Sihanoukville, Cambodia

Everyone, when asked about Sihanoukville, had said they would rather punch themselves in the face than return to Sihanoukville. They said it was the worst place they had ever been, and some of them had even been to Middleborough. So naturally we go there. The reason is that all the other beachy places are in the grip of the monsoon right now, so the water is rough, it's raining buckets and it takes a very long time to get there, or you need to get an unpleasant boat to get there. The other option was actually a completely unspoiled, virgin beach with soft, white sand. The issue is that because the sand is virgin and untouched, the sand is home to sand flies which will take giant chomps out of your flesh, and there are so many of them, they are the flying equivalent of pirhanas. So, to Sihanoukville. We are told that there is actually a rather pleasant part of this wretched corner of the country called Otres Beach, which is a little ways away from the city and it's hell beaches, too far away for the drunks and burnouts to make the effort to get here, and not developed enough to be overrun by tourists yet. Give it 10 years. The first place we stay is on Otres 2, the furthest beach on. There are no shops, no restaurants, and no visitors. One could say that the hotels are close to nonexistent. Actually I could say that. The place we stay at is a beach hut complex made up of loosely constructed wood buildings which are completely empty save two rock hard beds complete with mosquito nets that have mesh so big, the bugs waltz right through. We end up bitten as much under the nets as outside. There are locals stretched out in hammocks under our hut, smoking. This means that, as the building's floors and walls are just loosely attached spats of wood, the smoke rushes up and into our room. Magnificent. Of all the places to hang your hammock and smoke your face off. There is one fan in the room, ensuring the room has only one stream of hot air, and as it is stuck in one position it sort of cools only one person. We move to Otres 1 the next day. The new place is a bit more expensive, but it's more spacious, there's a restaurant and cafe, and the doors of the bungalow open up onto the beach. Truly wonderful. The sea is a bit rough, but we go in it anyway. Dominic get a little pushed around, and runs back and forth up the beach, shouting at the waves like a little Don Quixote. I throw myself into it, sometimes crashing through them, sometimes riding the tide up and down. The water is murky because it is so rough, but it's so lovely and warm, it doesn't really matter. there is always a little snag, however. Place advertises "very good wifi". Anyone who knows anything about southeast Asia can tell you that in crap beach resorts, it's a minor miracle that there is wifi at all, never mind good wifi. Actually, that stands for most hotels, there's no point in singling out beaches. So the power keeps going out. The electrician is called. The power keeps going out. When the power is on, the wifi is crap, and there's barely enough signal to get us a hotel in the next city. It's touch and go as to whether we will have a roof over our heads when we get to Kampot, our next Port of call. Siobhan is less than pleased. I try to enjoy the stay there, but it's difficult. I actually feel guilty that there is so much amazing scenery but we can only find joy in the wifi. We start getting a little restless and the restaurant in the hotel is a little pricey, so we go for a little walk further down the beach, just to see what else is available. We find a dingey little place that looks like a half finished basement bar called Blame Canada. We don't feel very confident about it, something about cockroaches being the wait staff. oh well, it adds to the ambience. The stereo comes on and angels begin to sing. Actually Robert Plant begins to sing, and for the first time in a while we begin to relax and genuinely enjoy being in a restaurant. We order a chili dog for Dominic, and I must say, the Cambodians have an interesting take on chili. I'm not sure peanuts are in chili. They are now. The rest of the food is suspect at best, but ease has been achieved. Siobhan says that if Guns 'N' Roses comes on, she's never leaving. Her statement is soon put to the test, and sensibly she aquiesces to the moans of "bedtime". The next night Siobhan starts to get antsy and goes for a cocktail at the hotel bar, saying that you can't go to a tropical paradisde and not have a blue or pink beverage. I can't fight that logic. I put the boy to bed, and go join her at the bar. the bar, is within eyesight of the bungalow, so we can see and hear the boy if he wakes. Siobhan begins to loosen up, and decides to continue the revelry at Blame Canada with some people she met at the cafe. I stay with Dominic. 3 am comes along and I wake with a start. siobhan is not in bed. I take my neck light (thanks Wade), and lock the door to the bungalow, and hoping that Dominic doesn't wake, I walk down the street to the Blame Canada, hoping I don't find Siobhan's rapidly cooling body by the side of the road. no sign, so that's good and bad news. No body, but nobody. See what I did there? Clever, no? I take my search to the beach, going aabout the same distance as I went down the road. I pass a few people sitting up, some listening to the radio, some snogging, None are Siobhan. I go back to the bungalow to make sure the boy hasn't woken, and to worriedly await her return, which she does around 5am. I am so relieved she's ok, I forget to be annoyed. She went to the town and had gone to a couple of bars which stayed open a little later. Apparently the very dregs of humanity go to this town, and Siobhan is pretty horrified by the place. The denizens of these places seem to have seen every circle of hell, and have that stare that says they just pray for oblivion, and know they will find it at the bottom of every alcohol and pill bottle, syringe and reefer, and the company they keep are like minded souls who just fill their days waiting for the end. I was glad to stay at the hotel with the boy, frankly. Even in my roughest days, and I had a few, it still wouldn't be the sort of place I would choose to go. I would end up there occasionally, but I wouldn't have made that my first stop. Anyway, the last day held high winds, lashing rain and rough seas, so any boat trips to Koh Rong were definitely out of the question. A group of French tourists got on a rickety boat, having waded out in the sea to get to it. I just couldn't have made myself do it, and some of them were obviously questioning why they won't stop their legs from walking to the boat, but they still go, and I salute them as one would salute those knowingly going to their deaths. Brave? Perhaps. Stupid? Undoubtedly. I hope they got where they were going and returned in one piece and alive, or at least didn't feel much pain. we organise a taxi to take us to Kampot, a little place routinely referred to as "charming" and "quaint", which reads as rundown, dull and escape proof, but at elast we knew we will get there alive. We have to briefly wrestle with the driver's machismo, reiforced by the military uniform hanging over the driver's seat. Having no idea of the medal to rank ratio, I won't guess about his importance, but the fact that he moonlights as a hack says he didn't really apply himself. It's a shame about the weather, I would have liked a nice day to float and relax and not concern myself with power outages, and dodgy wifi and tales of drug addled ladyboys. Oh well. Better luck in Kampot.