Take Time: 2013

The trip from Phnom Penh to Kratie takes around 6-7 hours…according to the guidebook. In reality, that depends upon your mode of travel. The fastest form of public transportation is the shared taxi, but “they are too dangerous, speed too much,” according to my new Cambodian friend, “and the public bus stops too much and smells.” Her recommendation is that I travel by mini-bus (van): safer than the taxi, but faster than the bus as they don’t make stops along the way.

It is the morning after my arrival in Cambodia, and Vathana (WAT-ana) meets me around 9:30 a.m. at my guesthouse so I can deliver a purse (a late mother’s day present for their mother) from her sister, Sophara, my friend in the states. She repeats her offer to loan me a phone (first told me by Sophara after I told her of my plans to get a cheap phone while in Cambodia.)

“You only need to buy a SIM card for it, I will take you to buy it and we will find a mini-bus going to Kratie.” It was my first time in a private vehicle in Phnom Penh, where the faint of heart dare not drive. Vathana, of course, manages with aplomb, all the while answering my questions about the upcoming election, asking about my travel plans, and telling me about the two week stay she had on Koh Trong, across from Kratie, teaching workers on a farm about using it for Eco-tourism. As it turns out I, too, am staying on Koh Trong, a small island in the middle of the Mekong River.

Our drive and wait at the cell phone store are punctuated by return calls from various companies with the news that there are no more trips to Kratie today.

“It seems the only option for travel to Kratie at this time is Sorya bus.” She wrinkles her nose.

I assure her I am fine with this mode of travel as I used it last time I was here to go to Kep and Seam Reap. I had already looked online and found that the bus left at 11:00 (or 11:15 according to source used) for Kratie. We decide to go and buy my ticket and then have a late breakfast.

10:30. We arrive at the bus station, are directed to Window 2 and learn that the bus leaves at 10:45.

10:35. I have my ticket and we get back into the car to go the 3 blocks to the guesthouse. I had chosen this guesthouse based on its closeness to the bus station. Thankfully, my bags are packed and I run upstairs to get them while Vathana parks the car. With the traffic, she decides it will be faster to walk back to the bus station.

We maneuver our way across the street (no mean feat in Phnom Penh traffic,) skirt the outside of Central Market while I try not to knock anything over with my huge backpack luggage and cross another street.

10:45 The bus is loaded and the luggage compartment closed. I shrug off the huge backpack and hand it to the worker who stoically reopened the compartment to store it. I look at my ticket and find the seat number as I move to the back. Some one is in my seat, but as she moves, I find out her seat number and tell her I will take that seat and she can stay where she is. A Cambodian man stands to let me in to the seat and the bus starts moving.

A loud Cambodian music video starts and after an hour of songs it changes to a movie with lots of ninja action. he says, “You speak Cambodian?”

I shake my head, “I count and know a few phrases.”

“I speak some English. In 71, I am soldier with American soldiers and I learn. But don’t speak it anymore. 71, 75.”

He tells me about his sons and daughters that speak English better than he. We talk some about his family and my family. What I want is to ask him is about being a soldier during his country’s civil war. What happened to him when the Khmer Rouge took power? I tried to frame questions, but in the end I said nothing. It was too personal and I felt inadequate. In 1975 I was going off to the freedom of college and his country was losing all freedom, all education, and being destroyed from within. The atrocities by Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge are simply unfathomable to me. How does one advance to the state of insanity wherein he believes that what is best for the country is genocide of his own educated people to better be able to start a new agrarian society?

Eventually, the bus makes a stop at a roadside open-air restaurant with stalls on both sides. I walk down the stalls looking at the fried (whole) birds (yes, head and all), fried tarantulas and remember when on the way to Siem Reap two years ago, I bought a coke and fried crickets. I walk through the tables of the restaurant and my seat mate motions me over to a table where he sits.

“You want something to drink?”

“I was going to see if they have soursop juice.”

He looks puzzled, unfamiliar with my favorite Cambodian drink, and a waitress brings him a bowl.

“That looks wonderful, I would like to have some of that,” I say.

He tells the waitress to bring me some. I study his dish, “What is it?”

“Nudl.” Now I look puzzled. He brings some up through the broth with his chopsticks.

“Oh,” I reply, “NOO-dle. How do you say in Khmer?”

“Mi-soo.”

“and pork? What is the meat?”

“pig. - chrouck”

The waitress brought my order and it was delicious. The fact that it was 1:00 and it was the first thing I had to eat that day didn’t hurt, either. Chunks of pork were flavorful, but what I think was pig small intestine wasn’t my favorite part of the dish. I ask him how much and he shakes his head, “No, I pay.”

“Really, I should pay for yours. You helped me.”

“No, no,” he says again, waving his hand.

Ask a Cambodian 3 times or they think you are just being polite. I try once more as the waitress comes and once more he refuses.

“Awkun, it is very nice of you.”

I buy a bottle of water and the bus is again loaded up. The video resumes, or is it a new one? It seems the only thing they play are violent movies or loud music videos.

He gets off the bus at Kampong Chom as do most of the people. He shakes my hand, “I’ll see you again.” I have met two wonderful people today. Things happen in threes, must be one more coming.

My assigned seat has been vacated, so I move into it happy to have more room for my feet that had been on the wheel well. Four young French backpackers get on, taking over the back row just behind me and we resume our journey.

I use my new phone to call Arun Mekong, the guesthouse where I’ll be staying. I want to confirm my room and a pick up at the ferry by ox cart. (While I was planning my trip and talking about the need for a phone, a comment had been made to me about the incongruity of using a cell phone to be picked up by an ox cart.) I am told by Mr. Sophal to call again when I reach the ferry and he will send the cart.

One of the young French men amuses himself by singing made up Khmer-sounding words to the music video of music now playing. I am just happy the last video is over. It consisted of much fighting and blowing up of things in general.

The bus makes innumerable stops, both at bus stations in small villages or to let people off at random places along the way. Once a young girl darts off the bus to be met by a boy handing her a charger. Another time, we sit for five minutes while a woman gets off to purchase something. It is much cooler now on the bus, my blanket comes in handy.

My phone buzzes – low battery. I turn it off so there will be a charge left for me to call when I arrive. It is raining, it is getting dark…it is dark. Will we never get there? Finally, around 7:00 in the pouring rain, we arrive at the Kratie bus station. I stuff my blanket into my backpack and go nto the building as the undercarriage is unloaded. I decide it is a good time to open the emergency poncho raincoat I brought along.

“You need tuk-tuk?” I am asked as I struggle to unfold the thin plastic and open the raincoat.

“Where is the ferry?”

I read that you don’t need a ride to the ferry landing as it is quite close to the bus station. But it is dark (did I mention pouring rain?) and I don’t even know which way is the river. I pick up the backpack suitcase and swing it on, which totally messes with the light raincoat, turning it sideways and pulling my hood off.

“Ferry is closed.”

Panicked thoughts race through my head. Is this the old trick of trying to get you to stay in a different guesthouse? One that the driver will get a bonus for everyone he brings? I should call the guesthouse manager and tell him I can’t get there. Will I have to stay the night in town? Will I be refunded my money?

I overhear someone else talking about the ferry and ask him, “Are you staying on the island?”

“Yes.”

Then someone comes up and says, “Come with me.” I look up at him and he repeats, “Staying on island, follow quickly.”

At this time one of the others staying on the island starts putting his raincoat on. I follow the man around the corner as Mr. Raincoat struggles to catch up. There are 5 of us.

“You follow him” we are told, and he indicates someone with a flashlight.

The new man we are following says “Arun Mekong?” to a lady and I interrupt, “I’m staying at the Arun Mekong.” We cross the street.

He smiles at me, “I call you and your phone is off.”

“Yes, the battery is low and I shut it off so I could use it when I arrived.”

Now we arrive at some extremely steep steps. The dock is just a block away from the bus station. He has the flashlight shining on very steep steps as we are going down when he realizes the others are further behind and he turns the light back so they can see. I freeze, afraid of falling, as I can see nothing (in the dark pouring rain.)

“Wait,” he says.

“I’m going nowhere,” I reply.

Then we are all together again and move down to the boat. Someone helps me step on the back, not bad, but there is a steep ramp next. I hold tightly to the supporting hand and hope the heavy backpack doesn’t affect my balance so much I topple over. The boat has wooden seats along both sides with a slatted roof over the main portion. I take off my backpack suitcase and slide onto a bench. The motor starts and we are moving across the Mekong, unable to see anything. There is enough space in the slatted roof that water drips through, hitting me on the head. I am very happy that my blanket fit in my backpack. A drippy boat is no place for it.

We seem to be headed for a flashlight beam in the distance. After about 5 minutes, we see the island. It takes another 10 minutes to get there. Our boat has no lights on it and we pass several other unlit boats as well. I wonder what they are doing. Do you fish at night in the pouring rain?

We pull up to a steep, slippery dirt bank. Worried that the heaviness of my luggage will not let me balance, I zip the harness part so that it is carried as a regular suitcase. Mr. Sophal, manager of the Arun Mekong, jumps to another, smaller boat and begins bailing water from it. Other men help us off the boat and tell us to start walking up the slope.

Mr. Sophal interjects, “Too muddy, we go in boat.” I now have to turn and go back down the slippery slope. I hear a woman say “Who is going in the boat?” There is fear in her voice. The others walk further uphill as I stand on the bank of the Mekong watching water being bailed from a boat I’m about to get in. I’m going to die.

“It has been raining so hard for two days, “ he says as he helps me in the sampan.

“So, it isn’t leaking – it is filling with rainwater.” I feel a little relieved.

“Yes, yes.”

No seats, a little curved roof over the middle. I lean against my suitcase, my small backpack has never left my chest. Rain comes in on me as we turn further upstream to the tip of the island, 3.5 km away. Except for my shirt, I am totally soaked. There is a life jacket behind the suitcase. This is of little comfort to me as I head into the dark pouring rain in a small boat with a man who SAYS he is taking me to my guesthouse. He begins to scoop water again. I’m going to die.

I see a flashlight on the bank, but we pass it by. And another. I think about the boat capsizing, I would lose my little backpack, my suitcase, my phone, my laptop, my camera. The phone would be most upsetting. Not the new one; my iPhone which I rely upon for everything (except international calls.) Could I make it ashore? Is it like being at the coast, swim parallel to the shore until you can make it in? What happens if this man has a heart attack? Could I steer the boat? Where would I go? I would go to one of those flashlight beams. There is a peacefulness that comes over you when you have worn your imagination out by answering its every concern. But the little voice still says, “You are in a sampan, in the dark, pouring rain going up the Mekong River. You are going to die.”

Finally, after another 15 minutes of fighting the current we turn in toward the third flashlight beam. The boat butts up against the bank. No steep slippery mud slope here – it is a steep slope covered with knee-high vegetation. Are there snakes in the Mekong I wonder as I step into the shallow water? I don’t care, I am on land. I turn back for my suitcase, but Mr. Sophal gets it.

“I am so sorry, if I had known, I would have packed lighter.” It is a lie because I have brought a minimal amount for a five-week trip, but I feel very guilty about him carrying it up. The person with the flashlight tells me to go all the way up. As I reach the top of the slope, I see a light and the outline of a house. I step across a small path into the gates of Arun Mekong guesthouse.

I didn’t die after all.