Crab in Kampot pepper, and the ghost house

There was another place I wanted to visit in Cambodia. I had once seen the picture of a decrepit building, surrounded by mist and seemingly lost in the jungle; for a long time I wondered where it was. The place was Bokor Hill station, near Kep. Only 5 of us reached Kep, having lost 2 on the way. And for everybody, Bokor was up there on the list. Kampot is a quaint and relaxing town, lying riverside with an interesting collection of French colonial buildings. Touristy enough to have good guesthouses, but out of the Siem Reap-PP-Sihanoukville axis and the interminable street peddling attached. It was nice enough to spend a few hours wandering around. We discovered Cambodian durians were in season. My readers will be familiar on my keenness for the king of fruit; a love that is rarely found in Caucasian people. In most cases, when Westerners sample the delectable flesh of this beautiful fruit, they either gag or lying through their teeth say 'it's alright'. If there ever was one thing that you can either love or hate, that's durian. Nobody who is speaking the truth would ever define it as 'alright'. I love it, and needless to say I stuffed my face with it.





But onto Bokor now. We arranged a trip there the previous day, and found out it was an all-day affair including a five hours trek. Why? Courtesy of the omnipresent Sokha group, who purchased the land to build a Las Vegas style resort on the grounds of the former hill station, hence closing the access road. Doesn't matter that the surrounding area is protected National Park. What is done for the tourist dollar (or shall I say yen, or yuan? I like to think no Westerner in their right ming would ever stay in such an environmentally-unfriendly eyesore). See, I fall into my old ways, ranting whenever I get the chance. Let me explain. Bokor Hill Station was built by the French in the 1920s as a hill station, to complement Kep-sur-Mer, lying a few kilometers away on the coast. In a typical European view, the hill station was built to provide dignitaries and important visitors to the colony with the possibility to escape the heat and enjoy the fresh air. It occupies an enviable position, perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean over a thousand meters below. The resort was in full swing until the late 1940, when the French abandoned it retreating from Indochina. It was still sporadically used, until the Khmer Rouge takeover when it became an operation base. It was one of the sites of heaviest fighting during the Cambodian-Vietnamese war that marked the end of the Khmer Rouge. Subsequently, it was used as a hiding place for the last pockets of Khmer Rouge, who only abandoned the area in the late Nineties.






I especially enjoyed having to hike to get to the station. As I said, the access road was closed, so we followed a very rough and steep trail until two-thirds up the mountain, from where we were picked up by a truck for the final strech. The hike was uneventful, but enjoyable nonetheless. As always, when the road is hard, the reward is higher. And up the top, the view was spectacular. The centrepiece of the station is the former Bokor Palace Hotel, which is now in ruins, but still standing proudly on its prime position by the cliffside. We walked around the building, pausing to eat a lunch of fried rice in the former ballroom. The ballroom had a staircase leading onto the garden backing onto the cliff. My imagination started wandering, aided by the silence and eerieness of the location. I imagined Gatsbyesque parties, Kir Royales at sunset, dramas, loves lost and found. Relics of times gone by, when men wore hats and there was always a piano player in the background.




However, this is only one side of the story. What was a temple to joie de vivre became a theatre for the atrocities of war. Bullet holes covered these once-magnificent walls. The stairways where beautiful ladies strolled on their ways to a ball were now collapsed. The luxurious hotel was reduced to a burnt and blackened shell. Still, the atmosphere of decadence was captivating. Our guide explained that Sokha decided to move the construction site further away from the Palace Hotel because the area is haunted. Buddhists believe that those who aren't given a proper burial will remain on Earth as spirits; plenty of people died on the grounds and, supposedly, still remain there. From the ghosts of Khmer Rouge or Vietnamese soldiers, to the spirits of those who lost so much in the hotel's casino that were left with no choice but jump to their deats on the cliffs below. Will the well-heeled customers of the future deluxe resort have sleepless nights? Who knows, perhaps serves Sokha right for building such an obscenity in National Park territory. However, my comment coud prove to be narrow-minded. I asked our guide on hs opinion about the Sokha resort, and he replied making reference to the amount of jobs the resort will give to local people. I guess it's a fine line, balancing the need for environmental protection with a desire to help local economy. Somewhat, I don't think this is Sokha's primary concern, but there you are. That's yet another story.



Fast forward a couple of days, and we're in Kep, our last destination in Cambodia and the place where we bade farewell to the rest of our travelling buddies. Kep was the seaside's answer to Bokor during colonial times. Nowadays, it has developed into a nondescript Cambodian town, although the relics of colonial villas remain. The stretch of coast is pretty uninspiring too, vaguely reminiscent of Cote d'Azur with the sea splashing on rocky cliffs, which quickly turn into verdant hills. None of the broad sandy Southeast Asian beaches. With a sunset walk and a meal of crab fried in Kampot pepper, we bade farewell to our companions and yet another chapter of our travels. Good morning Vietnam, the adventure continues.