Even before settling in my seat, I already had the impression this would be anything but a mind-numbing journey down to Sihanoukville. Apart from the overall buzz of boarding, the delightful passenger next from me was a speech impaired and hard of hearing person, whose petite frame and innocent demeanour belied her bubbly and spirited character.
Staring at the confusion outside while waiting for the bus to depart, I was caught off guard as she flung her mobile phone in mid air landing with a thud on my lap. To my astonishment, an x-rated movie clip was being played backed. As I fumbled to turn the mobile off, moaning and groaning echoing full volume all around the bus, I glanced backwards feeling a few pairs of glaring eyes. In my bewilderment I could not figure out how to switch off the mobile. Instead I flung it back motioning to my new found friend to turn it off. I was stunned, not because of any claim to saintly attributes, but rather I was wary some people might not understand the joke. She on the other hand fell out of her seat in hysterics. I was left bemused but chose to get over it quickly.
Inching away from Psar O Russei, the city gradually emerged to be organised and spacious. Wide boulevards, swish hotels, trendy restaurants and sprawling shopping outlets crammed with fashion-conscious youngsters, Phnom Penh is one of those places which are enticing and disturbing at the same time. Whatever the case was, I eagerly looked forward to soak up the sun on the beaches of Sihanoukville. In the meantime the cheerful company I had guaranteed a good mood all the way down to the coast.
Despite being naturally energetic, she dozed briefly a couple of times. At other times I nodded off only to wake up startled realizing she was playing a prank on me. Sharing a table during lunch, I admired how she confidently handled the undeserved attention and remarks imparted from some of the restaurant's staff.
Arriving at Sihanoukville in the evening to find the air damp and the streets drenched, turned my excitement into disappointment however. Instead of a soothing summer breeze, I was greeted with the residues of what appeared to be a thunderous afternoon. After all this was the peak of the rainy season, nothing I could do about it, except bid farewell to my travelling companion and search for a place to stay.
Even with the rainy season attracting fewer travellers, I was fortunate to find a room in Makara’ Guest-House on Occheuteal Beach. Several restaurants on the beach were also doing brisk business throughout the day. At night, some of the bars and clubs infused the beach with an intriguing lively atmosphere.
7 Club, which, despite its name, was in fact a restaurant, became my preferred eating place throughout my week-long stopover in Sihanoukville. Like most other businesses in the area, 7 Club was family-run, with the majority of the regulars treated as part of the extended family. I’d stay at the restaurant long after I devoured the glorious food, knocking back a few cans of beer and enjoying a bit of banter with my hosts.
One late morning I went round for lunch keeping company with a fellow from New Zealand whose sojourn in Sihanoukville stretched more than six months. Beer in one hand, cigarette in the other, he jabbered on with a trademark sense of humour. He talked about his marriage to a Thai lady he met while travelling in Thailand and with whom he lived for some time in New Zealand. Out of boredom or out of fascination, she unfortunately developed a habit for the pokies. Allegedly squandering a fortune on these easily accessible gambling machines, their union had failure written all over. Since the Thai lady wasn’t around to hear her side of the story, with the sea beckoning, there was only one way I was heading to.
Returning to 7 Club in the evening, the chap from New Zealand was still there guzzling beer, causing concern whether there would be any left for the rest of us! Perhaps he was on a mission to wipe out the reality that his time in Sihanoukville was up and in less than forty-eight hours he’d be back shivering in frosty New Zealand. Whatever the reason, he was visibly and evidently inebriated. Nevertheless he held on to crack a couple of jokes before mustering enough energy to hobble back to his room for a good long slumber.
As I sat down for dinner, out of the corner of my eyes I noticed a lanky figure materialising out of thin air and gliding over to my table. She asked if she could join in. Before I had time to mull it over, mouthful of noodles and all, a handshake was being extended from the chair opposite mine. Sensing trouble, the teenage waiter hailed as “Playboy”, in demand as rumoured with the local cuties, came over in a shot to check whether the situation was under control. I told him to relax and bring over a can of soft-drink for my instant friend. “Playboy” seemed concerned as if he spotted something I hadn’t or knew something I didn’t but the soft-drink was already on the table.
Everything was happening fast. After the first swig of the soft-drink she began mumbling incoherently what seemed to be the names of soft-drinks she said she liked. Her eyes transfixed, she looked lost in a trance and her nauseating mood made me feel uneasy. Suddenly the spicy noodles tasted bland and I regretted holding “Playboy” back from leading her out of the restaurant when there was the chance. She proposed coming down to my room and for a fee, let me have my way with her.
Her long shiny black hair fell smoothly along her back like a cloak of the finest material. A pretty face, but not an innocent look, her complexion hinted she could be from the countryside. Her perfect lithe frame, the envy of aspiring models. She said she was from Vietnam, possibly running away from a life that offered nothing to a life that offered empty promises. Her beauty made her hard to resist.
Finally realizing her efforts were not going to pay off, she asked me outright for some money. But there was no way I was going to give her the $10 or $15 she demanded. Her insistence unnerved me and I let her know she could leave any time now. In the end I reached into my pockets and handed her enough for a taxi home. She grabbed the change, went to the bar next door, spoke with some people there and drifted out of sight never to be seen during the rest of my stay in Sihanoukville.
Strolling along the sands of Occheuteal and sauntering into the beach-side cafes for a drink or snack became my favourite daily pursuit. Feeling less lethargic than usual, one morning I wandered down to the next sandy strip, Otres Beach. Along the remote shores of Occheuteal I came across a variety of dead birds and fish. It was a bizarre reminder of the balance of nature, beautiful and brutal.
Close to the headland separating Occheuteal from Otres Beach, I watched the fishermen pull in with an abundant morning catch. The fishermen busied themselves unloading the catch for trading to start. A rhythm of life the fishermen knew only too well.
By the time I reached Otres Beach it became rather cloudy and it started drizzling shortly after. It never appeared like it was going to clear up soon so I made up my mind to head back to the Makara’.
On my way back, I heard some people call out from a vacant restaurant, waving me over to join in. Accepting their request, I was treated to an exquisite bar-be-que of grilled squids and prawns dipped in tangy sauce all washed down with a local brew. This long way home turned out to be a great surprise thanks to my easy-going hosts who shared with me their food, drink and laughs.
Feeling the urge to explore other beaches and places around Sihanoukville, on another morning I decided to rent a motorbike. Driving the motorbike gave me a sense of freedom and enjoyment so much that I could have probably pushed on to Kampot, the next coastal town from Sihanoukville. Driving on open roads is however a risky affair. The unspoken but understood rule of the road goes by the standard that the larger the vehicle is, the mightier one’s say on the road.
Later that afternoon I went to withdraw some money from an ATM located at an up-market hotel off Occheuteal Beach's main road. Through tiredness or through naivety I keyed in the wrong PIN and the ATM captured the only credit card I had at the time. For a second, my heart stopped beating. A quick calculation meant I had barely enough spare cash to make it back to Bangkok. For this reason I had to alter my plans to make the money stretch that far. Regrettably I had to cut short my stay in Sihanoukville and leave the next morning. At least I could leave knowing the sun was out for most of the week. Instead of returning to Bangkok via the costlier transit of Cham Yeam / Hat Lek Border, I had to go through Phnom Penh and a stirring revisit of the Poipet / Aranya Prathet crossing awaited!
