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Cambodia's environment wasn't always so
carefully tended. The chaos of the Khmer Rouge
era placed a great strain on the country's
resources, and any saleable land was logged.
When King Sihanouk was reinstated in 1993, he
countered deforestation by designating seven
conservation parks and 10 reserves. Today, an
impressive 18 per cent of the country is
protected by royal decree, a figure that
compares favourably with the 7.6 per cent
dedicated to national parks in England.
Still without a monkey sighting, we pull in
where the estuary meets the Gulf of Thailand for
a lunch of steamed barracuda. Stilted shacks
perch on the beach. One of the children shows me
a new trick: how to treat a burn by scraping the
powdery surface of a piece of cuttlebone. It's
more evidence of an easy affinity with nature of
which I'm both admiring and envious.
On the way back, we finally encounter some
wildlife: a kingfisher furiously chases tiny
flying fish; an otter pops its head up; a
greater adjutant with long trailing legs and a
six-foot wingspan glides overhead. Still no
monkeys, but an altogether wilder experience is
promised at the neighbouring national park of
Bokor.
Getting there from my tastefully appointed cabin
in Sihanoukville, Cambodia's leading beach
resort, proves difficult. Despite the ubiquitous moto
touts, when I actually want a taxi it's hard to
commandeer one. Eventually a driver is persuaded
to head down Route 3 towards the Elephant
Mountains. With the sun setting behind us, we
tank through luminous rice fields, every glance
out of the window returning a snapshot of the
poverty and vitality of rural life: children
riding water buffalo, families of five squeezed
onto Honda Dreams, a gardener cutting the grass
of a hotel lawn with a sickle, four girls in
gold lame outfits miming on a makeshift stage.
Everyone is busy.
 
Transport is the great
leveler in Cambodia.
So
far I'd managed to avoid the roads, arriving
from the Thai border on a sleek speedboat and
then sticking to the waterways of Ream. Now, as
darkness descends and our rear left wheel
inevitably blows on the gravel, I'm reminded of
an agonizing trip I once made along Route 6,
covering 50 miles in 15 hours. Now, on this
remote stretch of unmade road, devoid of street
lighting, markings or signs, rusting trucks
without headlights veer around us as we struggle
to change the wheel by starlight. I can see why
the driver was reluctant.
Next morning, there's more rough riding as I
corkscrew up Mount Bokor in a battered Toyota
Camry belonging to Samlain, a park ranger with a
350,000-acre job on his hands. The track bears
every hallmark of landslides, torrential
rainfall and zero maintenance; despite the
Toyota's raised suspension, we're thrown from
side to side.
Despite the arduous progress, there's a sense of
being swallowed as the forest jungle trees close in around us,
huge yellow butterflies
 flickering like sparks
in the gloom. Peering up at the canopy, I spot a
mammal with a long tail: a giant black squirrel.
Suddenly I fancy my chances of seeing some
proper wildlife, so we find the nearest trail
and plunge behind the trees.
Like almost everyone else I've met in Cambodia, Samlain is completely at ease amid an abundance
of flora. While I'm falling over tree roots,
he's tipping
the water from a pitcher plant to reveal the
luckless insects inside, pointing out a clump of
Venus flytraps, cautioning me about the points
on a serrated palm and sharing a cure for
diarrhea (eat seven guava leaves). We crack a
fistful of tamarind husks, and nibble the leaves
of an edible fern. We even find wild aloe vera.
Left to our own devices up here, it's abundantly
clear which of us would survive.
Tramping back, Samlain is telling me about the
week-long forays he's made into the deeper
forest. Has he ever seen an elephant? "They're
easy to find," he says. "You just cut down a big
tree, the elephant hears the boom and comes
along to eat the sweet leaves from the treetop."
I make a mental note in case I ever need an
elephant in a hurry.
Suddenly there's such a crash that I imagine a
parachutist has strayed into the trees, but then
the biggest bird I've ever seen is descending
ahead of us, successive branches snapping under
its weight. A curved beak bigger than its body,
protruding from a yellow casque, crunches back
some kind of nut. Then the hornbill (as I find
out later) flaps away in an ungainly flurry of
black wings and claws.
Our second bird encounter, though we never see
it, is more significant. It's a type that feeds
on whatever tigers leave behind, and Samlain
freezes when we hear its piercing peep-peep: it
means a tiger is likely to be nearby. Several
long minutes later the call fades and the tiger,
if it was ever there, is gone. Although I'm
disappointed, seeing it would have been a
privilege I hardly deserve: in five years as a
ranger, Samlain has sighted only one tiger.
We continue to the summit to enjoy a misty view
of the Vietnamese coast,
and to visit the
plateau where the blackened shell of the Bokor
Palace Hotel and Casino still smoulders. Once
the playground of French
colonialists, later
occupied by Vietnamese soldiers, the walls of
this grand structure are now a mosaic of soft
red lichen, bullet holes and graffiti. Our
accommodation is a large and cosy bunk bed at
the far more practical National Park Research
and Training Facility. As night falls, above the
sawmill screech of countless insects I can make
out the faint whistling of a female gibbon,
mocking my failure to find a single primate.
When I get back to Sihanoukville next day, there
on the roof of my cabin, wearing a "where have
you been?" expression, is a rhesus monkey.
TRAVELLER'S GUIDE
GETTING THERE
There are no direct flights to Phnom Penh from
the UK. Thai Airways (0870 606 0911;
www.thaiairways.co.uk) flies from Heathrow via
Bangkok and Malaysia Airlines (0870 607 9090;
www.malaysiaairlines.com) flies via Kuala
Lumpur, also from Heathrow. Faraway Traveller
(01435 873666; www.farawaytraveller
STAYING THERE
Most hotels insist on US dollars. The
international-standard Crystal Hotel in
Sihanoukville (00 855 3493 3523) is close to
Ochheuteal beach. Doubles start at $35
([pound]19), including breakfast. In Kampot (for
Bokor National Park) try the colonial Bokor
Mountain Lodge (00 855 3393 2314;
www.bokorlodge.com). Doubles start at $33
([pound]18), including breakfast. The best
budget choice is the western-run Blissful
Guesthouse (00 855 1251 3024; e- mail:
blissfulguesthouse@yahoo.com). Rooms start at $4
([pound]2.20), room only
VISITING THERE
Sok Lim Tours (00 855 1271 9872;
www.soklimtours.com) arranges package and custom
tours to the national parks and other local
attractions.
Independent, The (London), by Carl Thompson
Or do
it with the Dirt Bike
Sports active:
Trails of the unexpected
The heat is unbearable, I'm tired, filthy and
my limbs are aching. I sit in the dirt, head
lolling, trying to grab a bit of shade. I take
my helmet off and toss it into a bush. I've had
enough. "Not too far now," says my cheery guide
and tour leader, the wonderfully monickered
Zeman McCreadie. "I know you feel like giving
up, but when we get there you'll realise it's
been worth all the effort."
We've been in the saddle for nearly five
hours on the way to to the ancient Khmer ruins
at Preah Khan - the third-largest temple complex
in a country famed for its antiquities. The
Cambodian terrain mixes deep, thick sand with
narrow, hard ruts - perfectly designed to toss
you off the bike and into the dirt. Add in
sweltering 35C heat and the potential of
landmines if you veer too far off the
established track, and every sinew of mind and
body is being tested.
I had first sat on a dirt bike six days
earlier. In fact, if you don't count a
couple of years riding a vintage Vespa around
London, it was my first time on a motorbike of
any kind. And there are certainly easier places
to learn to ride a 250cc Honda XR Baja trail
bike than the reckless streets of Cambodia's
capital, Phnom Penh.
By the time we set off the next morning
for the abandoned 1920s French hill resort of
Bokor, 130 miles south of the Cambodian
capital, I am reasonably confident, though.
Learning a new and potentially dangerous
activity is made easier when you have a teacher
who has patience and experience. McCreadie has
both in abundance. Originally from St David's in
West Wales, he ended up in Cambodia in 1994
after backpacking around Asia, and began
dirt-biking the remoter stretches of the
country. "You'd hear heavy machine-gun fire
every night in Phnom Penh, and there was hardly
a tarmacked road in the country," he says. "It
was perfect for nutty dirt bikers."
McCreadie, 32, set up a series of dirt-bike
Rally Raids that took upwards of 40 riders
for wild sojourns deep into the uncharted
regions of a country devastated by years of
civil war. "The locals treated us like we'd just
stepped off a spaceship," he says. But this gang
of unruly bikers also had a conscience, becoming
involved with organisations such as Unicef and
distrib-uting health advice, medicines and
condoms."Each rally had a theme. We wanted to
make a positive contribution to the places we
passed through," says McCrea- die, who has set
up an adventure-travel company, Cambodia
Expeditions, to extend this experience to paying
customers.
Back on the road, the first two hours to
Bokor pass easily enough. Apart from the
potholes, stray cows, packs of mean-dering
cyclists and veering, seemingly possessed, bus
drivers, it is a breeze. The next two hours are
decidedly tougher.
"It's a steep climb from here, and the
road is a mix of sand and large rocks. Take it
slowly and you should be OK," McCreadie says as
we reach the foot of the Bokor plateau. I ask if
he had any other tips. "Sit as far forward in
the seat as possible. That way your centre of
gravity is more stable and you can steer by
shifting your weight. Also, stay in first or
second gear and, if you get into trouble, give
it some throttle."
I'm soon nervously motoring up the switchback
trail. Every so often my front wheel hits a
large rock, causing me to lose control
momentarily and my heart to skip a beat. I get
up to speeds of 30mph, start swinging the bike
around a little then nervously slow down again.
At times we are in the midst of gargantuan trees
and ferns. The next moment the track offers up
stunning vistas of the plains below as we run
along a sheer drop.
We near the top of the plateau and a vast plain
opens up before us. We head towards a series of
ruined buildings, one of which had once been a
casino. "This used to be a high-class French
resort," explains McCreadie, "but it's been
derelict since the Khmer Rouge turned it into a
fortress in the Seventies."
A quick tour of the casino reveals bullet
holes, tracer casings and burnt walls. Just
in front of the old Khmer Rouge HQ, the plateau
falls away into a precipitous 1,000-metre
plummet. A perfect spot for paragliding, I
suggest to McCreadie. "We've thought of that,
but the jungle below is still heavily mined," he
replies.
The night is spent in the comfortable quarters
of the rangers who patrol Bokor National Park.
Our support vehicle has brought all the
necessary supplies - good food and good wine. "I
like to inject a little style," says McCreadie,
as we sit around a candlelit table eating
marinated pork steaks and drinking a decent
Bordeaux.
With a good night's sleep under my belt,
I complete the descent from Bokor in
double-quick time. The next few days are spent
visiting another old French hill station at
Kirirom, looking for rare river turtles far
upriver, deep into the Cambodian jungle, and
improving my bike skills.
"I saved the best part of this trip until the
end," says McCreadie as we arrive several
days later in the dusty town of Kampong Thom.
"From here, we're heading for Preah Khan. It's a
stunning place but it's a very difficult ride
and the area hasn't been fully cleared of
landmines."
The route to Preah Khan is legendary in
Cambodia's dirt-bike scene. Mark Calafatello,
a New York antique dealer and highly experienced
dirt-biker whom I met in Phnom Penh, had failed
to reach the temple complex on two occasions.
"Not too far now," repeats McCreadie, as I pick
up my helmet and strap it back on my sweat-
drenched head. I open up the throttle and
attempt to steer the bike through the sand, but
it keeps sliding out of control. I am reduced to
a crawl, eating the huge clouds of dust
McCreadie's bike kicks up in front of me.
We make it into a small village, where I
guzzle down a huge bowl of noodles in front of a
large audience. Shortly after the village we
reach the outer limits of Preah Khan. Large
stone ruins covered in thick foliage loom out of
the jungle - one has mammoth, ancient faces
carved into it, stone-lidded eyes staring down.
Everywhere areas are roped off, marked by red
"Danger - mines" signs. "They are clearing the
mines to open the area up for tourists,"
McCreadie explains.
We camp out in a simple, open, wooden shelter,
with mosquito nets, mats and hammocks to provide
comfort. Before night sets in, we explore the
central temple: jumbles of giant, abandoned
temple stones, knots of fat, sinewy roots,
intricately carved friezes, noble relics of a
once mighty city, nestle evocatively in the
gentle evening mist.
The morning ride back to Kampong Tom is a
revelation. The struggles of the previous
day are forgotten. At times I slide the bike
sideways through the sand, my confidence
growing.
I have been forced to push hard to get this far,
but it has been more than worth it. Not only
have I learnt to control a powerful motorbike in
difficult terrain, I have also visited places
few people have seen. Zeman McCreadie is right -
it has been worth all the effort.
Cambodia Expeditions (07815 639 808,
www.cambodiaexpeditions.com), organise
tailor-made dirt-bike tours from novice to
expert, inclusive of food, on-tour
accommodation, bike rental and fuel, starting at
$150 (pounds 80) a day per person (not including
flights). Support vehicles can carry non-
riders, and 4x4 and boat tours are also
available. Travelmood (0870 066 4556,
www.travelmood.com, ) offer five nights in Phnom
Penh at the four-star Sunway Hotel, including
return flights from London Heathrow, from pounds
645 per person based on twin share.
Independent on
Sunday, The, by Andrew Spooner
Copyright Independent Newspapers UK Limited
Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning
Company. All rights Reserved.
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