Category: Travel Stories

Our plan was to move up the coast, and hopefully explore some islands off it. The next stop was Sihanoukville, the only port of Cambodia, and the country’s “most happening beach destination” according to Lonely Planet circa 2012. Two years later, when we made it there, it seemed to be happening a bit too much. But all in its turn…

In the spirit of the holiday season, the mini-bus taking us to Sihanoukville offered passengers Santa’s hats to wear for the duration of the trip, but +30C was not very inspirational for the occasion. The driver that took us from Kep must have been on speed or crack, for he managed to reach Sihanoukville in one hour and an half instead of the promised three, ignoring every traffic rule he could remember. The nice touch was an official notice on the inside of the van door, encouraging passengers to phone or text the bus company if the driver was going too fast, too slow, was picking up hitchhikers, overtaking dangerously, or talking on his cell while driving. If the bus company really expected us to call, their lines would have been jammed, for our guy did all that, adding a variety of other traffic offences to the list. When we reached Sihanoukville, each passenger got a Christmas card from the driver, probably to congratulate us all on reaching our destination alive…

At first glance, Sihanoukville looked like a party shithole. The two main beaches downtown were full of prostitutes, drunk tourists and rude kids pushing souvenirs. Within 5 minutes we were offered weed, happy “sexy time“, and were nearly torn into pieces by a couple dozen Tuk-tuk drivers, all competing to take us to where we can find all of the above and much more. Having studied the map, while calming our nerves over drinks, we made a decision to move away from the sleazy party zone, to a beach 15-minutes away from downtown, that the guidebook promised to be “remote and serene“. Otres Beach‘s serenity days were long gone, but it was still a welcome change from downtown, so we landed in the first nice-looking beach bar, and sent the boys on a scouting mission. The idyllic view from the bar – blue skies, white sand, umbrellas on the beach, palm trees and boats on calm waters – was quickly rehabilitating our crippled impressions of Sihanoukville. Beer and fruit smoothies were doing equally fine in eliminating the sour after-taste left by the more central locations.

Our new digs, found almost at the very end of the beach stretch at “Done Right“, were anything but ordinary. Round igloo-like white clay huts seemed to have been transported from somewhere in the 60-es. The overall ambiance of the place that did not take reservations, counting solely on walk-ins, and operating on a minimum non-profit budget, with staff working for food and accommodation, confirmed the feeling of the happy flower-power hippie days. Hammocks were swaying invitingly between the trees, lodgers were often found sleeping by the bar, weed was freely and openly smoked starting from breakfast time, and the price list by the bar proudly announced that Bob Marley song requests could be accommodated, but at a steep price of $50 per song. 

Lodging at “Done Right” cost between $5 and $27 a night, so there weren’t many takers for Bob Marley.  The bartenders were a wild assortment of fuckups, predominantly holders of British passports with an occasional Canadian thrown into the mix, who came to Cambodia for a couple of days, and got stuck for months and years. They were all cheerful and friendly, eager to engage in conversation, share drinks and smokes with lodgers. Despite the presence of showers and the sea nearby, many of the staff members looked liked they have not seen water or soap in ages. Harem pants and knee-long dreads were the most common outfit among the regulars. We stood out among the crowd a bit, but they embraced us nevertheless.

“Done Right” was not the only hippie-inspired crazy-ass place on the beach. The neighboring “Mushroom Point” sprouted unique fungus-like huts, and proudly announced that they had “fucking pizza” on the menu.

“Blame Canada“, a late-night beach bar, conveniently open all day long as well, boasted hunky half-naked bartenders of predominantly Canadian origin, and a whole menagerie of kittens, puppies and a rabbit with pink-dyed fur – all together an irresistible honey trap for every female over the age of 13.

What topped it all off, however, was the Saturday Night Market in the neighboring village with no name. Mentioned by one of the bartenders at “Done Right” as a “kick-ass place” to visit, it solidly cemented the unorthodox reputation of Otres Beach and surroundings. Imagine a cross between the Magic Forest from “Peter Pan” and a 60-es hippie commune. The market offered all sorts of food, from Mexican tacos to Bavarian sausages, varied drinks of predominantly alcoholic content, “space” hash cookies, local hallucinogenic absinthe, and a wild mix of bracelets, earrings, harem pants, and other hippie paraphernalia. In the center of the area was a makeshift stage, offering free mike to  everybody who felt inspired. Those were numerous and colorful – a tall and obviously stoned guy with a ukulele had to be chased off stage several times, after having usurped the privilege and tired the audience.  One of the bartenders from “Done Right” was spotted rapping, and a crazy-looking guy tattooed from head to toe and wearing a spiked motorcycle helmet was drumming to complete abandon with every performer. People were sitting on the ground eating, drinking, chatting, smoking and munching on space cookies in the dim light of colored lanterns hanging from the trees. The atmosphere was surreal, but peaceful and definitely colorful.

Earlier that day we spent three hours in a local Cambodian cooking school, learning how to prepare banana flower salad (a surprisingly tasty dish that we, regretfully, won’t be able to recreate at home, due to the lack of the main ingredient), Loc-Lac beef, and an amazing pumpkin custard, cooked with sugar and coconut milk in a whole pumpkin. It was an enjoyable and tasty afternoon, and topped with the hippie market and white sandy beaches, not completely overrun by crazy crowds, it made Sihanoukville the place to be.

The beaches were, indeed, amazing. After we moved away from downtown, our first unfavorable impressions of Sihanoukville quickly vanished, and were steadily replaced by only positive memories. Otres Beach per se, was a stretch of bars and restaurants with tables and lounge chairs spilling out into the sand, although still in a much less obvious fashion, than the two downtown beaches. Besides, the beach continued even past the bars – after a 10-15 minute walk one wandered into the long stretch completely devoid of any signs of civilization, apart from a random adventurous tourist or two, and a couple locals, frolicking in the sea. We walked down the white sands for about an hour and it happily continued to be empty and beautiful.  Surprisingly clean as well.

Even though Otres Beach seemed to have rehabilitated Sihanoukville in our eyes, we were still in search of THE ultimate beach spot. With tourism and development embracing Thailand in a tighter and tighter death grip, these days it’s at the less-traveled destinations of Vietnam and Cambodia where one can still find islands with pristine desolate beaches and breath-taking sceneries. We intended to find those before civilization moved in at full swing.

Twin islands off the Sihanoukville Coast, a bigger Koh Rong, and a smaller Koh Rong Sanloem, seemed to hold just the “Lost Paradise” promise we were looking for. We put our money on the smaller island, packed up, and boarded the speed boat the following morning.

Koh Rong Sanloem did not disappoint – the horseshoe-shaped island boasted a long stretch of snow-white sand called Saracene Beach, three piers (of which only one could be used in windy weather), and only a handful of places one could stay for the night at. The island was privately owned, had no Internet, and electricity from 6 pm till midnight only. Private ownership definitely stalled the development a bit, for in order to rent the land and build anything one should first get the permission. Judging by the current situation with hotels on the island, only about ten people managed to track down the owner and get their permits. Hats off to persistence – much as we googled, we could not find any information on the identity of the owner. But then, island-owners probably don’t advertise much…

Even though we landed on Koh Rong Sanloem in the peak of the tourist season, right between Christmas and New Year, luck was on our side, and we again found very decent accommodation for the two nights to come. Our straw-covered bungalow stood right on the beach, had a big bed, functioning shower, and even boasted a resident pet – a colorful decent-size gecko with inquisitive eyes, sprouting red and green spots on grey skin, living on the shower curtain. He was a quiet and well-behaved neighbor – kept pretty much to himself, never setting foot outside the bathroom, and mostly sticking to his favorite spot on the shower curtain, happily munching on mosquitoes and flies, careless enough to fly by.

I have to admit – falling asleep in darkness to the sound of the waves was extremely soothing, and there was something unbelievably and ultimately decadent to waking up looking at a white sandy beach with no signs of civilization, and clear blue skies mirrored in the turquoise waters of the South China Sea!… If only every day could start like that!…

Saracene Beach faced East, and there were no spectacular sunsets our side of the island. Judging by the maps, though, a sketchy path going through the jungle that covered most part of Koh Rong Sanloem, led to the Lazy Beach on the opposite side, full of romantic sunsets. The path was not easy to find, and was even harder to follow: snaking through the jungle for miles, with tall trees completely blocking any daylight, it was intersected by a number of streams, with only shaky wood planks for bridges. The jungle was also slowly but steadily creeping back in: roots of the nearby trees were coiling across the path, and tree stumps were sprouting new growth right in the middle of it. Dark and inaccessible as the jungle seemed, it was full of life – as we moved in, we could hear millions of crickets going at it at full swing. They seemed to group around certain trees, and the sound would increase and subside, as we walked on. Starting at a high pitch of an over-boiling whistle kettle, it progressed to the levels of a car alarm, before dying out at a low annoying squeak of a cell phone.

The sunset on Lazy Beach was spectacular, but we had to hurry back – even though we had our flash lights, the prospect of walking back through the jungle at night did not seem too appealing. Something was telling us that crickets were not the only inhabitants of the forest, and we were in no hurry to meet any others, be they monkeys, coconut spiders, or any others of the exotic, but unwanted variety.

The two days on the island passed really quickly – we woke up to the sound of the waves, walked along the beach, read books in hammocks, and dined in the island’s only restaurant. The restaurant had surprisingly good wine on the red/white variety menu, a breath-taking view of the Saracene Beach, and a ceiling populated by a couple dozen colorful geckos. Dishes were coming out of the kitchen in a randomized order, and on both evenings we eat there, they were cooked completely differently, often not resembling the description on the menu at all. The food was delicious, though, geckos provided steady entertainment, and a beach bar on the way to our bungalows, offered great drinks with a fantastic sea view.

After two days in Paradise, we were back in Sihanoukville. It was two days to New Year, and we decided to stay put, before venturing into the capital, Phnom Penh. Turned out, Sihanoukville was the place to be. Apparently, all locals have gotten the memo, and the town was swarming with holiday-makers from all over the country, coming for New Year celebrations on the coast. Cambodians celebrate New Year long and loud. Festivities start on the 29th, and last for three full days, before culminating and terminating at midnight on the 31st. We came back right in the middle of the big party, and were surprised at the town’s transformation. Over the two days we were away, its population quadrupled, and the amount of Christmas bling-bling reached dangerous proportions. This time accommodation was in high demand, and the only place we could find was downtown The OC Boutique Hotel, uncomfortably close to the main party zone. The moment the sun went down, the loud tums-tums of the party beat could be heard even by the clinically deaf. People were partying, eating, drinking, dancing and picnicking all over, with thousands more arriving every hour. Families of ten were packed into regular-size sedans, giving a lift to a dozen neighbors sitting in open trunks in the back.

Closer to midnight, the town turned into pyrotechnical mayhem. I am sure those people were stocking up on fireworks throughout the year, saving up on food in order to buy the best and the loudest petards, rockets, and what else. At around 11pm on the 31st the mayhem reached levels at which you could no longer hear yourself think for the non-stop loud banging of petards, and could barely see the surroundings for all the smoke they produced. Miraculously, at exactly one minute past midnight it all stopped, and people started leaving the area, blocking all streets, roads, and goat paths for hours to come. The party was officially over.