Man-o-gram #11
The bus to Battembang is an actual bus this time, and unlike a couple of rides I’ve had, all the seats are bolted to the floor. (No guarantees with the cheapie deals)
Squits have hit, likely the first of many, so I’m glad this is just a 3 hr run.
A great drive through gold painted temples, rusty shantyshacks, dusty towns and we arrive to a pack of tuktuk drivers pushing as the door opens “50 cent to any hotel” they chorus. Rich is the closest so I go with him. He’s upselling me soon as I’m aboard “cheap special price 4 U tour, i pick U up 9am”. Steady tiger. He’s even laminated a trip advisor review and shoves it in our hands before kickstarting his honda.
Drops me at The Real Place, a hostel with one bed, I’m their only guest so it’s full house. US$12 for two nights.
Run by Bunlang, he and his wife have just had their first baby “1 day old” he tells me. They’re setting up this backpackers-to-be in a small french colonial 2 story bldg. Says he will add a dorm “like normal hostel but save up first”, in the other remaining room.
There’s a cheap chinese guitar on the wall, the strings all six of them, about two inches off the fretboard. 6 strings good, two inches bad, but it looks the part and Bunlang very much wants his new business to look like a Real hostel. As night falls he’s turned reception into a bar and beers are on. Plus he’ll cook you a meal, sort scooter hire, tours, anything you want. All Khmer are entrepreneurs at some level or they don’t eat.
A few nights before I left NZ I caught up with Cris, a mate on Waiheke who grew up in Mexico.
He reckoned a couple of weeks on the road and I’d settle into a flow, ‘hey this is my life now’, and i think he’s right, the trainer wheels are retracting.
Travelling solo gifts the space to observe and reflect, and while writing these blogs in the first person is fun, it’s also bloody indulgent. The duality of wanting to mouth off, paint with words but maintain some humility & shut th fck up, well dudes, I’m working on that balance. Thank you so much for taking the time to skim these blogs.
My dad (yeah i take him everywhere) said to me when I was bout 16 “when U score a try, run back to the halfway like nothing happened, its not about U, there’s 40 odd other people”.
I didn’t grasp that at first but he was including not only my team but also the opposition, coaches, ref, touch judges, parents on oranges and saveloys at the aftermatch. Now it’s you guys on the saveloys, and I’m a touch judge.
My Bay of Plenty bro Paora gave me a whakatauki before i came away : E hara taku toa he toa takitahi he toa takitini ke. (my strength is not mine alone but comes from the many) Yeah bro.
I want to think we’re all in this together and, said it before, I get the sense that in Cambodia they’ve got more going on than allaboutme – like they’ve downsized the merit of personal accrual – not to say they don’t hustle or want to earn for eg kids education, a tractor for the fields, damn these guys work round the clock just to survive, just that material worth is not the be-all.
Gotta go, streetfoods got me 🫣🤢 Joy !
Till next time :)
