Beach Bum

26/10/08

Well I’ve been back in Sihanoukville for about a week now. Chaan Sras has been very good with helping me out regarding digs and moto rental. With her help I have managed to get a month’s accommodation for 130 dollars and rented a motorbike at 80 dollars for the month. Compared to the 15 dollars a night I was paying in Phnom Penh for digs this is a huge saving. Sihanoukville, as you may know, is a seaside resort type of town down the south west end of Cambodia.
One of my main intentions in coming down here was to get away from the city and relax for a while. To slow down and live a life less hectic. I have hoped to spend some serious time at writing to see if I can actually do it. I haven’t been very successful so far to be honest. I have started one short story but haven’t gotten around to finishing it yet.

One of the other items on my agenda was to learn to ride a motor bike. I have only ever had one other experience of motorbikes in my life. My cousin Michelle let me have a go of her bike many years ago. My first experience lasted approximately ten seconds; I pulled on the throttle and rode straight into a wall. I grazed my arm and broke one of the indicator lights on her bike.

This time it was to be different; this time I would do it properly. Chaan Sras brought me out to a lonely road just outside the town and tried to explain as best she could in her pigeon English how to operate a moto. She got many a laugh watching me struggle and panic as I tried to control the little iron pony and keep it in a straight line. Twice I lost control and veered off into the ditch. After half an hour of pottering up and down the road I was starting to get used to it. Eventually Chaan Sras trusted me enough to sit on the back of the moto and let me drive back towards town. As we slowly made our way back towards the main roads a car overtook me. This threw me off for some reason and I panicked a bit. When this happens my hand pulls on the throttle and our speed increases. With the increase of speed my panic increases and I pull harder on the throttle; vicious circle. I had visions of broken limbs or worse as we careered off the road towards a group of trees. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck’, I exclaimed as the trees sped towards us. Chaan Sras was crippled with laughter; it was the funniest situation she had seen in a long time. Some primeval part of my brain, concerned with the art of survival, made me lift my hand away from the throttle and the bike, its progress hampered by the long grass by the road, immediately began to slow down and eventually stop leaving all our limbs and skulls intact. I rented a moto the next day and spent the next day or two driving up and down the road outside the guesthouse until I felt confident enough to head into the centre of town on my own.

My confidence on the bike was to be tested when the other day I agreed to go with Chaan Sras and her friend to see Buddha. They called to my guesthouse on Chaan Sras’ moto and I climbed upon my Honda 100 to follow them. They cut across traffic and drove the wrong way down one road as I tried to keep up. They stopped at a road side store to get some gifts (fruit and some tea leaves) for Buddha. Chaan Sras asked if I was okay. ‘No problem’, I replied as my heart was thumping in my chest. Just then the rain began to fall. We motored on, going ever upwards as the roads got narrower and steeper. I trailed behind as the roads got wetter and slippier.
When we arrived at the temple we were met by a troupe of monkeys who were very interested by the fruit in the plastic bags the two girls carried. Pretty soon we were surrounded and one of them made a grab for one of the bags. The girls didn’t find this funny; in fact they began to become frightened. I grabbed the two bags and put them in the compartment under the seat of my moto. Problem solved for now. We sat around in the rain for a while because the monk was sleeping at present. The monkeys lost interest and retired to the trees in the courtyard. Eventually the monk was ready to receive visitors and I got the fruit from the moto as the girls removed their shoes and went in to sit before the monk and speak to Buddha.

‘Bonjour,’ said the monk as I entered. ‘Parlez vous Francais’? ‘En pue’, I replied. He had no English he explained to me as he stubbed out his cigar. I would say he was in his late forties or early fifties. It is difficult to guess people’s ages in Cambodia because they always look younger than they actually are. A brief chat was then held between the monk and Chaan Sras. At the moment Chaan Sras has some issues in her life that she needs to get sorted. She has a ten month old baby girl. The father is Italian and he has recently arrived back in Cambodia with the intention of taking the child back to Italy to live. Chaan Sras is to accompany him to Italia and see that the child is being looked after properly and when she is happy she will sign over guardianship of the child and return to Cambodia alone. While he is here it is not really acceptable for her to be seen out too often with me as she would get a bad name for herself. She has told me she loves me and wants to stay with me but with the situation at the moment her hands are tied. I simply shrug and say that it is up to her what she wants to do. I have grown accustomed to her face and I like having her around. I will simply sit back and watch how things unfold.

The monk asked for my left hand and with the aid of a magnifying glass proceeded to read my palm. He told me that I had had three women in my life that I had loved. He then looked at my right hand. He told me I would have two children in the future. He then read Chaan Sras’ palms. She too would have two children in her future. He told me that Chaan Sras and I would be very happy together if we chose to be together but that it was up to Chaan Sras at the moment what decisions she would make. I just smiled noncommittally and prepared myself for the blessing. This is the third time I have been drenched by a monk. Chaan Sras and I left then and waited outside with the blessing bowl. We washed each other’s hair with the holy water as we waited on her friend who was still inside with the monk. I can’t for the life of me remember her friends name; her friend has no English at all so I never really got to talk to her.
When her friend came out she was carrying a plastic bag full of food. She is married with children but times are hard at the moment. The monk gave her the food along with twenty dollars and his phone number. Act of charity or making a pass? I don’t know but most of the monks I have met seem to be heavy smokers and sit around all day talking to frustrated women. I drove home alone in the pouring rain.

I have discovered an Irish bar called Darby O’Gills. It is on the main street in town away from the beaches. It is owned and run by an Irish man called Colm. I discovered the bar the last time I was here and the owner recommended that when I go home I should first buy 80 dollars worth of Viagra, smuggle them home and I would make about 2000 euro selling them on the black market. I think I may have mentioned that before. Anyway I have been frequenting this bar which is usually very empty at the moment as they wait for the high season to kick in next month. The other night I was told that one of the regular barmen had died the day before. I had never met him. He was 56 years old. He had taken a fall recently and it is believed that one of his ribs punctured a lung. His body was in Phnom Penh and his family were coming over from Ireland to collect him. The next day the family were coming down to Sihanoukville for a wake. I was most welcome to call in if I liked.

The next evening in true cloak and dagger style Chaan Sras crept up to see me in my room. After a while we decided to pop out for a drink. I suggested Darby O’Gills. We sat at the bar while the family sat at tables outside by the road. The family consisted of the deceased’s sister and her husband and the deceased’s three kids; twin boys and one girl all in their late twenties or early thirties. One of the sons had bought a guitar while in Phnom Penh. He sat strumming it at the table outside. After a few drinks and small talk with the two barmen Chaan Sras had to go home. I kissed her and told her to be careful driving home; I wasn’t ready to leave yet. Myself and one of the barmen, Neil from Drimnagh, sat outside with the grieving family. It wasn’t long before we were all singing and boozing like true Irishmen. I played a number of songs on the guitar and my performance was warmly accepted and appreciated. The beers kept flowing, I never needed to order one, and they just kept coming. At one stage a large fry up of potatoes, sausages and rashers was placed in front of me. I tore into it ravenously and washed it down with another beer. At one stage I had run out of cigarettes, no problem, another packet was placed in front of me.

At about four o’clock in the morning I believed it was time to go home. I gave thanks to all who were there and when I went to settle my bill I was told I had no bill to settle. Many thanks Colm.

Apparently it is coming to the end of the rainy season and the high season will kick in soon. For the moment my days are comparatively quiet and thus I have no excuse for not turning my hand to some writing. When I need to cool down I hop on my moto and drive through the streets of Sihanoukville, the breeze is almost luxuriant as it envelopes my sweaty body and revives my flagging energy. This part of my journey has been by far the quietest and most uneventful but I am enjoying the time alone and I believe it is necessary for me to try and get a few things straight in my head about what I am to do when I eventually return home.

Until next time folks, love to all.