Sihanoukville: sun and sand, with a touch of sleaze

Our hotel, the Golden Sand, was rather grand looking from the outside but inside was rather ordinary. The bathroom didn’t have a shower per se, but was instead a wet room – i.e. there was a shower head attached to the wall and a drain in one corner. Fine in principle, but not in practice. It simply meant the floor of the bathroom was almost constantly wet, making it difficult to put your clothes on without them also getting damp, and we got wet feet every time we needed to go in there. The breakfast buffet was excellent with a huge variety of taste temptations – full marks there! The wifi was intermittent and occasionally showed a login screen in Russian – just shows who the majority of guests were!

We were a short walk from Ochheuteal Beach which, to me, at first sight, was horrifying. Being a New Zealander, I am used to mile upon mile of sandy shore, with plenty of space between beach-goers, who carry along their own beach umbrellas and chilly bins and rugs and picnics. Not here! The beaches in Cambodia are more reminiscent of European beaches, where restaurants and bars compete for space above the high tide line and each have their own tables, chairs and deckchairs lined up in front, almost down to the water.

So, you can quite easily end up check-by-jowl with some disgustingly huge beer-bellied male, offering a meal of his German sausage to a pretty young Khmer woman waitress – yes, we did actually overhear that conversation! We also saw many an older Western male with extremely young-looking local girls –and I don’t even want to imagine what their relationship was. I was, at different times, ashamed, embarrassed and disgusted with my fellow Westerners who have brought their low morals and obscene habits to a country where extreme poverty forces some people to do things they would never otherwise dream of doing.

However, don’t let these things put you off visiting this beautiful place. Ochheuteal Beach is 5 kilometres long – I know, we walked every inch of it – so, if you just keep walking, you will reach a point where only the local people enjoy themselves frolicking in the warm waters or, even further, to where you almost feel like you have the beach to yourself. And there are several other beaches to vary your days. Serendipity is just the name for one end of Ochheuteal, and is full of restaurants and guesthouses but no golden sandy beach, so a place to eat, drink and sleep but not to swim. Outres is a mini Ochheuteal, not as long, not as crowded, but certainly just as beautiful. Independence Beach is even quieter, though one end is reserved for guests of the resort hotel built there. And Sokha Beach is the same – a blue-uniformed guard blows his whistle at those beach-goers who dare stray on to the sands reserved for those wealthy enough to stay at the Sokha Resort.

You can eat and drink well at any of the beach-side restaurants and bars for a relatively small amount of money. Happy hours that extend for several hours and offer two-for-one cocktails are the norm, so it’s no wonder drunkenness is rife! Most bartenders make a mean margarita; many, but not all, mix a spicy Bloody Mary – all for about US$2.50. A simple chicken and vegetable fried rice would cost about the same, freshly barbecued seafood or chicken perhaps US$4. There is also no shortage of women wandering the beach, with huge trays of cooked seafood or fresh fruit precariously balanced on their heads. Others carry raw food and a lit brazier at each end of a long pole, supported on their strong shoulders, and cook the food at your request.

Many other traders sell their goods along the beachfront as well: sunglass hawkers, souvenir sellers and women who will give various parts of your body a massage, provide manicures and pedicures, and even thread your legs free of any stray body hairs! After a couple of cocktails one evening, Marianne and I both enjoyed foot massages and had our toenails painted bright purple.

Last, but most certainly not least, the sunsets at these beaches are to die for! Whether by accident or design, there are usually half a dozen of the local wooden longboats moored offshore, making for striking silhouettes against the lowering sun. Combine this with a long cool cocktail enjoyed while lounging in a deck chair at the water’s edge … bliss!

Sihanoukville may have its critics, and it certainly does have an element of sleaze, but I would have no hesitation in returning to its sandy shores.

Kampot market

Kampot is a small town, an hour’s bumpy and breezy tuk-tuk ride north of Kep. It doesn’t have a lot going for it: a riverside setting; an economy based on pepper production and on the salt gathered from large drying fields just outside of town; fruit, which it celebrates with a statue of a giant durian in the middle of the town’s central roundabout; and a rickety old bridge, which is a hodge-podge of 4 different architectural styles and looks likely to collapse at any moment.

I did like the remnants of French colonial architecture, though sadly most of those old buildings are going to rack and ruin. So, for me, Kampot’s best feature was its large, smelly, noisy, chaotic market. Rather than try and describe what we saw there, I thought I’d let my photos do the talking.

"Buy my pig!" "No, buy my pig" This seemed to be how the conversation was going.

The fish sellers ... and eaters!

A good selection of seafood here ... and mostly alive, so fresh

More fish ... and cockles. It was very smelly, but really fascinating

Squid, octopus, prawns ... you name it, they sold it

The cushion-cover seller had some colourful wares and a lovely smile

When my flash went off taking this picture, the girl almost stitched her own finger! Oops

There was a huge variety of fresh fruit and vegs available as well

The sellers were mostly happy to be photographed, then giggled hysterically with their mates when shown the pictures

Name the fruit!

Kep: crab capital of Cambodia

The drive from Phnom Penh to Kep takes about 3 hours and was particularly pleasant in the air-conditioned comfort of a nice car, luckily with a very good driver as the roads can be hazardous. The secret to driving here appears to involve never hesitating while always keeping a keen eye on everything else on the road, including dogs and cows, people and bicycles, motorbikes and tuk tuks, cars, trucks and buses.

As with the road down from Siem Reap, the countryside outside of Phnom Penh was mostly flat but as we got closer to the coast there were hills, some quite rugged, and in Kep our hotel, the Beach House, was built on a hillside overlooking the beach and the waters of the Gulf of Thailand.

A statue of a woman looking out to see for her fisherman husband
at the end of the main beach at Kep

After dumping our bags, we headed straight across the road to the beach for a paddle as the boys had never been to the seaside before and, bearing in mind they are 17 and 24 years old, were incredibly excited – their wide white grins were a joy to see. The sea was incredibly warm, almost as hot as the humid tropical air.

Kep is particularly famous for its delicious crabs and, just as other places have huge statues of their typical food product (Ohakune has its carrot and Woombye its big pineapple), so Kep has its large statue of a crab – a male crab I am reliably told – something to do with the width of the central plate on its tummy!

Later that first afternoon we walked the 3 kilometres around the bays to the crab market. A small troop of monkeys were feeding and frolicking in the trees above one of the old abandoned houses that litter the coast around Kep. According to our guide book, Kep was founded in 1908 as a beach resort for French colonials and thrived for 60-odd years as their favourite holiday destination. But then the French abandoned their luxurious villas after independence and many still stand, empty crumbling shells of once magnificent buildings.

Both the sunset, which we enjoyed at the one of the restaurants near the crab market, and the crabs we ate later were superb, as were all the other types of fresh seafood we savoured in Kep – prawns, shrimps, fish, squid and octopus. Seafood is my absolute favourite food so I was in heaven, except for one meal. Be warned, “deep-fried prawns in powder” is actually battered deep-fried prawns, with more batter than prawn and nothing else to accompany this rather disappointing dish.

Kep is quite spread out so the following morning’s walk took us a few kilometres in the opposite direction to the market, to the pier where the boats to Rabbit Island depart. We booked for the following morning and spent the rest of the day relaxing, the boys and Marianne swimming in the sea and the hotel pool, me sitting on a chair overlooking the bay, sometimes writing, sometimes just enjoying the view. Another evening, another sunset, more beers and succulent seafood! 

We woke to the sound of rain, which became almost torrential as the morning progressed. But the locals assured us it would clear by lunch time and it did allow some time to catch up on blogs and emails and writing. We also made a new, bright green friend, which turned out to be a coconut locust that looked like a leaf – its method of protection from predators, I assume.

The locals were right about the weather, so we tuk-tukked round to catch our boat around 11am. There we encountered a problem: we had paid for a private boat so we could come and go when we pleased but our boatman tried to rip us off by bringing a parcel of locals and 2 German backpackers along for the ride. No big deal, you might think, but if you don’t stand up against scams like this, the local people will continue to try them, tourists will become disgruntled and not return. So, we argued the point and eventually negotiated a refund of $10 off our initial price of $30, which means we actually got the return trip for $5 per person, cheaper than the usual $7 or $8 per person price.

It was a slow pleasant chug out to Rabbit Island in one of the wooden longboats the locals normally use for fishing. I’m not sure why the island is so-named as there were no rabbits and it wasn't shaped like one either; there was just a line of small wooden huts roofed with palm fronds and a sprinkle of shack-type restaurants designed for those tourists seeking a desert island experience. Everything was fairly basic and the island might well resemble paradise except for all the rubbish everywhere.

The island is relatively small, just 6 kilometres around and there’s supposed to be a track circling the island. But it is very overgrown and, in places, difficult to negotiate, so we only managed to visit 3 bays before the path petered out. To continue we would have had to clamber over jagged rocks or risk severe scratching by forcing our way through the sometime spiky undergrowth so we did neither. It was still a nice walk, watching crabs scuttle along the sand, collecting shells, and paddling in the warm water. The locals who don’t earn their living catering to the tourists are fishermen and we passed a tiny village of 4 or 5 scraggy huts where the men were repairing their nets, chickens ran squawking about and shy children peeked at us through hut windows.

It was nice to see the island while it was still relatively unspoilt as I imagine a return visit in 5 years’ time might find a concrete-block resort building dominating the beach front, though I fervently hope that won’t happen.

A woman checks the crab pots

We enjoyed another magnificent sunset – I took 55 photos in just one hour! – and salivated over more delicious seafood, and that is certainly how I will remember Kep, for its fresh succulent crabs and the stunning colours of its sky as the sun went down.

Locals swim as the sun sets over Kep beach

Honey, I’m home!

Home is where the heart is, they say. Well, New Zealand certainly holds three things very close to my heart: most of my family, my best friends and delicious food.

One of the best things about returning to New Zealand is being able to see the people I feel closest to, my extended family and my women friends. This year I timed my visit particularly well and was able to enjoy my first family Christmas since my mum died in April 2008. I like to think of the aunt and uncle I stayed with in Hamilton as my surrogate parents. Because they’ve known me all my life and they know my history, I can relax with them, be myself. They are helpful and supportive, and they always make me feel so very welcome.

Christmas dinner with the whanau

I also got to catch up with those of their kids and grandkids – my cousins and second cousins – who still live in Hamilton, and said hello to another, who now lives in Australia, via Skype. My aunt and uncle held a dinner party for some people they know who were also close to my family – my dad’s cousin and his wife, and a good golfing buddy of my mum’s and her husband. And my uncle drove us all the way to Whangamata, a beachside town on the Coromandel peninsula about an-hour-and-a-half’s drive from Hamilton, so I could catch up with another elderly auntie.

I also enjoyed a lovely dinner and catch up with relations from my dad’s side of the family: an elderly aunt who is the sole survivor from my dad’s siblings and in-laws, and her children – my cousins – and some of their children. That was fun too.

Though a couple live in faraway lands, the majority of my close women friends live in Auckland. I was blessed to stay once again with dearest Rosie and her son Stephen and cat Fluffy in their house in Titirangi, a suburb of bush, birds and beaches. Another good buddy, Sue, lives nearby, so the three of us shared dinners and lunches out, went shopping together and saw a few movies – The Hobbit, Skyfall and Quartet. I had a lovely long lunch, with those magnificent publishing women I used to work with at Auckland University Press, and heard about their latest doings and the hot gossip, and we shared a lot of laughs. I also long-lunched with Jo, my oldest friend – we worked together at Air New Zealand many eons ago – and caught up with her news of family, job, etc. I spent the night at the house of friends Carol and John – Carol and I taught English in the same language school – and we ate a yummy meal, drank lots of wine, and chatted till the wee hours. And I lunched with Cathy, another former teacher at that same school. She had visited me in Peru so it was great to catch up with her again.

I value having all these wonderful people in my life and it’s so good to be able to come back to New Zealand and pick up again as if our last conversation was just the day before.

Fresh flounder straight off the barbeque

And, last but by no means least, food! One of the great things about New Zealand is being able to eat a huge variety of fresh, delicious food … with confidence. And, by that I mean, without worrying about what nasty bugs and beasties you’re going to catch from the unwashed or washed-in-bad-water vegetables and fruit in your meals. Of course, you can contract stomach-churning diarrhoea-inducing bugs from any restaurant in any country but the chances of that happening are just so much higher in under-developed countries.

I also love the variety of food available in restaurants and supermarkets. I ate Italian, Turkish, Greek, Thai and good old Kiwi fare, and enjoyed every single mouthful. Christmas dinner was that traditional Kiwi staple of roast lamb with mint sauce, plus the English traditional roast turkey, as well as delicious ham on the bone, and all the trimmings. Divine! And then there’s the seafood – my favourite, and the one thing I missed in land-locked Cusco. Ah, the seafood … I’ll say no more as my mouth is watering at the very thought of it!

Thanks, New Zealand and my fellow Kiwis. It was another truly wonderful visit home.