Grizzly Adams & Fireflies in the Cambodian Jungle?!?
Krong Koh Kong, Cambodia (Aug 4-9)
I took a bus from Phnom Penh to Krong Koh Kong, a town on the Cambodian coast, which happens to be a hop, skip and jump away from the Thai border and, according to Lonely Planet, has a nice variety of scenic places to visit nearby. Unfortunately, the most notable option, Koh Kong Island, turned out to be off the menu due to it being the rainy low season, so instead I decided to book a $35-overnight excursion into the jungle nature reserve area through my accommodation, the Blue Moon Guesthouse. I was quite eager to do a bit of trekking through the jungle undergrowth as it would be my first hike after being hospitalized for pneumonia in Bangkok but fate, apparently, had not had its last guffaw at my expense. Insert long drawn-out s..i...g...h...here.
We were due to depart for the excursion immediately after breakfast on August 5, but just before we left, I made a quick (pit) stop at the supermarket next-door to purchase some more Nescafe -a whopping BIG glass jar of it which would have lasted me a month probably! However, as I was heading back to my room to pack away the coffee, I tripped and took a hard tumble on the uneven cobblestones in the breakfast area of the guesthouse, twisting my ankle and smashing my jar of coffee to smithereens in the process. A piece of glass from the jar cut my hand slightly and my right ankle hurt like a mother f***er. I asked the guesthouse manager to please hurriedly fetch me some ice to put on my sore ankle and I quietly cursed my continued stream of bad luck. That tumble left me with a dilemma- should I or (even) could I still attempt the hike in the jungle OR should I rest up and try to reschedule it for the following day? The optimist clammering loudly in my head rationalized that it didn't seem as if my ankle was badly twisted as there was very little swelling going on AND, when I attempted to walk on it, it only hurt.. Ouch!...a little. In the end, I agreed with my inner Pollyanna (who disturbingly resembled my exceedingly optimistic father...but in drag!) and decided to hobble on, figuring that my sturdy boots and some flimsy gauze wrapped around my ankle would be enough support. Note to self: Pollyanna is a filthy cross-dressing liar and, in future, her overly positive outlook should NOT be trusted.
There were 4 of us in our group: literally "lame" ole me, a couple from Spain, and a French fellow whose girlfriend had rather ironically had to cancel at the last minute due to an untimely bout of food poisoning. Hmpf, we could have done our convalescing together. We gang of four were brought to the river where we all piled ungracefully into a motorized canoe which swiftly carried us downstream, stopping only once to pick up our guide, Cambodia's very own "Grizzly Adams." He truly resembled the main character of this family-friendly American TV show from the 1970's with his thick, unruly beard and the fact that he lived way out in the wilderness, refusing to sleep under a roof, preferring instead to slumber beneath the stars. For the rest of the trip, I made it a habit to sneak a peak at Mr. Adams whenever humanly possible as I figured this was the closest I would ever get to meeting a half-man/half-animal mutant creature. Grrr!
We were then taken deeper and deeper into the jungle, all the while passing beautiful mangrove trees hugging both sides of the river. Upon reaching a point where boats could go no further, we all sloppily deboarded with our boots sinking deep into the mud within seconds of our landing. Soon after, we found ourselves plodding through authentic jungle terrain, warding off bugs desperate to feed on our blood, lumbering along like drunks, trying to avoid thorn-riddled vines blocking our path and sweating within a dehydrated inch of our lives. The worst of it though were the multiple treacherous streams we had to cross which were like a minefield for yours truly with my bum ankle, due to all the slippery rocks. By the time we reached our first destination- an aesthetically pleasing waterfall which was also our lunch spot, I was grimacing in agony and my previously not-so-swollen ankle had betrayed me by increasing in girth. It was then that I finally realized how seriously I had blundered by deciding to attempt such a hike. I softly and pathetically whimpered once out of earshot of the others dreading the idea of hobbling back to the boat. I mean, what if I fell again, THIS time managing to friggin' break my ankle?! Please God, no. I'll do anything, I swear! After a rather tasty lunch of smoky beef (for the carnivorous others) and vegetables on skewers, the other three hiked to another waterfall, whereas I was left with one of our guides whose job it was to accompany me safely back to the boat via a shortcut. I managed to slip and fall two (!!) more times while making my way back to the canoe and was continuously fighting back crocodile tears. The others rejoined me not too long after that and we were then taken to the nature reserve's ranger station where we were to spend the night.
I couldn't wait to take off my boots, allowing my achy-breaky feet to breathe and for my ankle to swell up even further as if it had just burst free from solitary confinement on Chateau d'If, the prison fortress of Alexander Dumas' "The Count of Monte Cristo." (Can't resist having at least one literary reference!) Mercifully, I was still able to walk gingerly on it, which meant that it was not broken. Whew. After an unmemorable dinner, we headed out onto the pier to watch the sunset, me with my headphones on so that I could surrender to the soothing sounds of some of my favorite musical artists (Thank you Otis Redding and Van Morrison!). Once daylight was long gone, we piled back into a canoe, but one without a motor, and our strong but silent boatman started paddling us down the river. The silence was deafening and the stars were numerous, but the most incredibly memorable thing of all was seeing the brilliant twinkling lights of fireflies within the branches of the mangroves. It seriously reminded me of blinking strings of Christmas lights. All the agony of that day slowly slipped away and if someone had managed to capture my face on film, I would have looked like a child who has just spied Santa Claus leaving a pile of beautifully-wrapped presents under the tree ALL addressed to yours truly. To say that the sight of those fireflies was magical would be an understatement of criminal proportions. Seriously.
That night I slept on a cot at the end of the pier, with mosquito netting covering me to keep the pesky bloodsuckers away and there was just enough of a cool breeze to keep things comfortable. As I drifted off to sleep, I couldn't help but reflect upon the surprising 180° the day had taken. Who knew that a morning which had begun disastrously with coffee grains & glass fragments flying every which way but loose would end with me softly singing the lyrics to Don McLean's, "Vincent"? A starry, starry night indeed.
What more can I say about my time in Cambodia? Nothing really, as I would prefer to leave it there...on...that...pier....
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