Down in Sihanoukville

Down in Sihanoukville,
Down in Sihanoukville,
All I did was die.

Interesting times make for interesting entries. By that rule, this entry is destined for failure. The text above is a slightly altered quote from On The Road (the city was originally Denver), but I read it while I was in Sihanoukville and it delivered a hefty dose of poignancy.

Sihanoukville is a beach town south of Phnom Penh where a lot of locals go to enjoy some sand and surf. I too would have relished in the waves, having just spent a month hopping around inland, but I didn't. I didn't want to. In fact, I didn't even want to come to Sihanoukville, but the promise of a quick and easy Vietnamese visa lured me out. I guess you can say I'm still jaded with traveling.

It was a rainy day when I arrived. Gloom swallowed the seaside town, and the already bland city center was mired in fog. I had come off of an easy 4 hour ride from the clogged organic mess of Phnom Penh, so in many respects, I was poised for a holiday, be it in the ocean or sequestered alone in a hotel room. The gloom didn't bother me. I love a good atmosphere.

After I checked into a cheap guesthouse, I did nothing. A quick saunter around town revealed the usual backpacker amenities, nothing to get excited about. Travel offices offered tours out to far flung islands. I'm sure they would be great. Really, it was me who wasn't making the effort. If my time in Sihanoukville were to have any kind of mantra, it would be "no effort". They had the Discovery Channel, Animal Planet, National Geographic and the History Channel at my guesthouse and a pizza joint next door that delivered. No effort required. Perfect.

Cambodian television is a general mishmash of other Asian television programing. Korean dramas, Chinese historical epics, Thai reality TV. Domestic programing had a very PBS-ish quality to it. The national anthem played frequently overtop the image of a waving flag. For kicks I sang along, reading the Khmer script as it's closest looking Roman equivalent, and you'd be surprised how funny that actually ended up being. Discovery had a dynamite lineup of programs about megastructures. Somewhere out at some bar, maybe some fun was being had, but I wasn't leaving my haven. I hadn't watched TV in ages.

The beach wasn't bad. It was only one of many beaches in town, and I'm told there are some beauties a few kilometers down. Some vendors walked up and down the sands selling wares. In town, things were a little more bothersome, with tuk tuk drivers all but grabbing tourists by the arm. I watched a volleyball game between locals that was quite spirited.

Then I had to get my visa, so a motorbike driver sped me up a hill to the gates which were, surprise, closed. My god working at an embassy would be a dream job. Office hours are from like, 9-12 with a 2-hour lunch then 2-4. I showed up halfway through the lunch break so my driver used the opportunity to try and shake more money out of my wallet. Continuously. For the whole hour. I suspected he knew that the embassy was closed and saw an opportunity to possibly make an extra buck. Forget my troubles. I waited until the gates opened and acquired my visa with the usual mechanics that the procedure requires.

Having gotten my visa, it was time to plan my escape. One bus left for Ho Chi Minh city, but it was at 7 in the morning, so I had to spend another night. Fair enough. The tuk tuk drivers were out in swarms looking for fares. The streets were uncharacteristically empty, so I had the cross hairs on me the whole time. I was well beyond fed up with this crap peddling that had come to signify Cambodia. Really, I was getting fed up with Cambodia. The begging, the smells, the open sewers, the garbage and especially the peddlers and touts. Nowhere else in Southeast Asia was it this bad, and at three months into traveling, I wanted to go home very badly. I locked myself in my room for a second night in a row and cradled my soul with English documentary television.

In the morning, a motorbike driver gave me some, ahem, "advice". he said it was much cheaper to buy bus tickets at the bus station rather than at the guesthouses. Sounded like solid logic, so I chartered a ride with him up to the station. Sure enough, it turned out to be more expensive, not to mention the fact that I had to pay the dishonest bastard that drove me up there. And that was probably my last interaction with a Cambodian citizen. Excellent way to go out guys.

I boarded the bus and was seated next to the Khmer Super Mario whose hammy foot frequently breached my comfort zone. It would be a ten hour journey and sleep seemed nearly impossible. however, thanks to my body's extreme aversion to waking up early, I managed to doze off. I hoped to god I wouldn't wake up until I got to the border.

Busted up car.

That volleyball game I was telling you about.