Man-o-gram #21

I have found a new addiction, kampot pepper. Little green berries on stalks that locals throw in their food. Better than chilli, best taste ever – told you I was slipping into foodie territory.

The day started tragically with a less than serviceable overpriced omlette from Mr Heng’s restaurant, but I’ll forgive him because he sorted out my data for another week.

Mob connection has been a clusterfck here, i don’t mind being ripped off so long as i know how much data i have and for how long. No app for topups, or to show how much i’ve used just a bunch more txts like this :អ្នកកំពុងប្រើគម្រោង Dataអស្ចារ្យ! ស្តង់ដារ ($1/សប្តាហ៍) , សមតុល្យនៅសល៖

Vietnam soon and the whole carryon will start again. I’m looking to date an english speaking data plan champ.

In all the years on Waiheke, I have never strolled beachcomber styles – Weaving around with a slo-mo stoned like curiosity, lacking any focus. Today I filled my boots, plucking the uke, sliding into the tide at whim, living in the moment.

My boots, I noticed for the first time today, were made in Cambodia – yuppy sandals bought ‘on special’ in Queen st before I left, for $225. No doubt produced in a sweatshop like the one I drove past a week or so ago, the one with a hundred truckloads of women clocking out. Wonder how much of that Queen st price they get.

Beachfulls of little Mr Whippy spiral sand shits waiting for the incoming tide caught my attention, and when I showed crablady back in the village the photo, she explained “snail, they snail”. At her feet was a basin or two of live crabs, I’d seen their burrows too, some biggies. Thoughts and prayers for those little burnt at the stake bitches on the barbie tonight.

But my big fascination as always, is people. Who’s around, what are they up to why are they here, what stories do they bring with them?

All along the beachfronts are hopeful bungalows offering cold beers, bad attempts at western food and loungers. Most look very tired, a few flash ones that come with stupid money accom, but nearly all of them lack people.

Tourism can be a cruel bitch. If the boats roll in it’s all lollipop’s, light sabres and LED’s, but it’s such a fickle pop-up shop. Covid fcked a lot for these khmer entrepreneurs. Even for this, their chill season, there’s normally more peep’s.

I’m not in the 20-something camp lilly-white straight out of East Enders looking to get bladdered and burnt in the hot sun, and I’m not the workout-needy paunched up exec floating round the pool just up above the dune line.

I’m more a nosey feral grandad with a ukelele loitering at low tide. Brad and Issie from Birmingham don’t fit the mould either. They’re slow travellers brown as beavers, in their 20’s, been on the road mths round asia and planning several yrs more, a stint in Aussie to work, top up the travel kitty. Coming out of scooter injuries incurred 3 wks prior. Able to give me some sound advice and cue me for Vietnam. They could arrive on my doorstep too.

Main street here is cool, you wouldn’t call it a street, more like 200 mtrs of narrow concrete strip bordering the sand. One of the shops sells bread, n’ I mentioned I was going to check out the brioche bakery. Sabine sold me a fat chunk of carrot cake too. “Won’t be moving back to Germany, half my friends can’t afford to eat anymore, the west is too expensive, too stressfull”

Her small business ‘Ma Baker’ is shared with a pasty white Czech baker – how he manages that european-in-winter look in this sun I don’t know, and a geezer from the States. Sabine seemed resigned to just enjoying the small scene they’d made for themselves, a magnet for yeasty boys from the west like me.

I wonder what most travellers/tourists seek when they come to a place like this … just a chance to snooze and cocktail round the pool, recharge for 3 wks before launching back into their job demands back home ? Or fill the roster with tuktuk tours, dive adventures, jetski hire. Maybe peep’s want a little bit of interaction with the locals – but not too much. Maybe like me they are the full curious and want to extract as much backstory as poss from locals and travellers alike.

I’m loving the ukelele lessons I’ve started with Mr Heng. Young fella on scooter hire Visal is in on it now too. Heng’s going to buy one for sure next visit back to see family in Phnom Penh. We’ve got a Khmer ukelele band in the starters hands.

Stopping still for over a week in one place is fab, I’m off-guard, not that I’ve ever really been on, bit too porous maybe, but just slow cooking what I’m seeing and hearing in this cute little fishing/tourist village on Koh Rong.

Development has not happened just here yet, on this waterfront, but it is fast on its way. Cambodia’s richest man is Kith Meng, nicknamed “ Mr Rough Stuff” and it’s his development company The Royal Group that are behind the airport and big flash buildings underway out the back of this village. His work will change this island. He’s good mates with the Prime Minister so thunderbirds are go. Wikipedia will tell you more about Mr Kith, I’ll ahem, leave it off here 🫣.

There’s 50 cent draft beers till late tonight at one of the bars down the way so I gotta go.

Last tip of the hat today goes to my new room mate, a sizeable rat I’ve named Staunch. The outside wall on my feral beach digs, is bits of ill fitting boards with lots of holes and gaps – very beach shanty, see below pic … Each night he comes into my room and has a go at my banana’s and baguette. I hang them up high but he does rat hi-wire and I’m awoken frequently to him rustling in that damn plastic bag again.

Flick on the lights and he pops his head out, stares me out, is there a problem, then goes back down for a nibble. If I make a move he rockets out of th bag but only 2 feet away, same eye to eye. I make another move so he hops up onto a ledge just out of reach, eyeballs me patiently, I rehang my bag somewhere more impossible, lights back out, 5 mins later he’s back in there rustling about. Respect.

Tomorrow I’m buying him his own brioche, he’ll prob move his family in.

Till next time :)