Chasing Amy-Lou

Kampot, Cambodia;

This morning I attended my last yoga class in Kampot. It was a relaxing and subtle vinyasa flow and despite only being back in the practice of yoga for just over a week, I felt surprisingly more flexible – my downward facing dog had been perfected to a tee! I didn’t know when I’d be able to practice yoga again as I was due to leave for Phnom Penh the following day and then a volunteer centre two days after that, so I made sure I put extra effort in. Feeling all Zen and in complete alignment with my chakras (or something to that effect), I took a stroll to Ellie’s cafe just around the corner.

Ellie’s Cafe had received good reviews on a number of websites I’d visited when researching places to eat in Kampot. I’d heard their style was very Melbourne-esque (think benedict and smashed avo, health bowls and home-made muesli) so I was excited for a breakfast that wasn’t just a stale baguette and badly scrambled eggs.

And in true testament to the reviews, I was not disappointed. I had a scrumptious eggs florentine, a huge vat of French press coffee and rounded it all off with a soothing camomile tea (the first I’d had since Vietnam); all for under $5; and it was an absolute delight.

I spent the rest of my last morning in Kampot in a lazy haze, floating from restaurant to restaurant, checking out the menus and surveying the wine selections. And as I was meandering with not much purpose at all, I all of a sudden felt very French; and by this I mean that the town felt very French; very Parisian. This isn’t surprising really though, as Kampot proper was technically French anyway – the battered, weathered looking buildings felt very colonial in style with their jutting balconies and endearing facades; iron railings mimicking those of city centre Parisian apartments.

Kampot was pretty, but in an endearingly tired looking way. Two days ago I mentioned in this blog how I liked Kampot immensely: it was peaceful, chilled, quirky, quaint; and all the other niche-like adjectival words you could use to describe such a place of uniqueness. Whether I’d have felt the same way in the busier dry season I don’t know, but in this moment, in July 2017, I’d fallen in love with this sleepy little fishing town that was most famous for its salt and pepper production.

How I’d quite fallen for it I didn’t really know (for most part it had been raining), and it had taken a while (almost a week); but all I knew was something had pulled me towards it; perhaps it was because I’d shied away from and had avoided the busier cafes and restaurants in favour of quieter, more hidden away places; or perhaps it was because it was the first city I’d spent longer than four nights in, with not much on my agenda apart from relaxation. Whatever it was, I liked it. And in a town where the draw of ex-pat culture and banter can be all too enticing, and can easily swallow you up, there were plenty of places in which to find some solitude and serenity.

In the afternoon I went in search of books. I’d seen that the Kepler’s Bookshop housed many a classic title; many a non-fiction publication, and many a novel; the genres spanning sci-fi to romance, history to travel, comedy to thriller. And this afternoon, I was adamant I was not going to leave Kampot without some kind of new reading material. If my rucksack and weak shoulders had allowed, I would’ve bought the entire shop, but for the sake of comfort, practicality and logic, I opted for one wonderful Bill Bryson classic instead – my literary hero.

Wandering through the streets with my new purchase tucked firmly under my arm and a satisfied grin on my chops, I came across yet another hidden gem – Bookish Bazaar. Now, Bookish Bazar isn’t really ‘hidden’ in the basic sense of the word (it’s in all the guidebooks and has big ratings on Tripadvisor) but it is hidden in the obvious sense of the word, i.e., it doesn’t have flashing neon lights advertising it’s whereabouts, and has a very discreet shop front. Bookish Bazaar is a bookshop, a book exchange, and a licensed cafe all rolled into one, and as I entered and began to take a look around – surveying the packed shelves of books and literature – the quietness and distinct lack of custom sucked me in. And for the second time that week, I’d fallen in love.

Bookish Bazaar was adorable. It had an upstairs dedicated to books written in English, some comfy sofas on which to kick back and lose yourself in your favourite novel, and a cute little balcony you could park yourself on, enjoy a glass of wine and watch the world go by over the top of your book pages. And as I revelled in my new found contentment, I felt happy that I’d chosen Kampot as a destination.