Pharmacies, Irrawaddies, Tragedies.

Kratie was very, very quiet, largely because of the ongoing Khmer New Year celebrations. The townfolk are friendly, though, and very helpful in the event that directions are needed, as evidenced by a local tuk-tuk driver who was extremely useful in finding the things I needed.

Those things, due to my schoolboy error the day before, were sunblock and a long-sleeved, white top. I'd forgotten my sun cream and had paid for it, with my skin turning a nice shade of purple on my hands and arms, the result of being in the fierce sun for the whole of the previous day on the bike. The cover from the trees had done me little good and the pain was excruciating. Things wouldn't get much better, in truth, for many days. 

Being used to the sun and, in many instances, seeking to avoid it, Khmers aren't the greatest consumers of sunblock. In fact, in keeping with many societies around the world, both past and present, they seek whiter rather than darker skin, viewing lighter skin as a source of pride, for lighter skin is an indicator that one does not work in the fields or in another outdoor setting. So, perversely, my search yielded only whitening creams, with shop assistants perplexed as to what I actually wanted and I perplexed by the apparent desire of the Cambodian people, beautiful on the whole, to look like me. I suppose it's the same as Westerners seeking tans, but the reverse. Eventually I found some low-quality Korean sunblock, claiming to be factor fifty but also doubling as a make-up base. Hmmm.

The first stop on leaving Kratie was around ten miles north of the city, where one can view the Irrawaddy dolphins, freshwater cetaceans found here, further north at Stung Treng and in Laos (as well as in other countries in the area). Boats are easily hired and take you out to see the dolphins.

An image stolen from elsewhere: the dolphins were impossible to photograph.

Unlike sea dolphins, the Irrawaddy doesn't jump and is regarded as being considerably more timid. That said, sightings are easy near Kratie, though you'll have to be sharp to photograph them. The boatmen are very good at using the engine selectively and on a quiet day, one will have the area to oneself.

The road continues north to Stung Treng and, to be honest, it was a bit straight and boring. The journey was punctuated by random pagodas filled with swaying revellers and variably-surfaced but largely empty roads. Things, as I would find, were not quite as quiet and happy as they seemed.

Pulling over for a drink, I struck up conversation with a man whom I thought was the shopkeeper. This turned out not to be the case and the man was actually minding the shop for his parents. The usual questions about my background, family etc. were asked and we chatted for a little while. I asked why he wasn't at the pagoda and he suddenly looked despondent, eye-balling the ground. He said that it had been a sad day for his family, since his uncle's daughters had been in an accident. They hadn't, however, just been in an accident: they had been killed.

The angst in the man's voice became palpable and I was suddenly filled with both sorrow, pity and awkwardness in equal measure. He told me how he had witnessed the tragedy only three hours before; the girls, aged seven and eight, were crossing the road outside the pagoda when a car ploughed into them, knocking them over on the road before speeding off. The driver, presumably drunk, hadn't stopped, and the police had arrived too late to catch him. The man explained his horror at witnessing this and the little girls lying on the tarmac afterwards (I shan't go into details but they aren't pleasant). Their father had been filled with grief, having to be prevented from harming himself by the family. I sat flabbergasted, not knowing what to say, other than that I was sorry to hear this and hoped that the driver would be brought to justice. From my own point of view, my defences were raised against possible misfortune from drunken drivers.

Riding off after saying goodbye, I passed by the pagoda and saw an outline chalked out on the road where the accident had happened, with some sad faces drawn next to it. Such an image was a piteous one, while the ongoing party seemed strange in light of what had happened.

On the Road Again.

The flight into Phnom Penh from Singapore was a smooth one and, before I knew it, I was at Lucky Lucky Motorcycles, with whom I'd arranged the hire of a Honda XR250. On arrival, the proprietor took me off to his "other shop", closed due to the Khmer New Year and the formalities passed smoothly. Giving me directions to my target, Kampong Cham, the gentleman waved me off while advising me against tackling any jungle tracks. "If anything goes wrong," he said, seriously, "you will have to leave the bike in the jungle to find help." As he was holding my deposit (my passport) at the time, I was minded to listen to him.

The bike, before hitting the trails.

The ride from Phnom Penh to Kompong Cham is a simple, rather boring one. The terrain is flat, with few distinguishing features and quite a lot of dust from the road. Given that the government is conducting a wide-ranging overhaul of the country's road network at present (funded by China), roads are punctuated with chicanes and poor surfaces, which the XR250 devours with ease, enabling the rider to power along at 40 m.p.h. without feeling too unsteady. Amid the dust, however, I was intrigued by the parties I saw at every pagoda, with various Cambodian pop songs and variants of PSY's "Gangnam Style" blasting out while groups of people danced (more on this later).

The first stop came around Skun, made famous by Gordon Ramsay three years or so ago, when he came here to eat deep-fried tarantula. Said to have begun during the Khmer Rouge years, this food is popular around Skun and is eaten by locals and tourists alike. I was sure that I was in the right place, for two giant tarantula statues were outside the eatery.

A real shocker for passing arachnophobe drivers.

Before coming to Cambodia, I had engaged in the pre-trip bravado and swore that I'd eat the deep-fried arachnids. Now, having not eaten since Singapore the previous evening, I wasn't too sure and was relieved to see that they weren't on the menu. Seizing the escape route with glee, I ordered something else and told myself that I'd do it on the way back through...

The way to Kampong Cham was punctuated still further by pagoda parties and not much else, so reaching the city itself was a relief of sorts. However, due to  the Khmer New Year, the city was dead and only PSY's dulcet tones indicated any sort of life. I'd also made excellent time, reaching Kampong Cham within two hours or so, and decided to head off to Kratie along the west bank of the Mekong.

Now this was interesting. Little villages of wooden huts on stilts, random livestock (mainly pigs), dirt roads, pleasant glades and plantations, smiling children shouting greetings and, of course, Khmers in pickups and on scooters laden with crates of beer, no doubt heading for the pagodas. Some people hadn't even gone to the pagoda, instead choosing to party at home. I was greeted to the sights of folk swaying rhythmically beneath their stilt houses, smiling and red-faced. On the latter point, I had no room to talk, looking like one of Father Christmas' reindeer due to the fact that I'd forgotten my sunblock.

Around thirty miles from Kratie and having lost sight of the river, I needed direction. Stopping for directions earlier in the day had resulted in an old man drawing a map on his hand, but this was altogether different. A party was going on on a bend, and so I slowed to ask for directions. Immediately, I was surrounded by about six bobbing, swaying, zombie-like Khmers with glazed expressions, holding out their hands in supplication as house music pounded in the background. Feeling like I had been transported into some perverse combination of Resident Evil, the Haçienda (Manchester's infamous nightclub of the 1990s) and some sort of pagan ritual, I hurriedly asked for directions to Kratie. Still the hands were cupped in supplication and still they bobbed and swayed. Pulling five hundred riel from my pocket and placing it in a pair of cupped hands, they all nodded and made praying gestures before pointing me straight down the road. How bizarre.

Eventually I crossed the Mekong on a little wooden ferry, perturbing locals as I sped up the sandy ramp with ease (thanks to my 250cc engine) to a freshly-hacked coconut, some non-verbal banter with a shopkeeper and a bed at the Balcony Guesthouse in Kratie.

Lifting one's shirt up to reveal the belly appears to be either a Cambodian fashion or a way to cool down.

My dinner was very much "eat-and-be-thankful", given that deliveries weren't being made due to the New Year and therefore the hotel had very little of what was on its menu...

The sun dips over a floating settlement on the Mekong.

Reflections on Vietnam and A New Adventure.

It's been quite some time since I last posted, simply because crashing back into "the real world" for the last couple of months has made me a bit lazy and removed.

The trip to Vietnam, if it wasn't apparent from my writings, was simply amazing. The motorcycle is king in that country and so it makes perfect sense to see it while riding one. The experience of being in the open air, not encased in a metal shell, gives feelings of freedom and immersion, while visibility to local people is increased infinitely, meaning that the all-round sensation is far more satisfying (except, I might add, when it rains, or when one is riding around Cao Bang Province in winter...). Having never ridden a motorcycle before this trip, I was surprised at the ease with which I managed to ride, and was amazed that I had only one accident in six weeks. Acclimatisation to Vietnamese traffic and its unwritten rules was quick and easy. My main tips:

1) Do not become complacent. This sounds like the most obvious advice going, but it's the most valuable. When one reads of accidents involving Westerners on motorbikes, there are usually three factors involved: alcohol, drugs and excessive speed, or a combination of two or more. I met harm when going too fast, many others are less lucky. Put simply, do not drink/take drugs and ride.

2) Go with the flow (quite literally). Coming to junctions can be very daunting, since giving way is not commonplace at all in Vietnam. It's actually very easy if you intend to turn right: just slow down and merge into the waves of motorbikes. Other riders will accommodate you. As for turning left, well, be a little more aggressive but make no sudden movements!

3) Riding in the dark is ill-advised but, having done it a few times, not impossible. Try to leave enough time to reach your destination before nightfall or be prepared to stop somewhere other than where you'd intended. Guesthouses are two-a-penny and reasonably priced. If you must go on, keep your wits about you, look for potholes and keep a steady, sensible speed.

Making such a journey in solitude also produced plenty of experiences which I may not have had in a group: the lone traveller is less intimidating to locals, less removed and more pitiable in the correct circumstances!

As for the country itself, I run out of superlatives. I could describe it as: beautiful, dramatic, serene, chaotic, hospitable, friendly, socialist, capitalist, traditional...the list goes on. The scenery won the day for me; the variation between the mountains of the north, the jungle of the centre and the plains of the south make for pleasantly diverse vistas and experiences, while the people also change with the scenery; hardier, more reserved (though very friendly) in the mountainous north, "softer" and far more open in the south (though, I found, not quite as friendly as up north). The natural scenery, wildlife history, cuisine, conversations with the locals and random happenings (such as being dropped 200km from one wanted) ensure that no two days are ever the same! Cursory glances at the papers and the industry of the Vietnamese people showed that Vietnam is opening up and changing, but it was re-assuring to see that this was occurring while tradition and hospitality was being maintained.

Riding a motorcycle for six weeks left an indelible mark on me and it was only a matter of time before the next adventure would present itself. Tomorrow morning, I head to Singapore, before moving on to Phnom Penh on Monday, where I will pick up a Honda XR250 and disappear into Eastern Cambodia for two weeks. It should be a blast, so stay tuned for updates, whether they be on river dolphins, rescued elephants, impassable dirt tracks, commonplace acts of hospitality or deep-fried tarantulas...