Chasing Amy-Lou

Kampot to Phnom Penh, Cambodia;

Starting on Monday I’m due to partake in a volunteer program helping some of Cambodia’s disadvantaged kids (something I’ve been very much looking forward to since I signed up for it while in Vietnam). This will last for a week, and once I’ve finished I’ll be heading to Bali for some unadulterated sunshine and some very welcomed and much needed beach time (hoorah). So as I prepare to end my travels (travels in the most primitive sense of the word) here’s the situation: I am well and truly over the buses in South East Asia – done with them, finished, end of! If I ever see another over-crowded, cramped, tightly-packed, smelly, run-down mini-bus in my life, it will be too soon.

Something I’ve learned over the last five weeks is this: as a twenty-odd year old bussing back and forth between Glasgow, Preston, Manchester and London, and even travelling between cities in Germany and the East Coast of Australia, I really didn’t mind taking long journeys and sitting on trains and buses for prolonged periods of time. And I actually don’t really mind trains, they’re a decent way to travel and at least you have the luxury of being able to move. But as a woman who’s about to enter her thirty third year on this earth, I’ve come to the informed, educated and experienced conclusion that buses are the work of the devil. I’ll gladly get on a bus in Europe (well, the U.K.), for short journeys – on vehicles where space is treated as a given, not a luxury – but in South East Asia, I’m officially done.

Personal space seems not to be a ‘thing’ over here, and you can bet your life that if there’s even just a small gap left somewhere on a bus it will be duly filled with either luggage, a small person, a box of groceries, your grannie’s new mattress, or a cage full of chickens. ‘Leave no space free’ appears to be the driving force behind most journeys. Cambodia especially.

I’d booked my bus to Phnom Penh in advance through my hostel in Kampot, had paid, had received a receipt and was all set to leave on Saturday morning. Saturday morning came and I rose pretty early to await my impending collection. I was due to be picked up around 8:30am. So I ate a leisurely breakfast, opened a new book, began reading, and waited.

And I waited. And I waited. 8:30 came and went. As did 9am. By this point I began to get a little worried: “Surely there’s not that much traffic in Kampot that it’s taken the bus over half an hour to get from the offices that are literally just around the corner?!” This being South East Asia though and remembering my mantra from Vietnam – just go with it (which was actually beginning to wear a little thin now) – I took a deep breath and gave them the benefit of the doubt: the bus would be here. It would definitely be here.

By 9:15 the bus still hadn’t arrived and I began to get frustrated. I could feel the coils of my internal springs being wound tighter and tighter and all the adrenaline and rage I’d suppressed since my last boxing class back in Broome was resurfacing. I was ready to wreak havoc, to commence battle and shower a tonne of shit over the bus companies and their inept time keeping. In other words, I was ready to make a very British complaint.

Turns out it wasn’t even the bus company’s fault. My sketchy (and probably half baked) hostel manager had apparently forgotten to book me onto the 8:30 bus, and therefore, after some heartfelt apologies from the Cambodian hostel staff (who may I add, were lovely and didn’t deserve my irritated attitude) I was reassured that I’d be on the 10:30 bus and would be on my way to Phnom Penh in no time at all.

As expected, 10:30 came and went, and even though I’d been promptly collected by a tuk-tuk driver and taken to the office of the bus company, the bus wasn’t even there; so again I was forced to wait. By 11:30 (three hours after I was originally due to leave), the rain had started to pelt the pavements, the puddles growing larger every second, and the office had become like a battery farm: agitated travellers were packed into a tiny foyer like emaciated chickens – their bags and cases wedged between their legs; with no room to spread their wings.

FINALLY, the bus arrived. And as hastily as we could, we all jumped on. By this point I’d purchased myself a couple of beers to take the edge off and calm myself down, so, making my way to the back of the bus (where all the bad kids sat and where there appeared to be more leg room), I let out a relieved sigh and awaited departure.

The journey to Phnom Penh wasn’t actually THAT bad (at least the sun was shining). I slag off the transport in South East Asia but it’s more the lack of organisation and understanding, the inability to communicate instruction and the tardiness of it all that’s most frustrating. And the waiting. Always the waiting.

Anywho, once I’d found my way to my hostel (which was very nice and modern and spacious) and I had settled in (a beer followed by a gin and tonic chaser definitely helped), I felt ready to face the next step in my journey – it was time to meet the other volunteers that I’d be working alongside for the next week.

Meeting new people is always daunting, but meeting new people who you’ve already conversed with over social media is doubly daunting. You build up a perception of those people in your mind and sometimes you’re faced with disappointment, especially when they don’t turn out to be what you expected. Luckily for me though, all the guys who I’d be travelling with to the volunteer site seemed lovely.

We were a mixed bunch – two Aussies, an American chic, a guy from Iceland and a fellow Brit. And we were also expecting two Italians and another European in the next few days. It already felt like it was going to be a lot of fun.

Chewing the fat over our recent travels and our future plans; our reasons for wanting to partake in a volunteer initiative and our stance on global economics…ok, maybe not the last bit…we all seemed to get along swimmingly. We went for some dinner together and over cheap noodle soup we conversed some more. The group dynamics seemed at face value to be well balanced; there were definite characters and a range of personalities that were sure to shine through as the week progressed. Knowing that I was going to be in one place for a while, with a group of like minded individuals eased my soul a little; and with the thought of horrific sleeper buses and uncomfortable mini-vans at the very back of my mind, I went to bed and perhaps had the best nights sleep I’d had in weeks.