George had stressed that Ban Lung was easily in reach of Stung Treng, so an early start pointed to a productive day. Bidding him goodbye, I set off in the direction of Siem Pang.
It was a beautiful day, with the countryside (flat and devoid of trees) resplendent in the sunshine and roads still largely empty. I decided to take a detour to O'Sveay, a village by the Mekong, which lay at the end of a rough, 20km dirt track. This was fun, with the exception of my smashing my face into my handlebars while hitting a hidden and significant dip, leaving me wondering how my nose wasn't broken or my teeth smashed.
O'Sveay was extremely tranquil and affords some nice views of the Mekong. The village itself is composed largely of timber stilted huts and is very sleepy; the inhabitants smiled a lot and those villager with whom I spoke were friendly and helpful. The place was obviously muted from the previous day's celebrations and I didn't linger long, mindful of the need to reach Ban Lung.
From O'Sveay, the route to Siem Pang is straightforward and not particularly stimulating. I was, therefore, relieved to reach my immediate stopping to take a photograph or two and swig some water. As it happened, this wasn't all I swigged.
The local pagoda was rocking with the sound of music and it was clear that the local people were enjoying more of the now-familiar Khmer New Year celebrations. Noticing my curiosity, a nearby gentleman waved me into the pagoda, bike and all, where I was greeted immediately with beer by two young men and exhorted to dance. Not wishing to appear rude, I graciously accepted and joined the festivities.
One of the young men, called Pisey, spoke excellent English and took great pleasure in introducing me to assembled young men. The scene was an interesting one, with a group of young men dancing in the sun and drinking beer, while children looked on from the shade of a colourful ceremonial gazebo and the monks from their quarters. Now and then, other people would arrive on motorcycles, bearing crates of beer and, sometimes, mineral water. The children occasionally danced, as did the women who arrived a little later.
There was much merriment but soon it was time to go, despite the protestations of a number of the assembled revellers, who said that I should get a room in the village and stay the night. I politely refused, even when Pisey said that, due to the recent rain, the road to Ban Lung after the river was wet and that I'd be better off taking it on the following day. My rationale was that it could also rain that night and become wetter, so I decided against staying. Pisey took me to his house for tea and water before guding me to the ferry and waving goodbye. Mistake: ignoring local advice.
I should have realised that this idea of mine was ill-starred when I dropped the bike on the ramp onto the ferry, denting the tank quite severely and bending the headlight to the left, but I nonetheless went on. Coming off the ferry, the road was no longer a road, merely a mud/sand track of inconsiderable width. It was clear that the rain had indeed messed up the road, for puddles abounded and the various detours came in handy. I, however, soon became complacent and after ploughing my bike into quite wet-looking mud, became stuck for the best part of half an hour, finally managing to haul the bike out of the mud and get it started again.
After this, I was more judicious but still had to take the bike through considerable wet, muddy patches. In the absence of traffic of any volume, save for the odd pair of scooters, care was needed. I began to progress quite well, slowing only for the dry sandy patches which were a little treacherous, tipping me off on one occasion. This was unfortunate, with my left leg trapped beneath the bike and my right sitting on the engine. I only noticed about ten minutes later that my leg was smouldering, where the engine had burned through my trousers and into my immobile leg. The pain was surprisingly small, presumably because nerve endings had been destroyed.
The track was, however, great fun, despite the odd tip and the loss of my front brake lever after one such fall. It twisted, turned, had a great variation in surface and gave the feeling of real adventure. Villagers along the way seemed very surprised to see foreigners, waving or just staring as I went by and finding it hilarious when I hesitated before safely negotiating a river crossing.
The sun was dipping in the sky but I wasn't concerned, seemingly oblivious to the time I had spent in Siem Pang and thinking that I had a good few hours of light yet. I was stopped along the way by an impromptu party in the forest held by local villagers, who, after extracting a donation from me, told me that I was heading towards Ban Lung and didn't express any doubts about time, so I pressed on, not that I had much choice.
After a couple of hours, however, I was still very much in the bush and it was twilight. The sun had virtually sunk, I was hungry and thirsty and there were no real signs of civilisation. I met a couple of dead ends and then took the widest-looking track, since lorry tyre tracks suggested a route to civilisation. Within half an hour, it was pitch black and I had lost this track.
Then, through the trees, there was literally a glimmer of hope. I glimpsed a couple of lights and could hear the faint beat of house music. Was this Ban Lung? Who cared? I fired up the engine and charged through the trees, branches deflecting off my helmet as I went. I stopped at intervals, listening to see if the music was becoming louder, which it was. After repeating this process of frenzied acceleration through the undergrowth and desperate listening for music, I eventually came to what I thought was a massive clearing. I could see the lights on the other side and could hear music but there was no sign of a track. I looked around for the best part of thirty minutes, realising after nearly disappearing down a deep, empty ditch that I had to tread carefully. I finally realised that I was in a dry paddy field complex and decided, in my desperate state, to ride over it.
This was quite easy and I soon reached some houses, still none the wiser as to how I ought to proceed. I came tearing into an enclosure of some sort, where a young man started in surprise as he saw a barang on a motorcycle come from nowhere. I was clearly in someone's garden and he politely pointed in the direction I ought to take. I finally came onto the main street of a village and stopped at the nearest place which looked like a shop.
"Ban Lung! Ban Lung!" I exclaimed. The lady looked puzzled, thrusting a bottle of water at me. Her husband came as she cleaned the table. "No Ban Lung," he said, pointing down the road. After around twenty minutes of me asking for Ban Lung and him saying that it was down the road, the man's wife appeared with a young man. He turned out to be a teacher and quickly cleared up the issue.
"You are not in Ban Lung. Ban Lung is far and it is late; there are no ferries now. You must stay here."
"Are there guesthouses?"
"No."
I stood there, filthy, weary and stupefied. Where was I? What had happened?
After a conversation between he and the lady, the young man said, "The lady will look after you. She will put a hammock on her house and give you some food. After you eat, come to the house where I am staying for a shower. I think that she said that; they don't speak Khmer so good [sic] here." He walked off and the lady beckoned me to the dinner table, where she served vegetables and rice with a hot sauce and tea. I didn't know what the vegetable was and I didn't care; nor was I bothered about whether the tea had been made with boiled water. I ate and ate, to the delight of the woman.
It was now shower time, so I proceeded to the house over the road, where my helper was residing. Towel under arm and shower gel in hand, this was going to be good, very good. "Hello," he said. "You want your shower?" "Yes, please!" "Okay, take off your clothes."
I looked around. I was on the street and not being invited inside, where I presumed that the shower was. The young man was smiling and gesturing, so I stripped down to my underwear, at which point I was given a sarong and told to also remove my underwear. I was now standing outside the house in a sarong, with the whole of the family watching both curiously and intently. The young man ushered me to a corner of the front yard and pulled a wooden cover off a well. He dropped the bucket in, pulled it out and filled a large a container with the water. "There!" he said, proudly. "Your shower!" He then walked off, coming back with a metal bowl for me to rinse myself. All eyes were on me as I dipped the bowl into the water and the suspense was evidently killing the family whose well I was using...then, as I drenched myself, they exploded into laughter, presumably because a barang was washing from the well. Each time I threw water over myself, the family killed themselves with laughter, until I had finished and dried myself. At this point, the young man who had been so helpful and his friend suggested that we went to the pagoda, which had saved me with its music.
On the way, the young man and his friend revealed that they were teachers at a nearby school and were only in Bac Kalang (the name of the village, spelling probably wrong) to see friends. They were called Visey (the man who'd helped me) and Sombor (spelling unclear and probably wrong), the former teaching English and the latter Biology. They asked the usual questions about what I was up to, what did I think about the Khmer people and explained that we were in a predominantly Lao village, hence why he had had a little trouble communicating with the family with whom I was staying.
At the pagoda, the scene was rather different from Siem Pang. The men were nowhere to be seen, presumably because they had had too much to drink, with only women and children present. The teenagers were sitting talking while the children danced. After a little while, the music became a lot more sedate and traditional and some women asked us to dance. I apprehensively agreed.
The dance was the Romvong. I felt like a lemon doing it, mainly because I couldn't do it well. No one really minded, so much so that I was asked to do it two more times in succession. I told Visey that I found it boring and he agreed that it was tedious, saying that we were obliged to continue because we'd been asked.
After more Romvong-ing, I was tired and returned home. Visey and Sombor said goodnight and I dropped off in the hammock. It had been some day.
It was a beautiful day, with the countryside (flat and devoid of trees) resplendent in the sunshine and roads still largely empty. I decided to take a detour to O'Sveay, a village by the Mekong, which lay at the end of a rough, 20km dirt track. This was fun, with the exception of my smashing my face into my handlebars while hitting a hidden and significant dip, leaving me wondering how my nose wasn't broken or my teeth smashed.
O'Sveay was extremely tranquil and affords some nice views of the Mekong. The village itself is composed largely of timber stilted huts and is very sleepy; the inhabitants smiled a lot and those villager with whom I spoke were friendly and helpful. The place was obviously muted from the previous day's celebrations and I didn't linger long, mindful of the need to reach Ban Lung.
From O'Sveay, the route to Siem Pang is straightforward and not particularly stimulating. I was, therefore, relieved to reach my immediate stopping to take a photograph or two and swig some water. As it happened, this wasn't all I swigged.
The local pagoda was rocking with the sound of music and it was clear that the local people were enjoying more of the now-familiar Khmer New Year celebrations. Noticing my curiosity, a nearby gentleman waved me into the pagoda, bike and all, where I was greeted immediately with beer by two young men and exhorted to dance. Not wishing to appear rude, I graciously accepted and joined the festivities.
One of the young men, called Pisey, spoke excellent English and took great pleasure in introducing me to assembled young men. The scene was an interesting one, with a group of young men dancing in the sun and drinking beer, while children looked on from the shade of a colourful ceremonial gazebo and the monks from their quarters. Now and then, other people would arrive on motorcycles, bearing crates of beer and, sometimes, mineral water. The children occasionally danced, as did the women who arrived a little later.
There was much merriment but soon it was time to go, despite the protestations of a number of the assembled revellers, who said that I should get a room in the village and stay the night. I politely refused, even when Pisey said that, due to the recent rain, the road to Ban Lung after the river was wet and that I'd be better off taking it on the following day. My rationale was that it could also rain that night and become wetter, so I decided against staying. Pisey took me to his house for tea and water before guding me to the ferry and waving goodbye. Mistake: ignoring local advice.
 |
| Pisey (greenish shirt) and friends. |
After this, I was more judicious but still had to take the bike through considerable wet, muddy patches. In the absence of traffic of any volume, save for the odd pair of scooters, care was needed. I began to progress quite well, slowing only for the dry sandy patches which were a little treacherous, tipping me off on one occasion. This was unfortunate, with my left leg trapped beneath the bike and my right sitting on the engine. I only noticed about ten minutes later that my leg was smouldering, where the engine had burned through my trousers and into my immobile leg. The pain was surprisingly small, presumably because nerve endings had been destroyed.
 |
| It took weeks to heal. |
 |
| Not a river crossing. |
After a couple of hours, however, I was still very much in the bush and it was twilight. The sun had virtually sunk, I was hungry and thirsty and there were no real signs of civilisation. I met a couple of dead ends and then took the widest-looking track, since lorry tyre tracks suggested a route to civilisation. Within half an hour, it was pitch black and I had lost this track.
 |
| Twilight in the bush. |
Sitting there on the bike in the dark, I cursed myself for ignoring Pisey. I could have been back in Siem Pang dancing "Gangnam Style" and sipping weak Cambodian beer among a posse sweaty, happy men. Horrific as that sounds, it seemed much better than being stuck in the jungle, hungry, thirsty and soaked in a combination of my own sweat, blood and various types of mud, with only insects and ponderous, death-bearing oxen (hitting one would have ended me, I suspect). I wasn't even on a track at this point, simply riding my bike through the undergrowth between the trees.
Then, through the trees, there was literally a glimmer of hope. I glimpsed a couple of lights and could hear the faint beat of house music. Was this Ban Lung? Who cared? I fired up the engine and charged through the trees, branches deflecting off my helmet as I went. I stopped at intervals, listening to see if the music was becoming louder, which it was. After repeating this process of frenzied acceleration through the undergrowth and desperate listening for music, I eventually came to what I thought was a massive clearing. I could see the lights on the other side and could hear music but there was no sign of a track. I looked around for the best part of thirty minutes, realising after nearly disappearing down a deep, empty ditch that I had to tread carefully. I finally realised that I was in a dry paddy field complex and decided, in my desperate state, to ride over it.
This was quite easy and I soon reached some houses, still none the wiser as to how I ought to proceed. I came tearing into an enclosure of some sort, where a young man started in surprise as he saw a barang on a motorcycle come from nowhere. I was clearly in someone's garden and he politely pointed in the direction I ought to take. I finally came onto the main street of a village and stopped at the nearest place which looked like a shop.
"Ban Lung! Ban Lung!" I exclaimed. The lady looked puzzled, thrusting a bottle of water at me. Her husband came as she cleaned the table. "No Ban Lung," he said, pointing down the road. After around twenty minutes of me asking for Ban Lung and him saying that it was down the road, the man's wife appeared with a young man. He turned out to be a teacher and quickly cleared up the issue.
"You are not in Ban Lung. Ban Lung is far and it is late; there are no ferries now. You must stay here."
"Are there guesthouses?"
"No."
I stood there, filthy, weary and stupefied. Where was I? What had happened?
After a conversation between he and the lady, the young man said, "The lady will look after you. She will put a hammock on her house and give you some food. After you eat, come to the house where I am staying for a shower. I think that she said that; they don't speak Khmer so good [sic] here." He walked off and the lady beckoned me to the dinner table, where she served vegetables and rice with a hot sauce and tea. I didn't know what the vegetable was and I didn't care; nor was I bothered about whether the tea had been made with boiled water. I ate and ate, to the delight of the woman.
It was now shower time, so I proceeded to the house over the road, where my helper was residing. Towel under arm and shower gel in hand, this was going to be good, very good. "Hello," he said. "You want your shower?" "Yes, please!" "Okay, take off your clothes."
I looked around. I was on the street and not being invited inside, where I presumed that the shower was. The young man was smiling and gesturing, so I stripped down to my underwear, at which point I was given a sarong and told to also remove my underwear. I was now standing outside the house in a sarong, with the whole of the family watching both curiously and intently. The young man ushered me to a corner of the front yard and pulled a wooden cover off a well. He dropped the bucket in, pulled it out and filled a large a container with the water. "There!" he said, proudly. "Your shower!" He then walked off, coming back with a metal bowl for me to rinse myself. All eyes were on me as I dipped the bowl into the water and the suspense was evidently killing the family whose well I was using...then, as I drenched myself, they exploded into laughter, presumably because a barang was washing from the well. Each time I threw water over myself, the family killed themselves with laughter, until I had finished and dried myself. At this point, the young man who had been so helpful and his friend suggested that we went to the pagoda, which had saved me with its music.
On the way, the young man and his friend revealed that they were teachers at a nearby school and were only in Bac Kalang (the name of the village, spelling probably wrong) to see friends. They were called Visey (the man who'd helped me) and Sombor (spelling unclear and probably wrong), the former teaching English and the latter Biology. They asked the usual questions about what I was up to, what did I think about the Khmer people and explained that we were in a predominantly Lao village, hence why he had had a little trouble communicating with the family with whom I was staying.
At the pagoda, the scene was rather different from Siem Pang. The men were nowhere to be seen, presumably because they had had too much to drink, with only women and children present. The teenagers were sitting talking while the children danced. After a little while, the music became a lot more sedate and traditional and some women asked us to dance. I apprehensively agreed.
The dance was the Romvong. I felt like a lemon doing it, mainly because I couldn't do it well. No one really minded, so much so that I was asked to do it two more times in succession. I told Visey that I found it boring and he agreed that it was tedious, saying that we were obliged to continue because we'd been asked.
After more Romvong-ing, I was tired and returned home. Visey and Sombor said goodnight and I dropped off in the hammock. It had been some day.
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