barrels down the highway, they just give a quick honk to let the motorists know that they are coming up behind them.  What they really mean is, "I'm the bigger vehicle and you'd better move over because I clearly don't intend on slowing down."  The trucks and buses frequently cross into on-coming traffic on a two lane road to get around slower vehicles.  As a passenger, you have to trust the driver, and don't bother looking out the front window otherwise you'll begin to worry if traffic laws exist anywhere in this part of the world.

As for advertisement, every standing structure seems to have been given or acquired some sort of sign as decoration.  Eight times out of ten, it's a sign for beer; and most of those times it's a sign for Angkor Beer, a local brew.  From the abundance of signs, you would think that buissness is booming.  Another interesting sight at many stalls, which was a mystery until recently, are clear bottles which once housed water or soda but now hold some yellowish substance.  We finally figured out, these are all full of gasoline.  When your motorbike is running on fumes, just pull over and buy a liter from anyone, no need for a special thing called a gas station, though they have those too.

Finally the scenery gave way to nothing but rice paddy fields scattered with palm trees.  Dotting the
landscape were the ever common cows, much of which look underfed, but someone recently pointed out to me, it's just that they are fit and don't eat excessively.  Six hours later, we arrived in Sihanoukville without a clue of where to go.  The solution: ask the other eight backpackers just getting off the bust where they're headed.  Spencer struck up a conversation with two from Australia. We found out they had been traveling for a couple months and made friends with the rest of the group behind them (whom were involved in debates with the local tuk tuk drivers) on a river in Laos.  Ever since then they've had common destinations, so they were trooping they're way here to Sihanoukville.  By the way, the river activity consisted of floating on tubes lazily while passing waterside bars and shops.  All you had to do was signal to people on the side and they'd toss a rope your way so that you could pull yourself to the stall, buy a drink, and then continue to float on. Quite the hard life.  Though today, they were headed up and over the hill in front of us to a hostel one block from the water.  More immediately, we agreed to hitch a ride with them.  So ten people with bags piled into two tuk tuks and we were whisked over to the beach side.

We headed up past something that Spencer pointed to and said looked like two golden lions humping, so I figured a picture was necessary.  Once past the lions, we found the place called "Utopia" and it kind of had the feel of one.  Everything was colorful and contained within an enclave of walls that separated this place from the street.  Everything seemed to have a yellow and blue color scheme.  There was a deck area complete with pool, jacoozi, bar, lounges, benches, etc.  However, upon closer inspection, things look good from afar, but are far from good.  The pool water isn't exactly clear blue.  The chairs seem to be falling apart a little.  It clearly has been some years since paint was applied.  Though, this deteriorating look adds to the character of the place.  It most definitely belongs in this city which can be described as having a hippie atmosphere in a beach town serving the laid back, party seeking backpackers.  Clearly, things may be built around here and originally look nice, but there is no strongly concerted effort to maintain the appearance of new and clean.  I almost forgot to mention, our accommodations for the evening were in a dorm room of 24 homemade bunk beds stacked in two continuous rows for a measly $2 a night.

In trying to fall in tune with the atmosphere of the village, we head out to the main street and search for the place that is most packed because that means it has the best food or the best drink specials, if we're lucky it'll have both.  Today's top spot is an open restaurant/bar/guesthouse called Monkey Republic and drafts are $0.50, I'd say we found our spot.  As I ordered the first round, we met up with an American who was here on a marine conservation project as an intern on one of the islands.  She had gotten a technical degree in marine biology in North Carolina and was now participating in dives everyday to survey and catalog the different species of underwater wildlife around one of the local islands.  Every week she would receive a new wave of volunteers, whom she was charged with overseeing.  Soon we are joined by the other intern she works with, a guy that is half Thai and half English.  He then brings his friend and from the three of these people we begin to learn more about the area.

We learn of a popular spot called Happy Pizza.  It's name doesn't come from the smiling attendants, it come from the patrons who leave smiling.  They use...special seasonings on their pizzas.  Yes it is illegal, but apparently it is also very common, much like back home.  However, here, every local we pass says two things to us in quick succession with a tone of questioning, "marijuana? weed?" So we walk one block past all the locals and arrive at the beach.  It's not pearly white sand, but it is laid back with restaurants and bars on one side of the walkway and chairs and tables in the sand extending to half way between the walkway and the water's edge.  We end up at one by random choice and enjoy the every present 50 cent beers.  Spencer got a little adventurous and ordered some bar-b-q.  Fifteen minutes later a whole fish shows up glaring at him from his plate.  It was actually quite good, and given that we were on the water, it's safe to say it was fresh too.  For some unknown reason, Spencer and I were coaxed into eating the eyes of the fish.  Since it had been grilled, they had a crispy outside, but inside was runny like an under-cooked egg.  Needless to say it's on the list of something we tried, but don't need to taste again.

As evening approached, we were invited by our new found friends to join them as they head up to a more secluded beach were they plan to stay in beach-side bungalows in an area that has a happening night life with a multitude of bars.  With a quick look at each other and a shrug, Spencer and I figure, "why not."  We collect our things from the hostel we were booked into and return to the street to find that they have a car, but not just a car, they have a Lexus SUV.  At least the ride will be free to where ever this beach is.  As the lights vanish and the roads turn to nothing but clay and dirt in the middle of nowhere, we feel just a slight tinge of questioning in our decision process, but then again, can't be too bad.

The bungalows truly are on water and the strong ocean breeze is a welcome natural air conditioning.  We drop the bags and head off into the night.  The night scene isn't exactly lively, and we feel like the youngest patrons.  Though we still enjoy the evening even though we learn that this is off season for the place.  We learn that the guy with the car was actually borrowing it from his parents that are staying at a small hotel up the road from our location and know the owners of the bungalows at which were staying.  So it's almost as if we are with a local, which reassures any fears of getting lost in the middle of nowhere.

In the morning, I was abruptly woken up at the early hour of 10:00 AM saying it was time to take a group picture, pack our stuff, and head back to town.  Needless to say, I wasn't ecstatic, though ordering some mango shakes and sitting in a chair watching the clear blue sky and endless waves made up for it.  We headed back to town and said adieu to our new friends.  We checked into the colorful guesthouse we spotted the previous day, Monkey Republic, and then headed to the beach.  Here was our beach day of doing absolutely nothing.  However, it wasn't the relaxation you'd expect.  Literally every 2 minutes, someone would approach trying to sell something.  Women stopping offer to give you a massage or manicure.  Beggars asking for money.  Men selling sunglasses and lighters. Little children shoving their goods in your face.  The children were seemingly innocent, but were the most annoying.  They would hang around and tell you to buy their bracelets.  If the answer after 30 seconds was still no, then they'd ask, "maybe later?"  Regardless of your answer, they instructed us, "if you buy, you buy from me!  Come to me later and buy from me."  Spencer got a more rude answer from one of the kids.  He didn't like Spencer's, "No," and responded with a litany of burps into Spencer's face and then turned and ran.

At night, we set out in search of a beach party scene.  It wasn't exactly a rigorous search.  Several of the beach side bars just increased the level of their music and put on some neon lights, presto, beach side club.  They even hired locals to put on a pyro-display with wands doused in kerosene.  They would twirl the sticks of flame right next to the water for a couple minutes and then return to talking amongst themselves on the side of the bar.  We began to notice this trend throughout the crowd.  Unlike other places we'd gone so far, where people are open to meeting the strangers they sit next to or talking to travelers, this crowd was more interested in staying within their small groups.  This vibe killed the enthusiasm for finding a beach-side party, so it was back to Monkey Republic for us.  On the walk back of just 2 blocks, our disappointment of the evening was joined by the disinterest in the area from the number of hookers that we kept getting becoming looks and gestures from as we made our way back for the evening.

The next day, we figured it was time to move on.  Some places in ones travels just turn out to be an adventure, some are brimming with excitement, some are just impossible to leave, but here, we just didn't get a good vibe, so it was time to find the next place.  This was only supplemented by an old Australian guy that struck up a conversation with Spencer in the bar/restaurant area of our guesthouse.  He was a rough looking older guy that wasn't exactly well kept.  He commenced telling his story of last night heading to the bar at the end of the pier so he could find a woman for the evening.  He was successful and claimed that he insisted on starting the business transaction straight away.  So he stepped out of the bar for a minute and took several of those magic blue pills for older men.  While he was outside another Aussie called over to him and warned him not to pursue the girl he was talking to.  The guy couldn't help but be offended and thought the other man was just envious.  The response, "It's just because you're a fellow Aussie that I've got to let you know, you're talking to a lady-boy."  "Come on, you're shittin' me, how do you know?" was the obvious response.  The man responded, "Cause I've known him for 10 years."  The old man telling the story to Spencer died laughing, smacked Spencer on the shoulder, and turned around and left.  Spencer kind of looked back at me with a "well that guy's crazy".

So it was back on the road for a bus to Phnom Penh for a couple hours so we could grab another bus to Siem Reap.  We were headed from the beaches to the jungles, but the thought of seeing epic temples that reside normally only in photos was quite inspiring and made up for the 12 to 13 hours of bus rides we were in for.  Sorry for the lack of photos, but we were slightly weary of taking the camera with us to the beach and out to the bars.  This probably has something to do with one of us losing the more rugged camera within the first night out in SE Asia...