Beyond The Bustle

There is a small town which continues to somehow exist alongside the rapid pace that is modernity. Situated on the banks of the Mekong River, in Kratie province, Cambodia, lies the town of Chhlong – the Khmer word for crossing. Steeped in history and culture, the magnificent natural surroundings of forests and the river do well to enhance this settlement.

I have always had the deepest respect for the past. Despite how evil or how wonderful it may have been, it is responsible for shaping our present. And will continue to have a deep influence on our future. We need to perhaps develop a deeper understanding and knowledge of the past to ensure we make more humane decisions about the now. 

The old governor’s residence greeted us as we wandered down the garden path. The French colonial mansion, with her rich creamed-butter walls, painted a picture of classic elegance as she stood tall amidst huge trees and manicured gardens. My heart skipped a beat as we checked into that superb architectural magnificence. I do so love stepping into old-world refinement. Making the time to stop and truly appreciate the value and significance of where I am.

Every inch of Le Relais De Chhlong held us captive. Sharing her rich history with us. Whilst the fittings and décor of the era proudly exuded style on every level, the iconic building stood firm. Silently and without spectacle, reflecting the troubled past. The extremely dark, disturbing past.

Le Relais de Chhlong  was built in 1916. The Koy family, of Chinese-Khmer timber merchants fame, as well as being the wealthy developers of the Chhlong sawmill, lived there. However, with the horrific bombings of the Vietnam War spreading across large parts of Cambodia near the Vietnamese border, the once magnificent building suffered severe damage. For many years, the semi-ruined home stood empty. Without life. It is believed that, whilst under the command of the Khmer Rouge, people took refuge in the  abandoned remains of the building. Evidence, in the form of used pharmaceutical vials found during the renovations, suggests that the mansion was also used as a hospital. 

Shivers ran through my body. Imagining the horrors and the suffering which had taken place in the very building in which we were staying, was daunting. If not disturbing. We chose not to think about the past at that moment, preferring to focus on the beauty and serenity Le Relais De Chhlong offered us in the present.

The bold, tangerine walls complimented the darker shades of the coinciding mustard-coloured walls. Debbie looked as though she was an integral part of the interior with her matching colours. We explored high and low. Every nook and cranny. Staring unbelievably at times, at the meticulous attention to detail in the frescoes on the high ceilings. Mealtimes were blissful occasions – either beside the pool or in the restaurant overlooking the Mekong. Besides Jim and Nancy, who are now dear friends, we had the entire place to ourselves. Selfishly, I was grateful for the low occupancy. 

We wandered along the dirt road towards the market area. Always the heart of every town in Asia. This is where every-day-normal-life pulsates. Where authenticity is seen. And experienced. Standing out from the crowds rather obviously, Debs and I witnessed and absorbed the familiar treasures that have been a part of our Asian lives for so many years. Sights and sounds that are now deeply embedded in our souls and in our hearts. To cherish.

Chhlong has a tarred main road. The usual cell phone outlets and numerous other small businesses eke out a living of sorts along that grey strip. However, the gems of the past adorn the narrow dirt market-strip. Filled with potholes and history, it is home to such magnificent buildings and shacks alike. There was a certain aura of mystery hanging over the street. Perhaps even of sadness and of suffering. Poverty was evident. 

There was no doubt that great wealth had once been in abundance on that market street. The attention to detail on every façade of every building was incredible. There must have existed a world of rich merchants, of brokers from Europe, of trade and luxurious living.  Due to the town being the focal point of the timber trade, several cultural influences filtered into the community consisting of Khmer, Chinese, Cham, Vietnamese and Laotian. The deadly hand of war then struck. Now only memories exist within the many empty shells, that were once splendid structures. Whilst the despair and devastation continue to hang heavy in the air.

In many places nature had shown her face and had reclaimed her space. Thick unforgiving creepers and undergrowth silently clasped that which was originally their space. Wrapping their arms tightly around exquisite architecture. To strangle it. As if in a display of determined opposition to anything man-made.

Heading off in search of coffee after lunch one day, we came upon delightful homes. As always, that splash of colour appeared. In the form of a bicycle. On a gate. On the children’s clothing. There is always colour in Asia. To lift spirits and to bring a smile.

The much-needed coffee was found. Weak, watery and cold. We declined the invitation to savour the snails and chilli dish. The clouds darkened. Our views made up for it though. We tried to imagine what life had been like way back when Chhlong had played a crucial role in the timber trade of the early days. The local timber merchants were Chinese, which explains the strong Chinese influence in the area. The local Chinese-Khmer school is testament to this relationship. 

Exploring further down the dirt track in front of the hotel, the Mekong displayed her splendour through her ability to change colour when a storm approaches. Her normal muddy coat changes to deep tones of metallic bronze. A fascinating colour. This brings with it an atmosphere of expectancy, charging the air with a new energy. A tangible excitement.

Back in the comfort of our luxurious bedroom, I looked out the window in search of the rooster who took it upon himself to graciously wake us, on the hour, every hour from four in the morning. What greeted me was one of the sights I hold most dear. That of the red-tiled roofs – one of the unique signatures of Cambodian life.