The ride to Campot was uneventful. However, if you make this trip, be sure to stop in a few of the villages along the way. There’s one, right on the water, that is particularly scenic.
The hotel we’d hoped to stay in was no longer there. We tried a few others before settling on a half-decent place quite near the big roundabout. Dusk was approaching, so we arranged to get some bikes. We’d decided to check out the Bokor mountain retreat (a.k.a. hill station), so trail bikes were required. I’d never ridden one of these suckers, so a few minutes in the parking lot to familiarize myself with the gear shifting mechanism and I was ready to roll.
Campot is a surprisingly nice town … that is, if you like run down, crumbly towns that were once glorious. Stately colonial buildings, painted in pastel hues of blues and yellows, line the riverside drive. Broad avenues provide a sense of majesty. The old market, with its neat stalls and well-constructed roof as been abandoned in favor of a much larger, typically sprawling market on the other side of town.
Buddy and I had supper at recommended restaurant right on the river. They weren’t going to let us in because they had some sort of staff event in celebration of Chinese New Year. A few minutes of pleading from us and we were shown a table. While we ate, someone set up a karaoke system. Some of the staff took their turn wailing into the microphone, but our waitress had a voice to match her countenance – beautiful.
A few more locals and tourists arrived and were seated. I still don’t understand why they gave us a hard time, or maybe they just gave up on the idea of having a private party for themselves. Seated at the table beside us were two young ladies. One, in possession of a cascade of dark curly hair, was hot, hot, hot (in a backpacker sort of way).
I went over, introduced myself and my companion and attempted to offer suggestions from the menu. It turned out that they’d been here before. Oops! We chatted for a bit and learned they were Israelis and had been traveling for quite some time. They told us they’d be going to the Bokor Mountain Club (a subsidiary of Phnom Penh’s Foreign Correspondents’ Club) later that evening and perhaps we’d meet them for a drink.
After we left, we spent some moments trying to decide if this was worth it. The good looking one was worth being poked with a hot iron for, but her friend, although not bad looking, was just not in the same league. We figured the BMC was worth going to see if only for a drink and away we went.
The Bokor Mountain Club is right on the river drive. It’s a cool place to relax and watch the sun set, have a drink with fellow travelers or play some pool as you enjoy the hip music issuing forth from their elaborate stereo system. Although pricy for Cambodia, it’s a good deal compared to back home.
The girls showed up a few minutes after we sat down with our drinks. Buddy and I were competing hard for the attention of the hottie. There was not a whole lot of chemistry happening, but we were enjoying the company, surely. We played a game of pool and the girls announced they were going home and said goodbye. Huh! While we didn’t put too much faith in getting into their pants that night, we figured they’d be good for a few hours of travelers’ tales. Nope.
It was then that I announced that it was high time to visit a brothel. I’d already made inquiries and established the rough location of the closest place to hire a companion for the night. Buddy was up to it … at long last. So we got on our bikes and spent an hour or so getting mostly loss.
I knew the brothel was very near the train station on the road to Phnom Penh. We drove down that damn road in the middle of the night and saw nothing; barely a light in fact. Heading back, we turned up a side road beside the train tracks and found the station a few hundred meters in. We looked high and low and saw no sign of red lights anywhere. Bummer!
Just as we were ready to pack it in, I decided we should take one more ride down the road. There, just on the other side of the tracks, on the left side of the road, was a house with a few red lights and a couple of young ladies hanging out in front. Bingo!
We pulled in, parked our bikes and said our hellos. The girls ushered us inside where we were served beer on ice. The place was decorated with whiskey and beer posters. There were certainly no stunners in this bunch; at best, they were mostly average looking. We talked to the girls as best we could. I picked out a pleasant young lady while buddy took his time. I should have waited because a real cutie joined us not long after I settled for my gal, Tai. My pal pretty much settled on The cutie as she was giving him plenty of attention.
We took the girls back to our hotel and aforgettable night ensued. There nothing wrong with Tai, but sex was so ordinary that there were no highlights worth remembering. Until the morning that is.
Tai got up at about six and started arranging her things to go. “Whoa,” I said, “back to bed, it’s too early.” She argued a bit, but came back to bed anyway. It was still too early for a good shag so I spooned up into her and started back to sleep. That’s when the knocking on the door roused me. I figured it was buddy, but it was his girl, fully dressed, ready to go, giving Tai a hard time for not being dressed already.
I took her back to buddy’s room to figure out what was the trouble. He just threw his hands in the air in exasperation, telling me she woke up at six and got dressed. While I tried to figure out what was going on, Tai was getting dressed. I could handle one of ‘em, but not two of ‘em. The other girl sat on my bed and lit a cigarette. Tai grabbed it and two of them shared it as they got ready.
When Tai was dressed, the other girl then demanded five bucks to get a taxi back home. “Yeah, right,” I thought to myself. Grinning like a wolf, I told them that we’d take them back to their house. Of course they didn’t like this idea too much as they’d lose about $4.50 in pure profit. Buddy declined taking them home as he wanted to go back to sleep. No problem for me, I’d put them both on my bike. No doing, the girls wanted to go on their own. “Up to you,” I said and led them to the stairs.
I tried to convince buddy we should go to Bokor right now as the weather was so fine. He was too exhausted and demanded that I let him sleep. I spent the next couple hours watching Campot wake up, fishermen bringing in their catches, boats unloading sugar, the market opening, etc. By nine, buddy and I were on our way to Bokor mountain.
Bokor is the most fascinating place I’d seen on coastal Cambodia. While Campot was the big town, Bokor served as a retreat for the French colonials, from the coast and the capital, who wanted to get away from the staggering heat. They built a beautiful paved road up the mountain and exquisite chalets and mansions on top. Most of the construction took place in the thirties and again in the fifties and sixties, so there are some striking architectural styles there. You are well aware of the French sense of style and taste, so you can well imagine that this place must have been something to see fifty years ago.
Today, all that’s left is a road in total ruin and concrete shells of fabulous buildings. Imagine the sort of buildings Frank Lloyd Wright would have designed for the early Bond films (e.g. You Only Live Twice) and you’d get an idea what they might have looked like. Now, the walls and foundations are covered with vegetation, but go inside and you catch a glimpse of the opulence that was. While the marble floors have been torn up, beautiful ceramic tiles can still bee seen gracing many of the walls and floors.
When the Khmer Rouge took over, the French and well-to-do Cambodians abandoned the country. Those who were left stripped the villas of all that was valuable, including ripping the copper wire from the concrete walls.
After spending the day in the cool mountaintop breezes, we returned to Campot. The next day, we decided to go to Kep, a former seaside resort. It was supposed to be something like Bokor, but on the sea.
The fellow from whom we rented our bikes decided that since it is Chinese New Year, he was raising his price by 50%. This bastard had at least a dozen motorcycles parked in front of his place, insisting that he’d rent them all at the much higher price. While we shopped around for a better deal (all the bastards had increased their prices), an internet shop and finally for a taxi ride, we’d walk past his place and comment how he hadn’t rented any bikes yet.
We hired two moto drivers to take us to Kep. The ride was short, cheap and uneventful. However, when we arrived, our drivers had no idea where our guesthouse, Veranda Resort, was located. Furthermore, the locals had never heard of it either. Now, I know that this place existed because the owner of the Spitfire guesthouse in Shihanoukville showed me pictures of the place.
Buddy and I walked all over trying to find the place. Sure enough, it was located right on a hill overlooking the shore, meters from where our motoboys dropped us off. We found out later that the reason no one knew of the place is because the owners didn’t pay a commission to any local bastard who guides us there.
There’s not much to do in Kep. The food stalls on the shore are good for hearty and cheap means. The beach is awful but exploring the ruins of the villas is pretty damn interesting. Most of them have been taken over by the locals so they’re a real mess.
There’s not much Sanuking to be had in Kep. Frankly, I wasn’t looking, but it’s a pretty small place. You’re better off taking a girl from Campot or, better yet, Phnom Penh. We spent a couple of days eating garlic bread, crabs and beer, hanging out in the hammocks of the Jungle Pub (part of the Veranda), enjoying life.
We met a Brit, who now teaches English in Phnom Penh, who came down for a night. He brought a fine bag of weed with him so the three of us sat on the porch and attempted to solve all of Cambodia’s problems. This kid told us he earned five to ten bucks an hour, but saved $500/month by not drinking or whoring. Damn, what the hell would you do with that much money except drinkin’ and whorin’! Youth is wasted on the young.
I hated leaving Kep, only because the Veranda Resort (huts, really) was just sooooo laid back, but Phnom Penh waited us! We got moto boys to get us back to Campot where we were left to devise our method of transportation. We heard there was a train leaving Campot every other day, but it seemed that this was not the day. I doubted every tout who told me this as I suspected they were all fishing for commissions of some sort or another. With no way to check otherwise, we looked for a mini bus. The driver agreed to give us the whole back seat, but once the bus was full, he started to cram two more people in beside us. “Forget it!” we cried and wiggled through the windows to get out.
Remember, never pay in advance!
We decided to spend some more money and get a taxi. To keep the cost down, we agreed to let the driver fill the front seat. He put four people in the front with the two of us in the back. We felt so guilty about this we agreed to let a monk ride in the back with us. This was a mistake as it was damn hot already and in that confined space the monk was just so much more heat to be generated. We sweated the whole way to Phnom Penh. At least the road was good!