Kratie, Cambodia

“Even death is not to be feared by one who has lived wisely.” – Buddha

On our way back south we decided to break up our trip with a stop in Kratie. It’s about half way between Ratanakiri and Phnom Penh, a smaller town that sits right on the east side of the Mekong. The hostel we were hoping to stay in unfortunately only had 1 dorm bed available, and no private rooms, but as they did not want to lose the potential business, they accepted our offer of the both of us in the single dorm bed, for the price of one. One top bunk, with two people, for two dollars. Turned out to be our cheapest night yet.

There are a number of elusive, as well as almost extinct pink dolphins living in the Mekong just north of Kratie, and so the day after arriving we rented motorbikes and drove north. There is a point along the river where tour boats will take you out in hopes of catching a sighting, as well as plenty of sightseeing on little backcountry roads. After hearing of an uneventful experience from a fellow traveler, and finding out it was $9 a head for the 30-minute ride, we decided we would skip out on the touristy option and cruise around enjoying the ride.

Our favorite local hideout in Kratie.

There is a temple about an hour north of town and we decided we would head in that direction. It was a beautiful drive, with the road winding through the out sprawled villages which mainly lined this one street north to south. About three quarters of the way there we were driving through a more rural section when we spotted a motorbike down in the middle of the road, and as we got closer we realized there had been an accident just moments before. There appeared to be a man, possibly dead, laid out in the road with a woman sitting over him, and a young child sitting motionless a few feet away. We weren’t sure what to do, as locals had also just realized and were still beginning to emerge from their homes to see what had happened. Ali was driving as we did a u-turn to pull back around. As we approached more and more bystanders were coming to the scene. The man was beginning to regain consciousness as a crowd formed around them, and we instantly realized how bad the accident was. The child, who was a boy of maybe 7 years, had a large deep incision at the top of his forehead, to the point where you could see, at least, his skull, as well as several other severe cuts all over his body, the man’s jaw and face had numerous deep wounds, as well as his knee and shoulder, and the woman, who seemed to be in the best shape, also still had some quite horrific cuts. The three were all riding on the motorbike without helmets, and must have somehow crashed in an incident involving the car that slowly crept from the scene as we initially approached. 

We didn’t know how the locals would react to us “tourists” approaching this type of an incident, and didn’t want them to think we were just there to watch, but hoped we could do something and walked in. Contrary to what we were afraid they would assume, they started calling us over, possibly hoping that we knew how/could help in a way they could not. Our life guarding/first aid training wanted to kick in, but when there is a crowd of semi-hysterical bystanders, in which not a soul speaks or understands English, it proved quite difficult. I wanted to urge them to leave the man lying, avoiding moving his head, neck and back, but then realized that there was almost certainly no ambulance or help on the way, and that could just delay any “first response”, which would clearly not occur until they arrived at a medical center. There were all being picked up and “looked after”, so we figured the next best course of action would be trying to get pressure on the wounds to stop the bleeding and get the people to help.

We got out the few sanitary wipes we had and helped apply them, and tried to mime for the others helping to apply pressure. They clearly weren’t sure what to do, as lots of calling back and forth and general confusion seemed to resist any decision making. Numerous cars drove by over the course of several minutes, in which we also tried to communicate to get them in a vehicle to some sort of medical center, but for some reason they all stayed put.

There was a moment Ali later recalled, which at the time also seemed to just be wasting precious time, but when reflected upon later touched us both. When the man first came to, with his wife sitting over him and the boy a few feet away, the first thing the man did was pull his son over to him and hug him crying for what seemed to be minutes. We were fairly certain they were all going to live without any majorly critical issues at this point, but it seemed as if the man wanted more than anything else to just comfort his son, himself thinking at that moment that it truly could be his last. This desperate sense of comforting appeared to take precedence over everything else, and it was actually quite moving.

They eventually got each of the three on three different motorbikes, one person driving and one helping hold them on, and though it was clearly being rushed in an emergency situation, was also quite unerving to witness. The three helmet-less motorbike victims immediately hopping back on motorbikes, now totaling nine, all without helmets, racing for help. We’re not exactly sure what happened to them later that day, but as we drove south an hour or two later we saw a small crowd at a local medical center not far from where the accident occurred, and assumed that with the injuries they had they were able to get decent enough of care within a short amount of time to be alive and well today.

While it was a scary moment for sure, it helps remind us appreciate what we’ve got, and if nothing else it taught us to keep wearing our helmets and to slow down. Turns out our parents were right all along!

We took the rest of the day pretty easy; further on our way back, near the area where the dolphin tours left from was a network of docks and canopies spread put across a large section of the river. We wandered down through little shops and found a man selling tickets at the entrance. It was 1000 riel a person, or 0.25$. We were enticed and paid to enter. It turned out to be a little day “resort” if you could call it that, with hammocks hung under every canopy, where people came to just relax and socialize on simple hand built docks stretching out 6-inches or so above the Mekong. You can order food and drinks, and stay as long as you’d like. We grabbed 2 hammocks and just lazed around and read, nibbling on some fish and sticky rice, and hard boiled eggs before calling it a day and heading back to Kratie. As a relaxing end to a pretty hectic day we had a great dinner at a locals restaurant and beer or three at our hostel.

The 100-Column Pagoda.

A sweet little setup.

Bath time! The locals bathe together in the river after a hard day of work.

Local Village on the river.

Despite the stress of the day, we were able to relax and enjoy another beautiful sunset.

We were up early the next morning headed to our next destination. The capital city of Phnom Penh!

Ratanikiri, Cambodia

Three wise monkeys: being of good mind, speech and action.

After parting ways with our new friends and lovely hosts in Kampong Cham, we were headed out in search of an even more rural Cambodia. We grabbed a tuk-tuk back into the city, had a short wait for the bus, and we’re off to Ratanakiri, a small town in the north east province of Batambang. But only after witnessing the unfortunate side of animal rights in this area of the world, seeing two dogs crammed into a woven bag and put in the undercarriage with the rest of the luggage.

It was a long, bumpy, extremely hot and dust ridden bus ride, which made for an even worse ride, we were imagining, for the pups down below. At our second stop an hour or two in Ali asked if she could open the cargo doors to give the dogs water, but the not-so-friendly bus driver brushed her off and said “No”. You could hear them whimpering now and again, and even while driving after going through rougher “road” sections.

It must have been four hours into the drive when we stopped for the third time, and during four of the hottest hours of the day. Ali pleaded with the driver for the third time, but with no change in result. Luckily a nice young Cambodian man who spoke English overheard and stepped in to help. He told the driver we had a bottle of water and just wanted to let the dogs get some air and a drink before heading off again, explaining how hot and dusty it must be down next to the engine. He reluctantly accepted, but was even still clearly annoyed that we were asking. When the driver popped the hatch and the bag was pulled out, one dog was already dead.

The scene was not for the faint of heart. I’m not detailing it for the awe effect, but describing it as it was. The older and slightly larger of the two dogs was dead, and as biologically occurs when animals die, the bag was filled with its feces. The smaller puppy was mortified, crammed tight between limbs of the rigid corpse, rigamortis long having set in, just fighting to breathe, also covered in filth. A local woman selling snacks on the side of the road helped us cut the wire which sewed the top of the bag shut, and pulled the dead dog out by its ear. We grabbed our water and Ali began pouring it for the puppy, which drank as much as it physically could, well more than the first bottle of water we had. It had large patches of missing hair, some probably due to stress, but most likely caused by the friction of bumping along for hours while bound in its coffin. The stench was horrendous and impossible to withstand. Some of the fellow passengers and onlookers looked sad, others paid no attention, but the asshole driving the bus still seemed annoyed that we had even bothered him into opening it.

I felt sorry for the dogs when I saw them put under the bus, but had no idea the outcome could have been so foul. I was also under the impression that the owner was not on the bus, as the man I saw placing the bag had hopped on a motorcycle and left from the get go. We later found out the owner was in fact on the bus the whole time, and was not phased by losing one of the two. He now didn’t seem interested in keeping the live puppy, and we were happy to see the locals on the scene say they’d keep him there instead.

It’s clearly another culture and way of life here, and you have to respect there will be different views on many aspects of right and wrong, but to needlessly waste an animals life, and to put it through what must have only been a terribly frightening and painful way to go is just cruel. Eating dogs is not quite a norm in Cambodia, but it still happens regularly. And while there is an obvious distaste if not disgust for this practice by westerners, the same argument could be made for other meat dishes we enjoy but are tabooed by other cultures. And while I hope I never have accidentally and never will purposefully eat dog, I would much quicker accept this type of cultural difference than a complete lack of respect for an animals life like we witnessed here. To be clear, we had no resentment for the Cambodians, but plenty of it for the driver and dog owner.

After arriving and relaxing in Ratanakiri we were in much better spirits. With the help of the friendly local we found a guesthouse with a cheap private room and grabbed dinner before bed. We spent the following two days enjoying the very non-touristy town and countryside. On day one we walked around the area, grabbed a beer and walked down to the pond near town. We rented motorbikes the next day and drove a few hours out, just enjoying the scene and the open road. On the way back we stopped by Lake Yaklom or “Crater Lake” for a swim. It looks as though it was caused by a crater, it’s shape an almost perfect circle, carved right into the middle of the forest. The water’s temperature was perfect, and quite clear as well. A full day could easily be spent relaxing and swimming, with trees for hammocks surrounding its perimeter. We headed home about an hour later at dusk, coated in a nice layer of red clay dust.

Downright dirty.

The dirt unibrow is really not a good look.

Riverboat taxi.

The tallest palm trees we ever did see.

Enjoying a refreshing swim in Crater Lake.

Reflecting on another beautiful day.

Mother Nature shows us her true beauty.

It was nice to be out of the city and just relax without an agenda. The ride to Ratanakiri was not a fond memory, but we’d recommend the north for anyone with time in Cambodia.

Kampong Cham, Cambodia

We were feeling a bit “templed out” after only a few days at Angkor Wat, and were longing for the fresh-air and scenic views of the countryside. We decided to head South East to Kampong Cham, a sleepy town on the Mekong River for some R&R. After doing some research online, Ben found a homestay located a few kilometers outside of town and luckily they had availability for us to stay for two nights to experience the real and rural Cambodia.

Rana Homestay is located at the modest home of a Cambodian local named Kheung and her American husband, Don, along with their two kids. We arrived un-fashionably late (after choosing the cheapest bus option and subsequently the worst reviewed company due to their inability to ever arrive on time…) and realized that not only had we missed a homecooked meal, but the other couple, who also happened to be American were waiting on our arrival to start the village tour. Fortunately for us, Jan and Yemi, newlyweds who quit their jobs to travel for 6 months for their honeymoon were understanding and easy-going about the whole thing.

Home sweet home at Rana’s.

Our new friends: Yemi, Jan & Kheung.

With only a couple of hours of daylight left, we set out to take a walking tour of the village that Kheung’s family has called home for four generations, enjoying a beautiful sunset over the rice paddies as we made our way home.

This smile is as genuine as it gets!

Lotus seeds are commonly grown and sold in the market.

Rice paddy sunset.

On the second day, we got the full-on experience as we biked through the village, stopping to meet with a few of the locals to learn more about their way of life. One of our most memorable experiences was visiting a family who makes palm sugar to sell in the market and assisting them with the process. Before sunrise, the son would climb several coconut trees to extract the sweet sap for which palm sugar is made. Once collected, it is immediately poured into a wok and boiled over a fire and stirred until it becomes a caramel-like consistency. Once it reaches the desired thickness, it is poured (very carefully) into circular molds made from bamboo before it cools. It may not sound like hard work, but it takes several hours to make from start to finish and only produces a few kgs per batch. The market price for this tasty little treat and Cambodian kitchen essential is a mere $1USD/kg. In a small village that has no expendable income, the people buy only what they need and so there is not a lot of money to be made.

A local woman shows us how it’s done.

Kheung translating the next step in the process of making palm sugar.

Most products are sold individually in the village.

In the village, this is not a scorpion but a game. First one to get stung loses!

A woman weaves a Krama, the traditional checkered scarf.

While having a conversation with the family through the help of Kheung, we swaped life stories and shared a few laughs. The oldest woman asked how many countries we had all been to. We answered twenty-five or so between the two of us, and Jan & Yemi responded with even more. Ben then asked the woman, “If you could go to any other country, where would you go?” When it was finally translated, she chuckled and said, “I don’t know any other countries!” We later learned that geography is simply not  taught and most children do not have access to a world map. Although not forgotten, it reminded us again of how fortunate we are for our education and the opportunity to travel.

As the only tourists in sight, we were greeted with “Hello’s” at every turn which made us feel like total celebrities. Each smile and interaction was 100% genuine and unlike anything we’ve experienced so far. We went home with our faces hurting from smiling too much, which is a pretty good indication of how the day went.

So many smiling faces!

Children are often left to look out for each other while their parents work in the fields.

This saa ahht (beautiful) little girl becomes a bit bored with all the grown-up talk.

The homestay was authentic as promised, and we often found ourselves sitting at the table with Don, Yemi and Jan discussing all the struggles and resilience of Cambodian people following the Khmer Rouge and Pol Pot regime. A guest speaker was brought to talk with us after dinner and was an opportunity for non-directed conversations with family members that had lived through some of Cambodia’s darkest times. While discussing education in schools with Kheung’s younger sister, we were shocked to find out that an entry-level teacher, one of the higher paying professions in Cambodia made only $45 USD/month or $450 USD for the entire school year. The other two months are spent working long, hard hours in the rice fields to support their family as best as they can.

We may have missed out on seeing Kampong Cham city proper, but the opportunity to integrate ourselves and connect with the local people was worth the money and was an experience we’ll never forget!

Peace!