Sen
Monorom, Mondulkiri, Cambodia
Mon
17 Dec – 24 Dec 2012
I
arrived on the Mekong Express bus into Phnom Penh from Saigon having been
traumatised by the movie showing called something like “Universal
Soldier”. A gory bloodfest – perfect for elderly Cambodians who have seen worse
and great for kiddies so they can be desensitized at a young age. But on
arrival in Phnom Penh, the first thing that caught my attention was a granny
sitting side saddle on the back of a motorbike wearing a t-shirt that had written
in bold, “Filthy Whore”.
I
am assuming she doesn’t read English.
Or maybe she does? Welcome
to Phnom Penh.
That
night I watched a two year old dance Gangnam Style. This kid was good,
maybe better than the original. His other trick, when any adult picked him up
was picking his nose and thrusting the finger into the offending adults mouth.
I
spent 6.5 hours on a bus from Saigon to Phnom Penh being violated by the
Universal Soldier. The following day I spent 7 hours on another bus from Phnom
Penh to Sen Monorom. The entire journey was spent being assailed by Khmer stage
comedy, full of over acting, screaming, squealing, yelling, incidental music
and cheesy sound effects. This was occasionally broken up by Khmer karaoke,
which invariably is a video of a guy and a gal walking along a beach, sharing a
drink, gazing into each other eyes and holding hands, entirely shot in slow
motion. Then repeat. All this, at ear shattering volume. It was actually so
loud that the woman sitting behind me had to yell to make herself heard every
time she answered or made one of a 345 phone calls.
But
now I am in Sen Monorom, a place that I believed coined the phrase “sleepy”.
It’s so low key most of the women working in the market were wearing
flannelette pyjamas. Children were shocked to see me do my imaginary thumb
pulling off malarkey but weren’t concerned about the skinned pigs heads on the
table next to them.
They
have obviously caught the bus from Saigon.
I stayed at The Nature Lodge in a funky bungalow. It’s very peaceful, except for the
howling wind that feels like it will wrench the roof off. There are a plethora
of animals on the property, ambling around without a care in the world. Cows wander chomping away merrily, a Siamese cat splays itself on
the bar and there are six horses, one which tried to bite me. The very same one also tried to get on to my balcony but realised that it was already taken by the two dogs, Kimmi, a black and tan furry bear and Naga a fully-grown German
Shepherd. Both slept on my balcony last night. Each time
one rolled over it was like a bag of spuds being tossed on the deck. I stepped
outside for a few minutes and found them both curled up on the floor in my
room. That translates to half my floor space invaded by BIG dogs. They smell
like hell but they are so friendly it’s extraordinary. Nonetheless I don't want a horse to latch on to this caper as the joint smells like a kennel already And I discovered I have forest gecko in the rafters. Great for eating bugs but if he
starts yelling his name all night long one of us is going to have to move out.
And that'd be a shame, I like my hut.
I
hired a motor scooter from the staff at the Nature Lodge and there it was at
7.30am waiting for me in the car park. I didn’t hold hope for anything special
but in hindsight I wished I had as the jalopy I was renting was in a pretty bad state. The engine and the back brake worked but that
was it. No fairings, no front brake, not even a horn. This was either stripped
back for performance or more likely; anything that has been busted was been
torn off and tossed away.
I
cruised out of town in a south easterly direction, the morning temperature
still cool enough to give me the occasional shiver. As I rode along the highway
heading back towards Phnom Penh I had the road to myself as it snaked it’s way
between cultivated hills. As I came around one bend, I was waved down by the
police but what did I have to worry about? The fact that I am unlicensed in Cambodia and riding an obviously unroadworthy moto which for all I know is
on their “missing vehicle” list? This had the potential to cause me some grief but
instead they asked me where I was headed. They told me where I needed
to turn and how long it will take me to get to Pu Tang Village. Now that’s policing in my book.
 |
| Shaggy Dog House |
I
was headed off to try and find a couple of villages, one 12 kms from town and
the other 14kms. I found the first one easily. Pu Tang is a mix of traditional
timber stilt houses interspersed with low slung thatched places that look like
shaggy dogs lying down. I asked someone in the vicinity of the shaggy dog house
if I could go in and without hesitation I was ushered forth. Within, consisted
of a large single room with areas made of bamboo on both sides raised as work
spaces for cooking and storage or where mattresses can be laid out for
sleeping. Inside it’s gloomy and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to
the light and realise that I was in the home occupied by a husband and wife, two
kids under the age of three, one fully grown pig, a bunch of piglets, three
puppies, one motorbike and baskets containing farm implements. From the roof
hung corn and other tools. The floor was swept, well worn hard-as-concrete
dirt.
 |
| Bunong Woman, Pu Tang Village |
Being
early morning most village folk were out in the fields so I planned to come
back later in the afternoon. I climbed aboard my trusty bike and took off in
the direction of Putru Village but either my map was not very accurate or my
desire to just ride out into the countryside and see what eventuates compelled
me to head off without too much thought. But whatever the reason I rode along a
dirt road through rolling farmlands and areas that were being burnt off. After
travelling for about 45 minutes I saw habitation on a hilltop and I thought I’d
pop in for directions. The whole family came out of their very humble dwelling
to meet me but due to the language barrier I was no closer to determining where
the village was. However, it was great being in the middle of no-where on a beautiful
sunny day with nothing but hills and scudding clouds. I managed to get lost on
the way back to the highway with no great misadventures - it just took awhile.
But once back I thought I’d head to Bu Sra Waterfalls, reputed to be the
biggest in Cambodia.
It
wasn’t long ago that a journey to Mondulkiri Province was tough going but now a
sealed highway makes it all the way some 350kms from Phnom Penh and the road
construction continues as they forge further out but for now the road on the
other side of town is red dust. Thankfully my helmet had a visor, which I could
drop down every time a vehicle came past which kept some of the dust out of my
eyes and mouth. The problem was that the visor was so scratched that with it
down and enveloped in a cloud of red dust I was virtually blind for a few
seconds adding to the thrill of riding in Cambodia.
The
journey to the falls was 37kms most of this on dust or gravel interspersed with
the very occasional brief section of tarmac. So, there I am happily trundling
along when without any warning the bike just stops; I’d run out of fuel. I had to wait all of five minutes before a
good Samaritan came along and in fluent English offered me a ride to the next
village to get some fuel and bring me back to my bike. I tried to give him some
money to say “thanks” but he refused. I even suggested he should get some fuel
for his bike and I’ll buy, but he wouldn’t dream of it so as quickly as he
appeared he vanished into distance.
I
arrived at the falls and yes, they are pleasant but not worth getting too
excited about at this time of year. I
spent some time taking photos of a family that had donned traditional garb for their
own enjoyment before trying to find out how to get to the base of the falls. I
was pointed in various directions and found a trail that looked promising but
in the end it petered out. Back to the guest house I went.
I
had been trying to organise an overnight elephant trek however for one person
the cost was a bit rich but the staff informed me that five folk would be doing
the single day trek the following day.
“Well
sign me up!” I bellowed in what I thought to be reasonable impersonation of an
elephant.
“What?”
Came the response of the girl working behind the bar with a confused and
slightly worried look on her face.
At
8.30am the following day I was climbing in to the back of a ute (pick up truck)
with two Frenchmen. The wives and daughter sat inside. We drove for about 20
minutes and in that time I ate more dust than you can imagine whilst my
travelling companions huddled close to the cab remaining virtually dust free.
Neither had acknowledged my presence.
Pu
Lung village has nine elephants. One was born and raised in the village and the
others have been domesticated to work hauling logs and bringing in the crops. Apparently,
they aren’t used for logging these days. This is a non commercial operation
utilising tourists to bring in money to a very poor village. The elephants
ranged from 30 years old to 93 if you were to believe our 17 year old guide,
Ty. According to the information I read, during the war years the mahouts took
their elephants in to the bush to escape and to protect them.
Because
there was 6 of us and each elephant took two in the howdah and the mahout on
the head, I paired up with the daughter named Julie aboard a female elephant
named Di Chang. For
the past year, Julie has been working for an NGO in Phnom Penh and this was her
parents’ and their friends first visit to Cambodia. Julie was friendly and good
to chat to.
The
others I wanted to see trampled by a pachyderm. They were the epitome of French
stereotypes. They made no effort to engage with the locals not even their
mahouts and it seemed to them I didn’t exist. But fate works in mysterious ways
and as luck would have it the elephant Julie and I were on was very well
behaved but the other two crashed through the undergrowth, tried to knock them
off by going under low trees, misbehaving and at one stage it seemed as though
their two rides were going to have a stoush.
Sitting
on top of an elephant 3 metres off the ground, squeezed into a cramped howdah
whilst your elephant ambles slowly down a trail is by no means comfortable. The
gait of an elephant is uneven as he places his back foot exactly where the
front foot went and going down steep trails you feel as though you’ll pitch out
over her shoulder. Conversely, crossing a river coming up the opposite bank it
feels as though you’ll do a back flip, over her hind quarters landing headfirst
on to a rock. So, it wasn’t with disappointment that when we arrived at
scheduled lunch spot that I vowed that for the return journey I would walk with
the elephants rather than on one. Better for us both. At our lunch spot the
elephants had their front legs loosely tied together with vines allowing them
to wander off and forage. They could walk quite happily with this arrangement
and it didn’t seem to cause them any grief so I followed them off in to the bush
to get some photographs of elephants hanging out.
I
returned to the river where we sat to have fried rice wrapped up in banana
leaves, pineapples and dragon fruit. After an hour or so of lolling around the
mahouts and the young fellows that traipsed along with us decided to jump off
the small waterfall into the pool below. Our guide made no bones about it that
I shouldn’t try it due to the fact that if I landed in the wrong spot a wheelchair
would be my number one transport from that moment on. So, I found some flattish
rocks to lie down only to have four French people sit within inches of me. I
felt my space invaded so I moved. As a matter of fact each time I moved they
tried to occupy the same space but not in a friendly way. At this stage they
hadn’t said hello, ignored my attempt at conversation and generally just pissed
me off. And in the end I found they did speak English.
The
absolute highlight was when the mahouts gathered up our wandering elephants and
bathed them in the river. At one stage, three elephants rolled, snorted and
trumpeted at the same time as the boys gave them a good scrub. The affection
the mahouts felt for their elephants was obvious. Bathed they stepped out of
the river for the howdahs to be put back on and French folk to climb aboard.
I
had lots of fun walking with the elephants and the kids that acted as helpers.
These kids were about 12 years old and full of beans having walked to the river,
jumped off a waterfall, helped load the elephants and then scampered back along
the trail with me. They hopped across creeks in their thongs as if they were on
a pathway whilst I stumbled and slipped.
My normal walking pace, even on a rough trail was faster than the
elephant’s slow amble. So I could easily get ahead and take photos. At one
stage, when I was next to the trail waiting for them to come past the second
elephant stopped to see what I was up to and attempted to relieve me of my
camera. Ty, the guide told me that it was “elephant’s turn to take my picture”.
 |
| Filed pointy teeth |
We
arrived back in the village about 4ish and this gave me another opportunity to
visit another shaggy dog house. The old man that lived here squatted outside
and baffled me in his native tongue and whilst he chatted away quite happily I
noticed his teeth. Though he didn’t have many left the bottom row had been
filed to points so they resembled dog’s teeth and the top front four had been
filed flat. And I don’t reckon he was given happy gas whilst the dentistry was
performed. I’d read that this used to happen in this region but I haven’t seen
it before. I can chalk that one up to my collection of interesting facial
embellishments.
But
all too soon my Mondulkiri sojourn will end and I will be back on the bus
to Phnom Penh, collect my passport and my new Vietnam 6 month visa and the
following day take another bus back to Saigon.
22
December 2012 The day the world was scheduled to end.
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