Monsoon island

So, Cambodge. We headed straight to Sihanoukville, a coastal town which is a bit like Vang Vieng-on-sea: it’s set up exactly like any Thai island resort but the beach is less nice and the town is more scruffy. In the evenings the thin strip of Serendipity Beach is taken over by barbecues serving up mounds of delicious fish and cheap draft beer under twinkling lights, with squidgy chairs to curl up in and listen to the waves lapping.

During the day, dark clouds loomed overhead and the beach was crawling with children and young Khmer people selling bracelets, fireworks and offering pedicures. On top of them are gangs of oh-so-cool young Brits on their gap years handing out flyers, pouting and imploring you to go to their bar tonight for free shots. It’s sad really - all the bars advertise for western staff while the locals are stuck on the beach hawking wares that no one really wants.

So we escaped to Koh Rong, a couple of storm-swept hours away on an old fishing boat; a peaceful little tropical island with a bare strip of village, a dive shop and only a couple of guesthouses. Here, of all places, we bumped into my school friend Doug, who happened to be staying in the bungalow next door. I knew he was travelling with his girlfriend Hannah, but we didn’t think our paths would cross, so didn’t try. So it was right lovely to catch up with them.


It rained cats and dogs on Koh Rong. Literally – we found a kitten curled up in by backpack one night. There was nothing much to do except lie around reading and watching dragonflies swirling around while the storms gathered over the sea. And, occasionally, run down the beach for a rainy swim. Proper relaxing.