Hows about we open this one with a quote:
"When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things."
That is one of those quotes I have heard paraphrased innumerous times in various contexts. Turns out its a bible quote. Go figure? It strikes a chord with me though, largely because I do not agree with it. It harks to responsibility, to expectation, to a 'grown up' mind set. The burden of adulthood which we all eventually come to bear.
A friend of mine who had been travelling before and passed on to me all manner of advice, told me that everyone who goes backpacking for a long term period is running away from something and you can see that there is a sense of truth to that. You find abundant examples of individuals running a tortoise and hare race with their demons around the globe, too varied in their nature to adequately summise. If there was however one unified factor to identify which so many seem to be trying to unshackle themselves from, it is that of adulthood. The backpacking community is like a teeming mass of lost boys, looking for their neverland and not having to do away with childish things.
If you read that paragraph as a sentimental excuse for a hoard of arrested adolescents to forgo responsibility in order to get drunk in foreign locations, well you can certainly be excused for coming to that conclusion. You are not far off. It is more than the sheer festivity of it though. It goes beyond hedonism, beyond financial disregard and beyond an escape from the rat race. It is about regaining a sense of wonder. Reclaiming your right to shock and awe. Re-embraching a sense of spectacle, of discovery. Allowing yourself once more to believe there might just be magic in the world.
All these things that we take for granted in our early youth that too many of us strive to cast off before their time until it gets to the point that you can no longer remember when you stopped believing. Freeing yourself from the trappings of adult life in a place like South East Asia makes it easier to connect once more with these feelings. On any given day you can see so many things that take your breath away, its amazing you don't suffocate.
Having been out here for almost 4 months I have been fortunate enough to see a great number of people who should be old enough to know better, revel in infantile glee through any number of situations. There is however one toy in natures play pen that has an effect like none other I have witnessed.
Bioluminesence.
Or in the case out here, biolumisencent phytoplankton.
Or just glowing plankton. That's easier right?
That is ostensibly what it is. As ever I have neither the scientific knowledge, nor the inclination to research in order to explain how the phenomenon works. If you are reading this, you also have access to google. Go look it up yourself if you care that much.
Here is what I can tell you. The ocean is full of plankton and when you move through them after dark, they light up around you. It is staggering, it is humbling. It is enchanting, entrancing and enticing. It is like submerging yourself in a black canvas whilst some greater power draws around the outline of your being in glitter paint. Literally.
I have been lucky enough to find myself in a couple of locations that offer bioluminescent night swimming and I can honestly say, it has yet to get old. The only thing greater than swimming in to dark waters and watching them explode with light around you, is watching other people do the same. You see it time and time again, folks convinced that such a spectacle shouldn't be real, therefore can't be real. Surely you must have to trek to some obscure location? Maybe it only works at highly specific late hour? Perhaps you need to recite an acient greek incantation whilst offering up a blood sacrifice to Lord Poseidon? No, No and possibly (I have yet to look in to that last option.)
I am far from an expert, all I can say is that I do not have a count of the amount of times I have swam in such circumstances during my time here and it has never been harder than throwing yourself in and letting yourself go. And the release is palpable. Hearing the shrieks of delight, whether they be from hippie or hipster, it bewitches all. You get a fair few characters passing through this part of the world who like to think they have seen it all. Playing a game of location based one upmanship, they carry themselves as unshockable, unphaseable. When you meet such an individual that has yet to see the plankton, and watch as they experience it for the first time it is a true delight of life. The sparkling water flowing over them truly seems to cleanse all sense of pretension, cynicism and general smugness for at least a few sweet minutes.
It is certainly one of the most narcotic experiences you can have whilst entirely sober. It seems to instill in people a sense of euphoria free from intoxication. It soaks through to your inner 5 year old and casts it in to a giant ball pit. The effect it has on peoples spirits is almost as remarkable as the effect it has on their clothing. You could almost be forgiven for thinking the plankon has an acidic quality that simply dissolves fabric. People will dip their toes in, watch the first sparkles appear around their ankles and suddenly find themselves emerging from the water 20 minutes later wearing a birthday suit where once there was a bathing suit. Eventually they discover their garments discarded on the shore at a location in which they vaguely remember hastily disrobing some time before. The lucky ones that is.
I reflect on the plankton at this juncture because it was Koh Rong when it first came in to my life. It has been my fortune to witness it on more occasions than I can adequately recall by now but that was the first place I knew the wonder. Every time I have swam in it is a fresh story un to itself and I could recount the splendour endlessly but there I have neither the time or words to do it justice on each occasion. This will have to suffice but it will never truly capture the feeling of your eyes widening and your skin tingling as you attempt to take it in. Just know that it is a good time. And if you don't believe, venture out in to the world and discover it for yourself. Do away with adulthood, or at the very least allow yourself a moment to pretend.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Koh Rong: Right Time, Rong Place
Before I left for South East Asia, I clutched to my side a text that I was just about sure would serve as my life raft should I ever find myself lost in the figurative sea of backpacking. A tome held by a vast percentage of fellow travellers, a guide to navigating this strange and foreign land. The Lonely Planet: South East Asia On A Shoestring.
The book itself is almost as epic and dense as the land is vast sprawling. There is a certain irony to its application in the sense that whilst it serves to prevent you getting lost in the world, the process will inevitably end up with you lost within the pages. I have no doubt that for certain travellers, those who thrive on structure, lists and grid references, this text woud prove invaluable. For me though it just felt like an information overload clashing with my sensory overload causing a sensation akin to sea level vertigo. As it turns out, there is a far more acessible, reliable and relatable source of information readily availble on the backpacking circuit.
The power of word of mouth.
Simple, yet wonderfully effective.
A perfect example of this in action was my final morning in Bangkok. In order to exit my dorm and connect with my transport, I had to somehow remove the 19-year-old-dutch-teenager shaped door stop that had appeared on the floor. In seeking the assistance of his less bipedally challeneged associates, the inevitable conversation was struck as to where we had all been/were going. In reference to my intention to visit Cambodia in the near future their response was both effusive and pointed. Apparently I was, in no uncertain terms, to not miss out on visiting an island called Koh Rong.
Questions of curiosity ensued on my part, answers, information, stories and photos were imparted in response. Cut to roughly a week later, I am on a different island, Koh Chang in Thailand. I was enjoying the company of a pair of backpackers I had met on the beach. Following an amusing game that involved testing the tensile strength of a large stick of bamboo in relation to the human abdomen, we sat around nursing our bruises whilst sharing beers and stories. The inevitable destination equation was drawn and once more the name of Koh Rong was raised. Similar stories were shared, similar photos shown, similar enthusiasm delivered.
This process repeated throughout bars, throughout hostels, throughout countries. From Bangkok to Sihanoukville it was the brightest beacon in an ocean of transient discourse. Had you been? Were you going? What did you think? What about tropical diseases? Did they have electricity? Did they have rats? Was it ACTUALLY paradise?
What did the Lonely Planet have to say? Well my edition, current at the time although subsequently outdated, really did not have much to contribute. I have lost the copy in question so all I can do is paraphrase, suffice to say it laid out the bare bones of the island historically and geographically, providing more of a sense of the locations potential than its actual current state.
Why this factual dearth you may ask? Becase Koh Rong is on the rise. It is no more now the island it was 12 months ago, than it will be the island it is today in 12 months time. The last year has seen a remarkble influx of both guests and businesses that have kickstarted a transformation of the locations visage. Right now could well be considered the sweet spot, the perfect balance of the present beauty and the future utility.
So if the Lonely Planet can't tell you what Koh Rong is like, I will take it upon my self, just as I have with the multitude of fellow backpackers I have met since departing the location.
Koh Rong is transcendent.
It is disingenuous to describe anywhere as paradise given the relative nature of the term, however I can accurately state that it is a whole lot of what I was looking for. You take the boat from Sihanoukville, and arrive between 40 minutes to 2 hours later depending on which vessel transported you. When you emerge on to dry land you walk down the pier to the beachfront, along which lies the crux of the development that the island has seen thus far. A series of bars, bungalows and guesthouses, all unique in character yet uniform in their wood and bamboo construction. You choose where you want to stay, deposit your belongings and from that point on, simply recline and sink in to your surroundings.
Within ten minutes you can walk from the tip of the local community village located to the left of the pier as you emerge, to the furthest bungalows along the main beachfront. There are other institutions that can be sought across the island should you wish to see them, the treehouse bungalows or the high wire zip line for instance, but really the main draw of the Koh Rong experience, certainly in high season, consists of sand, sea and trees.
The story I kept hearing over and over before I arrived was that of Long Beach. The main beach on the island was more beautiful and relaxing than any of us has the right to expect, let alone demand. That said, there was another beach. Not near by, but it was there. You had to trek through the jungle. You had to use the rope to scramble over the rocks. The route was accesible but no easy feat.
And the reward?
A 7 km stretch of sand whiter than you could fictionalise. Water clearer than you could comprehend. A view of the sun submerging in to the horizon at the on set of dusk that was more resplendent than you could ever hallucinate. A feeling of otherworldly calm and tranquility as you lay on your back, bobbing on the tide, doing all you can to take in the combined elements with the faculties available to you.
You could tell Koh Rong was a place that a lot of people had geographically found themselves only to lose themselves in other ways but it was certainly a place I was happy to let my eyes adjust to. The trail of verbal breadcrumbs spread along my journey thus far had led me to this gingerbread house and I would be damned if I wasn't gong to stop in and put my feet up.
I mean it would be rude not to right?
The book itself is almost as epic and dense as the land is vast sprawling. There is a certain irony to its application in the sense that whilst it serves to prevent you getting lost in the world, the process will inevitably end up with you lost within the pages. I have no doubt that for certain travellers, those who thrive on structure, lists and grid references, this text woud prove invaluable. For me though it just felt like an information overload clashing with my sensory overload causing a sensation akin to sea level vertigo. As it turns out, there is a far more acessible, reliable and relatable source of information readily availble on the backpacking circuit.
The power of word of mouth.
Simple, yet wonderfully effective.
A perfect example of this in action was my final morning in Bangkok. In order to exit my dorm and connect with my transport, I had to somehow remove the 19-year-old-dutch-teenager shaped door stop that had appeared on the floor. In seeking the assistance of his less bipedally challeneged associates, the inevitable conversation was struck as to where we had all been/were going. In reference to my intention to visit Cambodia in the near future their response was both effusive and pointed. Apparently I was, in no uncertain terms, to not miss out on visiting an island called Koh Rong.
Questions of curiosity ensued on my part, answers, information, stories and photos were imparted in response. Cut to roughly a week later, I am on a different island, Koh Chang in Thailand. I was enjoying the company of a pair of backpackers I had met on the beach. Following an amusing game that involved testing the tensile strength of a large stick of bamboo in relation to the human abdomen, we sat around nursing our bruises whilst sharing beers and stories. The inevitable destination equation was drawn and once more the name of Koh Rong was raised. Similar stories were shared, similar photos shown, similar enthusiasm delivered.
This process repeated throughout bars, throughout hostels, throughout countries. From Bangkok to Sihanoukville it was the brightest beacon in an ocean of transient discourse. Had you been? Were you going? What did you think? What about tropical diseases? Did they have electricity? Did they have rats? Was it ACTUALLY paradise?
What did the Lonely Planet have to say? Well my edition, current at the time although subsequently outdated, really did not have much to contribute. I have lost the copy in question so all I can do is paraphrase, suffice to say it laid out the bare bones of the island historically and geographically, providing more of a sense of the locations potential than its actual current state.
Why this factual dearth you may ask? Becase Koh Rong is on the rise. It is no more now the island it was 12 months ago, than it will be the island it is today in 12 months time. The last year has seen a remarkble influx of both guests and businesses that have kickstarted a transformation of the locations visage. Right now could well be considered the sweet spot, the perfect balance of the present beauty and the future utility.
So if the Lonely Planet can't tell you what Koh Rong is like, I will take it upon my self, just as I have with the multitude of fellow backpackers I have met since departing the location.
Koh Rong is transcendent.
It is disingenuous to describe anywhere as paradise given the relative nature of the term, however I can accurately state that it is a whole lot of what I was looking for. You take the boat from Sihanoukville, and arrive between 40 minutes to 2 hours later depending on which vessel transported you. When you emerge on to dry land you walk down the pier to the beachfront, along which lies the crux of the development that the island has seen thus far. A series of bars, bungalows and guesthouses, all unique in character yet uniform in their wood and bamboo construction. You choose where you want to stay, deposit your belongings and from that point on, simply recline and sink in to your surroundings.
Within ten minutes you can walk from the tip of the local community village located to the left of the pier as you emerge, to the furthest bungalows along the main beachfront. There are other institutions that can be sought across the island should you wish to see them, the treehouse bungalows or the high wire zip line for instance, but really the main draw of the Koh Rong experience, certainly in high season, consists of sand, sea and trees.
The story I kept hearing over and over before I arrived was that of Long Beach. The main beach on the island was more beautiful and relaxing than any of us has the right to expect, let alone demand. That said, there was another beach. Not near by, but it was there. You had to trek through the jungle. You had to use the rope to scramble over the rocks. The route was accesible but no easy feat.
And the reward?
A 7 km stretch of sand whiter than you could fictionalise. Water clearer than you could comprehend. A view of the sun submerging in to the horizon at the on set of dusk that was more resplendent than you could ever hallucinate. A feeling of otherworldly calm and tranquility as you lay on your back, bobbing on the tide, doing all you can to take in the combined elements with the faculties available to you.
You could tell Koh Rong was a place that a lot of people had geographically found themselves only to lose themselves in other ways but it was certainly a place I was happy to let my eyes adjust to. The trail of verbal breadcrumbs spread along my journey thus far had led me to this gingerbread house and I would be damned if I wasn't gong to stop in and put my feet up.
I mean it would be rude not to right?
Monday, July 7, 2014
Sihanoukville: The Life and Death of the Party
So although I proposed a lack of chronology, this entry actually picks up from where I left off a month or so ago. It only seems appropriate as it is so close to my current location.
Have you ever heard of Sihanoukville?
Can you even pronounce it? Go on. Give it a shot.
Quite finished?
Sihanoukville is a beach town. A Cambodian beach town. Everyone knows a beach town. A kind of fringe existence built up to support the ocean economy. Where this was once based around the produce that came out of the sea, it is now formed around the people who want to go in to it. It is a passing form of trade which typically spends it time gliding across the surface of the locality without ever peering below the surface. As such you will find places like this, Sihanoukville being far from an exception, caters chiefly to one thing: surface pleasures.
Sihanoukville is like a gift wrapped turd in an adult version of pass the parcel.
O.k, that was slightly harsh. It might not be a gift wrapped turd. The thing is, there are a lot of shiny layers wrapped around the experience, that are at once exciting and enticing to sink your claws in to. The problem is, the more you peel away and the closer you get to the heart, the more it starts to stink. And with this place, there are definitely rips in the packaging.
The trick is distraction. This is something it does well. Take, for instance, Utopia bar. Yes, Utopia. Take all the connotations of an establishment that calls itself that and you probably wont be far off. During happy hour they sells beers for 25 cents. 25 cents. I mean yeah sure it is notorious for its $1 dorm rooms being infested with bed bugs, but 25 cent beers. Bed bugs. Beers. Bed bugs. Beers. The eternal debate.
The fact is, for those looking for a good time, Sihanoukville knows how to give it to you. It is one big party even if it does feel slightly like the tail end. Like turning up to a house at 5am where most of the revellers have passed out or gone home and the surroundings are littered with the detritus of festivities that once were.
Take the main beach, Serendipity Beach. At first glance you have a beautiful ocean front, golden sand, blue seas, the package. Problem is ase tide laps at your ankles, so too does untold amounts of refuse. Discarded cans, food containers, plastic bags and potentially even the odd rubber receptacle of the shared joy experienced the night before between two consenting adults who love each other very dearly. I enjoy a dip in the ocean but this was one location where I opted to stay dry.
Alright, that is not ostensibly true. There was that first night out drinking at the late night beach bars where my Texan companion and I were coaxed by new aquaintances in to taking a late night dip. The air of throwing caution and indeed modesty to the wind seems to blow in on the evening breeze and only dissipates in the glare of the following sunrise. The only hope is that whatever dignity you discard on the shoreline is able to be reclaimed before you surrender to sleep. We were lucky to leave with what we arrived with alongside some good memories, I have seen many who left with less.
In Asia though it is hard to entirely fault a location servicing abandon. Those that come to this part of the world can often be characterised by the desire, to a greater or lesser extent, lose themselves. Sihanoukville provides that environment in the easiest possible way. Seek Utopia, indulge hedonism, retreat from reality. The appeal is not hard to identify.
Unfortunately it is this reality that causes the stench of putrification wafting out from beneath all the glossy layers. When you can hardly hear the waves on the shore beyond the cries of children begging you to buy their bracelets and fireworks. When the crowd at the liveliest bar on the beachfront comprises more prostitutes than it does actual punters. I mean they call it a bar, we call it a bar but the flashing lights can only disguise so much from its true identity.
Ultimately though, Sihanoukville only lies across the edge of the sea. Where there is ocean, there are opportunities and other places to explore. It is a location I have passed through a number of times now but only as a point of transit whenever it can be helped. You can stop by, take it in for what it is, find the nearest boat and sail on out of there. It didn't take much of that place for me to start feeling choked on the fumes but i was hopeful to find a breath of fresh air on the horizon, and I certainly wasn't wrong.
Have you ever heard of Sihanoukville?
Can you even pronounce it? Go on. Give it a shot.
Quite finished?
Sihanoukville is a beach town. A Cambodian beach town. Everyone knows a beach town. A kind of fringe existence built up to support the ocean economy. Where this was once based around the produce that came out of the sea, it is now formed around the people who want to go in to it. It is a passing form of trade which typically spends it time gliding across the surface of the locality without ever peering below the surface. As such you will find places like this, Sihanoukville being far from an exception, caters chiefly to one thing: surface pleasures.
Sihanoukville is like a gift wrapped turd in an adult version of pass the parcel.
O.k, that was slightly harsh. It might not be a gift wrapped turd. The thing is, there are a lot of shiny layers wrapped around the experience, that are at once exciting and enticing to sink your claws in to. The problem is, the more you peel away and the closer you get to the heart, the more it starts to stink. And with this place, there are definitely rips in the packaging.
The trick is distraction. This is something it does well. Take, for instance, Utopia bar. Yes, Utopia. Take all the connotations of an establishment that calls itself that and you probably wont be far off. During happy hour they sells beers for 25 cents. 25 cents. I mean yeah sure it is notorious for its $1 dorm rooms being infested with bed bugs, but 25 cent beers. Bed bugs. Beers. Bed bugs. Beers. The eternal debate.
The fact is, for those looking for a good time, Sihanoukville knows how to give it to you. It is one big party even if it does feel slightly like the tail end. Like turning up to a house at 5am where most of the revellers have passed out or gone home and the surroundings are littered with the detritus of festivities that once were.
Take the main beach, Serendipity Beach. At first glance you have a beautiful ocean front, golden sand, blue seas, the package. Problem is ase tide laps at your ankles, so too does untold amounts of refuse. Discarded cans, food containers, plastic bags and potentially even the odd rubber receptacle of the shared joy experienced the night before between two consenting adults who love each other very dearly. I enjoy a dip in the ocean but this was one location where I opted to stay dry.
Alright, that is not ostensibly true. There was that first night out drinking at the late night beach bars where my Texan companion and I were coaxed by new aquaintances in to taking a late night dip. The air of throwing caution and indeed modesty to the wind seems to blow in on the evening breeze and only dissipates in the glare of the following sunrise. The only hope is that whatever dignity you discard on the shoreline is able to be reclaimed before you surrender to sleep. We were lucky to leave with what we arrived with alongside some good memories, I have seen many who left with less.
In Asia though it is hard to entirely fault a location servicing abandon. Those that come to this part of the world can often be characterised by the desire, to a greater or lesser extent, lose themselves. Sihanoukville provides that environment in the easiest possible way. Seek Utopia, indulge hedonism, retreat from reality. The appeal is not hard to identify.
Unfortunately it is this reality that causes the stench of putrification wafting out from beneath all the glossy layers. When you can hardly hear the waves on the shore beyond the cries of children begging you to buy their bracelets and fireworks. When the crowd at the liveliest bar on the beachfront comprises more prostitutes than it does actual punters. I mean they call it a bar, we call it a bar but the flashing lights can only disguise so much from its true identity.
Ultimately though, Sihanoukville only lies across the edge of the sea. Where there is ocean, there are opportunities and other places to explore. It is a location I have passed through a number of times now but only as a point of transit whenever it can be helped. You can stop by, take it in for what it is, find the nearest boat and sail on out of there. It didn't take much of that place for me to start feeling choked on the fumes but i was hopeful to find a breath of fresh air on the horizon, and I certainly wasn't wrong.
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