Buddha Baby (Phnom Penh, Ko Chen, Oudoung, Cambodia)

On Thursday morning, we arrived in Phnom Penh but there would be no tourism, dear reader, until the authorities had face-checked our passports. Following breakfast, we adjourned to the lounge for our face inspection. What I thought would be a fairly time-consuming process turned out to be brief and efficient. We presented our passports, with Cambodian visas, to the official, he looked at the passport picture and compared it to our facial reality. A smile. A nod. We were done.

On reflection it may not have have been a smile, but a smirk. Imagine having the job of checking everyone's unsmiling likeness on their passport. Could you do it without smirking?

A weather report is unnecessary, but for the sake of repetition: hot and humid. The temperature is above 30° and the humidity is higher than 70%. Soupy, we would say at home.

There was the usual shock as we walked from our air-conditioned world to reality. It was short lived because it was straight onto the bus which dropped us at the street entrance to Koh Chen, the silversmith village. Our endpoint was supposed to be over 1km through the village; it didn’t seem that far and the pace was leisurely.

A stupa in Koh Chen.

We ran the gauntlet of the pedlars, waiting for us to disembark the bus. We were warned not to speak to them at all. Engaging in conversation is tantamount to an agreement to buy from them. Despite being ignored by everyone, they were persistent and refused to go away, just like Scott Morrison and Tony Abbott.

A silversmith at work.

This particular village of silversmiths is 200 strong but they are all that is left of this trade community, after Pol Pot. They made the decision to stay together and to continue the traditional methods of silver work. They also work with copper, brass and silverplate. We went into one workshop and were able to see the smiths at work. The female proprietor showed us how to tell the difference between genuine silver and silver plate. It’s easy if you carry polish with you. The silverplate rubs off.

A giant brass pot.

After a futile attempt to purchase Jayne a silver turtle for her Pandora and finding nothing else to spend my money on, we walked across the road to get into our tuk tuk that transported us back to the bus. It was a much more comfortable ride than the cyclo, physically and emotionally. I wasn’t concerned for our driver because he had a motorised vehicle.

The line of tuk tuks.

Next stop was Oudong, the former capital of Cambodia and the site of the largest Buddhist temple in the country. En route we had some of the vagaries of Buddhism explained to us. This site, aside from having the temple with its monks, also had accommodation for priests and nuns. The nuns and priests are below the monks in the pecking order and do not have to commit to as high a level of devotion, in terms of following the precepts of the Buddha. It's pretty full-on, Google it dear reader. It was too strict for me, no alcohol, no sex, no bad language. WTF? The nuns and priests dress in white and they reside in accommodation on the grounds, having their meals provided by donation from the surrounding community.

The temple.

Our guide termed this arrangement to be akin to aged care or retirement living in developed countries. For example, a woman who cannot provide for herself, or needs respite from the demands of the world, or who has health issues, mental or physical, can expect to be welcomed into this haven for a short period of time or for life, whatever meets her need. It comes at a price though, austere life, shaved head - good times in your later years.

There are levels of accommodation ranging from pretty basic one room huts up to substantial buildings that have been constructed by women’s families.

Basic accommodation.

Not so basic accommodation.

The temple precinct is quite expansive and some of the garden areas are beautiful and tranquil, designed for people to be still and meditate. The one drawback was the stray cats and dogs that were everywhere. The Buddhist belief in reincarnation makes it problematic to remove them.

The view over part of the gardens.

The monks are forbidden to eat after 12pm and we were scheduled for a blessing just prior to this. A blessing can take up to 90 minutes, we had the discount version. It was supposed to be 15 minutes, but was even briefer so the monks could have lunch. I hope our souls are OK.

Murals on the walls and ceilings.

The temple itself is massive and as imposing as any Christian cathedral or Jewish synagogue, but without the same excess. There wasn’t the same level of opulence, for instance, the gold wasn’t real. The space inside was vacant except for a giant statue of Buddha, the Siddhartha Buddha, not the fat, laughing one. The walls and ceilings were covered with murals of the Buddha’s life.

Buddha watching over proceedings.

Feeling blessed, it was back to the bus and eventually the ship for lunch. We had some free time which allowed me the opportunity to find an ATM and get some American dollars, the preferred currency. The only challenge here was the need to cross the road. There was slightly less traffic than Vietnam, but it moved more quickly. It was a public holiday, so the roads were busy. No sign of a pedestrian crossing or a break in traffic. I did what any Redfern boy would do, waited for a half break and made a run for it. Money safely pocketed, I sprinted, oh alright, moved very quickly back across the road to safety.

The market entrance

The first bus to the central markets left at 2:30pm. This market was the only one permitted to operate during Pol Pot’s regime. It is quite expansive and navigation can be an issue if you are attempting to cover every part of it. The central market is a dome and there are five arms radiating from it. Each of these arms leads to an outer ring, although it’s not quite circular.

Stuff.

More stuff.

If you are in the market (see what I did there?) to purchase something, you’ll find it here. Clothes, material to make clothes, watches, rings, jewellery, sunglasses, electronics, kitchenware, tableware, flowers, cosmetics, underwear, the aisles went on and on. It is the place to buy “genuine fakes” in Cambodia and the locals shop here because the quality is good and they can’t afford name brands. So we were told.

Pretty.

Mmmm. Yum.

The air inside the dome is oppressive and there are times where it seems to be non-existent. Almost sauna like except it’s still humid. It has the effect of hurrying the haggling. We bagged some name brand ‘bargains’ and continued our circuit finding more and more arms of the market to explore. The fresh food section was interesting. Fish, prawns, chicken, beef, frogs, all laid out for purchase, and something that was alive but unidentifiable, in a pot of bubbling aerated water.

Our time was nearing the end and we made our way back to the bus area searching for one more bargain. And there it was, a Louis Vuitton Pikachu t-shirt for $10US. Seriously, for a knock-off, no way. $5 said Jayne. “No, no,” was the reply. So, we walked. She didn’t follow. No deal. Sorry Dave.

Pre-dinner that evening, there was a student performance of traditional Cambodian dancing. It comprised of four different dances. The traditional dance of the girls, a story told in dance about the monkey king, the coconut shell dance and that really dangerous dance where you can have ankles broken between two very thick poles.

The best dance of the night called for audience participation. Thankfully, I was not selected, but Jayne was … centre stage with the girls doing the special hand movements. A photo dear reader? Yes, I have some, but I'm not stupid enough to post one here. I like living. However, for a small fee ... DM me.

I was scared. One false step.

Then it was cracker night. Ok, ok, fireworks. Independence Day celebrations go for three days here and we were well positioned to see the fireworks from our mooring. It was first real excursion to the upper deck. There was a breeze but it was still quite warm. Fireworks don’t hold any great fascination for me. I am uncertain whether the root cause is age or the overdose of fireworks we get in Sydney.

Cracker night.

Regardless, it was dinner time. Back to the restaurant for another lovely meal. Then upstairs to see the “American superstar”. I was expecting some Elvis impersonator, but no, it was an American guy, late 70s, with a guitar, singing ‘classics’. Well they are if you’re my age.

Oops, almost forgot to reference the title. It is, of course, one of my favourite Australian groups, Leonardo's Bride. Buddha Baby. Enjoy.

Until next time.

 

Sonic (Perth to Kalbarri, WA)

The Murray Street strip continued to be party central. It reminded me of Kings Cross in Sydney (without the strippers) when Sydney still had a nightlife. The double glazing ensured we slept soundly and woke to a quiet Sunday morning. We decided to forego breakfast and get on the road as early possible. It's about a six hour drive to Kalbarri without stops and we have a number of stops planned, the first at Dan Murphy's. Prices for essentials, outside of the city, can be eye watering. And we needed champagne. Of course.

The car was parked across the street in a parking station. The walk up the stairwell was, well, pungent and puddled. Clearly Perth pubs and clubs don't have toilet facilities.

The freeway out to Uncle Dan's was a lovely stretch of road. If anyone in NSW or Victoria is wondering where their GST went after the Morrison deal, look no further than the road system in WA. It's all under construction.

We arrived at the bottle shop 5 minutes prior to opening time. Now that's a good look, hanging around outside Uncle Dan's waiting for the doors to open on a Sunday morning. Not that we are desperate, you understand....supplies purchased to avoid exorbitant prices heading North, we were walking back to the car when the unthinkable happened. The bottom of the box I was carrying gave way. One belligerent bottle made an escape attempt. A successful one. Only to be stymied by landing on its head and rolling to my feet. Unbroken! It's a miracle! The cap was damaged, and the contents looked like a sparkling (it was a Vasse Felix Classic White), but otherwise it was all good. Hopefully that is not all our good luck expended in one go!!!

Lancelin Sand Dunes

Next stop was Lancelin, home to WA's largest sand dunes. Now dear reader, I don't wish to be boastful, but we have climbed the largest sand dune in the world, in the South of France, in fact. Our southern hemisphere version just doesn't measure up. And in this case, size does matter.

While Declan was faithfully navigating us toward the sand people, his commentary became superfluous as the amount of sand being whipped into the air beckoned us forward. It was like light smoke in the air. We preferred to park on the street and walk the 300m into the carpark area. This is a celebrated WA recreation area, sand boarding, quad biking, 4 wheel driving, getting sand bogged, redneck spotting. The last was like shooting fish in a barrel - another concept that eludes my understanding.

Says it all really.

There were queues for the sand boards. There were queues for the quad bikes. There was no queue for the towing service - you had to phone them but they had conveniently put their phone number on a prominent sign, positioned immediately before the entry point. "Take a photo - you might need this number". We did see one macho-4WD thing being removed on the back of the trailer truck. Sadly they don't make the driver complete the walk of shame and trail behind his incapacitated vehicle.

Looks like a lot of fun.

Sand boarding looked like immense fun. Struggle all the way up a sand dune. Enjoy a 20 second ride. Collect more sand in orifices unnamed and struggle back up the dune. Repeat. Awesome. Quad bikes are just an accident waiting to happen and the 4WD drive cowboys get to act out a Ram ad. Be still my quaking heart.

Queues.

The wind was whipping the sand up to such an extent I thought I'd booked in for a defoliating treatment. The amount of airborne sand made it difficult to appreciate the beauty of the "largest sand dunes in WA". The wall-to-wall testosterone vehicles had nothing to do with it. Sand everywhere, as Leonardo's Bride informed us in Sonic from their Open sesame album of 2000.

I've always been fond of the expression "I'm not saying they're from the shallow end of the gene pool, but I can see sand". Well, there was a lot of sand today. Just saying.

At least when you climbed the dune in France, there was an epic view at the top (and stairs to climb to it).

The Pinnacles

Recently The Pinnacles featured on that bogan TV travel show on Channel 9. OK, it's become a guilty pleasure, but not for the reasons you might think. We believe Kevin and Janetta are channeling us. We'd be excellent travel companions for them.

This was our first National Park entry and we had pre-purchased a park pass before we left the safety of NSW. The car in front of us clearly hadn't and then decided to pay - in cash. Who does that in 2023? To enable this momentous moment, people in all parts of their over-compensating 4WD had to scour pockets and search purses. And then, the driver, wearing a broad brimmed hat in the car, wanted to chat to the attendant. Not for the first time, I wished I had some James Bond style attachments to my car. It was just inconsiderate. Cars steadily built up behind us and he chatted on regardless. Thankfully we never saw them again because they drove the circuit rather than getting out of the air conditioned environmental destroyer they were sitting in.

Anyway, on to more important matters, that is, the Pinnacles themselves. We ventured into this part of the Nambung National Park, ready to feel underwhelmed, given the name promises so much! And we weren't disappointed. It was underwhelming, expansive and overcrowded. Not just by 4WDs, also by people and people with drones, breaking the law by using the annoying, buzzing, expensive toys. Drones are the new generation's selfie-stick. I despise drones more. Noisy, invasive, illegal. They were banned on the south island in New Zealand, good work there.

The Pinnacles are unique formations of limestone pillars that have been exposed by coastal winds eroding the ubiquitous WA sand dunes. They are testimony to the ever-evolving maritime/desert dance that has formed the current WA landscape. They are worth visiting, but the name suggests so much more than the experience of walking through them delivers. It is interesting but it is not the apex of what will be the take home memories of WA.

The Lobster Shack

Bet that heading got your attention. We had a choice of places to have breakfast - yes, that is correct, we have yet to eat today. There was choice. The Jurien Bakery or the Lobster Shack. The later was recommended to me and it had the word lobster in it so Jayne was sold.

Again we leave the highway and drive to the edge of the country. While the Lobster Shack was easily found, easily enough to drive past, the actual entrance to the 'restaurant' wasn't so obvious. After driving to the end of the street and turning around to locate the car park, behind a colourbond fence, we struggled to find the actual 'restaurant'. We found the kids' play area, the gift shop, other lost tourists, and eventually the 'restaurant'. Simple. 

It looks like an entrance, but no, it's not.

Not so much. Where do you order? Are there menus? It was crowded. The first Sunday of school holidays. The end of normal lunch service. Unfettered, unbridled, unrestrained children underfoot everywhere. It was heaven.

We found the bar. No deal. Driving much further today. Someone pointed us to where you order where we found another couple who were equally confused. Together we found the menu. It was an interesting mix of things I'd never order and options I wanted to sit and savour. No deal. Driving. Also it wasn't cheap.

After much discussion about how it is against the law to hurt unrestrained children. No, sorry wrong discussion. After much discussion we opted for a lobster roll. Not particularly surprising given our time constraints, the choices and the massive number of children. Did I mention it was school holidays? And they weren't even fun kids, you know, the ones to watch, sullen teens sneering at their parents, staring at their screens. No, these were barefoot tearaways.

There was an outside deck where we annexed a table. Water was the next challenge. They have one of those fancy chilled water dispensers. Over I go, feeling amazed there were so many cups sitting, waiting to be used. Amazed until I tried to extract water from the tap. Nope. Not working. They later placed a sign on the tap - it was out of order - and directed people to jugs of water on the bar. Yeah, whatever.

The lobster roll was very good. Big enough for two. Particularly as it came with chips. But then it was $30.

Would we come back? Hell yeah. On the right day, weather wise, the deck is an absolute winner. The lobster was excellent. Just don't come on a Sunday afternoon during school holidays.

Back on the road.

Kalbarri

It was not an easy drive to Kalbarri. The sun was setting which makes conditions difficult and we were heading west for a large part of the drive. At one stage the sun was sitting directly atop of the road. And then there are animals at dusk.

Suffice to say it was a drive that required intense concentration. We arrived, without incident.

And with that, I think that's enough for this post. I'll deal with dinner tomorrow.

Until next time.