Amazing tales.

Surprised this thread did not continue.

Lost50 wrote: ↑Sun Jul 16, 2023 5:44 pm Amazing tales.

Surprised this thread did not continue.

Right I would like to get more of these stories.

cabron wrote: ↑Sun Jul 16, 2023 6:41 pm
Right I would like to get more of these stories.

Not sure if this trip I took up the Tonle Sap fits.

Barang Cargo

Mr Pen was a scraggly bare chested leathery faced old man who wore a lopsided grin on account of the permanent cigarette that hung mostly unlit from the corner of his mouth. We neither spoke the other's language but with a little mime and dance I could convey my wish to travel with him up river, and after a little finger numbering we were able to agree on a few dollars for the two day trip. Mr Pen had already released his cargo and was returning to Siem Reap from Phnom Penh without a back load - this meant there was room for me. Mr Pen was leaving now.

I'd been told old wooden cargo boats plying the waterways between Phom Penh and Siem Reap up the Tonle Sap river would occasionally take a traveler for a small fee. The upper deck on one of these hulking tubs struck me as a perfect place to hoist the hammock and lose myself for a couple of days as I made my way north. It was a good decision.

The dock was as dusty, noisy, and chaotic as I’d hoped. Bouncing thin planks of wood jutted out from all decks to the shore from the fifteen or so cargo boats lined along the river's bank. You couldn't be anything other than impressed at the speed and assuredness of the swarms of bare footed laborers as they navigated the thin wooden pathways carrying immense loads of bricks, lumber and even toilets on their heads to waiting trucks and couriers below. I wondered if anyone ever fell into the water.

My first attempt at walking the plank saw my foot slip off one side of the thin walkway sending me plummeting legs splayed onto the wood below. My eyes almost bled as my nether regions slammed hard into the walkway, the resulting grazes on the inside of my thighs reminding me for days of the agility, fine balance and sure footedness of the men who humped those heavy loads. It should also probably also be mentioned here the universal hilarity of a man getting it in the balls - with many of my Cambodian brothers doubled up in laughter for a little too long at my clumsy expense.

I've put my hammock in some places over the decades, but having the old rustic smoothly worn wood of a cargo boat all to myself with the languid scenes of rural Cambodian river life sliding almost imperceptibly by has got to be at the top of the list. Watching children splashing around in the water or being pushed and spun quickly in plastic tubs, cows grazing lazily on the banks, fishermen repairing nets, women attending to their daily laundry, wildlife, and the lush greenery of it all was the perfect backdrop to the muffled "pop" of Mr Pen's diesel engine - all the time me swinging in my bed eating a piece of fruit, napping, or strumming my cheap guitar.

Approaching night fall Mr Pen pulled his boat toward the bank, stopped his engine and moored our home to a tree. He walked past and gestured for me to follow down to the bottom deck toward the rear of the boat where to my surprise I saw an old woman, presumably his wife, cooking over a small stove.

Mr Pen motioned me to sit on the floor and I was given a dish of plain rice topped with two small dried fish and an egg. Eating dried fish never gets any easier for me and it takes a big glob of rice to surround each piece to swallow it whole, trying to avoid the crunchiness of fish’s head and the unappealing texture of it’s organs. As our dining room sat directly above the engine bay and next to a drum of fuel, the thick smell of diesel helped my revulsion toward the aroma of the week-old dry fish - just. Mr and Mrs Pen sat in silence as we ate offering a small smile and a nod of their heads when I'd finished dinner. I watched Mr Pen finish his dinner and replace his soggy cigarette with a dry one.

The night was still and perfectly quiet apart from the occasional rustle of leaves from the river's bank as a bird readjusted its position on a branch. My position remained unchanged through the night and I slept deep and heavy, a welcome change from the cacophony of city life in Phnom Penh.

Watching the river slowly come to life as the night sky turned from purple to orange, then to the light blue of morning is a very relaxing way to wake up. I'd brought some coffee, sugar and a cup with me and asked Mrs Pen for some hot water which she readily provided, more than a few times. It would be a six hour push up river this morning and I would drink coffee and smoke cigarettes for most of the way enjoying the solitude this type of travel offers.

After a couple of hours the banks of the Tonle Sap began to lost its tranquility of kids and cows being replaced by dwellings, restaurants and shops that jutted out onto the water. It seemed people were more intent on going somewhere or doing something than those of earlier morning and the day before - they didn't seem that concerned about doing much at all. Sadly, it also seemed in a few hours my little cargo boat adventure would be coming to an end.

With the help of a man on the shore, a plank was laid out from our boat's bow to the river's bank and with a hand shake I thanked Mr Pen for the ride. My inner thighs were still tender against my shorts from my first attempt at walking the plank the day before, but I managed to disembark this time without too much embarrassment - perhaps to the disappointment of those who watched.

If you find your self in Phnom Penh wanting a relaxing journey to Siem Reap, I highly recommend a trip up the Tonle Sap on an old cargo boat.

I rode the boats from PP to Siem Reap (and vice-versa) a few times in 1996 and 1997, as the road/bridges were impassable. Do the boats still operate?