Two wheels good

We headed east, back to the mighty Mekong, to two towns perched on the riverbanks which were almost exactly the same. Kompong Cham was first: muddy streets, a riverside promenade and a big indoor market. It was surprisingly touristed so we ended up in a gloomy ground-floor hotel room where we remained trapped for most of our visit – the rain absolutely hammered down. We escaped during a short reprise in the downpour to cycle through a friendly Muslim village, but soon got soaked and pedaled back to the comfort of our room and Animal Planet TV.

In Kratie, all faded colonial elegance and Mekong sunsets, the rain held off. We rented bikes and rumbled up the river bank in search of Irrawaddy dolphins. We pedaled through pretty villages shaded by swaying sugar palms and creaky bamboo, tiny children lolling in doorways shouting “hello!” at us. An hour later we boarded a boat and scooted across the wide river, perching among grassy islets to watch the dolphins frolic.

We set out again the following day, crossing the river to loop around Koh Trong, through gleaming rice fields, meadows of velvety cows and orchards.
The food in Kratie’s restaurants and riverside stalls was inexplicably bad. Thankfully, the local market delicacies were a treat: sticky rice mixed with coconut milk stuffed into bamboo sticks and steamed, and banana-leaf parcels of spicy, raw fish. Most excellent picnic food.

Over sunset beers by the river one night we were befriended by an eccentric German hippie named Johnny Twilight. He was funny and entertaining at first, obsessed with crap British films and full of silly stories. But five hours later we were still listening to his monologue – he was intense and full of probing questions. We somehow ended up back at his room looking at pictures of his ex-girlfriends before finally making a run for it. We spent some time in Kratie avoiding Mr Twilight.


Our final stop in Cambodia was Phnom Penh. It was alarming to be back in a big city with roaring traffic to navigate and tuk-tuk drivers begging for our custom every couple of steps. Young Khmer people gather in the evenings in grassy spaces to dance in choreographed groups to blaring pop music, and well-dressed NGO workers dash between slick bars. We visited all the sad sights: the horrific S21 torture museum and the killing fields, with its monument filled with skulls and gaping mass graves. The Khmer Rouge atrocities were so scarily recent; you can tell Cambodia has had its spine ripped out.

On that happy note, we bid adieu to Indochina and boarded a plane to Malaysia.