Si Phan Don - Don Khone

Railway hike following the old rail bed

Rusting locomotives at the abandoned rail service yard

Abandoned French loading pier

Abandoned French loading pier

Cambodia just across the river

which explains the abandoned loading pier and railway line: someone must've thought it a good idea to have a loading pier facilitating trade across or along the river and then distribute the goods via train to the surrounding area. Or vice versa. And when the French left, they took away its dreams of development with them - probably for the better.

Si Phan Don - Don Det

Day four on Don Det. The reason why I've not written anything at all for the past three days was because I decided to take a break from everything upon my arrival here on this island. No rushing, no writing, no thinking even. I told myself that I'd recuperate from my wounds and injuries; recharge and recover my energy; rest and relax from my adventures thus far.

Si Phan Don, literally translated to the 'Four Thousand Islands' greeted me with rain falling from low dark clouds and sullen tourists in windbreakers leaving the islands. I'd heard that southern Laos is the wetest part of the country. I thought, 'Maybe I expected too much from it after having been told of its wonders.' I couldn't have been more wrong. Approaching the islands by boat, the relative movements of the boat on the river causes the illusion that the islands themselves were floating downriver.

This far upriver, the Mekong flows with fast strong currents to its distant delta in southern Vietnam. Its surface is disturbed and half-submerged trees try their best to stand upright - the remains of islands drowned by the rising water level during the rainy season now as the river carries melted snow from the Tibetan mountains.

The constant murmur and gurgle of the river fills the cool air. And I mean cool - it's the first time I've ever had to use a blanket during sleep. There is no need for fans as the cool breeze blows into the wooden bungalow (which I've rented) through windows and the door (which I leave ajar) as well as floorboards beneath which the river runs and laps at the stilts and bank.

Life here is idyllic, perfect even. I wake to a glorious sunrise and the (less pleasant) rev of rocketboats on their way to the market at Ban Nakasang across the river or Don Khong further upriver. The rest of the day is filled with reading (which I've contradictorily) allowed myself on the hammock hung in the balcony interspersed with short breaks of taking in the view of the river that ultimately end in short naps.

When I'm hungry, I eat. When I'm bored, I take long walks along the muddy trail circumventing the island or the rocky path bisecting the island. The former takes you past wooden houses on stilts where chicks run behind their mother hen, where ducks and cows graze in what tiny patches of grass there are, and piglets and boar-lets are tied to coconut trees. The latter takes you through emerald green paddy fields where adolescent boys drive oxen to plough their fields and children help their parents plant young paddy shoots.

Here, I feel like Maugham's Lotus Eater. I don't think his failed suicide was a reflection of his inability to make tough decisions after having liver a life without them. I think he realized that life was just too good and he couldn't bear to leave it for the uncertainties of death.

In the evening, the women go down to the river to do their laundry. Little boys bring their small boats made of bamboo with makeshift propellers of elastic bands and flat sticks down to the river to play. As the sun dips even lower in the evening sky, everyone heads down to the river to bathe: stark naked children and sarong-clothed adults.

With the setting of the sun, the islands are plunged into darkness. There is no electricity supply to the island but farmers and bungalow landlords have installed generators to generate electricity for a short while into the night to prepare for bed. Nights here are oh-so-humid but for the cool breeze from the river. Some are characterized by heavy monsoon storms with strong winds, brilliant flashes of lightning and the crashing of thunder as the rain falls noisily on the river and the tin roof.

Here, the people wake with the rising of the sun and sleep with the setting of the sun. Their days are a neverending cycle of fieldwork and other related housekeeping chores. There is no sense of time; only a rough reckoning based on the position of the sun and the growling of stomachs.

It is absolutely perfect here. The place is gorgeous, the weather just right and life here is simple, basic. If I didn't leave today, I would never ever leave. Somewhere on this island is a guesthouse with a signboard saying, 'Welcome to Paradise,' and true enough, here at Si Phan Don, I've found a piece of paradise on earth. I promised that I'd return again someday and I definitely will.

Dong Kralor - border crossing

Stung Treng shyness

Kampong Cham to Stung Treng via Kratie

Today has been nothing short of an adventure (of sorts). It all began when I met two Israelis also on their way to Laos and decided to travel with them. Looking back, I'm still not sure if it was a good or bad idea.

Bad idea. One of them was simply unbearable: a big brutish bully; spoilt, rude and foul-tempered. Everything had to be done his way and if he couldn't get it, he'd throw a violent tantrum, hurl obscene insults in English and Hebrew as well as physically threaten anyone involved.

Traveling with him was an unpleasant experience but to be associated with a person such as himself made me feel absolutely terrible. Doesn't he know that getting angry won't get him anywhere in this part of the world? Written in retrospect: he developed malaria overnight at Stung Treng. Karma's a bitch, but for once, I'm not complaining.

Good idea. The other guy, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. Certainly more brains than brawn; he was soft-spoken and mild-mannered with a calm and rational mind. Talking with him was a pleasure as he was also quite well-travelled and had strong opinions on the places he had visited so far.

***

Kratie

Upon arriving at Kampong Cham, we tried to get to Stung Treng on the very same day. Asking around, we were told that it was impossible as the last bus had just left. Desperate not to stay at Kampong Cham any longer, we bargained hard with a taxi driver to drive us all the way to Stung Treng via Kratie for US$80. Yes, I shared a taxi with four other passengers - the driver found two other local passengers to cut down the cost. In the end, we had two sitting in the front passenger seat with us three at the back. This trip to Kratie lasted four hours.

At Kratie, we had to change taxis: this time with a total of seven passengers. Three in front, four at the back. This was one of the longest two hours in my entire life.

***

Passing through the Cambodian countryside is weird: the further we drove away from towns, the more wild and untamed the countryside became. Cultivated fields give way to wild grass. Houses become sparse and cars morph into buffalo-driven carts. Every now and then, village people can be seen herding their cows across the road. Like being home in a dream - surreal.

Angkor National Museum

Like the Cambodian Museum, I highly recommend the Angkor National Museum before you visit the Angkorian temples, especially if you're not planning on hiring a tourguide. It's a bit pricey, but you pay what you get for: a really luxurious building with spacey exhibition galleries. the halls are air-conditioned, offering respite from the heat and the amount of information is just right - not too much to overwhelm you but not too little not to learn about anything. Information on the Khmer civilization , its religion and rulers as well as its culture are disseminated by excellent use of multimedia. You'll definitely spend more than two hours here.

Beijing Olympic Games

If anything, the opening ceremony of the 29th Olympic Games in Beijing was a blatant show of China's nigh-unlimited resource of human talent. If China were to build the Great Pyramids of Giza, they'd easily succeed. After years of imperialism - of being bullied and being looked down upon, China has finally had enough and is now unleashing its true potential.


Ok, so maybe I'm glossing over the nitty gritty details of China's human rights record - e.g. the pageant of 55 children dressed in traditional costumes of the officially recognized ethnic minorities of China over a backdrop of the government's efforts to decimate these minorities. But come on, a total of over 15000 performers - Wow!


As an aside, it was very interesting to watch the Parade of Nations. To me, it reflected the current political makeup of the world - specifically Korea fielding two separate teams, Taiwan walking under the banner of 'China Taipei' and Hong Kong having its own contingent.


In the distance, I spot the Malaysian flag and I sit up in anticipation. (Apparently, the countries are ordered according to the number of strokes in the first character of their names in simplified Chinese.) But my excitement is shortlived when I realize that the Malaysian contingent is dressed in baju Melayu and baju kurung of the royal golden-yellow hue.


I was in Malaysia just a few weeks ago and last I checked, it was still a multi-racial country. Athletes from other contingents were allowed to wear their own traditional costume. Take for example the Libyan contingent. If not, blazers are appropriate, not to mention smart. Look at the Singaporean contingent. Or even the hot Lithuanian team with their polo-tees and khaki shorts. Funny that. Come on, even a batik shirt with slacks would do better.


The last thing I want to do is to judge my own country with the standards of other countries. But when people assume that I've forsaken my homeland and ask me why I've adopted the British accent and lifestyle, this is why. Before you judge me, you might want to stop yourself to think - because maybe I care about my country more than you do.

Hot Lithuanians!

Roluos - Preah Ko

Roluos - Bakong

Roluos - Lolei

Bang

The ominous rumbling of a large vehicle behind me - probably a bus carting off tourists to Angkor Wat for the sunrise. Its powerful headlights light up the dark road before me instead of my weak dynamo-powered bicycle lamp. The furious roar of its engine. A loud bang and a violent jolt.

You know what they say about your whole life flashing before your very eyes just before you die? It's bullshit. Revisiting the incident, all I could think of whilst flying through the air was to stay alive. Seconds later and thump I'm on the road. Instinct tells me to breathe after having the air completely knocked out of me but the force of the impact still has my body in shock. With some effort, I manage a small gulp of air, like a gasping fish out of water. Auto-pilot takes over and I scramble to the side of the road to avoid the oncoming traffic.

Within an hour, I'm being rushed to a hospital. The sound of an ambulance's siren is not strange to me but hearing it from inside an ambulance itself, especially after being placed on a stretcher like they do on television, is surreal.

White fluorescent light on white ceiling. Beige walls. Sterile. The doctor wants to administer an anaesthetic. I refuse for many reasons: the cost (I'm not insured), the HIV scare in Cambodia and the fact that pain tells me I'm still alive. As they clean my wounds, I grip the bed railings so hard that they start to rattle.

This is where the true Cambodian spirit reveals itself and thank goodness they live up to their name. Whilst lying on the ground, I saw the bus carry on down the road and I thought the driver was going to pull a hit-and-run. Thankfully, he stopped and other motorists stopped to help. The tourist police was very helpful but I found the guy from the insurance company to be the most helpful, surprisingly. Maybe it was because I could've filed a lawsuit but didn't. All I wanted was the company to pay for the medical fees and the rented bicycle which was wrecked - (which they did). I just wanted it all to be over and done with. Besides, you can't set a price on everything: on the pain I'll have to endure? On the missed sunrise and wasted time? On distress and shock? On limbs or life itself? Ridiculous. I get further with an apology.

Looking back on the accident, I was awfully lucky. The angle of my front wheel could have been different or the vector of the force with which I was hit could have been different, and I would've been flying to the middle of the road in the path of the bus itself. I could've been decapitated, my head smashed against the front of the bus with brain splattered all over like the watermelon in seatbelt or safety helmet advertisements. The irony being that I wasn't wearing a helmet either.

Oh how weak and fragile our bodies are? Pathetic. How insignificant and puny our lives? Like the scene of the video I saw at the Reunification Palace: gun to head, bang, falls down to knees, dead. Next scene. Moving on. All I can see in my mind's eye is a candle flame. Exposed. Blow. Out. Blown out. Snuffed out. Just like that. Poof.

The thing is; everyone's going to die and to be honest, we can't control the way we die (naturally). So is there any point in trying our best to live when it's actually this hard?

I've not broken any bones. My lungs did not collapse. But I've yet to analyse any psychological effect this accident might have on my mental state. I hope it's nothing serious, if not permanent.

Angkor - Pre Rup

So I've been cycling for five days now and I'm thinking, 'Enough is enough.'

Firewood

So I'm cycling to Preah Kahn when these two little girls by the side of the road call out to me. Replying their call, I carry on with my journey. Cycling back from Preah Kahn, I see them again: this time with firewood stacked on the back seat of their bike. This is what always gets to me.