Chasing Amy-Lou

Takeo Province, Cambodia;

Today was Saturday, and usually on the weekends the volunteers got to have a break and some time off (some much needed time off). The kids were welcome to hang around Happyland in the morning but come the afternoon, seeing as there were no official classes for the older kids, Happyland closed its doors and the kids had to entertain themselves.

Swansea suggested going into Takeo for lunch at the local market, where a meal of noodle soup with pork would cost a dollar, and where fruit could be bought in abundance. He also suggested that we might like to visit the swimming pool in Takeo. Upon hearing the words ‘swimming’ and ‘pool’ we positively jumped at the chance.

Takeo was around ten kilometres away from the Happyland site. And with only two motorbikes that could carry five people (three on one and two on another), the rest of us were resigned to hitching a lift at the side of the road.

I’d never hitchhiked before. Neither had Gold Coast, Melbourne, Italy or Boston (Iceland, London and Lille had gone with Toulouse and Swansea on the bikes), and as we stood at the side of the road, waving our hands at the oncoming traffic looking about as out of place as we could possibly look, we struggled to contain our hysterics and excitement: who would pick us up? Would we get there in one piece? Would they charge us? What would happen if a pig lorry stopped and we had to hang on to the back of the vehicle, pig farts and gruel wafting in our faces? The possibilities were endless.

Fortunately, we managed to flag down a half empty mini bus (not quite as exciting as we’d hoped for but definitely more comfortable that hanging off the back of a farm wagon) and before we knew it we were being dropped off outside Takeo market. After chowing down on some longed for protein, we made our way to SK Homestay and Swimming Pool which was about 2kms away.

Because we were in rural Cambodia, it was necessary and deemed as a sign of cultural respect for the girls to avoid flaunting their tits, stomachs, shoulders and arses, and cover up while swimming by wearing conservative shorts and t-shirts. Although a bit of a pain in the proverbial (all we wanted to do was strip down and feel liberated again), we got over it once we dove in and began frolicking in the clean, clear, beautiful water.

The feeling of getting in that pool was one of pure elation. We all felt relaxed and free; we felt calm and at ease, and we felt happy to have been given the opportunity to have a break. Once we were all suitably wet, the real fun began – we took turns at dive-bombing and doing handstands, jumping on each other’s shoulders and play-fighting, having competitions to see who could swim under water for the longest time, and we even took to acrobatics on the dive board.

Being the show off that I am, and thinking I was still as limber and skilled at water acrobatics as I was when I was ten, I attempted a backflip from up high. The board was wet and slippy, but I managed to maintain a grip with my feet, and as I launched myself backwards to descend into a beautifully poised fall, I made the ultimate fail – rather than backflip, I ended up in a backward-belly flop. And the WHOLE pool saw. The laughter was rapturous, and despite my slightly stinging thighs and a little loss of dignity, I managed a wholehearted belly laugh too: after all, a belly flop is always hilarious.

Over the last decade or so, I’d been so bogged down with work and career decisions, life woes and (lack of) love, travelling and real serious adulting stuff, that I’d kind of forgotten what it felt like to be a kid – I’d forgotten how to let myself go, and for a few hours that afternoon, I revelled in the simplicity and innocence of our play. I enjoyed feeling young again.

Around 6pm, relaxed and chilled, we made our way to Fred’s Bar; a tiny French Bistro in the heart of residential Takeo. Being suitably skint and having to really watch my money (my Bali fund was diabolically minuscule due to Cambodia being much more expensive than I’d bargained for) I opted for the cheapest thing on the menu – penne arrabiata. Despite it being absolutely delicious, and despite the portion size being huge, I couldn’t help but feel envious of the rest of our squad as they all tucked into succulent steaks with pepper sauce, medium-rare duck with garlic garnished tomatoes, and piles and piles of chips. I suppose though, had I forgone the two glasses of merlot I’d opted for then I too could’ve feasted on a fat bit of beef and some smooth peppery goodness. Alas, my love of wine was the winner that night, and even though I was craving steak, my belly, my heart, and my mind had been well and truly satisfied.