TRAVLE

Cambodia by Bicycle

 

"Whenever you see three Cambodians, remember the fourth one who was killed by the Khmer Rouge.” A friend shared this sobering thought on the eve of a special adventure I was about to embark on: a bicycling trip from Bangkok to Angkor Wat in Cambodia. While this undercurrent of sadness was a part of the trip, my adventure was also filled with unexpected challenges, friendly people, and awe at seeing the magnificent ruins at Angkor.
After spending our first day (March 14) cycling in Thailand, we reached the Cambodian border at Prum at noon of the second day. We bicycled onward 17 km to Pailin and stopped there for the night. Pailin is famous for two things: sapphire mines nearby and several retired Khmer Rouge officials. Luckily I did not run into the latter while exploring the town in the afternoon. The streets of Pailin were torn up for installing sewage pipes and it was dusty and hot. Many more children than I had seen in Thailand played in the streets. The market reminded me of the bazaars of the smaller towns of Bangladesh, with the vendors waiting with their offerings while their children entertained.
The next day was our most difficult: 92km from Pailin to Battambang, the second largest town of Cambodia. Expecting another hot day (mid-30s) we started bicycling at 7am. Having braved Dhaka's traffic and shattered roads for many years, riding through Pailin's potholes was easy for me. But just outside the town I ran into trouble. That's because we started climbing the foothills of the Cardamom Mountains.

Naturally Narail

WE were supposed to visit Narail months ago. But then many moons moaned by and all our plans collapsed one after another for one reason or another. Finally when we found time, it began with a disaster.

The temple at last

Ada Chai forest station looked forlorn in this deep forest -- an outstation with a pale existence. We walked down a long wooden pier that had developed gaping holes through its rotten wood planks. At the end of it was the wooden station its planks blacked by continuous rain, damp, musty smell hanging in the air. The lanterns could hardly beat the gloom of the gathering dusk as we entered the ramshackle station. The dampness enters your inside and you feel dizzy. I was taken aback by the unbelievably sorry living condition of the foresters.