The Road To Kratie

Leaving Siem Reap in a private car, I gently eased my body into the perfect leather seat. Debbie snuggled into hers. We gripped our breakfast of fresh baguettes stuffed with salad and salami between eager fingers. As always, the excitement of heading into the unknown was tangible. We were both in need of a break from that which made up our daily lives in Siem Reap.

The six-hour journey guided us through wide open spaces. Emerald green rice paddies lay in peaceful slumber. Variations of traditional houses stood on either side of the road.  Expansive wrap-around corrugated iron roofs enclosed each house. Forming a defense against rain and heat. Both elements extreme in the region. Not only were the houses nestled under the monstrous roofs, but every possession too had its place in and under the metal extension. Cars, cattle and kids lived side by side under the protective shield. The odd modern washing machine stood proudly amongst the chickens pecking in the dust.

Further along, cashew nut trees covered the earth’s surface for as far as the eye could see. Tens of thousands of dollars lay waiting to be picked. We drove along for hours not seeing a soul. That was good. The city of Kamphong Cham ushered us along its main road. Situated on the west bank of the Mekong River, the third largest city in Cambodia boasts a collection of French colonial buildings, for it was once a French trading port. The city serves as an important transportation hub to the surrounding areas. Despite this status, it remains extremely poor with little or no tourism. 

The Cham Muslims live in the area alongside a small percentage of Cham who follow Hinduism. Their origins lie in Champa, a once-powerful Hindu-Buddhist kingdom located in Vietnam.

Local stalls selling coconuts and the odd baskets passed by our windows. Infinite zinc rooftops lay shimmering in the heat of the day. The backdrop to this vista was that of the mighty river. Sighting the Mekong, my love affair with that huge metallic body of water was ignited once more. Somehow through the years, through my travels, the Mekong has appeared from time to time as if to remind me of her presence. Her power and her mystery.

In most towns and cities I have visited in Asia, there exists an expanse of grimness. Of dull, ugly grey buildings and structures. At times, depicting a morbid quality to that which the eyes see. I have learnt to be patient when arriving upon new territory. Withholding judgement. For soon enough, that splendid dash of brilliant colour leaps forth to gift us the joie de vivre.  Kratie was no exception.

Coasting through the crowded streets, Debs and I questioned the purpose of our visit. The town looked quite miserable and drab. A young girl was selling heaps of raw meat under the scorching sun. A weary soul was sitting beside her produce on the side of a narrow alleyway. No doubt hoping for someone to ease her financial burden for the day. 

The awaited burst of colour made its welcome appearance as we came to an abrupt standstill on the pavement. Ahead of us, the peppermint green Privada Lodge rose in her absolute air of coolness. A welcome respite from the heat. 

 

                                                                                

                                                               

                                                                                   

Making our way up three flights of stairs to our room, we giggled as we were completely captivated by the sheer brilliance of the décor the vintage building presented us. On every wall. At every corner. Relics from bygone days stared back at us. It was quite thrilling. Especially for someone who has a passion for beautiful furniture.

The mint-coloured bedroom embraced us as we stood upon the recently polished cement floors. Sparsely furnished, the ambience was one of romanticism and nostalgia. It had the makings of secret encounters once tedious journeys had been accomplished along the Mekong …

Close on our heels, climbing that most intriguing staircase, were the daughter and wife of the owner of Privada Lodge. They gingerly placed a tray of wickedly thick mango shakes and perfect black coffee on the table, on our private balcony. Collapsing into a state of heavenly bliss, we sipped the drinks as the city of umbrellas greeted us from every direction.

The beautifully curved walls of our bedroom gifted us breathtaking views showcasing an environment waiting to be explored. A world of colour exploded forth. The sky was brilliant blue. The intense heat of the day created fascinating pure white cloud formations. The deep yellow of the shakes brought the old wooden doors to life. Themselves rich in weathered deep tones of brown. 

The atmosphere pulsated with the resounding sounds of life from the streets below. Enticing us from the coolness of our bedroom. The ocean of brightly coloured umbrellas threatened to sweep us up and away into the midst of all the chaos. It was a sight I shall remember for many years to come. I felt like a kid seeing the Christmas tree laden with gifts, first thing on Christmas Day. 

We stared in disbelief at the gaiety below our room. At the hundreds of interesting folk going about their daily lives. The cacophony of sounds blasted through our skin, into our bones. An ordinary day for so many. A unique experience for us. Together we celebrated the day. The colours. The essence of being alive. 

Saffron robes and splayed bare feet. One of South-East Asia’s signatures. One I have grown to love deeply in my many years of living here. Feet that stand firmly planted on the earth. With each step forward, their grip is secure and solid. Yet they glide along in silence and pure elegance. The monks. Giving blessings to all on their daily paths through the streets. Their mere presence providing a sense of safety and belonging. We shared their path that evening and the following morning too.

Stepping into the massive expanse that served as a lounge area, dining area and reception, we were amused at the rather stern looking guy in the giant wall poster. He seemed indignant about Debbie eating her meal. Under his watchful eye, we experienced the thrilling sensation of being transported into an era past. One where velvety jazz music wafted through open windows. Where cigar smoke danced alongside the heavy aroma of strong, black coffee with a dash of who-knows-what. I imagined brilliant novels being born amidst the gems of the past. Those so strategically placed that evening in Kratie.

 

There really seemed no reason to venture from our balcony. The best views were right there for us to behold. However, curiosity got the better of us. We wandered through sweltering streets, busy markets and received the smiles and friendliness of strangers. No communication was necessary. Warm hearts broke through any barriers there may have existed. Ladies, in winter pyjamas, on motorbikes negotiated the crowds around us. Debbie searched for delicious looking and smelling edibles. Later finding herself not too convinced of the flavours as she sat on the banks of the Mekong.

One cannot go to Kratie and not see the Irrawaddy dolphins. There are approximately eighty-five surviving dolphins living in the Mekong River, which flows past Kratie. When water levels drop during the dry season, the dolphins tend to remain in the nine deep water pools close to the town. 

The crude wooden boat awaited the two of us. The captain never said a word throughout the journey but somehow knew exactly what we were looking for – besides sighting the dolphins. Absolute peace. For as long as possible. He headed straight for the pools and with his insight gained over the years, he knew when to cut the engine. The metallic gun-metal colour of the Mekong lay quietly upon the surface. Signaling an approaching storm. Bobbing gently in silence, the lapping of water against the wooden boat lulled us into the most serene state. We spotted the very shy endangered dolphins. A surreal moment to be cherished for years to come. 

Taking a walk in the forest alongside hundreds of begging monk statues seemed a befitting way to end our visit to Kratie. The statues escorted us up the three hundred steps leading to the Wat Phnom Sombok Temple, where spectacular views greeted us. The silence and the beauty of the moment held us captive.