Cambodia as a Local: Putting Down Roots

Without further ado...

The bus dropped me off along a familiar quiet street on a hot, blue-sky day. Only a short distance from my guesthouse in Kampot, I walked down the middle of the pavement and felt at home. I knew the waterfront vendor who cooks up a plate of delicious pan-fried noodles with sprouts and peanuts for $0.50. I knew when I arrive at the cafe adjacent the central petrol station (I'd named it the Refuel Cafe) I would be recognized and a $0.25 cent glass of sweet iced coffee would soon be in front of me. I could even picture the bed upon which I would soon rest my travel weary body. Well, if I'd made a reservation that would have been the case. Instead I spoke with the eccentric management pair, Angela and Ezza, about reserving a cheap room for a few weeks at the always-full Blissful Guesthouse.


Blissful Guesthouse is aptly named. The second western-run establishment to hit Kampot, it opened in 2004 under the direction of three business partners. Angela, a kind-hearted but hard-driving businesswoman from Denmark, found satisfaction in creating a beautiful place and making an effort to benefit the community around her. Ezza, his shaggy hair and weathered face belying his youthful strength and energy, had adapted well to life in Kampot and made the most of each day. Back before the roads were paved in the province, Ezza was the messenger between three cities. The muddy mountain trails could hardly pass as roads. An experienced dirt bike enthusiast, Ezza's job was essentially an extreme sports junkie's dream. He had over 100 kilometers of exciting terrain to cover in as little time as possible. Forever young, Ezza is. I never really got to know Jerome, but I'm sure he had his qualities, too. In addition to these three, the lovely Khmer staff, and the incredibly talented kitchen crew, Blissful employed the services of two amazing dogs. Fat Boy and Rebel (a Disney style love story as they were reunited by fate after four years separation) were a perfect pair. Fat Boy knew city life and only acted tough if he had to. Rebel, having done her time surviving the streets of Sihanoukville, had a keen, quiet strength. Dogs rule at night in Kampot as every house has at least one, if not four. The civilized ones stay within their environs while others unite under the stars to form vicious packs. Turf wars are frequent and brutal. Fat Boy and Rebel ran a tight ship. It was always a pleasure to return to the guesthouse to find them keeping watch.


The guesthouse itself is a two story affair with a restaurant/bar/social area on the first floor. The grounds boast three covered gazebos with hammocks, tables, and chairs, surrounded by lush greenery. Gravel paths meander beneath tunnels of flowering vines and fairy lights. It is a small property, but Angela and her crew put a great deal of thought and effort into making it a serene paradise. When I first arrived at Blissful, I learned that the guesthouse was doubling as a pepper processing facility for the trio's second business venture: reviving the market for Kampot's once-famous pepper. Angela had spearheaded the creation of a 70-farm organic pepper cooperative, providing farmers with irrigation and other production capital. This year marked the first harvest with a projected final production of six tones. All of this took place above the restaurant and adjacent the guesthouse rooms. I would step out of my room every day to the smiling eyes of ten Khmer women wearing gloves and face masks sorting through tray after tray of pepper with tweezers. I got involved in the action on two occasions, hauling sacks of unsorted pepper and boxes of vacuum-sealed two kilograms bags between storage and the guesthouse.

This wasn't the only time I offered my labor to Angela and Ezza. The rains came early to the coast of Cambodia, and they came in full force. At the worst point, the back of Blissful Guesthouse had waves lapping against the foundation. To relieve this flooding, a trench had to be dug from the back about 30 yards to the front to connect with the sewer system. I had free time and a desire to get my hands into some real labor, so I offered to help. Much to the amazement of Angela and Ezza, I happily swung my pickax through mud, root, and rock for the better part of an afternoon. At the end of the day, my muscles were sore, I was exhausted, but I felt great. In return, my accommodation was free for my entire stay.

I mentioned in the previous post that my first few days in Kampot were spent on a tropical island. Fact: Tonsay (or Rabbit) Island was the most remote island scene I have enjoyed on this trip. Home to only a few scattered bungalows run by families who seem to view tourists as a lucrative novelty, this island cuts power at 9pm. This little getaway was shared with Jessica, one of the Australians I had met during that memorable night in Phnom Phen with the Brotherhood of Cheap Watches. She and her group made the trip down to Kampot and Rabbit Island, influenced to some degree by my positive review of each. Jessica and I found Rabbit Island the perfect place to while away two days reading, sunbathing, and hammock swinging. Unexpectedly one night, we found ourselves in the company of a Khmer Christian group. They were the most gracious hosts, insisting that we dive into heaps of fresh grilled crab, prawns, and squid. Which we did happily. Rabbit Island continued to amaze us with its sunsets and incredible storms. Situated on the windward side of the island, the full brunt of each night's thunderstorm shook the thatch-roofed bungalow. I found myself drawn to such natural power and spent nearly half an hour just standing in awe. Our departure from Rabbit Island was comically delayed as we had to wait for the incoming tide to release our boat from the shore. We grew impatient, and with the help of Tegan (one of Jessica's Aussie friends) and a Frenchman named Luc, we pushed our vessel to deeper water and took off.

Back in Kampot, Jessica, Tegan, and I spent a few more days enjoying the small town charm. On a whim, we accepted a tour guide's offer to take us on a hike to a waterfall. Together with Tikor the Guide, and two Danish girls, the Aussies and I spent several hours on a moderately vigorous hike through banana plantations and jungle. We were rewarded with the sighting of a green tree snake and a swim at a remote waterfall with a great jumping cliff. We learned later that Tikor had taken us along a hidden path to avoid the fees imposed by a corrupt Khmer businessman who gated off the access road and added a tollbooth. The highlight of the hike for me was a lesson from Tikor on the harvesting of bananas. Using nothing more than a pocket knife, I felled a stalk of a banana tree five inches in diameter and cut free a 45 pound bunch of green bananas. This was all quite fun as I hefted my harvest to my shoulder and marched back to the group. It wasn't as much fun an hour later once I had hiked about two miles down the slippery steep jungle path. The villagers at the base of the trail were wildly amused at the sight of an exhausted, sweaty, shirtless white guy with a beard hiking out of the jungle with a big bunch of bananas. We all had a laugh over some rice and veggies and shots of home brew rice wine. Jessica and Tegan just thought I was crazy.

Once Jessica and Tegan moved on to bigger and better beaches in the west, I gave my full attention to Epic Arts Cafe and the Sugar Palm Project. Joint operations run by Katie and Hallam Goad, respectively, these were my contacts for volunteering. Epic Arts Cafe is a community center for the deaf and disabled of Kampot. It's also the home of the best carrot cake in SE Asia. Really. Each time I visited the cafe, for work or a delicious meal and carrot cake, it was bustling with activity. Katie Goad and her assistants taught dance routines to the disabled in the upstairs room. On several occasions, the thunder of dance steps and wheelchairs held its own against the thunder from the clouds above. I felt privileged to be surrounded by such happy, delightful people. They enthusiastically taught me a little bit of Khmer sign language, which I enthusiastically practiced. In their company I also learned how to make a sock puppet...well..kind of. (It starting falling apart a month later in Vietnam and now resides atop a hotel roof in Danang. I couldn't just throw it away, so I made it the guardian of Danang).

My primary goal with Epic Arts Cafe was to renovate the walls and give the place a sprucing up. The marigold paint was peeling badly from what I soon determined to be salt efflorescence. The sand used in the mortar was dredged from a nearby estuary (yeah, ecological disaster as well) and thus entrained with salt. This salt causes water to bleed from the mortar, destroying the paint in its path. I wanted to fix this. I soon learned it couldn't be fixed without tearing down the entire wall and replacing it with clean materials (a near impossibility in Kampot on a small budget). A french couple had already initiated the application of a coat of cream colored paint. Applying the second coat, it soon looked worse than when we started.

I learned from discussions with business owners across Kampot that adaptation is essential. "If you can't fix it, learn to work with it," seems to be how ex-pats live in Cambodia. Ideas were tossed around during impromptu meetings over carrot cake and coffee. It was soon decided that hanging dark, solid color tapestry would cover the blemished walls while providing adequate ventilation. This phase would have to be completed after my departure, but the ball was rolling. Discussing the project outcomes with Hallam and Katie, I was surprised to hear how pleased they were at what had been accomplished. Apparently, when one lives in a place like Kampot it is easy to let tasks stagnate. According to the two, I had infused more people than I knew with new energy and a fresh perspective.

With the Sugar Palm Project, my first assignment was to promote and assist with the Football 4 Peace (soccer) Tournament. This was a great job. All I had to do was run around town talking with locals and handing out fliers announcing the tournament and reminding them the government doesn't have the right to confiscate their property. Once my bananas from the mountain had ripened, I handed those out, too. Kampot is a small town, and after a while I got the impression I'd made myself known more than I was aware. I guess the place doesn't get many talkative bearded white guys running around for a month at time. Anyway, the football tourney was a joy. It took place on a grey, rainy Friday and saw eight teams of 10 battle out 10-minutes games on a concrete court. Hallam had provided each team with brightly colored t-shirts, creating a mishmash rainbow against a concrete grey day. The kids were enthusiastic and noisy till the end and then dispersed into town sporting their t-shirts with the message "Stop Unfair Housing Evictions." It's a hard reality of Cambodia that the government is crooked and the poor suffer greatly as a result.

Also in an effort to help the poor, Hallam spearheaded a project to fund the replacement of a dilapidated village house. Little more than thatch over a raised platform, it was easily demolished with the assistance of a traveling philanthropic group. The village was then provided the funds for new materials and project completion was expected to take a mere three days. All of the work was carried out with hand saws, hammers, and other basics tools. The project manager only had one leg. Throughout it all, a little boy of 3 or 4 ran around naked with a bicycle tire. I liked that village.

To avoid loafing, I helped teach English at the Chum Kreal school for a week. Chum Kreal means "heron rookery" and is appropriately situated adjacent tall trees laden with active heron nests. The site is also shared by a temple and prior to each class a number of saffron-robed monks would make their way through the trees seeking to improve their English. From 5pm-7pm each night, I would give lessons on the four seasons, the verb "to be," the benefits of environmental consciousness (this had to be approached lightly as it was beyond most), and an assortment of vocabulary and pronunciations. The students ranged in age from 12 to 25 and varied even more in their language abilities. The experience was at once rewarding and discouraging. I could see the massive gap in ability that was not being addressed by the resident teacher. As respected as he was, he had a difficult time getting through to every student. The most important lesson I repeated, and I learned to say it in Khmer, was to "practice a little every day." They are the generation that can carry out the revolution. I pray they do.

Overall, my experience in Kampot was more enjoyable than I could have expected. I met many interesting and inspirational people. I learned the benefits and risks of being an ex-pat. I can safely say, it's not a life for me! Great places to visit or live for a while...but unless one is on the run, it's best to set a return date. It should be noted that, while in Kampot, I rescheduled my own return date four months after the original. I picked September 17th because it makes exactly nine months and puts me back in time for election fever.