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.