I had just stopped at a corner dessert shop for some ice-cream when I noticed a sign advertising tours up Bokor Mountain, about an hour outside of Kampot, Cambodia. I signed up on a whim.
The next morning, the tour van picked me up at my hotel. Tour van is a strong description. The van that took us on the tour arrived. The driver hopped out to say hello. He had shoulder-length curly hair and a hippie vibe about him. He looked to be in his early 20s, friendly, and in a hurry. I climbed in the front seat and slammed the door. I was the only one in the van. The driver’s seat was torn up and the seat behind us had a giant speaker laying on its side, taking up all three spots. I really hoped more people would be joining me.
I could imagine the tour company’s internal conversation, “Hey, wouldn’t it be great to start a tour company? But what will we do for transportation?”
“I’ve got a nephew – he has a van!”
“Uncle, that’s AWESOME, I can TOTALLY tour your people!!!!!!!!” This would have been in Khmer, but I’m pretty sure it’s still an accurate representation as to the chain of events leading to this moment.
Fortunately, the van stopped to pick up a few more people, so if the sketchy situation went south, at least there would be witnesses. We drove up the mountain, stopping for lunch at what would have been a gorgeous waterfall during the rainy season. A little further up the road, the Bokor Hill Station ghost town emerged. The building were beginning to blend into the mountainscape as the jungle slowly reclaimed the intrusion. This area was developed in the 1920s as a retreat village for the colonial French elite trying to escape the heat of Phnom Penh. It had been abandoned by the 1960s, except for swarms of revolutionary guerilla Khmer Rouge from the 1970s-1990s. A new road was built in 2009, making the hill accessible to tourists and development again.
We walked through old apartments and roofless ruins. There was one house that looked occupied, oddly out of place. The Catholic church was small and forlorn, but still had charm as it stood sentry in the abandoned town.
It was windy on the mountaintop, the kind of windy where you had to put your head down and lean forward just to walk. We visited the Black Palace where the King used to have his summer home in the 1950s and 60s. The walls were covered with graffiti and vines twisted through every crack in the cement. I tried to picture what the buildings looked like fully furnished, busy with people.
We then visited a Buddhist temple nestled in the rock outcropping with the most stunning views, stretching to the Gulf of Thailand. It’s the highest pagoda in Cambodia. The Elephant Mountains here have been considered sacred for centuries and the hilltop had nooks all over the grounds for worshipers to pray and present offerings before the statues of Buddha. Just below the temple, a gnash of brand-new development is beginning to explode, including a resort hotel, casino, and townhouses. The area planned to become a top destination for conferences and posh holiday escapes. The contrast between the worn and quiet old and the bright, modern new is startlingly harsh.
On the way down the mountain, we stopped to see the Lok Yeay Mao statue. It was built in 2012 and is 95 feet high. She is venerated in the local Buddhist tradition as a protector of travelers. It was kind of weird.
The hippie van driver dropped us off without incident down by the river in downtown Kampot. The tour included a sunset cruise down the Praek Tuek Chhu River. A small group of people were looking at the menu for the cruise, which included vegetarian options. I cracked how delicious vegetarians are, to which one of them turned to announce he was a vegetarian. Whoops! So of course we became friends. He was Hindu and from Singapore. He had just finished his mandatory 2- year military service and was on vacation before starting his studies. We managed to find where the other backpackers and solo travelers were clustered on the boat and began exchanging travel stories. Amy, from England, was doing a SE Asian tour for a few months in the middle of a career change. There was a young Danish gal, and an older woman from Spain. I found it interesting that I met very few American travelers. Many Europeans, some from other Asian countries, but hardly any Americans.
We drifted down the river, enjoying the light breeze and a stunning sunset, followed by fireflies sparkling in the darkness. I could see a bridge coming up in the distance. It looked pretty low. As we got closer, I realized my initial assessment was off—it was very low. The boat crew took down the poles on either side that hung lights over the deck of the house-boat cruiser. As the bow passed under the bridge, everyone in front started bending backwards until they were lying flat on their back, phones in the air to video the bridge just inches away from their faces. I was sitting in the back, watching the domino effect. As we glided forward, I joined the crowd in playing limbo and wondered if they ever had a poor distracted soul knocked out or off the boat. Clearly, their society hadn’t yet discovered the joys of litigation. Good for them.
Our little crew of travelers decided to grab dinner together (we found one with vegetarian options). It’s amazing the instant connection you find between solo travelers. You need to make new friends at every destination, so you get pretty good at becoming outgoing. After a lovely dinner, we each went our separate ways, probably forever. But the moment of friendship was deep and real, and just enough.
I needed to figure out how to get to Vietnam. Kampot isn’t a major transportation hub, but a few travel blogs mentioned they found a bus from there to Ho Chi Minh City. I found the website of the company and sent an inquiry, but never heard back. Later that week, I was biking downtown and saw a sandwich board advertising bus services. Perfect! I popped in to ask about days and schedules. That particular company didn’t have the right bus I needed, but she called her friend who worked for a competitor company to come over. Within three minutes, she was there and I had a ticket for 3 days later.
I had packed up everything in my backpack and carry-on suitcase and went to the hotel porch to pay for my stay. The hosts were so gracious. We had several long conversations over the week about life and business and the economy and family and all the things you discuss with new acquaintances. They would often stop by with little snacks the wife had made or pieces of fruit the husband had cut up.
“Thank you for that seminar you gave!” The owner gave me a big smile. I had been surprised to see him at the lunchtime business training hosted by The Life Center. The mix of people was so diverse, I wasn’t sure my information was helpful to anyone. Only one person asked questions, the owner of a very successful ice-cream shop, looking to expand. He had a lot of questions, and we ended up discussing the need for manufacturing in the area to increase economic development opportunities in the region. The students looked on curiously, and I wasn’t sure how much was helpful for my hotel owner friend, but I was grateful for the kind encouragement nonetheless.
“You have a long trip ahead of you to Vietnam. Please take some bananas.” The wife smiled and handed me a bunch of small bananas, one of the hundreds of varieties you see in SE Asia. These were exceptionally sweet, and I was touched by her hospitality.
“Thank you so much!! Can I give you a hug?” I’m a hugger, it’s very American, but I love it. She smiled and held out her arms. I didn’t realize until we hugged that it’s a bit of a learned art. There’s the slight lean and quick pat that’s the ‘acquaintance-level hug’ that I was expecting. She stood straight and stiff, I suppose trying to remember what this custom looked like in American movies and I’m sure wishing in her head that this weirdo American would just bow like all normal people do. But she was kind and her smile told me we had made a connection.
They waved goodbye as my tuk-tuk pulled up and I left for the bus stop. Next up, Vietnam!