further south to kampot

I've been trying to reconcile with myself this morning that I exist now, to my family and friends, only as a computer website. It's an amusing thought in some ways. It's true; but for myself, and a few select Cambodian's, I also exist in living colour.

I'm in Kampot, on the south coast of Cambodia, and have been since yesterday lunchtime. My hotel is called the Mealy Chenda Guesthouse (I'm in Room 13). It sits in the centre of what is a very small town, comprising a few main streets, a market, a river, and a central roundabout. As with Battambang (pronounced 'Battambong' by the way) I love the slow pace and quietness of the town.

I'm not really planning on going anywhere, although a local motorbike driver is lobbying hard to take me to the local sights, at what seems - to me - a very inflated price. His name, which I would like to record, is Mr Bun Lounge. I must remember that name in case I ever need an alias (perhaps after my machine gun activities catch up with me), although in such circumstances my preferred false name would probably be my old favourite: Ryan Noserous.

I've only got nine days left in Cambodia before I move on to Vietnam. I still need to arrange a bus ticket across (one tour operator has quoted me three dollars for a one way ride to Ho Chi Minh City) but this is a formality which will be dealt with in a few days. I will definitely be leaving for country number three on 2 September when my Vietnamese visa kicks in. The ecstasy of a new border control stamp in my passport awaits me.

Before coming down to Kampot, I visited the remaining sites of Phnom Penh, that is, I went to the Killing Fields just south west of the city, and to Wat Phnom, perhaps the most famous Buddhist temple in the city. I may be suffering with temple fatigue, but I found Wat Phnom something of a disappointment. There seemed nothing individual about it, and it needed a bit of repair work doing.

On the evening of my visit to the Killing Fields, I went into one of the tourist bars in the lakeside area, and asked them if they would play the DVD of the the film, 'The Killing Fields.' The waiter I spoke to seemed pleased I wanted to watch it, although the rest of the bar staff groaned audibly at the idea of having it on wide-screen again, for what I expect must be the millionth time. It was a good film, and watching it helped me make more sense of the buildings and displays I've seen over the past couple of weeks.

As is my practice, I checked the film out afterwards on the Internet Movie Database, and was upset to find that the lead actor Haing S Ngor, a man who, like his character in the film, had survived the severe brutality of the Khmer Rouge, and who had seen the death of his wife and baby at their hands, was murdered at the age of 56 in 1996 in Los Angeles by a gang trying to get money for drugs. It is suspected that he was shot because he refused to give up a gold locket from around his neck containing the only picture of his late wife. Life just doesn't let up sometimes when it comes to cruelty.

The notebook friends from work bought me, amongst other things, as a leaving present continues to come in very useful. Every morning I write out what day it is, the date, and then a list of what I plan to do that day. Then just before I go to bed I tick everything I've achieved, and cross everything I've missed. It's been helpful for writing out draft blog entries too, and it's the reason I know today is day number fifty seven. So thanks again guys!

I''m about halfway through The Day of the Jackal. It is good I have to admit, and I like the way the plot is building and building towards the assassination attempt on Charles de Gaulle, but Forsyth is over keen to demonstrate his knowledge of secret services, mercenaries, and spies. This means you get lots of passages which begin with sentences like: 'the French Police splits into eighteen different sub-sections. Taking them in order, the first sub-section is...' It is good though, and the only thing I'd really change so far is the picture of Forsyth looking a smug git on the back.

I was thinking to myself last night about some of the 'holidaying' people I've met so far on this trip, and the fact that most of them must be back home by now, whilst - lucky old me - I'm still out here. Old Will, who I sat next to on the plane out, will have been back in Putney for five weeks now, and his time in Bangkok and Ko Samui must be a distant memory, as he sits behind his traders desk near the Corn Exchange. Similarly, Kieron and his girlfriend (whose name I never learnt) will be back in Newcastle trying to find jobs as solicitors, and the beautiful Shannon from Canada will be back in Alberta looking for work and a new 'apartment.' Perhaps she has found both by now? And yet here I still out here, and with months and months of more interesting people, places, and doxycycline tablets to go.

Funny.