Kampot and Kep, Sleepy Towns in the South of Cambodia

The dynamic changes once you leave Phnom Penh, roads that were chaotic scenes of daily Cambodian city life gradually diminish in intensity as the lovely tarmac road begins to disappear into a bumpy potholed mess.

Shop fronts in Kampot and Kep offer a glimpse of an era gone by

Bus travel is the main option here, there used to be a good train to Sihanoukville but that line is still haunted by the memories of three backpackers captured and later killed by the Khmer Rouge back in the early nineties. Horror stories of the atrocities abound and it is hard to reconcile that with the bucolic air that surrounds the region. The madness men do unto men will continue to astound me.

The old creaky bus bumped and cajoled me as it sped through villages in a blur, pausing just briefly halfway to get a cup of delicious coffee and a bun. The land is mostly flat here with the occasional hill until you finally in arrive in the far south close to the Bokor national park and eventually the gulf of Thailand.

I had been interested in Kep for a long time; the appeal of fresh fried crab in the local Kampot peppers was too much of a mouth-watering draw.

I have to admit there is not a lot here for the average tourist, there are no good beaches to speak of and the infrastructure is poor. What it does have however, in spades, is character. The old shop houses are gradually being remodeled, new hostels are springing up and lazy boltholes are available for drinking and eating with great riverside views. Hanging out and being lazy seems to be the main occupation.

Restored villas like this bring hope into a region savaged by past conflict

Of course in its heyday Kep Sur Mer, as the French called it, was the place to be. Leafy boulevards for strolling and fancy villas to live in enabled colons to live a very comfortable life. All this came to an end though and the area fell into decline, war ravaged countryside played doom maker to the foreign overlords.

Today Kep, and Kampot to some extent, is having a renaissance of sorts, roads are being resurfaced and money is flowing in to revitalise the historic villas and a slow prosperity is on the horizon.

I had chosen to stay in a small guesthouse run by an affable Irishman called Ben, close to the river but far enough away from the main drag to be peaceful. Travellers arriving here without reservations will be mobbed by touts at the bus station but can easily walk the two hundred yards to the main hostel road to take their pick.

With no tourist spots to speak of, save Bokor Hill station with its jungle trek and the renovations of the hotel and casino, the easiest way to enjoy the area is by motorbike. I hired a Honda 125, grabbed my day pack and hit the road.
If you have experienced Saigon with its mayhem of motorbike madness then Kampot will come as a relief.

The waterways between Kampot and Kep

The roads were virtually free of traffic and it made for a very easy jaunt along country lanes to the coast. Along the way villagers carried on their daily routines that seemed miles away from the fast pace of our western cities, waterways carried traffic ranging from huge barges to fishing fleets to the small wooden boats of local traders and artisans.

Friendly faces smiled and children waved as I passed by, an extraordinary sight of a pale large westerner straddling a bike that looked far too small to carry him and what was he doing here anyway?

I arrived at the seaside town of Kep and made directly for the crab market. The workers here were mostly women dragging in their crab baskets and selling the contents off at a fast pace, buyers haggling over the size and colour of the crabs.

It is possible to just buy some crabs from one of the vendors and take them to another stall where a grill is already set up. The guys there will quickly rustle up a fried snack in no time. Alternatively you can opt to sit at a beachside table, my choice, and your meal will be served up in a bowl with cracked crabs swimming in Kampot pepper, drown that with a cold Angkor beer and gaze out at the ocean, job done.

The derelict summer home of the Kings mother

After the meal I took time to explore the coast a little, pulling up at a ruined mansion that used to be a summer home of the King’s mother. Pockmarked and rundown it was a poignant reminder of the past, the gorgeous view from the balcony over the sea to the islands offshore a stark contrast to the empty shell of a ruined past. It was not all gloom and melancholy however as a few doors down a stunning renovation had taken place, the result of which would not be out of place in Town and Country magazine!

It’s worth a look here, if only to wish the ghosts goodbye as they are moved on.

Comments

• Pole chain saw says:

  Beautiful, just beautiful.
  A painful contrast to the horrible atrocities that lie (hopefully) in it's past.
  
  You didn't mention how good the fresh crab was. Did it meet your expectations?

  6 months ago

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