Cycling Sihanoukville to Trat
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The dreaded hydrofoil
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From Sihanoukville in Cambodia to Trat in Thailand.
To get from Sihanoukville to Thailand you have to get a hydrofoil to a place called Koh Kong, (it’s the province as well as an island; it is so remote here that there are no roads), then you get a small boat or a taxi to Hat Lek at the border, then a bus to wherever you want, the next big town being Trat – or start cycling of course. I get to the quay early next day and have my passport stamped in the customs shack. The hydrofoil is like the ones they use on the Saigon River. They are 25-year-old Russian jobs that used to ply their trade on the Volga River. Rust buckets really but with a lick of paint, who would know. I do not get a good feeling about this. I am not of great sea-faring stock, I can get sick on the pedal-swans on the lake, so I normally position myself somewhere where there will be a supply of fresh air. On this craft, I can see that they are going to batten down the hatches so I sit in the first row right in front of the air-conditioner and I won’t budge even though my ticket says row 23.
All my worst fears are confirmed as we exit the small breakwater and the sea gets a little choppy, the boat starts bouncing about. You can guess what happens next but I forgot to mention that it is a four-hour trip. Imagine, four hours trapped inside this metal container which smells of diesel and very soon, fresh puke. Within the hour, the waves are crashing against the windows, they completely block out the sky. When you are a grown-up you almost forget what it is like to get sick, to actually throw up. Your instinct is to hold it back because you remember from when you were a student, drunk on red wine, that it is probably a horrible sensation. Who knows, maybe you can stave it off with sheer willpower?
Your body on the other hand wants to get on with it. You try delaying tactics like standing with your face in the flow of air from the air conditioner vents, or lying with your face against a cold surface. Your body retaliates by going for the locked-jaw-hootcha routine and a couple of mini honks to test your defences out. The locked jaw means you have no control and you then know that fairly soon it will happen, you’d better sort out a bag. Nothing as sophisticated as sick-bags here so I have to get my mac pouch at the ready. One thing is for sure and that is that I am in for hours of misery and there is nothing I can do about it. I only had a coffee and some toast for breakfast and that comes up after a triple-retch and half fills my lilac bag. Meanwhile bumping from seat to seat down the aisle comes a man selling cigarettes and sweets. He takes one look at me and thinks better of it.
The summer monsoon is like this in this part of the world, the sea can be lethal; you are always reading about tourists going missing whilst out on a trip. Some years back I went out to Coral Island off Phuket for a snorkelling trip with my family. We hired a long-tail boat for the day, my kids were five and seven at the time and pretty good snorkellers by then. The reef was fine but the visibility wasn’t great so we set off back at about 3 pm for the 40 minute trip. Out of nowhere came a squall, the sea started to swell, the boat started being tossed about. We had a clear view of the waves being driven towards us. Our helmsman laughed to reassure us but we could see he was worried. The waves became so huge that when we were down in a trough the horizon disappeared. We were scared now, the kids were crying their eyes out. Our man stripped to his underpants as waves crashed over the side, we were wet-through and guess what? There were no life-jackets on the boat. What utter idiots we were, we just didn’t think. I held the kids tight and tried to imagine how on earth I could rescue one of them if we tipped over. I genuinely thought that it was curtains, tomorrow’s headlines. It could have been if anyone knew we were on this trip that is, but not a soul in the world knew we were on Phuket let alone on a boat. They’d find our car parked by the jetty about a week later… all this was going through my mind. In the distance I saw a speed boat making the same crossing, it hugged the lee of an island, I could see its bow smashing the surface with huge splashes of white foam spraying up, it was too far away to hear. What could I do beyond present a calm exterior for my kids. We got back OK, albeit wide-eyed with terror, and tipped the boatman double – we should have throttled him but we were so relieved to be alive. Needless to say we have never been on a boat without life-jackets since.
When I am really seasick my face goes a shade beyond white, it goes green. People come up and point and say, “Oh, I thought it was just an expression, about being green at the gills…” I normally try to project a stream of vomit in their direction at this point. By now the floor on the hydrofoil is awash with sick, everyone has succumbed. The crew must have known this was coming as they’ve all legged it and left us to get on with it. After being sick five times, each one with five retches, you are quite weak and reduced to whimpering; you enjoy feeling really sorry for yourself. I keep looking at my watch but it shows only 10 minutes’ advance each time I look.
The trip takes about five hours in all before docking. The passengers emerge on the dock and are easy prey for the scrum of folks trying to grab luggage and wrists to shove them towards their own taxi; weak and disorientated from the journey I put my mac on as it is also pouring down. My bike was lashed to the top of the hydrofoil so I am surprised that it is still there, though no-one will get it down unless I pay the last of my Cambodian Riels. We are all bundled onto the baht bus with my bike being held by the back two passengers, incredibly several light up cigarettes, I am stunned. I am going off today - big time. Next, I lose all my new sickly pals as they pile into a nice minibus whilst I am given a halt sign and told that a bike won’t fit in. It is raining hard now and the 90 kms to Trat needs three separate baht buses with legs, bags and chickens wrapped round my bike. Pretty tired by now, I find a very nice traveller hostel. I feel so weak that I can’t even manage a khao phat and a Singha beer for supper. What a day: requiescat in pace!
TBC
To get from Sihanoukville to Thailand you have to get a hydrofoil to a place called Koh Kong, (it’s the province as well as an island; it is so remote here that there are no roads), then you get a small boat or a taxi to Hat Lek at the border, then a bus to wherever you want, the next big town being Trat – or start cycling of course. I get to the quay early next day and have my passport stamped in the customs shack. The hydrofoil is like the ones they use on the Saigon River. They are 25-year-old Russian jobs that used to ply their trade on the Volga River. Rust buckets really but with a lick of paint, who would know. I do not get a good feeling about this. I am not of great sea-faring stock, I can get sick on the pedal-swans on the lake, so I normally position myself somewhere where there will be a supply of fresh air. On this craft, I can see that they are going to batten down the hatches so I sit in the first row right in front of the air-conditioner and I won’t budge even though my ticket says row 23.
All my worst fears are confirmed as we exit the small breakwater and the sea gets a little choppy, the boat starts bouncing about. You can guess what happens next but I forgot to mention that it is a four-hour trip. Imagine, four hours trapped inside this metal container which smells of diesel and very soon, fresh puke. Within the hour, the waves are crashing against the windows, they completely block out the sky. When you are a grown-up you almost forget what it is like to get sick, to actually throw up. Your instinct is to hold it back because you remember from when you were a student, drunk on red wine, that it is probably a horrible sensation. Who knows, maybe you can stave it off with sheer willpower?
Your body on the other hand wants to get on with it. You try delaying tactics like standing with your face in the flow of air from the air conditioner vents, or lying with your face against a cold surface. Your body retaliates by going for the locked-jaw-hootcha routine and a couple of mini honks to test your defences out. The locked jaw means you have no control and you then know that fairly soon it will happen, you’d better sort out a bag. Nothing as sophisticated as sick-bags here so I have to get my mac pouch at the ready. One thing is for sure and that is that I am in for hours of misery and there is nothing I can do about it. I only had a coffee and some toast for breakfast and that comes up after a triple-retch and half fills my lilac bag. Meanwhile bumping from seat to seat down the aisle comes a man selling cigarettes and sweets. He takes one look at me and thinks better of it.
The summer monsoon is like this in this part of the world, the sea can be lethal; you are always reading about tourists going missing whilst out on a trip. Some years back I went out to Coral Island off Phuket for a snorkelling trip with my family. We hired a long-tail boat for the day, my kids were five and seven at the time and pretty good snorkellers by then. The reef was fine but the visibility wasn’t great so we set off back at about 3 pm for the 40 minute trip. Out of nowhere came a squall, the sea started to swell, the boat started being tossed about. We had a clear view of the waves being driven towards us. Our helmsman laughed to reassure us but we could see he was worried. The waves became so huge that when we were down in a trough the horizon disappeared. We were scared now, the kids were crying their eyes out. Our man stripped to his underpants as waves crashed over the side, we were wet-through and guess what? There were no life-jackets on the boat. What utter idiots we were, we just didn’t think. I held the kids tight and tried to imagine how on earth I could rescue one of them if we tipped over. I genuinely thought that it was curtains, tomorrow’s headlines. It could have been if anyone knew we were on this trip that is, but not a soul in the world knew we were on Phuket let alone on a boat. They’d find our car parked by the jetty about a week later… all this was going through my mind. In the distance I saw a speed boat making the same crossing, it hugged the lee of an island, I could see its bow smashing the surface with huge splashes of white foam spraying up, it was too far away to hear. What could I do beyond present a calm exterior for my kids. We got back OK, albeit wide-eyed with terror, and tipped the boatman double – we should have throttled him but we were so relieved to be alive. Needless to say we have never been on a boat without life-jackets since.
When I am really seasick my face goes a shade beyond white, it goes green. People come up and point and say, “Oh, I thought it was just an expression, about being green at the gills…” I normally try to project a stream of vomit in their direction at this point. By now the floor on the hydrofoil is awash with sick, everyone has succumbed. The crew must have known this was coming as they’ve all legged it and left us to get on with it. After being sick five times, each one with five retches, you are quite weak and reduced to whimpering; you enjoy feeling really sorry for yourself. I keep looking at my watch but it shows only 10 minutes’ advance each time I look.
The trip takes about five hours in all before docking. The passengers emerge on the dock and are easy prey for the scrum of folks trying to grab luggage and wrists to shove them towards their own taxi; weak and disorientated from the journey I put my mac on as it is also pouring down. My bike was lashed to the top of the hydrofoil so I am surprised that it is still there, though no-one will get it down unless I pay the last of my Cambodian Riels. We are all bundled onto the baht bus with my bike being held by the back two passengers, incredibly several light up cigarettes, I am stunned. I am going off today - big time. Next, I lose all my new sickly pals as they pile into a nice minibus whilst I am given a halt sign and told that a bike won’t fit in. It is raining hard now and the 90 kms to Trat needs three separate baht buses with legs, bags and chickens wrapped round my bike. Pretty tired by now, I find a very nice traveller hostel. I feel so weak that I can’t even manage a khao phat and a Singha beer for supper. What a day: requiescat in pace!
TBC