Circumnavigation

Until we went to Cambodia, I had never experienced the delight of warm sea water. A couple of months after our arrival from England, we got in the Citroen and drove to Kep on the coast.

As I recall, the journey took about 3 hours on a rather pot-hole filled road that was never-the-less perfectly navigable, unlike others that we took from time to time where a four-wheel drive was required.

Kep was where foreigners went for a few days relaxation away from the city, to enjoy sea breezes and food fresh out of the Gulf of Siam. A tiny restaurant right off the beach served wonderful crab and baignets de crevettes, deep fried shrimp in batter. I had always loved fish and chips, but that seafood was something special.

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Even though the road was quite passable, our journey to Kep was sometimes problematic. On the above occasion, the fan belt broke, necessitating frequent stops to fill up the radiator. As we carried no water, it had to be fished out of a paddy field and unfortunately the monsoons had long passed, so this was a challenge.

That was me skulking in the back seat. When drama ensued, I knew to keep a low profile.

We arrived eventually many hours late, in Kampot, where a new fan belt was installed. It was a small town slightly inland from Kep. The surrounding area was well known for its salt marshes. and apparently still is. I have no photographs of them, but I clearly remember the salt piles which made a change from the ubiquitous rice paddies.

Rice paddies stretched in all directions, as far as the eye could see, dotted with palm trees along mud ridges that marked out individual fields. I came to love the sight of rice gently waving in the wind.

Water buffalo were used for plowing and transporting harvested crops, large, fierce-looking animals I steered well clear of.

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Bullock carts were pulled by much gentler cattle and in Phnom Penh, we saw carts pulled mostly by small ponies. I watched from our veranda as boats were offloaded at the river’s edge and my heart broke for those poor animals.

Regretably, I have no pictures of the Bungalow de Kep where we usually stayed when visiting. It was fairly basic, but clean, with a decent restaurant. In the morning we took breakfast on a large balcony overlooking the sea. Fresh papaya, cafe au lait and croissants. Or sometimes fresh pineapple, mango or mangosteens. Tropical fruit is divine.

In those days I never tried durian. All I knew about it was that it smelled dreadful and I was never tempted to experiment, but when I went back to Asia very many years later, I was more adventurous and discovered what I had missed. Put a peg on your nose and try it! Durian ice cream is to die for and you don’t need the peg.

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There were very few people on the beach in Kep, but if you wanted true privacy, you could engage a couple of fishermen to sail you across the bay to a tiny island where you could spend the day, catching lunch on the way over, if you so chose. I remember once this amounted to something that looked like an over-sized snail (it may have been spider conch) and on that occasion, I stuck to sandwiches.

The beach on the island was pristine and I happily played in the gentle waves, getting quite terribly sunburnt, while Mum read a book in the shade. Father went for walks and after we’d been to the island a couple of times, his curiosity was piqued. He decided to circumnavigate.

Leaving Mum and I at the beach, Dad set off after lunch. We were meeting someone for supper later on and the crossing from the island took an hour, but there was plenty of time…

When, by 4 pm, there was no sign of father, mother became slightly annoyed. The fishermen wanted to leave and if we didn’t go soon, we would end up in a rush…

An hour went by…and another. Mum became agitated.

A storm blew in, whipping up the sea and soaking us. Now, the fishermen suggested getting in the boat and sailing around in search of our missing man.

The idea of being in a boat on that sea terrified me and I said so, though I don’t think Mum was any keener. She effectively communicated NO! in sign language.

One of the lads stayed with us on the beach while the other set off alone. It got dark and though hardly cold, certainly cool, but at least the storm abated and the Moon rose.

At some point in our long wait, mother’s annoyance and agitation turned to tears, which was the first time I had ever seen her upset. She was unflappable, therefore she obviously thought something dreadful had happened.

Luckily, before Mum’s mood deteriorated any further, a light appeared, approaching from the end of the island opposite where my father had disappeared many hours earlier and a short while after, the man came sheepishly toward us in the company of the fisherman.

We quickly boarded the boat and set sail for Kep, but following the storm, the sea was becalmed. Not a breath of air filled the sail. In consequence, it was a very slow crossing. As I recall, it was a very silent voyage. We arrived back at around midnight, finding the woman who had been expecting us getting ready to launch some sort of search and rescue, though how this would have been accomplished, I am not sure.

My mother was profoundly embarrassed, my father apparently not at all. He explained that the island had been “rather larger” than he realised and sometimes difficult to navigate. He was far less amused next morning when he discovered that he had acquired a quite serious sunburn. Fortunately, he was able to drive us back to Phnom Penh, where thereafter he spent several days with his burned shins elevated.

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Dad loved to walk. The above was a (not so) short ramble around the hill at Kep.

Leeches, I recall.

But I prefer to remember the hornbill.

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