Wednesday 12 August 2015

Day 290: Up the rainy river

At 7am we got a tuk-tuk to the bus station, where I ran around frantically looking for some snacks for the journey, eventually returning with a nice selection of fruit and some Oreos. Then we hopped on the bus, where we were joined by several Buddhist monks. When the bus reached the outskirts of Phnom Penh, we stopped at a big bakery where we bought some surprisingly good rolls. Our next stop was in a pretty rudimentary restaurant, where we joined a queue of people waiting in the light rain to use the row of squat toilets out the back. Each came with a cistern of water and a bucket, which were used to flush. While we were hanging around back out front, I started chatting to a French guy, Jon, who I discovered was also going to the village of Chi Phat.

Back on the road, the bus eventually stopped beside a cluster of simple shops on the edge of a bridge and dropped us off. As the bus drove away, a man approached us with a sign for a Laura Atkinson. When we indicated that none of us was Laura, he walked away, leaving us wondering where we were meant to go to catch the boat to Chi Phat. With a light rain still falling, we started to cross the bridge, but then the guy with the sign pointed us towards a hut down by the water so we all trooped down there, passing a collection of livestock sheltering under the bridge. When we reached the hut a woman indicated that we should put down our bags and sit around a table at which some children were incongruously playing on a smart phone. Among the hut's simple furnishings I couldn't help noticing a rather large and sophisticated stereo and was glad that I wouldn't be around when they decided to crank it up. 



After a while a guy arrived and indicated that we should climb into the little wooden boat moored down on the river and we were soon on our way. By now the rain had stopped, but it was only a brief respite, and when it came back, it did so with a vengeance. Although the boat had a small covered area, it only covered a small area. The driver had furnished us with a plastic poncho each, so we broke these out and I also opened up one of our umbrellas. A little bit further on, the boat's engine suddenly stopped and the boat began to drift into the mangroves that lined the bank. A cloud of mosquitoes instantly descended on us and we frantically searched for the repellent. When I turned to see what was going on at the back of the boat, I saw the driver bashing away at a spark plug, which didn't exactly inspire me with confidence, but miraculously, whatever he did worked and before too long we were on our way again. 







While the journey was pretty miserable, the scenery was attractive – stilt-rooted mangroves on the river's margins rising to jungle-clad, mist-draped hills. On the water we passed a collection of dredgers – big barges bearing a little shack and a big crane. Some of them were at work, dropping a large clam-shell bucket down to the riverbed and then straining to bring it back up again bearing a load of sand and pebbles, which they then deposited in a big dripping pile on the barge. We also passed a strange little shrine set on a rock in the middle of the river. 









A bit more than two hours after we set off, with the rain still falling and our posteriors completely numb, we finally made it to our destination – a small wooden pier attached to a small wooden building. Sadly, but not unexpectedly, there wasn't anyone there to meet us, nor any obvious signs telling us where to go next. We set off in what looked like the most sensible direction and I spotted something saying that the visitors centre was 230 metres up the road on the right. The walk took us up a muddy road through a pretty basic village – wooden shacks, very simple shops and a few 'restaurants' and finally to the large open-plan visitor centre.

I should probably explain that the village of Chi Phat is the centre of what's known as a CBET (community-based ecotourism) project. The village used to be a hub for wildlife poaching and a US conservation NGO, the Wildlife Alliance, came in and set up the project to try to offer the locals an alternative income that relied on keeping the animals alive, rather than killing them. So villagers can sign up to offer accommodation or act as guides or cooks or drivers. And of course the influx of tourists brings money in to the other local businesses, such as shops and restaurants.

When we arrived, we were greeted by a young woman in pyjamas (more of which later), who handed us a book with the various accommodation options available to us – a range of homestays, guest houses and bungalows. Kate asked whether there was a bungalow that slept four, the woman made a call and Zoe and I were soon climbing on the back of a scooter and on our way. What hadn't been explained to us was that the bungalows were two kilometres from the centre of the village, and I watched with mounting concern and ire as we drove further and further away – tinged with fear as the dirt road/track that we were following was wet and slippery and I had a heavy backpack on my back.

The bungalow proved to be very basic – thatched roof and walls, two double beds, a fan and mosquito nets, and a little en suite with (cold) shower, sink (not plumbed in, so when you used it, the soapy water just dripped onto your feet) and toilet. As we settled in, the rain also settled in, so we spent some time sitting out on our little verandah chatting to Brits Laura and Sam (Atkinson – of the sign we had seen earlier) in the bungalow opposite ours. They had just finished a four-year stint living in Hong Kong and were doing one last big Southeast Asian holiday before moving to their next home (possibly in New York).

When we got out to the bungalows, we discovered that they offered meals, but we had already put an order in for dinner at the visitor centre, so the owners (grudgingly) drove us back into the village on the bike. There we had a pretty basic buffet meal (enlivened by the discovery of a big Tokay gecko on the ceiling). While we waited for our (even more grudging) ride back to the bungalows, I decided to give Sarah a lesson in triangulation. We both crouched down near where I heard a frog calling and then pointed to where we thought the sound was coming from. And sure enough, when I started to search the point where our trajectories crossed, a little frog hopped away (too quickly for me to catch it).

The recent rain had brought out the frogs all over the area, and I could hear several species calling from a spot out the back of the bungalows. So, as Kate and the girls climbed into bed, I grabbed my torch and camera and headed down to see what I could find. What I found was a swampy thicket too thick to move through with any ease. What I didn't find were any frogs, apart from one small brown tree frog. As happens to me all too often, my attempts to get closer to the sounds of the frogs calling led to my getting increasingly disoriented until I wasn't quite sure which way would lead me back out of the thicket. Soon enough I was near enough to completely lost, which was when I noticed how weak the light from my torch had become. Newly galvanised by the realisation that I would very soon be lost in a swamp in the pitch dark, I consulted my inner GPS one last time and set off in as near as possible to a straight line in the direction that it indicated – and was very soon out of the swamp and on my way back to the bungalow and my (relatively) dry bed (just in time for the fan to stop – electricity in the village is limited to 5-9am and 5-11pm).

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