Staring at the Sea

To get back to the Vietnamese mainland from Phu Quoc Island, I took what I guess can be described as a 50 person speedboat. It was the windiest day I had seen in Vietnam, so I knew it wasn’t going to be a smooth crossing. It didn’t deter me from first eating delicious egg, chili and fish sauce baguette. As the boat powered up to full speed, and left the island’s sheltered waters, it began to bounce and roll across all three axes. Most of the boat’s passengers, Vietnamese women and children, were not high enough on their seats to see the horizon out of the windows. As their ride was that bit more unpredictable and nauseating, they began to scream. I put my headphones on and set my MP3 player to randomly shuffle some songs. Just as the mother next to me started to vomit and huddle here crying, terrified children, I pressed play. My MP3 player couldn’t have picked a more inappropriate soundtrack:

  Born in the USA, Bruce Springsteen
  Shiny Happy People, REM
  Enter Sandman, Metallica
  Cotton Eye Joe, Rednex
  Love Shack, B52s
  Funkytown, Lipps Inc.
  Du Hast, Rammstein
  I’m Too Sexy, Right Said Fred
  It’s Raining Men, Weather Girls

If the experience wasn’t rich enough already, the cabin crew put the icing on the cake. At the the front of the boat, the 50 inch TV came to life and on came a classic Jackie Chan film (complete with English subtitles). This was an on-board entertainment system like no other. My sick, sadistic soundtrack  ensured that at the very least I had a smug, content grin on my face. Every few second, the motion of the boat would send the butterflies in the pit of my stomach in to a fit of fluttering. Which, like a fun fair ride, never failed to make me giggle like a girl. I’m pretty sure, when the boat docked two hours later, I was the happiest passenger to step on to the quay-side.

I had an onward bus ticket Phnom Penh (Cambodia’s capital city), but as I wasn’t yet ready to say goodbye to the sea, I changed my ticket to go to Kep. On Cambodia’s south coast, Kep was quite the fashionable seaside resort up to the 1960s. The Khmer Rouge put a stop to all that, but now the town is starting to recover; albeit with a slightly dilapidated art deco feel to it. The recovery hasn’t yet bought ATMs to the town. I only found this out as I was getting off the bus with 1000 Riel (about 16 pence) in my pocket. I had taken my bag from the luggage hold, and was just about to walk off, when I thought I’d better ask the bus driver to point me in the direction of the nearest ATM. The closet one was 30km away, the bus was not going there, and, as I had no money to get there, that detour wasn’t an option. The bus would be continuing to Sihanoukville, another seaside town 75 km away that definitely had an ATM . I put my luggage back in the hold and got back on the bus. A small part of me wished  I hadn’t asked the driver.

My extended bus journey did give me the opportunity to see a beautiful part of Cambodia. Put bluntly, it’s how I expected Vietnam to look like (and perhaps it did 25 years ago). When the deserted road neared the coast, the view of the sea was obscured by dense mango groves. Away from the sea, the vista was a combination of buffalo strewn rice paddies, palm trees and lush jungle. In the more overgrown areas, I noticed red signs at the side of the road. The signs were there to indicate that the nearby land was contaminated with landmines. The land was so alive and wild as for 30 or more years man had not set foot on it. If it wasn’t for thousands (of mainly children) getting maimed or killed per year, I would say that the mines did a fair job of conserving  Cambodia’s countryside. As the bus neared its destination, houses started to gradually appear at the roadside. They were unique in that they were all built on stilts. According to the two Canadian women at the back of the bus, Tracy and Linda, the height of your house reflected your stature in Cambodian society. When the bus pulled in to Sihanoukville, I decided it would be a good idea to stick with Tracy and Linda. I didn’t have a plan, so was happy to go along with theirs; and they seemed like good fun. It was a rare pleasure to arrive in a new place and leave all the hassle and organisation to someone else for a change. They negotiated lifts on the back of motorbikes, sought out the nearest toilets, the ATM and finally somewhere to stay. I didn’t have to say a word. My sole duty was to pretend to be their boyfriend and brother (for Linda and Tracy respectively) every time the motorbike drivers got too physical. I don’t think I did a very good job at either role. Though I’m sure our fare would have been significantly higher if the drivers were not able grope their passengers thighs for the duration of the journey (myself excluded).

It was pitch black when we arrived at lodgings. We were greeted by two barking dogs, a strong smell of cannabis, and a couple of French hippies; the owners. Although there was only room for Tracy and Linda, I was told that it was not a problem as I could sleep “underneath”. I walked through the darkness, and by the starlight saw what that meant. In a grassy garden stood three straw-roofed tree houses. Under Tracy and Linda’s treehouse was a cane massage table. All I needed to do was setup the mosquito net and the cotton sheet I had in my bag, and I had a bed.

While the cool breeze lulled me to sleep, the roar of the waves crept in to my unconscious mind. At first they roared too loudly and woke me. But then, once they found the perfect volume, they took their place in my dreams. I was flying through a grey and white sky. After shooting through the tip of a cloud, I looked down to see what was squeezing my chest. There was a woman in my arms. She smiled at me in a way that sent my heart racing, and warm feeling across my face as without thinking I smiled back. I looked forward an accelerated. The passing, rushing wind began to roar in my ears. The girl tightened her embrace; she didn’t want me to stop. I changed direction and shot downwards in to a dark grey thunder-cloud. The faster I flew, the louder the roar, the more she squeezed. My mind and body were telling me to go faster, but my pounding heart could not keep up. It ripped me out of the sky, away from the girl, and left we sweat-drenched and gasping for breath. All that was left was a lopsided memory that we can never reminisce over. All I can do next time we meet is smile for a little bit longer.

I was exhausted the following morning. The sea had robbed me of sleep and in return given me a night of epic dreams. All that I could do with my lethargy, resentment and awe was stare at the sea. In the afternoon I eventually made my peace. I left my swimming trunks under the treehouse and dived in to the hot water. Taking away that bit of clothing, that barrier, didn’t make me feel naked or exposed. I was part of the sea, on equal terms with it and all the lifeforms it contained. I felt protected, embraced and complete in a way that I could never feel on dry land.

Again my craving got the better of me and I found myself hiring a bicycle. I explored Sihanoukville town centre, every beach I could find within 20Km, and finally the port. I’m not sure that I should have been allowed in there. When I tried to leave, the guy at the security gate assumed that I was in the port legitimately and that I must have been one of the passengers from a visiting cruise ship. He instructed me to join the other passengers who were queuing to take the lifeboats back to the mothership. How much of the unlimited buffet would I be able to work through before they figured out I was a stowaway? I looked at the queue again to see how I could fit in. I had no chance. I would need at least another 20 years and some khaki clothes to get me on to the lifeboat alone. I got back on the bicycle, sped past the shouting guards, under the security gate and out of the port as quickly as I could. I kept on riding until I stopped in a shantytown to get some cold drinks. I figured it would be the cheapest place around. Looking for somewhere shady, I took the bike to the end of a rocky peninsula, and sat down on a rock under a tree. I lost the rest of the afternoon watching fishermen catch sprats, children playing in rock-pools and babies nap in swaying hammocks.

As I rode back, I had an urge to stop at a beach I had visited earlier. I walked along the sand for 20 metres and found what had drawn me to that place. Lying on the beach were two familiar figures; my sister Harriet and her friend Megan. After weeks of just missing each other, we finally met up.

Early the following day we met at the sailing club and hired a small catamaran. Harriet and Megan had never sailed before, and I had only ever been sailing in the company of more experienced sailors. It could have gone very wrong, but it didn’t. It was another perfect day. Our only concerns were that a shoal of flying fish might accidentally board the boat, or that one of us might dangle our feet overboard in to the path of a passing jellyfish. Although we didn’t sail far too far, I definitely got to fulfill a dream that day. I had always wanted to drive a boat straight up on to the beach in front of a restaurant and casually jump off for a spot of lunch. I think we did it about four times that day.