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?
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