#but if i splitted this chap in 2 the name would lost the pun
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I’d like to say I’m generally a lucky person. Nothing too misfortunate has ever happened during my 23 years of existence, I try to stay an honest and good human as much as possible, I don’t tempt the devil too often, and I’m a big believer in karma. What goes around comes around right? I’m basically a Buddhist.
Let me just go back to the first sentence of the last paragraph there, where I’ve written ‘I’m generally a lucky person’, and finish this sentence with, in Cambodia I was NOT a lucky person! My Buddhist belief is slightly wavering as I sit on my plane that can’t leave Cambodia quick enough, and think to myself… surely I’ve don’t nothing TOO dramatic to deserve THAT?
At the same time, I’ve recently adapted a new life motto thanks to one of my favourite people in life, the inspirational Lisa Wiltshire. It started out a few months back as ‘live a life worth writing a novel about’ and currently stands a little closer to ‘live a life worth writing a series about’. So on the other shoe (not currently wearing shoes because who keeps their shoes on during a flight), I also believe everything happens for a reason! Very firm firm believer in that one, not questioning this motto at all!
So let me tell you about my memorable trip to Cambodia. I’ll also point out that I’ve used the word memorable, because memorable is a word you use when it wasn’t great, and it wasn’t shit, but you just won’t ever forget it!
It started very innocently with my time in Siem Reap. I took a visit to the Angkor Wat Temples which are absolutely amazing, and wandered around the night market in the evenings. It was drama free and very chilled. I think the starting point in my series of unfortunate events begins with my night bus from Siem Reap to Sihanoukeville, where I was then due to board a ferry to the picturesque island of Koh Rong.
The night bus was a weird hotel bus where you literally share a single bed with a stranger (word of warning you could NEVER travel SEA if you are overweight.. sorry to crush any hopes and dreams but there are just too many tight spaces to deal with and it ain’t gonna happen). I was lucky enough to be put next to a nice young Canadian gal and we both pretty much slept the whole way. At one point I woke up to the bus driver changing the front tyre (NOTE: I think this could be where the series of unfortunate events begins). Not sure how long we were there for but obviously a while as the bus arrived late and I managed to miss my ferry to the island.
I headed to the Buva Sea Ferry office to get on board the next, and seeing as Asia is just organised chaos anyway, I chicken scratched the ferry time off my ticket so I didn’t have to pay more. I had already mentally blamed the receptionist from the hostel for this if anyone was to question my ticket. Soon enough I was on the list for the 11am ferry and was waiting eagerly by the pier. By 12.30 a substitute ferry finally rolled in to take us to the island, as apparently seas were too rough for our small speed ferry.
Sitting front and centre in the ferry, I was dreaming of the white sandy beaches I would soon be lounging upon. As I gazed ahead into the blue sea, I could see waves the size of Africa, which were soon met with the sound of the motor cutting. One giant wave came over the front of the boat and under the front doors into the cabin. Straight after the first wave, a second GIANT wave came rolling over the front of the boat, in through the windows, and absolutely SOAKED the front two rows including lil’ old me. Just to clarify I’m talking a tsunami style wave, and a whole ocean of water inside the boat.
Now has anyone ever told you to make sure you keep all your valuables close to you when travelling? Of course they have, it is absolutely drilled in to you by anyone who cares, and yes of course I had all of my valuables with me including my new MacBook Air and my IPhone 6. I quickly headed straight to the back of the boat where I pulled out my laptop and phone. Water pouring out of both, I wiped them down with a cloth of some sort but my hopes had pretty much been washed away with that wave.
After arriving to the island I managed to buy 2 kilos of rice off an elderly woman for $2, based on the promise that I would eventually return it to her to use for her cooking. Needless to say I was not eating at her restaurant during my stay in Koh Rong. I briefly attempted to save the electronics but the laptop was 100% fried, and the phone only half touch responsive. I held out hope that I could get the phone fixed when I eventually landed in Phnom Penh.
On the ferry, I met a few other girls who were also headed to a secluded hostel on the island called ‘Suns of Beaches’ which was apparently so super chill that you had to take a long tail boat to get there. After climbing off the ferry slightly defeated by the rough ride, we soon found out that there were no boats running to this part of the island due once again to the rough waters. So now I’ve got a fried laptop, a phone that barely works, I’m feeling like a broken woman from the rough ferry ride, AND I can’t get to my hostel (which I’m secretly happy about because I don’t want to look at another boat). I was the first to cut my losses, and soon enough we all decided to check into a hostel in the central area of the island.
We went out for a few drinks to soothe our souls, and eventually headed to bed in our dorm room. I buddied up with a lovely German girl, who I will here on refer to as Germany, not in a racist way, but just because I like that name (her real name was Mirjam). She would be my new partner in crime over the coming days. The first hour of attempted sleep in my dorm bed involved itching, rolling around, applying insect repellant, and giving up on the cause. The following hours of my night involved finding a late night restaurant to sit at and make use of their wifi (on Germany’s iPad that she had so kindly let me borrow because remember my electronics hate me). By the time morning came around I had lodged my travel insurance claim, googled fancy hotels to stay in, had finished my book, and managed to photograph the sunrise! Maybe things weren’t so bad after all!
That day Germany and I enjoyed the gorgeous beaches, and found a double room next door that was clean and perfect for $10 a night. On our 3rd day Miriam convinced me to hike to Suns of Beaches (the hostel we were meant to be staying at), which was about an hours walk from the main village. The first 45 minutes were so beautiful that I wouldn’t even call it a hike. We were just wandering along the beach bare feet with huge backpacks on our back.
In the last what should have been 15 minutes however, things took a turn for the worst. We came to the final section of the hike where you walk through a trail in the jungle. Part way in the trail split in two, and as we stood there wondering which way to go, Miriam said left and I said right. Left we went, as I’d decided I didn’t always need to be right (excuse the pun)! The path started to look super dodgy and I questioned the decision endlessly as we pressed forward under Germany’s lead. After climbing over fallen trees and manoeuvring over boulders we came to a second path, which also split both left and right. Once again Germany chose left, and I chose right. Germany pulled out her frozen map and convinced me once again that left was the way – don’t trust a German with a broken map.
As we wandered down the dry path, about half an hour later we sighted a wooden hut in the distance. That must be it we shouted for joy! But as we neared closer it was actually just a locals house surrounded by chickens, stray dogs, week old garbage and with an entire family perched up on the front verandah. We tried to ask for directions but needless to say, we were soo far out of the tourist zone that their English was definitely not permitting. We stood there for about 10 minutes while a pre-teen boy gave us false hope, staring into his phone in a manner that turned out to be aimless. ‘Maps’ I said pointing to his phone, hoping he would pull up a google map and show us where we were, but that would have been wayyyy too good to be true. He just shrugged his child sized shoulders and gazed up at us with lost eyes.
At this point I took charge as I looked around with no sign of anything marine. ‘We’re going back to the second fork in the path and headed right’. Miriam hesitantly followed me back along the long path we had wandered, and we continued to the right. Did I already point out that we’re in Cambodian heat carrying our entire life on our back? Well we were… but soon enough we came to the waters edge, and simultaneously to a sign that read ‘SUNS OF BEACHES’. Thank the bloody lord for that!
Stumbling up to the hostel check-in area, we told the young Scottish chap we were there to check in and stated our names. Miriam had been emailing them on our behalf during my unplanned technology cleanse, and she had informed them know we would be arriving. Good ole Scotland sat perched up behind the counter and exclaimed ‘I’ve got one bed for Miriam, and no beds for Nadia.’ Ohhh.. perfect! So you’ve got no beds then? ‘Nope, no beds tonight. But your welcome to sleep in a hammock for free. Or go head to toe with Miriam!’ Oh wonderful, the curse of Cambodia continues.
That night we went swimming with the bioluminescent plankton once the sun had set, and watched the water light up around us as we splashed about. What a gorgeous sight it was, and one of the reasons I was determined to go to the island. Once bed time arrived we ended up settling for the head to toe option, and arranged ourselves on the bottom bunk. At about 4am I awoke feeling pretty ‘shitty’ if ya know what I mean, and vomited my life away. Each hour I awoke to visit the bathroom, then resumed head to toe positioning. Of course I had managed to pick up a bug or gastro or whatever it wanted to call itself as it slowly consumed me from the inside.
When morning came I took the first long tail boat back to the main village area, where I would stay a final night back in the double room to sort myself out before the traumatic ferry ride back to the mainland. That morning I’d put on fresh clothes in an attempt to make myself feel wonderful, and tried to convince myself I would make it through the long tail trip without pooping my pants. After heading down to the boat, I soon discovered it was anchored 30m out to sea, and we had to wade over to it with our bags above our head. By this point I really would not have been phased if I dropped my entire bag in the ocean. In fact I probably would have just left it there if I had. But nevertheless I made it to the boat with my fresh clothes soaked and my belly hating life, and my bag made it too.
Soon the boat took off and I realised that once again, I was actually sitting at the front of the boat. Wonderful! I warned the lad next to me that sitting there was probably a terrible mistake as I was currently a series of unfortunate events, and he laughed it off with a slightly scared look left on his face once he realised how serious I was.
I made it back to the main village, and again waded through the breast deep water with my bags above my head. I checked back into the double room and came across the pals I’d made a few days ago, ready to entertain them with my stories. Andrew (aka. England) got a real kick out of my misfortune, and showed me a little sympathy by allowing me the share his laptop and indulge in a movie for some entertainment in my sick state. He fetched me water and noodles, and kept me entertained with his dodgy English humour. Did I mention that on this afternoon I also managed to disable my phone by tapping excessively at the screen to work and entering the pin incorrectly one too many times? So my phone now says ‘connect to iTunes’, but I can’t do that because my computer is fried isn’t it! So the comforting thought of still having the contents of my phone is now shattered as I realise I will have to factory reset the phone after fixing the screen. WHAT-IS-TECHNOLOGY?
The next day I sat at the dodgiest pier of the four on the island with my stomach feeling just as dodgy. England had come along to send me off, and we joked about how the tiny boat that looked like it held two people at the end of the pier would be my boat. Safe to say that god damn boat was indeed my Buva Sea Ferry. On board I climbed, or rather leaped as the boat bounced around everywhere, and stood there trying to calculate which seat would be best to sit in, in the case of another rogue wave.
The boat took off and I can 100% say it was the most outrageous experience yet. It would be no exaggeration to say that I would pay a lot of money at Sydney Harbour to experience that same boat ride. The only difference is that I would receive a life jacket and a seat belt, and the boat would be labelled ‘The JetSpinner’. I sat there gripping at the handles tighter then mum used to grip the car handles when I was a learner driver, and thinking to myself, it’s been a nice life! I think I made eye contact with every single person on that boat, just to check if they were filled with the same fears as I was. My previous dramatic ferry ride had taught me that when the motor cuts, it is NOT a good sign, and by the time I could sight land in the distance I think the motor had cut about 16 times and we had become proper airborne at least 5 of those times. There were 2 vomits, 12 shaken passengers, and 24 wobbly knees onboard.
I sat at the cafe I was due to be collected from, and recovered from the experience whilst mentally preparing for my bus ride ahead. As pickup time came close I confirmed with a few too many waitstaff that I would definitely be getting collected from that cafe. A feeling in my belly told me things were not improving, and I asked one final person about the pickup, who responded ‘Oh, the driver has already been and collected everyone!’ Of course he bloody has! With a few minutes to spare, I hopped on the back of a motorbike and headed for the bus departure point, where a phone call had been made to ask the driver to wait for me. Finally I was on the bus, and NOTHING ELSE COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG.
I made it to Phnom Penh, where I continued to suffer gastro from my Koh Rong visit. I took my phone to the night market where it was fixed within 15 minutes, and then managed to lock myself out of every bank account and email account I own by entering incorrect passwords. Touch recognition on iPhones is a blessing and a curse, as if I would remember the 9 million different passwords I’ve got for each account.
To be fair apart from the above, Phnom Penh was mostly drama free – and I was soon headed to the airport to take my flight to Indonesia and leave this cursed land of Cambodia! Very conscious of how my luck had been panning out, I decided to leave for the airport excessively early. I sat, waiting for the check in counter to open, and when it did, I jumped in the line. After about a 40 minute wait to the front (and after feeling very content in the line about my luck improving), I was faced by a Cambodian man. He asked for my departure flight details from Indonesia and I informed him I was yet to book a flight, but was only staying a week or so. The kind sir proceeded to tell me that he was unable to check me in for the flight until I had a departure flight FROM Indonesia. So let me just clarify this for you quickly… I’m due to fly Cambodia to Indonesia, with a layover in Malaysia, and this dude cares about my DEPARTURE flight from INDONESIA?…. Excuse me, but why on God’s earth do YOU Cambooodia, care when or as a matter of fact, IF I ever leave Indonesia?
I’ve learnt mostly by observation that you will get absolutely nowhere by arguing or back and forth-ing with anyone in Asia, so I accepted defeat and stepped to the side in order to book my flight leaving Indonesia. I had one hour to book the flight which seemed easy enough, but of course with Nadia’s lucky this wasn’t the case. I could feel myself floating further and further up shit creek with a dodgy airport wifi connection and a ticking clock staring me in the face. Time passed and the check-in line slowly disappeared. I literally had 4 minutes left to check in, and I looked at the Cambodian man with the saddest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen in your life, thinking to myself he is for sure a dad or an uncle or at least has a bloody soul! He took a look at my eyes slowly filling with tears from the past two weeks, and said ‘Well, you did TRY to book a flight so I’ll check you in. But just make sure you book a departure flight before you get to Indonesia or you might have trouble.’ I thanked him one too many times not really knowing what the hell for, and sprinted to my gate to get on that god damn plane.
I was pretty much the last person to board, and I could see my row up ahead with two people filling the seats next to mine. In front, row 25 sat entirely empty from A through C, and I said to myself “Fuck it!” I sat in that row all by myself and spread out across the three seats absolutely stoking the blazing fire that was my fate whilst the wheels smoothly lifted off the tarmac. I could practically feel the Cambodian curse being lifted as we ascended further into the air, and I could finally rest easy.
Summary of unfortunate events:
Bus arrived late to Sihanoukeville and missed my ferry
Managed to board a later ferry involving tsunami waves, wet bums, and fried electronics
Couldn’t get to secluded island hostel due to rough seas
Bed at substitute hostel filled with biting bugs = sleepless night
Got lost in the Cambodian jungle with no ocean in sight in attempt to find original hostel
Caught a gastro bug after swimming with the plankton in the lush Koh Rong water
Bounced around for an hour on return ferry ride to mainland as surrounding passengers chucked up and winced around me
Missed pick up to deliver me to my bus to Phnom Penh
Just about missed my flight out of Cambodia due to weird Cambodian airport regulations that I still don’t understand
(Hold tight for my next post, to see if the Cambodian curse really had been lifted, or if it was just the altitude playing havoc on my senses.)
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