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.

Beware Battambang

We're in Battambang, the second largest city of Cambodia, but still a very sleepy city--pretty much everything is closed up and done by 10pm.  We were looking to get a late-ish dinner at 8pm and walked down to our concierge to inquire about whether there'd be anything to eat at the night-market we'd heard about.  A nearby (and eavesdropping) tuk-tuk driver confirmed to us that there was and asked if we'd like a ride.  The market was about 2 kilometres away and at the price he offered us, we declined the ride.  Upon hearing our answer, the tuk-tuk driver frowned.

  "Are you sure?  You don't want to run into any trouble on the streets...there might be gangsters."

We looked at each other...and still decided to walk.  We had to hang around the concierge a little longer before leaving as we were making travel preparations for the next day and every time I mentioned something about gangsters, the clerk giggled to himself.  Needless to say, we didn't run into any trouble.  We didn't even get lost, not to mention running into any gangsters.

Dawning on a dream

Like the sleepy child not yet ready to face the day, I yawned into the darkness, shifted my weight on my stone seat, and nuzzled my cheek onto Malcolm's shoulder.  It was barely 5am.  We could hear others shuffling around nearby, out doing the same thing we were doing in the same hushed tones as everyone else.

Once every few minutes, the darkness would be abruptly sliced through by a camera flash or someone checking their time on their phone or using a flashlight.  If I thought it grew imperceptibly lighter, I would occasionally take out my good-in-low-light camera and snap a flashless photo of the darkness.  At least the first five of these shots came out completely black.  But as time dragged on the faintest of shadows began to appear.  Details started materializing n the blind shots I was taking; a palm tree, a wall, a tower.

As the sky grew lighter and lighter, everyone - including me - began to stir and an atmosphere of excitement began to bubble.  Cameras were alive capturing the stupas, reflecting ponds, the libraries and the walkways that the morning twilight was slowing uncovering.  Fifty photos later we were ushered to a new vantage point - it was choked with other tourists eager for that picture perfect memory, but it was because this was the spot to be.

In the moments we waited, we were warmed and jostled to the point where we wondered if this was all worth it--but then, it happened.  The blazing red sun finally broke the horizon and illuminated all of Angkor Wat in all of its timeless splendor.  Cameras went crazy.  But after grabbing a few of those once-in-a-lifetime shots, I stopped to put the camera down and fully savour the moment that.  That moment that I'd always told myself I'd experience was finally upon me and it was breathtaking.  

Bugger

Travelling South East Asia, there was a lot of worry about medications and illness. One of the main concerns was regarding Malaria.  I was really on the fence about taking anti-Malaria pills before and while I was away.  I'd heard horror stories of the side-effects and the price alone served as a fair deterrent itself.  In the end, I decided against it and told myself I'd just be very wary of mosquitoes.

Arriving in Malaysia, my guard was heightened even more by reports of Dengue fever occurring not even just  close to home, but at home.  I became a ninja assassin just to be able to calm my own fears of getting bitten and falling sick to something those insects were carrying.  As our trip carried on, it seemed as though my vigilance was having a positive effect.  Bites were few or non-existent.  I was in perfect health, even while Malcolm came down with a mild fever in transit between cities.  My well-being stayed strong all the way through to our last country - Cambodia.

And then.

Cycling home after dusk from the Angkor Wat temple complex, we could feel the bugs out in full force.  I'd sprayed myself with repellent already and as long as we kept up the pace, the bugs had a better chance of ricocheting off our moving bodies than actually landing a bite.  In fact, we were riding along fast enough that the comment was made that we should exercise a different sort of diligence:

     "Make sure you keep your mouth closed - you don't want to swallow a bug!"

Point taken - I kept my mouth closed...so of course a damned mosquito few up my nostril.

Horrified, I snorted that thing out so fast I'm sure I blew its wings off.  Keeping control of my bike with one hand, I dug out any possible remains with the other.  For the rest of the night, my sinuses took extra precautionary measures and my nose started to run and wouldn't stop (not that I blamed my sinuses - it'd be a total violation of their sanctity and I would have done the same) for fear of anything else getting up there a second time.  But the next morning, my sinuses had reacted so strongly that my nose was still clogged (with snot) and my throat was achingly sore.

All day I was a poster child for congestion, toting a pack of Kleenex through the temples with me, every pocket full of used tissues, pausing every few steps to blow my nose honkingly loud.

The next day my nose had stopped leaking, but now my snot was so thick I clogged my ears each time I attempted to blow it out.  "Excuse me" was insufficient as an apology to anyone who had to hear my brains come out through my nostrils.

It wasn't until the whirlwind part of our trip was over that my nose cleared up and my ears became unblocked and I could breathe again like a functional human being.  And all that time I'd been protecting myself against the danger of mosquito bites.

Getting closer...

Reminiscent of the days of university yore, Malcolm, dimps and I pounded out the details of the Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia leg of our trip together. Caffeine, munchies, books, paper and wifi took up the table as we virtually and literally explored the countries that awaited us. We added a few locales to our trip, (regretfully) nixed a few, and got pumped up for the rest.

Temples, Bat Cave, and Abandoned Pepsi Factory, here we come!

And the countdown ticks away...

As the clock rang midnight, "our trip countdown days just hit less than double-digits!" Malcolm so dutifully pointed out.

Oh gawd.

I haven't made it through half of these yet.