Battambang is a charming city where the French influence can be clearly seen in the architecture. It is also the center of Cambodia's up and coming contemporary art scene. There is also a vibrant central market where you can purchase anything you could imagine -and a few forms of aquatic life that you probably couldn't, a wide river walk, a small museum and any number of nice restaurants serving local and Western delicacies. Battambang is lovely and well worth spending a day in, but honestly when the Mercury is hovering at over 90f and you forgot that it was Sunday when a lot of things are closed, some of the charms wear a little thin. It starts to look like any other hot crowded city then. I had also spent at least an hour trying to find where I dropped my hat. That hat had sheltered my eyes from the sun across three continents. It had been soaked with rain, sweat been dappled with paint and worn until the brim was shapeless and the sweatband worn to a tattered ribbon. I liked that hat. I was a bit annoyed to have lost it beyond recovery. I managed to by a slightly better new version ten minutes later for three dollars.
After a day of wandering around Battambang, taking in the museum, and having some very nice food, I returned to my hotel. I had mentioned wanting to catch the river ferry from Battambang to Siem Reap in passing after breakfast. The desk attendant told me while handing my now clean laundry back, that she had already taken the liberty of booking my passage. There was merely the inconvenient matter of paying for it, for which she apologized for burdening me. I gladly paid for and received my ticket, a note scrawled upon hotel receipt paper.
As soon as I heard about the river ferry, I knew I wanted to take it. While slower than the buses, it promised to be a much more relaxing and comfortable method of transport. The thought of drifting dreamily upriver watching the scenery glide by on my way to Siem Reap proved as alluring to me as taking the train from Phnom Penh to Kampot. Sometimes if you're lucky the journey can be the experience.
The next morning my tuk tuk dropped me off in front of the ferry station: a corrugated steel booth containing a sleeping man in a hammock (I would like to take a moment to mention, if I haven't already, the Cambodian love of and absolute genius with hammocks. If there is a way to hang a hammock someplace, they will do it. Half the tuk tuk drivers have one suspended in their vehicle. Any culture where lounging in hammocks is so ubiquitous is a culture that is doing something right!). Scattered around the front was a handful of other backpackers in broken plastic chairs. We all assured one another that a shuttle would collect us shortly and take us to where the river was deep enough for the boat. Having established this I brought some over sweet coffee, water and two baguettes to sustain myself.
It is truly stunning how many situations I've been in where I'm essentially dropped in a field in the middle of nowhere and told that the driver will show up in half an hour. Perhaps even more stunning is the fact that without fail, he does. This either speaks really well of people's basic honesty or is a damming indictment of the lack of innovation and creativity on the part of the world's murderers.
The weathered pickup truck appeared as promised and we were loaded into the back with all our attendant luggage. There were some railings behind the ersatz benches to hold onto. I gripped mine and it gave a reassuring little wiggle. It isn't a proper adventure unless at one point you find yourself thinking for a moment " So this is it. This is how I die".
A short and shaky ride delivered us to a red and white fiberglass hulled boat. Our heavy bags were squirreled away on the roof while our "carry on" and ourselves slotted into benches along the sides. Everything in place, the engine shuddered to life and we were chugging along our way.
Ten minutes in, it became apparent that I made the exact right decision. I could stretch out my legs without impeding my fellow passengers, my luggage was stowed unobtrusively and my bird guide and binoculars were on my lap, ready for action. Along the banks, Cambodia unfolded.
To really see the living heart of Cambodia, to glimpse its soul, I think you must travel by river. Water shapes the land. Even now, during the dry season when the banks can tower six feet over the gunwales, the river is the arteries of the country. Commerce, agriculture and movement are all governed by the moods, currents and levels of the water. Every house or farmstead we pass has at least one slender boat tied to the dock, everything from sleek candy colored longtail craft to ancient wooden vessels that seem to be kept afloat by sheer willpower. The river is a highway where houseboats, fishing gondolas, ferries and boats loaded to the tipping point with merchandise and crops jostle each other with their wake. The Cambodians are unquestionably a river people, which accounts for their seemingly bottomless patience.
Sharing the boat with us was a few local women , one of whom was chaperoned by her adorable five year old granddaughter. As neither of us spoke the other's language, the early exchanges between the kid and myself were confined to making weird faces at each other. Before too long she became interested in my bird guide. I pointed at a nearby pond heron and then showed her the corresponding illustration. Before long we were wordlessly comparing notes about egrets, bee eaters and kingfishers by flipping pages and pointing. The child showed a real gift and enthusiasm for the subject, several times spotting a cormorant or term that I would have otherwise missed. She also had a real eye for detail and could pick out species diagnostic traits with reasonable accuracy. A real highlight was sighting a troop of at least twenty silvered langurs that had come down to the river to drink. My protege was delighted with the monkeys, especially after noticing that the mammal guide portrayed this species holding an infant. She kept pointing at it and miming a cradling motion with a huge missing tooth grin. I was sorry to see my new playmate disembark several hours later in a floating village. Given a few years and a little encouragement, this girl could become quite a gifted naturalist.
As we ventured north, the banks became wider and we found ourselves seeing less stilt houses as fish traps, floating net cranes and lotus farms became more frequent. Before long our ferry was navigating the floating villages a collection of self sufficient houses each built on a buoyant platform. Some of these looked quite spacious and comfortable. There were shops, restaurants, and even schools and temples on the nearby shore. Anything you could want from a normal village with the added advantage that if you were tired of your neighbor, all you needed to fix the problem is a tow rope and a boat with a powerful enough engine. As the Tonle Sap river gradually became Tonle Sap lake, these communities grew more expansive and elaborate.
After a day of wandering around Battambang, taking in the museum, and having some very nice food, I returned to my hotel. I had mentioned wanting to catch the river ferry from Battambang to Siem Reap in passing after breakfast. The desk attendant told me while handing my now clean laundry back, that she had already taken the liberty of booking my passage. There was merely the inconvenient matter of paying for it, for which she apologized for burdening me. I gladly paid for and received my ticket, a note scrawled upon hotel receipt paper.
As soon as I heard about the river ferry, I knew I wanted to take it. While slower than the buses, it promised to be a much more relaxing and comfortable method of transport. The thought of drifting dreamily upriver watching the scenery glide by on my way to Siem Reap proved as alluring to me as taking the train from Phnom Penh to Kampot. Sometimes if you're lucky the journey can be the experience.
The next morning my tuk tuk dropped me off in front of the ferry station: a corrugated steel booth containing a sleeping man in a hammock (I would like to take a moment to mention, if I haven't already, the Cambodian love of and absolute genius with hammocks. If there is a way to hang a hammock someplace, they will do it. Half the tuk tuk drivers have one suspended in their vehicle. Any culture where lounging in hammocks is so ubiquitous is a culture that is doing something right!). Scattered around the front was a handful of other backpackers in broken plastic chairs. We all assured one another that a shuttle would collect us shortly and take us to where the river was deep enough for the boat. Having established this I brought some over sweet coffee, water and two baguettes to sustain myself.
It is truly stunning how many situations I've been in where I'm essentially dropped in a field in the middle of nowhere and told that the driver will show up in half an hour. Perhaps even more stunning is the fact that without fail, he does. This either speaks really well of people's basic honesty or is a damming indictment of the lack of innovation and creativity on the part of the world's murderers.
The weathered pickup truck appeared as promised and we were loaded into the back with all our attendant luggage. There were some railings behind the ersatz benches to hold onto. I gripped mine and it gave a reassuring little wiggle. It isn't a proper adventure unless at one point you find yourself thinking for a moment " So this is it. This is how I die".
A short and shaky ride delivered us to a red and white fiberglass hulled boat. Our heavy bags were squirreled away on the roof while our "carry on" and ourselves slotted into benches along the sides. Everything in place, the engine shuddered to life and we were chugging along our way.
Ten minutes in, it became apparent that I made the exact right decision. I could stretch out my legs without impeding my fellow passengers, my luggage was stowed unobtrusively and my bird guide and binoculars were on my lap, ready for action. Along the banks, Cambodia unfolded.
To really see the living heart of Cambodia, to glimpse its soul, I think you must travel by river. Water shapes the land. Even now, during the dry season when the banks can tower six feet over the gunwales, the river is the arteries of the country. Commerce, agriculture and movement are all governed by the moods, currents and levels of the water. Every house or farmstead we pass has at least one slender boat tied to the dock, everything from sleek candy colored longtail craft to ancient wooden vessels that seem to be kept afloat by sheer willpower. The river is a highway where houseboats, fishing gondolas, ferries and boats loaded to the tipping point with merchandise and crops jostle each other with their wake. The Cambodians are unquestionably a river people, which accounts for their seemingly bottomless patience.
Sharing the boat with us was a few local women , one of whom was chaperoned by her adorable five year old granddaughter. As neither of us spoke the other's language, the early exchanges between the kid and myself were confined to making weird faces at each other. Before too long she became interested in my bird guide. I pointed at a nearby pond heron and then showed her the corresponding illustration. Before long we were wordlessly comparing notes about egrets, bee eaters and kingfishers by flipping pages and pointing. The child showed a real gift and enthusiasm for the subject, several times spotting a cormorant or term that I would have otherwise missed. She also had a real eye for detail and could pick out species diagnostic traits with reasonable accuracy. A real highlight was sighting a troop of at least twenty silvered langurs that had come down to the river to drink. My protege was delighted with the monkeys, especially after noticing that the mammal guide portrayed this species holding an infant. She kept pointing at it and miming a cradling motion with a huge missing tooth grin. I was sorry to see my new playmate disembark several hours later in a floating village. Given a few years and a little encouragement, this girl could become quite a gifted naturalist.
As we passed into the borders of Preak Toal Bird Sanctuary, the houses fell away and there was nothing but green water plants and open water. Scanning the flora with my binoculars rewarded me with a quick peek at some Painted Storks. Before too long, even this bit of shoreline vanished in the distance and we were speeding along the open water towards the still invisible land on the horizon that concealed the harbor to Siem Reap.
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