Asia | South East Asia | Cambodia | South West Cambodia | Sihanoukville – Day 18 – Sihanoukville, Cambodia
Out over the Gulf of Thailand platoons of puff float in lines, a parade past my reviewing stand just a few feet from the green curling surf. The sun practices its fade to dusk, intermittently, behind the platoons, but there is still time before the thick blue-black curtain of dusk is drawn on the day. My westward flanks, from temple to toes absorbs the side-sun’s still warm glow and constant breeze of perfect temperature flows over me in an uninterrupted flow.
I have returned to The Gulf, well east and north of my last known whereabouts in these parts (some six years ago) curling my toes in the sands of Sihanoukville — another end of the earth. I have just played in the sea with endlessly laughing little beach waifs who then followed me onto dry land and became all pouty — well practiced — when I refused their requests to buy them things. Smiles which turned off and on like the sun here — there is no free lunch.
And later, higher, that is up the hillside, back across the far side of town, the sky glows ember over the lumpy logs of silhouette mauve islands in the Gulf. On the breeze-snuggled patio of the Mealy Chenda restaurant/guest- house. Pastels now streaking in the intensifying feathery strokes across the sky, mutely reflected by the sea. A lovely day dies down.
Easy bus trip to town, regular road with real blacktop surface, past souped-up hills of hairy green and more distant misty heads somewhat more deserving of the mountain monicker.
Town is a sprawling affair, this Sihanoukville (named for a king), which so far appears to be as much open, grassy hill-tops as it does town. Lots and lots of empty, rainy-season hotels and possibly every guest within moto-distance is now on this softly lit patio. If the clouds keep their whispy distance it could be an awesome night of stars.
Upon arrival, after a brief perusal of Victory Beach, just below my hotel, I moto’ed over to the out-of-place-named Occheuteal Beach, a name more at home near Ixtapa methinks, and the spot where the beginnings of this entry were first penned.
And now an Angkor beer has settled on the bottom. The waitresses here are over- formally attired for a restaurant at An End of The Earth (apologies to Hitchiker’s Guide). A bit surreal, classy in an out-of-context way.