Wanna buy a duck?

Day of a thousand hellos:

On our last day in Battambang, we hired a tuktuk driver for the afternoon. His name was Mr. Salone and he rocked. He took us to several of the highlighted sights in the area: boat mountain, some temple (forget the name), the only winery in the country, the fruit bat forest, and last but not least, the bamboo train. It was a great day, best so far. The sights were mediocre at best and it was impressively hot, but Mr. Salone and the kids along the way more than made up for it. As we cruised from stop to stop, we were greeted at every step of the way by smiling, waving children who simply wanted to say hello. Some yelled it at the top of their lungs as we passed by, while others spoke it at barely a whisper, hardly audible from the tuktuk. We shouted back . . . "Hello!" or "Suas-Dei!" (Cambodian hello) and the kids went ballistic, laughing, jumping, smiling. It was awesome. We say hello to everybody now.

At the end of the day, we cruised to an informal stop on the railway heading out of Battambang towards Phnom Penh for a ride on the "bamboo train". We read about it in the book . . . sounded super touristy, super cheesy, but what the hell. When we got there, an older gentleman and his 7 children greeted us. After settling on the price and distance for the ride, the kids went to work cobbling together the "bamboo train", which consisted of a front and rear axle, a 7' x 10' bamboo platform (same kind they use to thrash rice during harvest), a small gas motor, and a couple of belts and pulleys. After assembly, the father put his whole family up on the platform and invited Megan and I to sit up front . . . best seat in the house. The two oldest sons began to push the back of the platform, much like you start a bobsled, while a younger son got the motor running. 30 seconds later, we were flying down the railroad on this magic carpet, much faster than Megan or I anticipated. It was one of those occasions which husbands, boyfriends, big brothers, etc. have all been in . . . . you are so scared you're concerned for the integrity of your boxer shorts, yet you try to portray this calm, collected air. "We're fine . . . they've done it a million times." We bounced along the tracks at around 30 mph. I looked back and saw that Mr. Salone was still wearing his moto helmet, this was not reassuring. He claimed it was to keep the noise down. I am confident that this was the only lie he told us. Later, we found out that the passenger train that runs this stretch of track does not exceed 15 mph due to certain derailment at 20+ mph. It was an exciting ending to the perfect day.

Palm Sunday:

On Palm Sunday, I got up early and headed down to a bike rental shop near the bus station in Phnom Penh. I picked out a winner and set off for a couple of Cambodia's depressing historical sights . . . the Killing Fields of Chuong Ek and the Tuol Sleng Prison. Alone, I found myself saying the Lord's Prayer at around 8:00 as I strolled between the mass graves of the killing fields. I was looking for company, but nobody was there . . . I turned to God, the first of many times that day. Megan passed on the adventure, opting for a day at the market and swimming pool.

On whole, we really liked Phnom Penh . . . clean, charming, great guesthouses suspended over Green Lake (yes, they call it Green Lake) at the north end of the city.

Wanna buy a duck?:

There's a shooting range about 20 kilometers out of Phnom Penh. I stumbled onto it on my way to the killing fields. I was relying on my perfect sense of direction (no map) when I decided to play the game "go down whatever road the nearest local points to at an unknown intersection" . . . great game. As I pedaled down a dirt road to only God knew where, I was stopped by a friendly gentleman who informed me that I had in fact found my way to the shooting range, which is what the participants in my game must have assumed was my intended destination. You can shoot just about anything there . . . AK-47's, RPG's, tank shells, no joke. I passed on his friendly offer and thanked him for getting me pointed in the right direction. Later, a moto driver at our guesthouse gave us some more detail about the shooting range. Apparently, for $600 US, you can purchase a full grown cow and blow it up with shells from a tank . . . makes perfect sense. Children starving in the street? Spend one and half times the average annual income to blow up a cow. I explained that I was a hunter back in the states and told the guy that I shoot (try to shoot) wild ducks with a shotgun. He immediately countered with "Wanna buy a duck? No problem." No BS . . . ducks were on the menu. They don't fly, but be assured that they are fast and quite difficult to pick off with an AK-47 . . . so we're told.

Back to the beach:

After a couple great days in Battambang and sobering days in Phnom Penh, we headed to Sihanoukville . . . the Cambodian Riviera. Expectations were low as the world's most negative Danish lady filled us in on how awful the beach was . . . loads of terrible people trying to sell you stuff, unbearable. We were pleasantly surprised by what turned out to be a charming little beach town, miles of white sand, and absurdly cheap, disgustingly beautiful candle lit dinners steps away from the Gulf of Thailand (sometimes in the Gulf if a big wave came in). It's been a relaxing few days.

Warbenji:

Our first night in Sihanoukville, Megan and I found a nice little beach front restaurant to enjoy late dinner . . . . As our meals landed on the table, we were pleasantly surprised to see Dutch couple #2 (Cindy and Vouter who we met in Battambang) strolling down the beach in our direction. We spent a majority of our days and nights with them here . . . lots of fun. We chartered a local fishing boat for a day of island hopping, snorkelling, and traditional Cambodian fishing (string tied around a water bottle). I was helpless without my closet full of Shimano and Orvis gear. Cindy and Vouter, who had caught a single fish between the two of them prior to our excursion, put the boots to me, catching about 10 fish to my 2. We really did enjoy their company (lots of cardgames, ruthless teasing of Vouter's Top Gun enjoyment, and intense debate over who has the freshest fruits, veggies, and cheeses back home). Our final night concluded with a friendly challenge . . . a Warbenji ( my version of a Dutch phrase, inside joke) Moustache Growing Contest. Vouter and I are going stache to stache (in a non-gay manner, not that there's anything wrong with it) to see who can cultivate the finest above lip facial hair over the next 3 weeks. I can't remember where this idea came from . . . somewhere between a mojito and a couple of BeerLaos. Anyway, our national pride is on the line, and I intend on winning.

Priceless Art:

Megan and I have procured 14 paintings from the local children, ages 5 to 15, of Sihanoukville. A really creative person started the project in 2005 . . . . $4 per oil on wood painting ($2 to buy supplies, maintain the studio, and feed/provide health care for the kids and $2 straight to the artist). We can't wait to hang our sunsets, geckos, fire twirlers, temples, fish, islands, and mouse on the walls of what we eventually call home in the future. True masterpieces.

From here:

Tomorrow, we head back to Phnom Penh, en route to Kratie up the mighty Mekong River. Our soul purpose in life will be to find a cozy guesthouse with killer air conditioning for tomorrow afternoon/evening. We're hot.

We are loving Cambodia . . . terrific experience.