After all that temple-trudging, the 5 boys (as well as the men and women) really deserved a paradise beach holiday. From Siem Reap, this requires crossing the entire country on its highways (a relative term) in a bus. This takes about 11 hours usually. Our free pick-up from the bus company in Siem Reap took the form of a truly ancient retired bus which picked us up hours before departure and chugged around the furthest reaches of the city, picking up other punters before dropping us off at the departure point about 100 metres from our hotel, leaving us sickened and irritable before boarding.
Browsing accommodation on booking.com on the bus, we realised that Chinese New Year, as well as a special kind of full moon, had ensured that the island of Koh Rong was fully booked apart from a new “resort” which consisted of tents on a far corner of the island accessible only by boat and with no possibility of buying or eating anything other than what the resort had to offer. Lord Google didn’t have anything nice to say about this establishment…
Arrival on Koh Rong. As lovely as promised.
Undeterred, we took a speedboat over to what we hoped was a rare remaining piece of paradise in the gulf – and it was! No sign of big developments, small bungalow-style accommodations and affordable good food, all on gorgeous beaches backed by jungles. We made a heap of luggage and Matty and I headed off on a search for lodgings. The owners of each establishment laughed at our request as they had been booked for months until we found some huts on stilts on a steep, rubbish-strewn waste-ground behind the port.
The next day we met the delightful, cunning, english-speaking Miss Thari. Her beautiful bungalows were all full, but she shipped the 9 of us off on a longtail to the other side of island to her “sister’s” new resort, just open, very luxurious, very special price. The boat driver couldn’t find it, but after disappearing into the dunes for a while, returned and ordered us to jump into the waves (there is no pier anywhere near) and carry luggage and baby above our heads to shore. I had to tread water being a short-arse, but managed to keep my baby above the water between waves until I got to a depth where I could stand. We were marched up the sand to the resort behind the dunes and were clearly the first customers at this line of 9 attractive identical sheds, along with the other passengers on our boat.
The beach was stunning, empty and white, the water crystal clear and turquoise and there was nothing at all in view other than coconut palms, jungle and sea. Once we had had a swim, what were we going to do for the 5 nights we had booked? They had a little restaurant with the same menu as Miss-thari, but nothing on it was available except fried rice with vegetable, or fried vegetable with rice. I’m not joking. The owners spoke no english at all and, like most Cambodians, cannot interpret any kind of miming, and had no experience with arithmetic. Inconvenient but refreshing, after the wily, polyglot tourist-trappers of Siem Reap and the other side of this island…
me on tiptoes, uphill of Matty.
But there were 9 of us, and 5 of them were our great old friends from down under and we had a great time, hanging out on the beach, going on a boat trip, fishing and snorkelling around coral reefs and emptying the resort’s fridge of beer while our boys snored in the sheds.
the biggest tiddler of the day.
Back in the port ready to head back to Sihanoukville. None of us bothered learning how to say it properly.
We had no umbrella or shade on the beach, but there was one large casaurina tree on the beach casting a dappled semi-shade on one little patch. This is where we lounged. This is also the ideal habitat for a terrible little creature called the sand-fly. Her bite is painless and initially not that itchy. But soon these bites turn into the itchiest sensation I have ever felt. I guestimated that I had around 200 bites. Elina only had 100 or so. But mine faded after a few days whilst hers developed into open pustular craters leaving her legs looking like a medical textbook. Zev is still scratching his 6 weeks later (this blog post is a bit belated). The ozzies had no reaction whatsoever and on googling it we found that Australians are usually immune to the effects but european holidaymakers often have their holiday ruined by these little blighters.
And then, after a week on the island, we tearfully (not me, of course) parted ways and got in a crap van to Phnom Penh where we picked up the bikes and tuk-tuked to the airport! And that’s it!
