The Easy Life

Life's smooth once you know what you're looking for.
I've been back on the day job for about a week. The days go by at a leisurely pace. This time no one's going to get me of my cloud.

It's all about the outlook.
My hopes and dreams make me dance through my days.
This time I'm only passing through.
Everyday I go to work my travel bankroll grows.
Everyday I go to work I get closer to departure day.
Everyday I got to work I strive to be awesome at my job... It's better that way. There's no point in doing things I don't like. No reason to complain. Done with being stressed and unhappy. This town can use more friendliness. Life's a lot better with a smile on your face.

Well, technically I'm still sort of on hold. It might take another few weeks before my sabbatical gets approved (or denied, but let's store those dark thoughts far away). For now, it feels like there's not much I can do. Show up for work everyday, be awesome, come home and save money (by staying home).
That's perfectly alright.
The easy life.

Never Home

Over 22 hours in planes and airports, four in-flight meals, too little leg-space, two in-flight movies and almost no sleep. That's the long way home. I had sort of thought Daria would bring me a last surprise visit at Phnom Penh Airport. That didn't happen. Well, it's probably better that way...

When I finally get through customs in Brussels, I'm dog-tired. All I want is a cup of pitch-black coffee. Got a voucher in my wallet. Just need to get to Starbucks in the departure hall. A simple line of action. I enter the arrival hall and see an elevator door opening. I hurry to get in. No luck, the door closes right in front of me. Almost made it. I just catch a glimpse of two beautiful, dark-skinned flight attendants in pretty, yellow uniforms. I wonder where they're from and where they go to. East of here, most likely. I'm still daydreaming when the elevator door reopens...
"Come on in", says the most beautiful, brown skinned, yellowed dressed air-attendant I've ever seen.
For a moment I can't move. Enchanted by her beautiful smile, her perfect white teeth, her lovely big eyes and her friendly, exotic face. Maybe I'll just stay here and wonder. Then I get my feet moving and stumble in. I read the name of the airline on her uniform. Jet Airways. Where do they fly to and how can I get there too? Are there coconuts and beaches? Tropical forests and quiet places? The lift descends. I need to go up but never mind. When the door opens I swiftly slide out so the flight-attendant can leave. She just smiles.
"Thank you. No, we go up."
"Me too", and I jump back in.
The elevator moves up and makes another stop. This time I just stay in front of the door.
"We get out", she says.
"Oh, excuse me", I reply and move back.
She gets out, turns around and asks; "You have to get out here too?"
"No, I need to go up. I need coffee" (black coffee)
"Good luck to you", she smiles.
"Good luck" and I smile too.

The elevator goes up to the right floor. A cup of hot coffee and I'm on my way. It's a cold, grey morning in Belgium. That's alright, I'm home but my mind's already elsewhere.

The Last Banana

Life's been good since I climbed Bokor Mountain. I can hear the music playing. I'm dancing. I'm sliding along.

The night Lisa left me hanging at the Blissful bar I went out for a nightly walk. No more fear of roaming dogs. Just dance along, you know. It worked out well. Got drunk (somehow all my Kampot stories seem to end that way...) and chatted for hours with a few friendly expats in a quiet riverside bar. Meeting people is easy if you have a white face walking around dark Kampot.

Days drift by. It's been a week since I got here. Time to go. I could easily linger on. But there's one last stop that I have to make. On Monday morning I board the bus to Phnom Penh. No worries. I've phoned ahead. They are expecting me. Back to the place where it all started….

The legendary
The one and only
"Phnom Penhs answer to Heaven on Earth"
Top Banana Guesthouse

It's hard to exaggerate the impact of the Banana on the way things went down. Eight years ago I came straight out of the Laos jungle into Phnom Penh and on to the Top Banana rooftop. Someone offered me a joint even before I had the time to take my backpack off. That was just the beginning. It was like coming home to a place I had never been before. Not mentioned in any guide book. The only way to get there was if you happened to meet someone who had experienced the Banana before. Finding the place and climbing the stairs was not easy. But once you made it, it was all good. We were all friends there. The Magic Box never ran out of weed. The music never stopped. We were all dancing. Sliding along. A friendly, wonderful rooftop in the middle of a wild, crazy city. It was a wonderful time. High and happy days on the roof, wild times in the city. But I was just a foolish kid. Very young and very naive. I thought I was tough and could hang out with the big boys. I was wrong. I fell in love with the first girl I met. Ten months later we were married in Sihanoukville. The crazy Banana days forever gone.

Today I'm back. The rooftop is still here. The owner's still the same. Everything else has changed. Phnom Penh has moved forward rapidly in the last few years. This town is rather decent, friendly and safe for a capital city in the developing world. Top Banana went the same way. The guest rooms have improved and are moved to the first floor. The second floor rooftop has been converted into a full-scale hipster bar. The days of the Magic Box are long gone. They have a whole staff working here now. People come and go. If you've never been here before it's hard to imagine what it was like. For me it's different. I look around and all I can see are images from the past flashing through my mind. I even found the outlines of my old room on the rooftop floor. Back at the beginning. It looks like I made it. It's here I gave up the dreams of my youth for a silly thing called love. It's here I'll start over again. The last ghost is the Banana.

Of course, it's never that easy. Life never goes as planned. I cannot just sit here and declare my new found independence. Ghosts aren't beaten that easily. So I did what I'm used to by now: I danced. When a few backpackers asked me to join them for a drink in a nearby bar I said yes. We had a few boring beers. I left early and went back to my room. Checked my phone and found a text message from Daria. She's in town. In fact, she's in a bar down the street. She wants to see me one last time. 'Why Not?' we used to say in the old days.

I get over there and we have a few drinks. No tears, no anger, no trouble. Just a friendly conversation. Once you know what you want, life gets easy. This time I speak freely about my dreams. My burning desire doesn't involve her but the wide world out there. She can hear there's no more doubt in my voice. She accepts it. Well, I've been on the run for over a week so my Mr. Righteous image is pretty much crushed anyway. It's all cool. I even invite her over to the Banana rooftop. We have more beers and talk 'till late into the night. She speaks about her own plans for the future and wishes me all the best with realizing my dreams. The drinks and the rooftop have a strange effect on me. Eight years ago I sat here and fell in love with a no-good girl, tonight I'm back here with a Cambodian lady but only to say goodbye. From the corner of my eye, I see the last ghost crawling over the rooftop railing and jumping down.
The end.

Tomorrow I'll leave alone. I'll stuff my backpack with cheap t-shirt and crappy Buddha statues. The ghosts stay here. Now all I long for is a final exit stamp. There's a whole world beyond the Cambodian border. I think I should go and have a look.
The Fishy Trail starts here.

The Mountain

"One beer?", the barman asks. "Yes, please", my standard reply.

I sit alone at the Blisful bar. So this it. Failure. I tried really hard. It didn't work. Spend the entire afternoon looking for a tour to take me up Bokor Mountain. No luck. Everywhere the same story. Rainy season. Bad weather. No tourists. Tomorrow no, maybe the day after. Well, I'm not going to sit around for another day. I'm just going to finish this beer, walk across the street and buy a bus ticket back to Snooky. There are choices that have to be made. The solitary, intrepid traveller is a nice dream. But it's not me. Dreaming is easy, doing is too hard. I'm not that strong. Return to Snooky, apologize to Daria and stay with her for as long as she'll want me to. Just keep doing what I'm doing. Forget self-fulfillment, the meaning of life, true love and the Greater Good. My options are limited. I'm a simple dude. I know my limitations. At least, in Snooky I'm not alone.

Lost in these dark thoughts, I almost didn't notice a blond, white girl coming over to the bar and asking for the phone. I hear her say the the magic word.
Bokor
Really? Did I hear that right? I hesitate.
Can I? Should I? Then I gather whatever little courage I have left and ask:
"Euhmm, excuse me, euhh... Bokor? The Mountain? You're going to Bokor Mountain tomorrow?"
"Yes", was her friendly reply. We even chatted a while. Her name's Lisa. A blond, white girl from California. An unexpected turn of events. I always thought a deus ex machina was strictly reserved for bad script writers. The simple fact that I'm having this conversations seemed utterly impossible less than 5 minutes ago. The words of the cow flash through my mind: "You gotta dance" I ask if I may join her, take out my phone and book a ticket.

Bokor Mountain is a National Park just over the river from Kampot. It's a spectacular 1000m up from sea-level. On the top, there are the ruins of a casino build by the French. In the sixties King Sihanouk reopened it. Later on a Khmer Rouge stronghold until the late nineties. There are many rumors and stories about Bokor. A lot of bad shit happened up there. Nowadays, that creepy atmosphere is somewhat gone as they started rebuilding the casino. That doesn't matter much to me. I've been longing to go up there since 2004. Family life in Snooky always got in the way. This time nothing holds me back no more. This time I'll get up the mountain and leave the ghosts from my Cambodian past behind.

The next morning a mini-bus picks us (us as in 'Lisa and I') up and together with another eight people we start the drive. A group op ten, that's very crowded. Groups and I don't mix. So I just let the conversations go by and stare out of the window. It takes ages before we reach the top. Especially because our guide insists on making lots of stops at places I don't care about. For me it's just about the top.

On the third stop the guide starts speaking about wading through a river to a beautiful waterfall. He must be joking, right? That's more than I can handle. I've only got the casino on my mind. While the rest of the group takes off their shoes and rolls up their trousers I ask if they come back the same way.
"Yes but really beautiful waterfall", answers the guide.
"I'll wait", I say, light a cigarette and sit down on a rock. The group looks at me in disgust and wades of to the waterfall. Listen, I didn't escape a troublesome relationship just to get in different spots where I have to do shit I don't want or don't care about. Fuck groups. I'm my own dog now. I've seen enough waterfalls. Anyway, thanks to this little rebellion the rest of the group ignores me for the rest of the day. Perfect. At the following stops, I just wander around on my own while they cling to the guide like a group of sheep to the herder.

At last, after hours and hours of anticipation we reach the top. It's clear weather. The view over the Cambodian coastline is breathtaking. I leave the group behind and run off to the ruined casino. I made it! The only place along the Cambodian coast I've never been before. I sit on a rock and look at the casino for a long, long time. Of course, it's far less spectacular than in my dreams but that's irrelevant. I did it. I conquered the mountain. I escaped. I've been dreaming about this for seven years.

Up on Bokor Mountain, at last.
There's no going back to Snooky after this.
Time to throw my ghosts over the cliff and start a-fresh.

The end. Now let's get down before the rain comes in. Unfortunately, with groups it's not that easy. We are supposed to, at least partly, hike down. Fuck me. People don't belong in the jungle. It's were the animals live. Anyway, this time I decide to tread along. It's a new beginning after all. So we all hike down a tiny jungle trail while dark clouds roll over Bokor. At times I hardly see anything, stumbling over fallen down trees, slipping and sliding on the muddy trail. A misty jungle is not a happy place. Soon I'm soaking wet. The humidity is disgusting. I'm sweating like a feverish pig. Not my idea of a nice afternoon. But hey, suffer long enough and the simple pleasure of just seeing a paved road can fill you with warm, fuzzy happiness. The best part of the jungle is getting out of it.

The tour continues on. Back on the road, the guide and driver help to get the leeches of our arms and legs (I only got one, not bad). Then it's back in the bus and on to the river for a sunset boat trip. At least this part is easy. Drinking cold beer while the tiny fishing boat slowly goes upriver. Nothing but jungle and hills all around. I feel relaxed, happy almost.

It's well after dark when we return to Kampot. Lisa and I walk back to Blissful Guesthouse together. She goes up to her room. I take a well deserved shower and return to my usual spot at the bar. Shortly after Lisa joins me and we have a few beers together. Then we go for dinner at a roadside stall. It sure is nice to take a blond Californian girl out. Alas, strictly for bragging rights. She keeps telling the same stories over and over again. I don't have much to add. When we return to the bar, she tells me to wait for her while she goes up to her room for a moment, I feel somewhat relieved. A cold beer on my own, at last! Half way through the third beer I realize that she's not coming back. Oh well, that's fine by me. Girls only lead to trouble, after all. It was a good day.

Bokor mountain took me far beyond (what I thought to be) my own limitations.
Maybe there's a life for me away from Snooky after all...

Freedom Road

Yesterday I read a book, watched back-to-back the latest episode of The Simpsons, Hung and Boardwalk Empire. Then I started drinking too early, played in the weekly Blissful Guesthouse poker tournament (lost $5...) and felt restless all day. Kampot is a quiet place. I came here to get away from my troubles and woes. It's not working. I'm doing it all wrong.

This morning I woke up and saw the blue, blue sky. Maybe it's time for a different approach. Downloaded Google Terrain maps on GPS Kit (on my iPhone), rented a motorbike and drove all the way to the sea.

Destination: Kep.

This tiny coastal village is only 30 kilometers away from Kampot. Nevertheless, being all alone out in the countryside made me uncomfortable a first. One white dude in the middle of nowhere. Weak and vulnerable. My rented motorbike didn't have a rear break so that didn't make the ride any easier.
But after half an hour or so, I relaxed. The weather was great, the road in reasonable condition and with GPS Kit I could check my position anytime. Intrepid adventure! Just the road and I. Nothing else on my mind. No feelings of insecurity, loneliness or fear. Free and alive, at last!

Kep was nice and quiet (of course, I've been here before but never mind that.) Once a colonial retreat for the French, later a hang out for Cambodian high rollers. Severely destroyed and looted by the Khmer Rouge in the war. Burned out ruins of luxurious prewar villas are still spread around the hills. They are slowly taken over by lush jungle vegetation. Just like Kampot, it's a desolate place. Big statues and roundabouts but hardly a soul around. There's a small crab market, a few guesthouses and resorts, not much else. I took my time cruising up and down the coastal road, drank fresh sugar cane juice and walked down Kep beach. I like lonely places, they make me feel at ease. I lingered on for while. Stared at the sea and tried not to think about anything else. Good times. Simple and free and alone.

When threatening thunderclouds came rolling in, it was time to leave. It's still rainy season. Driving down the open road in the middle of a tropical downpour is a something to avoid. Full speed ahead back to Kampot, trying to out run the dark clouds. When I turned off National Route 33 into town the rain came down. Made it just in time.

It was a great ride. I haven't felt this good in years.

Alone In The Kingdom

On my very last day in Snooky I woke up early in the morning, walked straight to Occheuteal Beach and watched the sunrise. Returned to my room, threw my belongings in my backpack and waited for the bus.

I've escaped, ran away and left Sihanoukville more times than I wish to remember. Every time it was the last time. This morning it's same, same but different all over again. The decision has been made. Now I just have to get on the bus and don't look back…

I drink pitch-black ice coffees and chain-smoke Alain Delon cigarettes 'till the mini-bus shows up. Almost an hour late but that's hardly a surprise. I get in and listen to 'Blood On The Tracks' on repeat. There's a white kid with a huge backpack eyeing in my direction, a Lonely planet in his hand. I'm in no mood for conversations. Just turn up to volume on my iPhone and stare out of the window. Like it told Daria the other night "I just want to be left alone"…

As soon as we reach the outskirts of town it starts raining heavily. The driver doesn't care. He hardly ever slows down. We go full speed through pot holes on the rained out road. I feel alone. The air-con is on full blast. I'm freezing. There's so much water on both sides of the the road that I can no longer tell the difference between rivers, flooded rice fields or the sea. I feel miserable.The mini-bus keeps speeding down the straight, wet road. Dylan sings "Situations have ended sad/ Relationships have all been bad… You're gonna make me lonesome when you go"

By the time we reach Kampot, the rain has stopped. I've been here before, of course. Years ago with the ex-wife. That's the problem with this country. Hard to find a place that isn't taunted with memories. Nevertheless, there should be less ghosts out here than in Snooky...

I get off the bus and find myself a nice guesthouse with a bar and free wifi. Blissful Guesthouse. Located in an old atmospheric house surrounded by a tropical garden. Got a quiet room for $5 with a fan and cold water. Exactly what I need. I drop my backpack in my room and go wander around old Kampot town.

This is still the sleepy provincial town like I remember it. Situated a few kilometers up an estuary on the banks of the Prek Kampong Bay River. It has little more to offer than old colonial architecture, wide streets and a nice riverfront. It takes 10 minutes or less to get anywhere in this town on foot. The quietness is intense. There are few people on the streets. Although it's a small place, the lost grandeur of the old French buildings gives the impression that it's still too big for the number of people that are around. There's a peculiar atmosphere in the air. The wide empty streets, the big river, the run-down buildings and Bokor mountain looming at the horizon... Desolation Town; far, far away from everything.

The days are rainy but laid-back. I walk down the riverfront, drive a battered bicycle into the countryside and spend my time reading and staring at the rain. The nights are quiet and pitch black. Groups of wild dog run roam the empty streets. Don't want to be out in that darkness so I stay in and drink beers at the Blissful bar. I feel almost at ease.

But there's a huge shadow hanging over my quiet Kampot life. Every now and then I still take calls from sweet Miss Daria... I listen to her misery but stand my ground. This time, there's really no going back. I'm terrible at this stuff. Her emotional calls hurt bad. I wish I could end it completely. I don't want to hear her anymore. But I'm too soft to simply ignore her. I feel responsible for the mess she's in. It's pointless, I know. Even if wanted to, I can't save her. "She'll be fine", I keep telling myself a thousand times a day.

"Situations have ended sad/ Relationships have all been bad…"

The rain pours down, I order another cup of coffee and try to forget.

Leaving The Beach

Driving my motorbike along the Golden Lions roundabout, past the Fortuna casino and down to Sokha Beach. Along the big resort and beyond, onto the quiet, winding stretch to Independence Beach. Here the road turns inland through some lush vegetation where wild monkeys roam. I keep on going. Full speed ahead. Past the giant construction site formerly know as Hawai Beach. Turning left at Snake House and then along Victory Beach. Right before the port I take a sharp right onto the steep road to Victory Hill. From here on it's the main road, Ekereach Street, all the way down to the Lions again. I've been doing this little ride for years. Whenever I needed to unwind, speeding down the coastal road on a Honda Dream. The simple pleasures of life.
But today I continue to Apple Guesthouse, near Occheuteal beach. I turn off the ignition for the last time, hand the keys over at the reception and settle my bill. Then, almost as an afterthought, I ask for a bus ticket for the following day.
"Where to?", the receptionist asks.
"Kampot"
"How many people?"
(Something stuck in my throat, try to clear it, fail, mumble incomprehensibly until, with huge effort I get that damned word out)
"One"

I go sit on the beach. Drinking cold beers on my own while staring at the sea. Contemplating the consequence of leaving. I feel very sad and utterly alone.

After dark, Daria and I meet for the very last time. We talk, cry, scream, hug, drink and cry and kiss and scream and drink and drink and drink. In the end, she leaves on the back of a moto into the Snooky night. From her on out, I'm all alone. My own dog, alright, but very alone…

It's easy to dream about being an independent traveler. Acting upon it makes me shit scared. Can't breath, can't think. Just want to phone Daria, apologies and stay with her for the rest of my days. This is my place, right? This is were I belong. People like me are ignored everywhere else. There's a very clear reason why I keep gravitating down to Snooky. At least, here I've got something going. Yes, I felt like a giant sucker for falling in love in Snooky for a second time. But leaving seems (almost) worse.

You see; I'm a very shy, insecure and mediocre dude. Probably lucky to have known any kind of love at all. Not exactly the most suitable personality for a life of travel and adventure. In Brussels there are days that I'm to scared to even leave my apartment...

But my mind's made up. This time there's no turning back.
Sorrowful as it is to leave sweet Miss Daria behind...
I'm leaving in the morning at the break of dawn.

Can't decide whether this is a very brave or very foolish thing to do.

Beyond Snooky, it's all The Great Unknown to me...