Today started out as a pretty empty slate. It is a beautiful day (shocking, I know), so after breakfast, the big move is to find a comfortable beach chair and catch up on some Kindle time. A breeze coming off of the water makes the temperature bearable, and next thing you know, it is nearly noon. This is apparently the time the day-trippers arrive, as right before our eyes, a boat pulls right close to shore and barfs out a group of Koreans and their dog (pet, not snack). They are even louder than the people yesterday, shouting at each other from the shore far out into the water, but they are mostly older dudes, and the extensive backs tattoos suggest they may have broken a kneecap or two in their day so we figure they are better left alone.

When we return, their boat is loading back up for the return trip, and once again we have the place pretty much to ourselves. One of the staff suggests a boat tour with some snorkeling, a visit to a village further up the island, and then a bay with bioluminescent plankton. As with waterfalls, I’m a sucker for bioluminescent plankton, so we tell him to set us up with a private boat for tomorrow. The weather is perfect today though, he says, and before you know it, there is a long tail parked just off the beach waiting to pick us up.

The snorkeling is not too bad, although we’ve been pretty spoiled over the years. not many fish, but plenty of colorful coral and more urchins than I have ever seen in one spot. The water is the perfect temperature, so not a bad way to spend an hour.

From there, it is on to the village at Mpay Bay where we step off the boat and onto a movie set. If there was a SE Asia version of Tombstone, Arizona in the 1800s it would probably look a lot like this. All along the dirt trails (no roads remember) new buildings are in the process of being thrown thrown (mostly as guest houses serving backpackers), construction materials and garbage are everywhere, and there seems to be a complete lack of any even limited urban planning. Definitely not for the faint of heart (or those predisposed to Hyatts and Sheratons), but it has a charm of its own and, under different circumstances, could be worth staying over for a night or two.

Watching the sunset is pretty common thing to do here, but after hiking over to the refuse-clogged beach, we don’t really see what all the fuss is about.

For more exciting are the restaurants along the water service dishes at half the price of we have been paying near our hotel (clearly a different clientele).

As we are eating, we see a storm rolling in from the mainland. Our captain is anxious to get underway and I fear we are going to skip the one part of the tour I was most looking forward to, but as a consolation prize, we get front row seats to a very impressive thunder and lightning show. Even better is that we are heading south while the storm shifts off to the north, meaning that as we near the bioluminescent bay, we are back under starry skies.

My first experience with bioluminescent plankton was years ago in Thailand, where Nick and I waded out into the water of Railey Beach and watched the water light up as you waved your hand through it. I liked it enough then that we took a tour with all of the boys in Puerto Rico to a spot where you could kayak. It was more remote (darker) so the light was more vibrant, but there you couldn’t get in the water so were limited to splashing around with the paddle. Here, there are no rules, so into the water we go.

With every movement lights sparkle and I feel like a kid again. But it gets even better. We have snorkel gear with us, and even though you can’t see more than a few feet above the water, below the surface it is a light show like none other. My trusty traveling companion sometimes talks about how every person’s heaven looks different (hers is filled with every animal she sees dead on the side of the road that needs a home). I don’t know if that is true, but if it is, i think mine might look something like this.

For a day that started without a single thing on the agenda, this one ends as the hands down number one so far.

It is quite the burden to have to pack up ones things from a poolside bungalow and move them all to a the sandy beach of a nearly deserted tropical island. We’re hearty stock though, raised in the harsh climate of northern Canada, so if anyone is up to the challenge, we are.

The trip from Sihanoukville to Koh Rong Sanloem takes about 40 minutes on a fast ferry. There are no ATMs on the island, so before we depart, we stock up on cash and a few emergency snacks. The Flaming Hot Funyuns tempt us, but as we’re not headed to the party island (Koh Rong) they probably won’t be necessary.

On arrival, we are met at the pier by a smaller boat. There are no roads here, so transport to the hotels is all by water. We’re booked the next four nights at the aptly named “Pipes Resort”, given that our room is built into a 15-foot section of concrete pipe. It feels like something more suited to a Mars mission but the location is hard to beat, just steps from the water.

A very loud group of tourists has parked themselves on the loungers in front of our pipe though, and that has us a little worried as it isn’t something we want to deal with for the next four days. However, before we can focus on that, the first order of business – chicken fried rice and a beer (of course) that we find at a place a few hundred yards down the beach. Even in the shade it is crazy hot, and while waiting for our food, I can’t help but wonder how many other sweaty dudes have sprawled out across these same cushions in just a pair of swimming trunks. Perhaps they are hidden behind the buildings, but I have yet to see any giant washing machines where they might give these things a regular rinse. Pleasant thought.

The good news is that, by the time we return, our unwelcome guests have moved on. It turns our boats from the mainland bring day-trippers to this island and, as long as you buy a drink, you can sit pretty much anywhere. It is still a little disconcerting that we may see a revolving door of people crowding our small slice of paradise, but knowing they don’t stay long is some consolation.

For dinner we end up no more than 60 paces from our front door. The tide is out and the hotel has set up a half dozen tables surrounded by torches right on the beach for a BBQ. I forgot how much work it is to eat fish when they serve it whole, but it is well worth the effort. Or maybe everything just tastes better under the stars with your feet in the sand.

It’s been three days now on Otres beach, each one pretty much like the one before. We start with breakfast comprised of eggs, a slice of lunch meat ham, a hot dog, and a tiny dish of baked beans that someone must count out like a pharmacist to make sure the dosage is correct (which apparently is 12-16 beans). There is usually also a crusty potato clump called a hush brown on the menu, and a grilled tomato, neither of which always get consumed.

And because I’m still twelve inside, I can’t help but play with the butter. My fellow adventurer says my creation looks like Larry the Cucumber from VeggieTales, but in all honesty, I was going for something else.

From there we head across the street and take up residence at one of the beach shacks, testing the chicken fried rice and mango shakes at each one.

I mentioned the constant stream of hawkers being an issue here and they are still out it force, but just when all hope seemed lost, this vision appeared. A woman with a tray of doughnuts on her head – now that’s someone worth marrying (were I not already blissfully betrothed of course 😉 )

When things start getting too stressful, we mix it up with a massage, just a few feet from the water. The facility isn’t the most glamorous, but one of life’s great indulgences has to be a Thai massage with the smell of the ocean in the air and the rhythmic sound of the waves lulling you to sleep. Every time we come to Asia, is one of the things we most look forward to.

Around 4pm each day, we head back to the hotel and cool off in the pool. There is construction going on here (we see it pretty much everywhere in Cambodia), so not a great place to hang out during the day, but by this time they are generally wrapping up and things are a little quieter.

We finish up across the street one last time for dinner, again mixing up the location to convince ourselves we haven’t slipped into a rut. We have, but as ruts go, this one is pretty good.

Tomorrow we make one last change of venue before heading home. As tough as these last few days have been, when people here want to get away, they go to the island of Koh Ring Sanloem to relax. I can’t really image how you do less than we have at Otres, but we’re about to find out.

Cambodia shares some of the same coastline as Thailand, so in some ways it is surprising there is so little in the way of beach resorts here. Over the last ten years or so, what has developed is concentrated around Sihanoukville, a city of 200,000, about a two hour drive from Kep. Nobody we know has ever been, so we’re not sure what to expect, only that there is nary a Sheraton or Hyatt to be found.

We’re staying in an area called Otres, five miles or so south of the city along a string of sandy beaches that run on as far as the eye can see. It is supposedly a little more quite and less developed than the beaches further north which seems to fit well with what we are looking for. What we’re looking a little bit less for, however, is rutted dirt roads with garbage piled on either side roasting nicely in the hot sun.

The way things are set up here is that all along the water are shacks serving food and drink. They also rent basic (and I mean basic) bungalows to backpackers and millennials for $8-$10 a night. On the right, are all the bungalows made out of materials other than thatch and that have luxuries like private bathrooms. To the surprise of no one, we are on the right (a couple hundred yards past this junk pile).

After dropping our bags off, we’re off to the beach, settling into the comfortable, likely sweat infused, chairs at a place called Vanney’s. Chicken fried rice and a cold beer soon follow meaning we’re pretty much set until sundown, listening to the waves roll in, moving only every few hours to get a quick dip to cool off.

If there is one strike against Otres beach, it is the constant stream of vendors selling pedicures, sunglasses, day tours, and foot massages. They’re not as pushy as some places we have been, but the interruptions get tiring fairly quickly (if I’m wearing a pair of sunglasses, odds are that I’m not in the market).

As luck would have it, the Internet at our hotel is once again pathetic. The huts along the beach all have free wi-fi for customers though, so we’re headed back down garbage street to find a spot where we can get some food and catch up with everything back home. Dinner for two, with drinks, your feet in the sand, and waves lapping the shore about 4 feet away runs $12. The struggles are real.

As scheduled, our tuk-tuk pulls up in front of the hotel at 9am. The logic at the time was to start on the early side to avoid the worst of the heat, but it’s already oppressively hot away from the shade and the breeze, once we start moving, is a welcome relief.

We head past the beach we visited last night, and in the daylight see this fellow out in the bay. tab, apparently, is an even bigger deal here than we thought.

Aside from fishing, one of the big industries in Kep is salt farming, where low lying pits are repeatedly flooded with sea water that is allowed to evaporate until the remaining salt crystals are large enough to scoop up. We’ve seen the process elsewhere, and with the season just starting, the work is mostly focused on cleaning and preparing the pits for use. Even so, seeing the amount of land the process requires and the labor involved you can’t help but wonder how the economics work for such a low cost item like salt.

From here we head out to a set of caves called Phnom Kampong Trach. Like temples, we’ve seen our fill of caves over the years so are are pretty ambivalent about these ones. We’re pleasantly surprised though, not by the caves themselves, but by the natural courtyard they open up to, completely isolated from the outside world.

My trusty sidekick is also able to collect data on another example of the local facilities. After all of these years, you’d think the benefits of drinking less tea in the morning would become more clear, but it is not so. Watch for her upcoming series of reviews on www.dropsquat.com.

The main spot we wanted to visit today, since we’ve never seen one before, was the pepper plantation. As I mentioned in a previous post, this area is produces some of the finest pepper in the world, and for something we use pretty much every day. we have no idea how it is made.

Pepper, as it turns out, grows like grapes, and at first glance, you could easily mistake a pepper field for a vineyard. Vines about 10 feet tall produce small clusters of peppercorns, and depending on when they are picked, will ultimately end up as red or black pepper. The pepper on your table comes from a much more industrial operation where chemicals and machines optimize the yield, but here everything is done by hand, right down to the lady who sifts through basket after basket of dried peppercorns, picking rejects out with a pair of long tweezers.

After a short pit stop to load up on chocolate croissants (one of the finer things left behind by the French), we get back to the hotel around 3:30pm. Time for a short nap in the glorious air conditioning before heading back to the crab market for dinner. Our meal last night was so relaxing that we’re back to the same spot again for a do over, this time capped off with a decadent vanilla shake.

It has been a short stay here in Kep, and between here and Kampot we’ve run into an amazing number of expats who came and never left. It isn’t hard to see why, as the pace of life here is pretty intoxicating. I could definitely see coming back one day, but for now, we’re excited to get to the beach so ready to move on.

Some 20 minutes from Kampot (or 45 minutes in a creaky tuk-tuk that struggles to haul our rice-laden bodies up and over hills) lies Kep. Word on the street is that life is even more relaxed there than in Kampot – hard to believe given we only burned about 65 calories yesterday. Our hotel is a bit of an upgrade from the last one, with a pool and a view of the bay. It is also near the crab market, which seems like as good of a place as any to start exploring.

Being right on the ocean, seafood is a pretty big deal here, and all along the waterfront are shacks serving a host of different options. The one we read about everywhere though is pepper crab, a combination of blue crabs caught just offshore, and a sauce made from green Kampot peppercorns. Delicious, as advertised, but more work than I’d be willing to do very often.

Next to the string of restaurants, is the market itself, where one with such an interest can buy all kinds of interesting creatures pulled fresh from the sea.

After a quiet afternoon by the pool, we decide to walk to the beach in search of more restaurants. There is a ton of activity, mostly locals, but surprisingly few places to eat. Various street carts are grilling up meats that have been ground up and reformed into commonly recognized shapes, but we’ve already made that mistake and decide to pass.

Somewhat frustrated, and with lightning off in the distance, we hire a tuk-tuk to take us back to the crab market. There we find a place run by a former New Yorker, Brooklyn accent still intact, that has a great upstairs area to relax and watch the storm roll through.

Tomorrow we’re set to tour the area around Kep, so should have a bit more to report.

Our Internet is out at the hotel today (something about a car hitting a pole and breaking the wire). So with a great amount of effort, and after a full breakfast, we hop on our scooter and head to the cafe that serves poutine. My expert gives it a A- on the gravy, but only a B on the cheese curds (which are not really curds at all). For good measure, we also have a piece of banana cream pie while trying to catch up on things back home.

As noon approaches and the temperature really heats up, mango shakes becomes essential, so it’s off to Captain Chim’s. The distance is at least a block and the calories burned getting there clearly warrant some chicken fried rice. The carbs keep us going for another few hours of emails, blogging, and Facebook human interest stories (just can’t get enough of those).

With work finally out of the way, it’s time to find some dinner. Down the street we go to the Rusty Keyhole for their famous pork ribs. They are a disappointing fail, but we end up seated next to a couple of expats who regale us with stories of Kampot 15 years ago, when most of the buildings downtown were run-down derelicts that could be purchased for next to nothing.

By this point we’re throughly exhausted and decide to call it a night. Pretty much the perfect day – now if only Matlock was on.

Bright and early (for us anyway), our second crotch-rocket shows up, a sporty white number with a working headlight. It looks up to club standards, but to be sure my old lady takes it for a somewhat wobbly test drive before giving it a thumbs up. We’re cruising the highway today, so take advantage of the complimentary helmets (fortunately, each bike comes with two so I can choose the one without the giant crack). With this much protection we can’t possibly get hurt, so with the roar only 125ccs can provide, we’re off.

It takes a good 10km or so before we really get the hang of it, but pretty soon we’re doing an enviable job of keeping up with the locals. Good timing as we’re about to start on the windy, mountain road up to the Bokor Hill Station. As far as we can tell, there isn’t a whole lot to see at the top but a bunch of abandoned remains from when the French needed a place to escape from the heat at lower elevations. Old stuff can be cool though (just ask my trusty travel companion), and its a great opportunity for us to figure out how much we like the biker life.

The highlight is the old Bokor Palace Hotel & Casino, a grand colonial building set on a cliff overlooking the rainforest. Not long ago you could wander through the empty halls as the wind wailed around you (an even creepier experience when the summit was shrouded in fog, but today the carcass is full of workers starting in on a renovation. From the look of other buildings around here, construction projects start and stop with some regularity, so a month or two from now when it gets really hot, who knows what will new happening here.

There are a few other ruins, including an old church, but my fellow rider is getting a little anxious about getting off of the mountain before dark so we only stop for a few pictures.

Oddly, the most interesting building on Bokor has nothing to do with the French. Rather it is a 500 room, Vegas-style behemoth surrounded by acres of empty parking lots. There are clearly some financial shenanigans at play to justify such a project, as this place has to be burning money as fast whoever owns it can shovel it in. There’s talk of turning Bokor into a destination resort and building the infrastructure up here to support 150,000 people. Taking into account all of the people I can currently see, they only have 149,994 to go.

Our ride back to town goes of without a hitch and before long we are sipping cold mango shakes at a gritty little place called Captain Chim’s. It has everything I like in a restaurant (meaning it’s cheap), so we also fill up on some fried noodles and fried rice.

Kampot has a good feel to it, with a walkable downtown filled with outdoor cafes and bars. The most exciting of all though (depending on who you ask), is one with none other than poutine on the menu. The owner is apparently from Saskatoon and brought the world’s greatest dish (again, depending on who you ask) with them to Cambodia. We’re still full from dinner and a few street snacks, but there is no doubt we’ll be back tomorrow.

Done with all that Phnom Penh has to offer, today we are packing up and taking our talents south to Kampot. Travel days are generally pretty uneventful, and this one is no exception. A late breakfast, an hour or two of catching up on emails and other sundry work-related tasks, and then about three hours in the back seat of a private car (which, for $35 is an easy choice versus getting back on a bus). On the way, we make a pit stop for what the driver tells us are the sweetest coconuts in all of Cambodia (that’s a setup almost too tempting to pass on, but I’m keeping it clean today).

Kampot was a main administrative center under French rule, and the influence is still present in the shophouse architecture. Before the Khmer Rouge destroyed most of the fields, the region was known for producing some of the finest pepper in the world, an industry that is slowly recovering. Growth is definitely happening here, but not yet to the point chain hotels are setting up shop. Cheap food and shared rooms mean plenty of backpackers and eccentrics looking to disappear.

Our accommodation is on the edge of town, and rather than rely on tuk-tuks to get us from place to place, we’ve taken a leap and rented a sexy red scooter. We’re missing our SAMCRO jackets and only the high beams work, but we manage to get ourselves around safely, visiting a few markets and then stopping for dinner. Taking a break from our steady diet of fried rice and noodles, we splurge on a good old fashioned burger (covered in a delicious pepper sauce) with honest to goodness Heinz ketchup.

Based on this evening’s success, we have another scooter on order for the morning and plan on heading up Bokor Mountain tomorrow, a 35km ride from Kampot.

Fortunately, we don’t have too many days where we know leaving the hotel that it is going to suck (some end up that way, but never by design). Today was one of those days. Phnom Penh is home to the killing fields of Choeung Ek and the infamous high school turned prison, S-21. I don’t think one can experience Cambodia without understanding this part of its history, so after securing the services of a tuk-tuk for the day, we’re off.

People are generally familiar with the genocide that occurred here under the rule of the Khmer Rouge, but it took reading some of the history in our guide book to paint a proper picture. Prior to the ascendance of Pol Pot, Cambodia sustained four years of heavy bombing by the U.S. as part of the Vietnam War (more bombs were dropped on Cambodia during this time than were dropped by all the Allies combined in World War II). As a result, millions of Cambodian refugees fled the countryside for cities including Phnom Penh (which by 1974 accounted for almost 3 million of the 8 million people living in Cambodia).

On April 17, 1975, the city fell to the Khmer Rouge, and within 3 days, virtually the entire population was removed to the countryside and put to work as agricultural laborers. Those with education, including teachers, doctors, lawyers and even monks, were viewed as dangerous to the regime, and often singled out for interrogation and torture at facilities like S-21. By the time the Khmer Rouge were defeated by the Vietnamese in January of 1979, more than 2.5 million people, a third or the population, had been killed or died from starvation or disease.

Our day begins at Choeung Ek, about 15km from Phnom Penh. Unlike S-21, prisoners weren’t kept here, rather they generally arrived and were executed the same day. On rare occasions, when soldiers couldn’t kill them and dispose of the bodies fast enough, they were kept overnight in a small hut, waiting for the sun to rise and the terror to start anew. Because bullets cost more money than their captors deemed their lives were worth, hammers, steel pipes and farm tools were used to bludgeon them to death before dumping the bodies in mass graves.

The remains of almost 9,000 people have been exhumed (about a third of the burial pits have been left untouched), many with twisted wire still binding the arms. Weather, particularly during the rainy season, continually unearths pieces of bones and clothing as a constant reminder of what lies under foot.

Near one of the graves stands a tall tree, covered with bracelets left by visitors like us, because the blessings are needed here most of all. A sign nearby explains how when one person was deemed guilty, their entire family was rounded up an executed so that no one remained alive to seek revenge. That included babies, who soldiers killed by swinging them against this tree by their feet before throwing their bodies into the pit with their mothers.

Choeung Ek was only one of hundreds of “killing fields” in Cambodia.

It isn’t difficult to pick out tourists that are returning from Choeng Ek. Those on their way to the site sit in their tuk-tuks chatting, joking about the lack of traffic rules or rutted roads, while those on their way back, like us, sit in silence, starting straight ahead and trying to make sense of what they just experienced. Of what human beings are capable of doing to one another.

But our day is only half over. We snap back to reality as our driver pulls to a stop at the gate of S-21. This prison was often the first stop for the victims of Choeng Ek, where they could spend months being tortured for the purposes of extracting confessions about treason they have committed against the regime. When not being beaten, shocked, waterboarded, or a host other gruesome treatments, inmates were shackled to the floor, arranged lengthwise like matchsticks, forbidden to talk while they awaited their fate. For many, the trip to Choeng Ek would have been a welcome escape.

All of this we know because, for all of their failures, the Khmer Rouge kept meticulous records of who they arrested, tortured, and ultimately killed. The rooms of S-21 are lined with photos that document the lives that passed through these walls. Of the 17,000 souls that entered S-21, only 7 are known to have survived.

S-21 was one of 158 such facilities operated by the Khmer Rouge.