I took a "treat-yo-self" trip to Kampot town this weekend. It was a toss-up between super-Khmer-happy-family-3-day-overload-trip-to-Battambang-for-some-sort-of-party-thing or bike-to-Kampot-meet-with-old-college-buddy-eat-awesome-food-relax-drink-things-be-happy-merry-sanity-weekend.
"Hmmm....now that one right there is a toughie! What to do, what to do?" <-insert Minnesotan mom accent.
Kampot won this round.
Here's a bird I met in Kampot
Saturday morning - I woke up at 5AM, ate a Luna bar, accidentally woke up host brother because I klutzed around in the dark and knocked things over, loaded up the bike rack, and finally got out of the house at 5:54AM. Kampot here I come! The bike ride is about 2.5 hours for me. I was motivated by the music in my ears and the potential of meeting up with an old college buddy (I'm talkin' like I'm in my 40s...it's only been 4 years since I graduated), Nan Onkka (her name is like the Khmer word for organization! I forgot to tell her that...)
I arrived in Kampot around 8:30AM, drank coffee, listened to foreigners speak in their fancy languages; I thought they were French. I decided a shower was necessary; just cuz I'm a Peace Corps Volunteer doesn't mean I have to be dirty/sweaty/smelly/awkward. As I was leaving the coffee shop, the "French" folks said "goodbye" to me and asked me where I was from. From there our goodbye became a 30 minute conversation. And in truth, they were not French but Belgium. Ah, oh...you know those fancy European languages all sound the same. My bad.
This Belgium couple was wonderful. It turned out they were on a 5 month biking adventure through Asia. Impressive because they were not particularly young (perhaps in their 50s?) but obviously very fit and well traveled. They began their journey in Thailand, were now beginning their Khmer voyage, heading up toward Laos, and onward to China. Holy moley! And I thought I was a BAMF for biking almost 60k that morning! Not so.
I proceeded with the "treat-yo-self" theme and shacked up in a guesthouse room with TWO beds! I proclaimed one bed as the "stuff-bed", a term used by PCVs to describe the bed used to put all your shit on. The other bed is, of course, the bed used for sleeping.
I took a fake shower; a term I used in college to explain the shower in which hair is wetted but not washed. A magic shower is one in which you do not get your hair wet. After that I went to another coffee shop, bought another coffee; this one I did not add sugar to and I was proud of myself for drinking it in its unadulterated state. After a game of Facebook message tag, Nan and I found each other!
Reunited and it feels so good. We reminisced about college, (we met in Spanish class with Professor Narvaez), and generally brought each other up to speed on the 4 years since we last spoke. Nan has a pretty sweet life going on for herself. She lives in Northern India in the mountains and teaches art at a world renowned International school called "Woodstock" to very well off students from all around the Eastern world. The classroom is, however, heated with a stove and has a tin roof. Very interesting.
I gave her travel advice for Cambodia and she made recommendations for travel in India. I'm planning on going to India with PCV homies in April/May. I'm excited and lucky to have India connections. This world is pretty neat.
It was nearing lunchtime and (I don't know if anyone's noticed) I've only eaten a Luna bar since 5AM and consumed two cups of hot coffee. Nan had food waiting for her at her guesthouse and I foresaw a cheeseburger in my future. We parted ways and forgot to take a photo to prove to the world that we did indeed meet in Cambodia.
The cheeseburger was delicious.
Alleyway in Kampot. Noodle sheets drying.
Then I went back to my room with two beds and thought about napping but also thought I heard banging on my door. I opened the door and two backpacking dudes were scoping out the room next door to mine. They were trying to work the guesthouse lady down from $7 to $6 and I told them it wasn't gonna happen. Then they asked me if I owned the guesthouse. Ha. I said no but did say that if they wanted, they could stay in my room since I was alone and had an extra bed. Now, I know what you're thinking..."Laura, you just met these strangers and you let them stay in your room? That doesn't seem very safe..." I know, I know....but I'm a decent judge of "creep" vs. "not creep" characters and these guys were far on the "not creep" side of the scale. PLUS! We'd split the cost of one room! Only down side was that I no longer had a "stuff-bed." It was a worthy sacrifice.
My new friends hailed from Israel. My first set of Israeli friends - Re'im and Mischa. They were starving so I took them out to find food. They ate burgers too. I instantly connected with these two. They were very fun and easy to talk to. We talked about Khmer culture and I told them the funny word combinations I knew in Khmer; for example - "mien p'tayah pbooah", which means pregnant literally translates to "stomach house." Pretty cool, huh? I think so.
Before I left the next morning, I left my Israeli friends a toilet paper message and cash for the room. I had no real paper and TP was the next best option. I ate some amazing french toast and drank hot coffee to stimulate my bowels before biking back to my home. This was very necessary. And I was off by 7:30AM.
Part 2: The real ride
The bike ride out of Kampot town always reminds me of Cambodia's distinct beauty. At my site, I'm generally surrounded by flat rice paddy fields and trash but look out into the distance and I'm encased by mountains. My morning bike ride included misty mountain tops and a dreamlike landscape for extra biking pleasure. The first hour and a half was a challenge with headwind and slight inclines that are slightly annoying.
Not my photo but this is what it looks like riding out of Kampot
This time my ride was motivated by the music in my ears and a scheduled meet-up with my PCV friend Emma. We met in Chhuk which is about 18k from my town and the site of another volunteer but he was still in K-town. From there, Emma and I biked to Chumkiri which is the site of yet another volunteer. An infamous PCV by the name of Bruce whom I had never met before. Chumkiri is a pretty flat, hot, and boring 13k ride from Chhuk.
This is Emma. She is my friend.
I met Bruce, he showed us around his village, we ate lunch and dessert, and then met up with one of our PC Khmer teachers, Savin. Our next destination was Malayk. It's a lake, surrounded by mountains, and a pretty sweet Khmer hangout place. My family took me there once and I watched them play cards. Here's where I was introduced to the crazy-biking-spirit that is Bruce. We hopped on our bikes and took a sharp right turn off the main road. Emma and I said "goodbye" to Bruce as he flew down the lumpy, bumpy, sandy road off into the distance. Savin followed us in his moto; he was content with the easy pace down the small road.
Everyone, meet Bruce. This is Bruce.
There were moments on this trip to Malayk when Emma and I had to walk our bikes because the loose sand was impossible to ride through. It was like being stuck in the snow and it took so much effort to get through that all we could do was laugh at ourselves. Bruce informed us afterward that there were shortcuts to avoid the sand dunes. Ah, we were unaware. We were chased by dogs and I feared for my ankles while speeding off of their property.
This is Malyk - A LAKE.
Khmer people laughed as us as we grunted and screamed out while biking past their homes on the treacherous road. And this is when I remembered that biking in the Cambodian countryside is one of the most enjoyable experiences I've had so far. It's far superior to my rides down the National highways.
After much sweating and near falls, we made it to Malayk. We took a break, rehydrated, and discussed our next plan of action. We will bike around Malayk. Bruce has never successfully circled the lake but he's sure that we can do it. The woman at the small food stand was worried we'd get lost. We went anyway and thought we could follow the cow trails, closer to the water's edge. We biked along precariously on the small rice paddy paths and took a sharp right turn to make our way to the cows. Emma, however, didn't quite make the turn and took a spill, right in front of a Khmer family just standing there in awe of the barangs biking around like fools.
We all underestimated Emma's condition. Emma was nervous to continue on but Bruce tried to push us forward, toward the lake, and there we could discuss our next move. It was then that I noticed the blood dripping down Emma's leg. "Umm....so...you're bleeding a lot." Emma and I quickly inspected the damage and could hardly look at her knee. It was basically a hole in her knee, skin flaps and all. Bruce said it looked fine. That was his trick, he stated, learned from first aid training. Tell the person it looks way better than it actually does. You don't want the injured individual to panic. I was somewhat panicked and it wasn't even my knee!
Emma; post-hole-in-knee.
The great bike disaster.
A kromah was wrapped around the knee-hole and we called upon Savin to save us somehow. He, being the fluent Khmer speaker, was able to explain the situation best. We debated where to go from there. Emma definitely needed stitches for her knee-hole-flaps.
This is Savin. What a good guy.
Meanwhile, Bruce simply strapped Emma's bike onto his bike rack. Piece of cake. Bruce will ride two bikes at one time with skills beyond my ability. Laura will just watch with constant worry that Bruce will be the next one to fall and injure himself.
Bruce, just riding two bikes. NBD.
Bruce miraculously made it back to the food stall in one piece, along with the bike still strapped to his rack. From there we called Emma's host family and the PC medical staff, both were pretty useless but the PC medical staff was adamant that her wound be cleaned first. There were several places she could go such as my health center but did she really want to go there? NO. The thought of getting stitches in a health center was frightening...considering what I've seen on an everyday basis at the HC. Henceforth, Emma was shipped to Chhuk's referral hospital to get it cleaned. And then to Phnom Penh for the stitches. Thank goodness.
Bruce and I biked like the wind down the path to the National highway. Bruce, looking like a badass, with the bike still strapped on his rack and me not looking like a badass. We biked so fast down the terrible, rocky, dirt road that the turbulence was hardly noticeable. We biked back to my house since it would be most convenient for Emma to pick up her bike there once she is able to bike again. Bruce stayed for tea, bought some bike grease, and then set-off for his long ride back to his site in Chumkiri where our adventure began.
And now I can officially say that my hipster status is being demoted because I love my mountain bike.
And then, in the safety of my home - the sky rained.
No comments:
Post a Comment