The Beach

Sihanoukville is Cambodia's seaside resort town, about 4 hours south of Phnom Penh. The road to it was in excellent shape, 1 lane in each direction but even and new. Apparently, it was a much more dangerous road just a year ago, with huge craters, no barriers on steep drop-offs and bandits. Now the biggest danger is the drivers. Lanes mean nothing here and the only rule is that smaller vehicles must make way for larger, even if they are coming at you on the wrong side of the road because they are passing someone else. After a courtesy honk from the person wanting to pass, you are expected to pull off the road into the dirt shoulder as the passing vehicle skims by, even if you are on a motor bike with your wife, mother in-law and chickens precarious balanced on the back.

The beach is a popular destination for middle class families, according to the students. But even though it was a Saturday, it was very unpopulated. It is the main sea town with Kampot a new up and comer. Almost all of the tourists were white. The water here is crystal clear and perfectly warm. I would have loved to get a snorkel and goggles so if any of you are planning on opening a business in Cambodia, a sea sport rental or dive shop could do great here, if tourism takes off.

On the beach Arthur had rented a catamaran and taught a few of us how to sail. We sailed off to a nearby island with a small hut on it and one person. None of us could imagine what that person was doing there all alone. We ran the boat up onto the beach and took a nice swim. We had to head back fast because a lighting storm was rolling in and it probably wouldn't be such a good idea to be out in the flat ocean with a big metal mast jutting up above us.

That afternoon a red soupy mix, about a foot wide down the length of the shore, rolled in. It looked like seaweed or plankton but when you scoop some up you see it's actually masses of tiny clear shrimp twitching and jumping, the red coming from the color of their eyes. I don't know if it was because of the storm or if it just happens every afternoon. If you stand amongst them you feel their tiny hard bodies bumping up against your feet and ankles like little tapioca balls. People were scooping them up in buckets and collecting them in scarves. On the way back to town we saw them being crushed in huge vats with wooden mallets. I think they were making the fermented shrimp sauce I so enjoyed last year.