The long way home

Another leisurely brekkie by the pool was almost Faulty Towerish with and overworked waiter (aka Manuel) with no real idea of what we were ordering. Many attempts at ordering a Late’ ended up with either a long black or a glass of cold milk. In the end Helen settled for a cappuccino. Patrick (aka Basil) the hotel owner had a huge hangover and took 30 minutes and a couple of attempts to produce our bills – which were ultimately wrong as well. Sorting it out amongst ourselves we loaded up the van and headed along the coast to the seaside town of Kep. Inadvertently leaving the passports safely locked away in the Hotel safe. Along the way went through a variety of interesting towns, some perched precariously above the waters of rivers. Squalid and picturesque.
Whilst being distracted by one panorama we managed to launch a puddle load of dirty water over group of brightly coloured Buddhist Monks - who were minding their own business until we came hurtling along. Feeling guilty we decided to try and impose more of our evil western culture ways upon them by offering them a couple of dollars (well, everyone else here loves the stuff). We were politely refused. Suspecting something along the lines of enlightenment is not enabled through the all mighty buck we jaunted off on our merry way, whilst they headed back to their temple to prey for forgiveness for our souls and washing powder for their orange robes.
We passed through the town of Kampot – famous for its pepper. The roads got rougher and busier and we eventually ended up in Kep and a series of restaurants (perched half over the waters of the Gulf ) who specialise in crabs caught in their watery front yard and the previously mentioned spices. We had a great lunch, with the sound of the downpours on the tin roof being drowned out by the sounds of the waves crashing ashore underneath the floor boards. The wind and the rain were still doing their best to remind people that this is the off season.
Kep is full of empty shells of 50’s French seaside mansions which were gutted by the Khmer Rouge in the 70’s. They are just now starting to redevelop the areas infrastructure and it’s pretty obvious that in 2 or 3 years this place will also be back as an expensive joint in which to hang out.
We then headed inland amidst more driving rain and bumpy roads. The journey took quite a few hours as we got caught up in a tide of locals all heading into town after a weekend back home in the provinces. Overloaded cars, vans and busses were the mainstay – most of them with accompanying bags of rice. The road works went on for seemingly ever, just another item to slow us down well. We rode the wave of humanity for hours – it was never dull though – way too much to look at.
Taking a quick detour we headed to the local go-cart track for 10 minutes of high speed high jinks. It was getting dark and the place was closed, however the owner appeared on a scooter and a call or two later and people appeared form all over the place. Including one with an AK 47 slung over his shoulder. The carts were great fun and had everyone exhausted and exhilarated by the end of the scream around the bitumen. We then all piled back into the van (along with swarm of mosquitoes) and then rejoined the traffic back into town.
The parents then hopped out at Raffels Hotel for drinks in the Elephant Bar. This place is not cheap in anyone’s currency, but very well appointed and serviced. Jolly good show eh what?....
We all then headed out for our last dinner before heading home at a local favourite restaurant to soak up more Phnom Penh ambience and then walked home in the warm (but not too muggy) evening. Collapsed into bed blissfully unaware of the package laying half a country away and the ensuing chaos that would be the consequence.