Bamboo, bats, and bonuses

Admittedly, I did not play as big of a part in planning this trip as I should have.  However, due to an article I read, I insisted that we add Battambang to our Cambodian itinerary.  A bamboo train and a bat cave - my curiousity was piqued. It was another one of those once-in-a-lifetime things that I wanted to experience; the train was to dismantled the following year and the only bat cave I'd visited in my entire life to date was the strobelight-ridden one at the ROM.

It was SO on.

A three hour bus ride into Battambang from Siem Reap gave us a little bonus sleep before we awoke to disembark to be swarmed by tuk-tuk drivers scrambling for our attention.  We found one to walk to us our hotel (it was THAT close to the bust station), dropped our luggage, an took off for our adventure.

Included with our agreed upon tour with Rich (our tuk-tuk driver) was a stop at a crocodile farm.  Having not anticipated visiting such a site, we had no idea what to expect.  The signs directing the way were hilariously homemade (I wish I'd gotten a picture) and the gate we arrived at was the entrance to someone's personal abode and backyard.  Having been let in, we paid our $1 admission fee and were pointed up some concrete steps.  With all that we had encountered so far, we prepared ourselves to be disappointed. We were not.

The top of the stairs brought us to look down into massive concrete pens - there were four in total - each with a pool and each holding HUNDREDS of crocodiles.

Basking in the sun, the beasts were everywhere, some lying on top of others, some submerged, some climbing over others to get to another spot.  Catching us by surprise, we were momentarily rendered speechless.  Other than snapping photos and scratching our heads in wonder, there was little else to do at the farm so after we'd had our fill, it was back to the tuk-tuk and off to the bamboo train.

With the bits and pieces we'd collected about the train ride, we'd prepared ourselves to barter with locals to catch a ride, but when we arrived, we were greeted by an officer of the tourist police.  After affirming our intention to ride the rickety platform, he explained the procedure to us.

   "$5 per person to ride the train.  14 km ride to the next station. You get off and visit village and shopping and brick factory.  Then you ride with some driver and come back."

Sounded simple enough.  $5 each and off we went.

Perched atop a man-made platform of bamboo slats and nails with a couple of rattan mats to soften the seats (and no railing whatsoever save for a footrest), we flew down the tracks at probably 40 km/h, propelled by what looked to be a lawnmower engine controlled by a wooden stick acting as our throttle.  It was exhilarating; it was half of my whole reason for coming to Battambang.

The village we arrived at was nothing to write home about - the shopping was of the handicraft sort we'd been confronted with countless times by then, and the brick factory appeared to be on an extended lunch break.  The best attraction we found at that end of the line were the kids.

Five or six of them, aged four to seven, were scrambling over a bamboo train platform, pushing and pulling it a few metres in  either direction on the tracks.  Giggling endlessly over their own jokes, sometimes apparent, sometimes completely lost in translation, they were adorable to watch.  One boy had pants too small for him so that they gave him perpetual plumber's butt, while another little boy had no pants on at all.  And not a single one of them wore shoes.

After they'd had their fun and we'd had our fill, we prepared to take off back the way we'd come. Aboard our trusty platform, I watched our conductor wind a worn bit of twine around our lawn-mower engine to give it a roaring pull-start.  It started on the second try and once again, we were flying along the teeth-jarring tracks.

Rich took us to a temple by the bat caves which we dutifully explored until dusk when we raced over to see my second main event.  The bats were already flying by the time we pulled up.  I practically threw myself out of the vehicle in order not to miss it.  It wasn't until I was standing firmly on the road, agape at the amazing spectacle, that I learned that the bats numbered in the millions and took up to an hour to completely exit the cave.

Watching the living stream of bats pour out of the cave in order to first swoop left and then flow off into the night was surreal.  I'd never before thought I'd get to witness such a feat, but there I was and there they were.

I was awestruck.

The ribbon of bats was mesmerizing to watch.  The way they streamed after each other, the way they flowed as a group in sync with the other thousands around them, the way that a loud clap or a blaring horn would disrupt their line, momentarily spreading them out like a visual sound wave before they regrouped and fell back into tight formation again, never once losing each other or the direction of their own traffic.  The other half of my Battambang pilgrimage was complete; I'd seen the bats.  Malcolm and I high-fived and it was time to make our way back to the hotel and on to the next adventure.