Battambang

22/03
The bus journey took us five or six hours to Battambang. We had some interesting stops on the way including a tarantula farm; meaning the eatery offered fried tarantulas as a mid-morning snack. We didn't try one.
Battambang is a city that isn't visited very often by the constant flow of tourists through Cambodia. It was a city that was heavily used by the Khmer Rouge, and the surrounding areas were used as prisoner camps. It was the Battambang area that the Phnom Penh evacuees were sent to. The reason behind their choice of province was the fertility of the land. Battambang was and still is a huge farming district.
We were booked into was Battambang was My Homestay. We were collected at the bus station by the guesthouses' tuk-tuk driver. This was a relief as we could avoid the fourteen odd tuk-tuk drivers that were haggling for customers. We spotted the driver straight away. He was a dark skinned Khmer with big round eyes and a huge smile, so he stood out from the other drivers.
We drove away from the city centre and along dirt roads until we reached large gates. We were welcomed by the owner, Mr. Kun. Homestay had ten bungalows, they lined the driveway to his large house that stood at the far end facing the gates. There were sheltered eating areas, bikes available to use, fruit trees and beautiful flowers and it was peaceful there.

We were shown to our room, shown a map of the city and shown the tours that were offered. We agreed to do a full day tour. We would be collected by Happy, who was to be our tuk-tuk driver for the duration of our stay, at 10am. Mr. Kun also arranged for Happy to take us into the city at 19:00 so we could have dinner and walk around the city, he would then come back for us whenever we were ready.
We rested for a while, showered and read up on the sights and highlights of Battambang, including of course the restaurants, cafes and eateries that were recommended. We settled on an Indian that cooked traditional dishes. It also had a sister restaurant in Phnom Penh. The story behind its opening was amusing: four tourists who had been travelling were craving an Indian takeaway so badly that they paid over $200 for a taxi to drive to Phnom Penh to collect them one. Blair was excited to get another thali.
We walked around the central market after our delicious meal. All types of food were being sold, from meats to fish, fresh and dried vegetables and fruit, teas, coffees and nuts.
I noticed more homeless people in Battambang than in other Cambodian cities. They sat under trees and in the dark you couldn't see them until you were literally on top of them, and by then you would have jumped out of your skin at the sight of a pair of eyes staring straight up at you.
When Happy drove us back to our guesthouse, Mr. Kun and his wife were waiting to greet us with a plate of mango freshly picked from their mango trees. We arranged to eat our breakfast at 09:00, we bid them good night and slept well.

We woke up to a glorious morning, it was a clear blue sky and the sun was out in full force. We sat in the shade and our breakfast was brought out to us by Mrs. kun. Breakfast was included in the price and was highly rated by all of the comments on trip advisor. We were promised a traditional Khmer breakfast, and every morning it would be different.
This morning we were served a spiced mince meat wrapped in a savoury pancake and served on a banana leaf. This was served with raw vegetables and a peanut and chilli sauce that was to be poured on as we wished. We were served a pot of fresh green tea. We savoured every bite and I was surprised that I didn't feel too bloated, I was expecting it to be quite a heavy meal.
Happy was ready for us and we left promptly at 10am. We drove away from the city and towards the countryside.

Our first stop was to a temple. Happy drove us into the grounds and we had to pay a small entry fee. He walked us to the bottom of some steep steps that supposedly led up to the temple, although it was hidden from view by trees and vegetation. He waited for us at the bottom while we climbed, resting in a hammock of a small eatery.

It was a long climb up, we stopped a few times to catch our breath and guzzle some water. Once we arrived the top we were positively melting. We climbed through the entrance and walked around the temple grounds, the rocks were engraved with ancient scripture and illustrations.

The temples height and lack of walls allowed us a panoramic view of the provinces' beauty.
Happy really did live up to his name, his smile was the first thing you saw! We sat down at one of the tables and ordered a lunch of pork, beef and rice. As we ate, we chatted with Happy. He explained to us proceedings of a traditional Khmer wedding. We had seen many of them during our tour of Siem Reap with Sa Pei and now again with Happy through Battambang. You could hear the celebrations before you even saw them. Tables were set out in front of someone's home and spread out onto the streets. Orange drapes hung large bamboo structures. As they rustled in the wind we got sneak peaks of the guests, the layout of the tables and the dancing. Traditionally a Khmer wedding lasted seven days, but are far too lengthy and costly now. They now resorted to single day of celebration ;  this was considered a far more practical alternative.

Our next stop was the bamboo train. This was a very popular attraction with tourists, but to avoid crowds Happy took us to a station ahead, ensuring we would be alone.
We pulled up under a tree and opposite us was an old shack that sold drinks and snacks. To our left ran a railway tack. Happy paid an owner of a bamboo train and he disappeared for a while. This I didn't quite understand - now for some reason, I didn't really know what to expect, although I had imagined a train, as in carriages and all made of bamboo sticks, and inside these carriages would be seats and tables all made out of bamboo.

So when the elderly man returned with two sets of bars with two sets of wheels on each side and placed both bars on the tracks this illusion I had quickly evaporated. A bamboo sheet was lifted and placed on top of these two wheels. This created a very simple bamboo platform on wheels. A motor was pulled out of the surrounding shrubs and placed on the back. Happy brought out a large rectangular cushion and placed it on the bamboo for us to sit comfortably.

We sat, Blair got out his camera and sonycam. The elderly man began the engine and off we went. Above the overgrown shrubbery that we sometimes have to duck away from, we took in the countryside, farmland, rivers, streams and building sites.we gained some decent speed and whenever there was any form of debris on the track we both felt and heard it. The driver tested our nerves as he approached each new piece of debris with greater speed; he finally got the best out of me when we hit a small stone so hard that I left the cushion and for a split second was a floating cross legged squealing Cat. Everyone laughed including me once I had landed, I'm glad to say we stayed at that speed for the majority of the journey. After a while of zooming along we become stuck at a cross point, where dirt and stones from passing traffic had levelled with the tracks. Happy and the driver jumped off to push, after a few tries they asked Blair to jump off to and finally got the train back on its tracks. We were off again but it wasn't long before we had to stop again. Another train was heading straight for us. As we drew to a halt Happy ensured us that we would not have to move our cart. Some discussions began in Khmer and we realised that the group that had met us were not only greater in number but also were carrying on their platform heavy materials and sack loads.

We jumped off and insisted we move. Our driver took off the engine and carried it off to the side. Happy lifted the cushion and the bamboo platform, and then both men carried the heavy wheels off the tracks one by one and moved them further down the track ahead of the locals' train. I bowed my head at the four elderly ladies sitting on the bamboo, on their shoulders rested planks of wood, tied to each end were large woven baskets that carried their goods. This was a traditional method of transporting large amounts and they rested the planks on either one shoulder or both. To bow your head was a sign of respect in Cambodia and is a lesser form of the 'somphea' - this is when you bring your hands together in the centre of your chest as you would to pray and simultaneously bow your head. This was an old custom but we noticed people still practised it in a variety of social situations. They returned the head nod, smiled and similarly to the nuns in the Pagoda outside Siem Reap they expressed concern over the exposure of my arms and shoulders in the midday sun.
We stopped and were taken to a large mill that de-husked rice. Happy was incredibly apologetic because it was closed. He took us around the mill himself and explained the process. Inside were all metal machines covered in a thick layer of fine dust and cobwebs. Dozens of white bags filled with rice were piled high to our right. Happy showed us the many uses of the rice and how resourceful rice mills were, the rice husks were used to fire the furnaces to power the machines. Whatever husks were left were sold on.
The return journey on the bamboo train was less eventful. We didn't meet any other trains, although we were quickly approaching a cow. The well-seasoned train driver stayed on course and maintained speed, the unphased bovine continued chewing and finally stepped away from the tracks and watched us ride on.
We next stopped at a local family's home. They lived in a stilted wooden house and owned a small patch of land. They grew mango and banana trees. At the back of their garden was a rectangle patch of land that was covered by a tarpolin tent. Happy walked us inside and beckoned us to follow him. We ducked low and peered in to find rows of wooden planks on which to walk along. Happy explained that this was infact a mushroom farm. He picked up a plastic bottle that had been stuffed with yeast and sawdust and sealed. After a while the bottles are exposed to water and they are left to ferment. Once the mixture begins to darken slits are made in the plastic and are left once more until mushrooms begin to grow. They are sliced off and dried in the sun. The families use what they need for cooking, and sell the rest on to local markets. Mushroom farms were ubiquitous here as the region offered the optimum temperature and humidity to harvest several times a year.

We walked to the back of their garden, we stood at an opening to a large field. The children ran ahead until they were no longer in sight. Happy told us that children have only in recent years been able to roam the countryside. Battambang province was heavily plagued with landmines. Fields and areas that had been tested and removed of unexploded ordinances bared symbols and signs showing that they were now safe. Happy smiled at his sharing of this fact: after thirty years after the overthrowing of the regime, his countryside was finally safe. I couldn't help recall the landmine museum we had visited in Siem Reap and the injuries and deaths that still resulted in unexploded ordinances.
The family's dog began following us as we walked back to the house. The young boy caught up with us and picked up a tree branch that had fallen. As Happy began talking to us about different uses of mushrooms and the different kinds Blair and I were distracted by the young boy. He must have been about four years old. He was coaxing the dog from beneath the table. The dog obeyed and once he thought he was safe the boy smacked him across the face with the softest part of the branch. Blair and I burst out laughing, so did the boy's older sisters. Happy continued to talk oblivious of the comedy show beneath us. The boy continued to coax and smack the dog. Once the boy realised he had an audience he walked away smiling. As we were leaving he walked to me and gave me a flower he had picked from a nearby tree and a hi-five!
Our next visit was to a local vineyard. We walked through a small plot lined with creeping vines. Not much land was needed for a vineyard to make a good profit and be productive. Similarly to the mushroom farmers the weather provided the optimal conditions to harvest four times a year.

We sat at the bar where the vineyard offered samples of their products. We ordered a glass of the ginger and grape juices, the red wine and the whiskey. The juices were lovely and refreshing. We had been warned that Khmer red wine would not taste anything like the Mediterranean wines we might be used to. Apparently the Khmers would await the reaction of any westerners testing their wine. It reminded me of a mulled wine, it had the same fruity sweetness and similarly hinted with cloves. I'm definitely not a whiskey drinker and didn't relish drinking it in the heat. It had a good kick to it though and heated my throat for the following five minutes. I let Blair finish it.
We bought a bottle of each of the juices. We drank them simultaneously as we found that the grape juice quelled the strength of the ginger juice. The ginger juice bottle deemed it as medicine and is often used for its natural healthy properties and ability to cure various ailments.
Our final stop was to be the highlight of the tour. We were driven to the foot of a mountain where we left Happy and were taken up via mo-ped. The first stop was to a beautiful pagoda that looked over the rice fields. It was still in use so we admired the multi-coloured illustrations of the outer building and peeked inside briefly to catch a glimpse of the beautiful Buddha shrine. This very pagoda had in fact been used as a headquarter base for the Khmer Rouge. The original illustrations, decorations, sculptures and scribings had all been defaced and destroyed. Thirty years later it had been fully restored and was once more a place of worship and peace.

We walked down some steps into an opening in the mountain. To our right was a glass cabinet that encased hundreds of sculls and bones. Surrounding the cabinet were smoking incense and religious emblems. To our left was a hole above us that led to a thirty five metre fall. The Khmer Rouge had resorted to methods of killing that required no bullets and that also discarded the bodies. The prisoners of war would have their throats slashed by sugarcane and thrown down into the cave. If they had not yet bled to death the fall would have killed them immediately.

We walked down the mountainside and rejoined Happy. He was sat next to another tuk-tuk driver, a friend of his and introduced him as 'Sam the Man'. This guy was a serious character and talked nonstop for the next twenty minutes. I dared not make eye contact with Blair because I would burst out laughing; Sam the Man had the oddest accent we had heard yet. Imagine a Khmer man who has learnt English very well but with an accent identical to Forest Gump. It wasn't just his accent either it was what he was saying. He had managed to link American politics to family relationships to 'Babe: Pig in the City'. It was as if he spoke in a complete stream of consciousness.
Happy had to cut across and led us away until we stood in front of a cave where several people had already gathered. The sun was setting and the skies were changing colour.

Out from the cave a black cloud flew overhead and snaked across the sky. A colony of thousands of bats streamed continuously for over thirty minutes.

The people and tuk-tuk's began leaving and as Blair took the final photographs we headed towards Happy and made our way back to Battambang.
We drove along the road when we noticed bright flashing lights, loud music and a collection of mo-ped's, tuk-tuk's and people on the right hand side of the road. We stopped also to investigate. Happy told us this was a usual scene at roadsides at this time of night. A man stood in the middle of the audience and held a microphone. His show had begun and laid next to his feet were his tools for enticing a great crowd. He had emptied baskets containing a cobra and a baby crocodile, and roaming around was also a chicken. He stood speaking and prodding the animals with a lengthy stick. Whenever he stopped speaking Gangnam Style blared from the speakers and his minions would appear holding the products for the audience to buy. Once we realised this was the peak of the bizarre show we made our way back to the the city.
Happy took us into the town where we went to have dinner at the White Rose, a restaurant highly recommended by Mr. Kun, Lonely Planet and Trip Advisor. We were looking forward to a big meal after our long day.
Unfortunately we can't recommend the place so highly. We had our drinks twenty minutes after ordering, and an hour and a half later Blair's food arrived. I ran downstairs and told asked Happy to come and collect us at a later time. After two hours, I was then told my food had been given to and was eaten by the couple sitting behind us.
I just hoped that we would have another plate of fruit at the bungalow. Just as we walked through the gates Mr and Mrs Kun stood holding a plate of cold watermelon.

A breakfast of homemade spring rolls, a chilli sauce and green tea were served to us this morning. We sat outside under the canopies. Since today is a Sunday we took advantage of the quiet roads and borrowed two bikes. We cycled to a nearby hotel that had a salted pool. Blair sought the shade and I sat near the pool listening to my iPod.
Two Asian brothers were playing in the shallow end and both wore life jackets. Their mother was sat at the bar and was talking with the bar staff. I closed my eyes for a short while and when I awoke I noticed that the elder brother had removed his jacket and had moved to the deeper end. The pool was designed so that the edges eventually sloped downwards towards a deeper section in the centre. I looked down to find the boy submerged in water, his arms outstretched, his eyes wide open and air bubbles rising from his mouth: he was drowning. I ripped the earphones out and and jumped in towards him. I lifted him and held my forearm against his stomach and squeezed. A gush of water came out on the side slabs. His mother came running over and lifted him laughing, she clearly hadn't seen the whole episode.
For the rest of the day the poor boy sat wrapped in a towel and sat on the sun longer, not making it back into the pool.
As we walked away from the pool we noticed a sign that got us laughing and back in high spirits:

This evening we cycled into the city in search of somewhere to have dinner. We parked our bikes and walked down a street. I could see we were approaching a 'seeing hands' sign. I had read that Battambang was full of massage parlours, particularly parlours that employed blind masseurs. Unfortunately, due to the success of the original parlours, others had sprung up bearing the same name and logo. We were still some distance away when a man sat outside the parlour turned his head, smiled and said "Hello, how are you?". I was amazed. This blind man must have heard us talking in low voices and realised we were Westerners. I waited until we were closer to answer. I asked for a full body massage. I was taken by the arm by a blind lady into the open parlour an was taken to the end bed. I was handed over blue trousers and top similar to medical scrubs. I was given a basket to hold my things and a key for a locker. They all spoke in such quiet and soft voices. She called for a masseur. I was faced with a young man whose head was bowed and his eyes were closed. He raised his head and smiled, he sompeah'd. I lay face down on the bead peering through the face hole. The sheets and towels had been washed or rubbed with lavender. The scent instantly relaxed me and the blind masseur began. No oil was used. He massaged me over the scrubs. Initially I doubted whether this would be as effective; I was so wrong. For the past few years I've developed a terrible habit of clicking the top part if my spine and the lower part of my back. If I leave not too long between 'cracks' my back will begin to ache. I noticed that he spent longer on these parts of my body. I lay there for an hour whilst Blair walked around the city. I was in such a sleepy state once it was all over, I took a few deep breaths and finally changed. My back felt instantly better, there was no urge to twist and crack like I would have normally done after lying down for so long. Before I paid the blind receptionist called out for the woman who had been taking care of her baby. This lady had her sight and oversaw the transaction. She explained through broken English that people in the past had paid the incorrect amount, leaving the business short changed. I paid the $5 and walked over to my masseur and placed a 10,000 riel note ($2.5) tip in his hands and thanked him: "Ah Kun".
We decided on Gecko for dinner, a restaurant owned by Westerners but run by Khmers. Written on the back of the menus were the names and a short paragraph about each of the staff. They varied in age but the majority came from very poor backgrounds, most of whom were students and not only supported themselves but also their families. We enjoyed fresh fruit juices and I made the most of the salads they offered, as they're not a meal widely found in Cambodia.

Today we hunted for a cafe that was renowned for its pastries and cakes. We finally found Café d'Art. We removed our shoes and sat on scatter cushions. There we ordered sandwiches and an array of desserts: chocolate brownies, chocolate mousse and a lemon tart.
We sat there for a few hours and let the food settle; Blair read and I wrote.
We walked around the town, around the markets and finally back to MyHomestay. The indulgent lunch kept us full for the rest of the day so we were happy enough into snack on the plate of bananas given to us by Mrs. Kun.

We tucked into our final breakfast and green tea. The sun was out and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Mr. Kun brought us our bus tickets and we settled the bill. To our surprise Happy wasn't taking us to the bus stop, waiting for us was the wonderfully entertaining 'Sam the Man'. We had one last chat with Battambang's very own Forrest Gump