Cambodia: Battambang (September 2014)

In my Lonely Planet guidebook, I had read that Battambang, a city a few hours southwest of Siem Reap, had some sort of inexplicable charm, and that travelers should make an effort to stop over (I paraphrased there). In the bus terminal in Siem Reap, I sat down next to another foreigner.  Being that there were several buses in the terminal and that the time for my bus’ departure was quickly approaching, I turned to my fellow backpacker and asked, “Do you know which bus is going to Battambang?”  He said, “I don’t know, but I’m taking the same one.”  I said, “OK, I’ll go ask.”  After getting the customary SE Asian response (the word “wait” usually accompanied by a palm (or even two!)) indicating that I should not be so hasty, I relayed the message to my new friend. He responded resignedly but firmly, “That’s what I thought they would say…”.  From his accent, and his apparent frustration with the lack of punctuality with transportation in SE Asia, I ascertained that he was more than likely German (he was).

As a result of having assigned seats, we didn’t sit next to each other on the bus (which only left the terminal 10 minutes late).  However, after an uneventful bus ride, we were greeted by a pack of wolves---no, not those kind of wolves!  A group of about 20 men all but pounced on us as we exited the bus, all asking us if we had accommodation and trying to get us to come to their hotel, guesthouse, or hostel. We cowered as only defenseless prey can. I had reserved a hostel, and even though I had not asked for a pickup, a representative of my hostel was inexplicably waiting there (more on this character later).  As I got in his tuk tuk, my German friend came up to us and asked how much I was paying per night for the hostel.  After I told him how cheap it was, he hopped in the tuk tuk with me.

After arriving at the hostel and getting everything sorted, we decided to walk around the town and get some food. 

We could tell almost right off the bat that this town lacked charm.  Comparing Battambang with the other Cambodian river town I would visit (more on Kampot later) is like comparing a cardboard box to a vase of flowers. 

My German friend and I walked around town for a little bit, looking for a bite to eat. Afterwards, we went back to the hostel and just drank…a lot.  It proved to be an interesting night as well.

At some point before we had left for dinner, a few “thugged out” (I’m sure there is a better way to say this) Cambodian Americans waltzed in and started ordering almost nothing but high-end gin and tonics. After we came back from dinner, they were all pretty blitzed. I guess their story was that they had been living in LA, but got in trouble with the law via some gang-related activity, and were deported.

It was strange to see how disconnected they were from Cambodian culture. In Cambodia, especially in Battambang for some reason, it’s pretty common to see BBQ rat. But these Cambodian American dudes thought it was disgusting. One of them kept on saying, “It’s not f*cking chicken, maaan!”

A little later in the night, a middle-aged gentleman showed up. It turns out that this guy had worked with Cambodian Americans in California (I think it was actually in LA, too, but I can’t 100% remember). Anyway, he knew the American Cambodian dudes. He and the owner of the hostel, who was an exceedingly intelligent - and at this point exceedingly intoxicated - talked about the general situation of many Cambodian Americans. The older gentleman argued that it was the fault of many Cambodian Americans that did not switch their green cards over to visas (or vise versa…can’t quite recall) when they were considered refugees by the United States government. The owner of the hostel was arguing that it was the system that failed a lot of them. Anyway, it ended up being a really interesting night.

The next day, a group of us went on a tour to a spot where they executed people during the Khmer Rouge (it was one of many sites that was used to execute people, as I mentioned in my Phnom Penh post). However, this area now triples as sort of a holy shrine, memorial, and tourist destination. It took a while to climb up, but the view from the top was magnificent. That area in Cambodia is really flat, so we could see seemingly forever. And with the chants coming from the monastery below us, it was truly a moment stuck in time.

Deejay was the tuk tuk driver I mentioned towards the beginning of the post. He was certainly an interesting character. He was the transportation man of the hostel, and he was always smiling and laughing (which could best be described as a barely contained chuckle). His nickname was “The Mad Monk”, because he used to be a monk (many young men in Laos and Cambodia join a monastery for an optional amount of time, and some join permanently). The man even had a business card!  He was definitely one of the people I remember most vividly from my trip.

Hilariously enough, the morning I was supposed to catch my bus to Sihanoukville, Deejay’s tuk tuk broke down, and he had to call ahead to the bus station to ask them to delay it so he could bring me there. It caused me just a bit of anxiety, but ‘ol Deejay eventually pulled through by calling his tuk tuk friend to come take us.