Koh Kong

Koh Kong is a sleepy fishing village maybe fifteen minutes by taxi from the border between Cambodia and Thailand. After some convincing, our driver drops us off at the right hotel, hostel, guesthouse . . . whatever. They rent rooms by the hour and still have a big sign in English and Khmer warning that people engaging in sex trafficking will be prosecuted. Whatever. For a whole night it's roughly 16 bucks.

Surprisingly, the room is relatively nice, has air conditioning, and is part of a large courtyard with a pool area. Southern Cambodia is sweltering, and the pool is more than inviting, but we go out for a meal and a short walk about the town, which takes all of thirty minutes, and covers the shoreline, a small market, and a strange memorial with no signs in English.

The big restaurant in town is Bob's Ice Cream, which serves Western food and Cambodian.

And chocolate shakes. At 32 Celsius, a chocolate shake is exactly what you need to take the edge off.

Our next destination was Chi Phat, which is not on any map I've seen, yet is still relatively well known to any Cambodian I talk to. It's also not on any main road, and getting there involves taking a bus to Phnom Penh, getting off halfway through the ride, and taking either a three hour boat ride up the river for thirty bucks or a motorbike ride for six. We opt for the motorbike ride and I spend the next 40 minutes behind a fat Cambodian alternating between exhilaration and utter terror as we burn through the back roads of the Cardamom Mountain Lowlands. There was some truly breathtaking scenery, none of which I have photos of because swift death would have followed if I'd for one second taken my hands off the driver.

If Koh Kong is a sleepy fishing village, Chi Phat is a one horse town, without the horse. The local economy revolves around the eco-tourism business, a cultural shift from twenty years ago when illegal poaching and smuggling was the name of the game. It turns out that that the Cardamom Mountains are one of the most biologically diverse places in Southeast Asia, with millions of different species of every animal from monkeys to elephants to mosquitoes. A few years back some scientists rolled in and offered the locals the alternative of hosting eco-minded westerners and taking them on treks through the jungle. It turns out that rich white people will pay a fair amount of money to be miserable in rural Cambodia, and it's no great trouble for local guides to show them around the waterfalls and back trails they grew up in.

Which is how Amanda and I found ourselves signed up for a five day four night jungle trek through the Cardamom Mountains.

Our heavily pregnant tour organizer looks at us skeptically over her ledger book while giving us the low down on what we'll need to bring and what to expect on the trail. "You know the leechi?"

Amanda has told me to expect leaches. I am morbidly curious and apprehensive. We laugh a little, trying to make light of it. "Yes, we know the leechi."

Her expression doesn't change. "Two backpack, three liters water, hammocks, and blanket. You bring rain jacket, clothes, and hiking boots. Breakfast at 7, you leave at 730. Don't be late."

- Doug