Cardomom Adventures in Southwest Cambodia

It was high time for a motorbike ride.  The weather has become ridiculously hot, in fact some of the hottest weather that Cambodia has had in years.  Phnom Penh is pushing into the 40s, and even the Khmers are melting (evident by the fact that even on the weekends, there are less locals out on the streets). I am feeling the heat too – a room without a/c, even with two fans blasting at full strength cannot relieve me from the pool of sweat I am swimming in when I wake in the morning.  Most people can't sleep in this heat but I can – albeit a deep, enveloping, almost suffocating coma-like sleep that leaves the mind flowing thick like treacle.

Original plans to bike to Mondulkiri, in Cambodia's southeastern corner were scuttled, as plans to meet friends changed.  The Cardomoms were a natural second option – Cambodia's pristine virgin forests, some of the last in southeast asia, that run from Koh Kong all the way into Laos – some 4 million hectares.  It is here where tigers and leopards roam, the gibbons sing and strange insects await.

the rumbling beast

I rented the same bike as I had before, during a previous day trip through the outskirts of Phnom Penh.  Lee, my Cambodian bike rental guy with a thick Australian accent (allo mate!) was excited to see me, and helped me plan the adventure.  The bike had been slightly modified from before, fitted with a growling muffler (the bike had no horn, so it was to make sure people could hear me coming – more of an excuse than anything I think) and this time rear view mirrors.  Only in Cambodia would this bike be considered street legal, if that means anything at all on the general anarchy of Cambodian roads.

I left in the morning, after a fine breakfast, and headed down the NH 3, on the basic premise of avoiding the more direct route via the NH4, which while a beautiful stretch of road, is notorious for its mad drivers and reckless minivan/bus drivers.  The NH3 was a second, although less glamourous road, full of construction that left me covered in red dust and a sore behind from the potholes.  The destination was Sihanoukville, and specifically Otres Beach, where friends were staying for the long weekend (the King's birthday).  I was excited to return to Otres, as it was one of the first places that I'd travelled in Cambodia when I arrived, now some five months ago.  I stopped in Kampot, which was sleepy as usual, looking like a true road warrior – body armour, jeans, goggles caked in red dust.  I travelled the stretch between Kampot and Sihanoukville, past Bokor National Park, with its ever-looming misty clouds and rain drenched slopes.  My greatest obstacles were the wandering water buffaloes that lumbered across the highway, not a care in the world.

Otres was just as beautiful as I remember – this time I was seeing it on the edge of the rainy season.  The waters were shallow and hot, and refreshment meant a good swim out to the deeper areas.  The heat also attracted the sea urchins and jellyfish, and I was stung by one for the first time.  A little vinegar did the trick.  We were blessed with big sky, thunder and lightning – amidst the sunset the dark looming clouds pushed southward, bringing cooling winds.  I stayed for three nights, fuelled by yummy fish tacos and margaritas at Cantina Del Mar.

sunset on Otres Beach, south of Sihanoukville

(Note:  it is in Sihanoukville where I saw the most blatant examples of the trade in illegal vehicles – I saw two Lexus SUVs on the road with American license plates – one from Kentucky, the other from Massachusetts.  Apparently the latest fad is to leave the license plates on?  The audacity of some in this country!)

Onwards to Koh Kong, a 140km ride to near the edge of the Thai border, a town notorious for smuggling, gambling and prostitution, although it seems to have cleaned up in recent years (or at least the sins had become a little less obvious).   I met with Nick Berry, the owner of JungleCross, a motorbike tour company, who I was hoping could give me a few tips on getting into the Cardomoms.  Nick is a former Londoner, self-described anarchist, and quasi-alcoholic with and unending thirst for Angkor Draft who had lived in Koh Kong for nearly 10 years.  A rabid trail bike fanatic, he'd found love in the Cardomom mountains, which he described as a trail rider's dream.  Over beers he described how rapid developments were changing the Cardomoms – the trail that coursed through the mountains had only recently been classified as a road, and last December a bulldozer had carved a wider path through the jungle.  Nick must have taken a liking to me, as he decided to come for a ride with me up to the first river, about 55 km from Koh Kong, where the start of the “real jungle” began.

The road was your typical red dust, somewhat rutted.  It was obvious that even the work of a bulldozer could only temporarily tame these mountains, the rain and the jungle. Already in parts the jungle was fighting back, reclaiming the road for its own.  Jungle deluges had already washed away sections of the new road, requiring tricky manoeuvring down steep declines among ruts and rock.

We stopped at the first river, and Nick determined that its level was easily doable, and good indication that the rest of the rivers (there were two more major ones) would be passable.  My first river crossing on a dirt bike! 

On Nick's suggestion, I decided to camp at the first river – here was no-one around, the waters were cool and refreshing, and it had a nice secluded camp spot, sometimes used by the rangers that patrolled the mountains.  I had brought with me a military-style hammock (with built in mosquito net) and a few provisions, including a poncho, which made for good rain cover.  Nick and I parted ways, and there I was on my own, in the jungle, nothing but me and the winding sound of cicadas, and the family of eagles that lived on the edge of the river.  I could hear the thunder in the distance, so I quickly set up camp, just in time to feel the first drops of rain.  I climbed into the hammock and took a nap.

butterflies sucking salt from my shorts

Deluge.  My poncho-turned-tart offered little protection as the rain bounced off the ground, soaking my   non-waterproof bag.  I had nothing to cover my bag, so in minutes everything was soaked.  I managed to keep my precious few belongings – journal, camera, phone – out of the direct rain, but the dampness of the jungle left everything damp, pages curling, my phone instantly developing a hazy screen due to condensation.  Despite the wet, there was nothing I could do but curl up and hope for the best – it was getting dark, the lightning strikes were getting closer, and I could hear the rain walls as they travelled through the valley.  Soon the rain tapered off, and as the light faded, the glowbugs and eery sounds of strange insects emerged.  In the distance I could hear the gibbons singing to each other in the trees.  I half-slept through the night, slightly uncomfortable by the dampness and legs falling asleep, waiting for light to break.

I woke the next morning to early sun – everything steaming.  Worried that the rains may mean an impassable next river, i quickly packed up camp and set off, my bag doubled in weight from sogginess. Nick was right – this was getting into true jungle territory.  The roads became steeper and the jungle became thicker, at several times I found myself manoeuvring through thick bamboo walls that had already taken over the road.  Everywhere were butterflies – intense yellows and blue, and huge black monarchs as big as birds.  At one point just ahead of me, I came across an entire family of wild boars -  a pack of twenty animals including piglets – who scattered frantically when I came into sight.  Periodically I travelled through makeshift camps, locals living on the edge of the road, presumably the families of rangers. 

The Cardomoms are rich in resources – animals, minerals, trees.  And as such, they fall prey to poaching, illegal logging and the pressure from very interested mining companies.  Sadly there is little protection against these threats and the mountains are notorious for illegal trade.  The remoteness of this region is no match for corruption, poorly paid officials and outright greed.  Big cats are poached (in one recent case, a famous tiger poacher was caught with 64 paws – he's now in jail for 10 years), monkeys are caught (gibbon babies can fetch upwards of 1000 USD) and its rare woods (ebony, sassafrass) are harvested at tremendous profit (the latter is valued for its chemical components, which are used in the production of ecstasy).  Smuggling across the borders is rife, and there is a very active trade route that runs through Thailand and Burma.  The military is one of the chief actors in this trade – and they seem to poach/illegal log with virtual impunity, while the poorly paid rangers are no match for such types, often themselves turning a blind eye for a cut in the profits.

everything soaked and drying in the sun - even the camera was damp

30 km past the first river and I hit the second.  This was a larger river, and the assumption was that I would cross via a bamboo bridge.  Well, there was no bridge – presumably washed away – making my journey impossible from this point on.  I was disappointed that my trek would apparently go no further, there was simply no way to pass these waters without risking the loss of my bike.  Even if I did make it across, the depth of the water would have meant a submerged engine, and I did not have the expertise to deal with that.  Sadly, I turned back and followed the red road back towards Koh Kong.  By the time I reached the first river again, the sun was shining hot and hard, so I decided to make the best of it and took a good spell lounging next to the water, cleaning up, drying my soaked belongings on the hot rocks.  I briefly considered staying another night on the river, but I was lacking food (all I had in my belly was a few cookies that I had brought with me the day earlier, not expecting to kip out in the forest).

Soon a larger road will cut into the forest, running from Koh Kong, upwards to Osom and to the northern part of the mountains in Pramaoy.  Construction is continuing at a rapid pace.  This will inevitably mean more traffic, and in Cambodian tradition, more garbage littering the jungle (styrofoam,   drink bottles and plastic bags continue to be the bane of the developing world).  Each day, a little more of this pristine wilderness is chewed up and lost to development and modernity.

I will return to the Cardomoms, soon, and complete my voyage through its ranges and valleys.  But it will have to wait.  Anyone interested in a little adventure in the next year or so?