Power

Location: Koh Rong, Cambodia

They must have built the contraption early this morning, as dawn broke. It’s at least twelve feet high, eight across; six tree trunks twisted together with rope to create an axis. The barefoot electricians heaved a giant wooden spool of thick black wire on it. It looks wider most of the fishing boats on the island and I can’t figure out how they managed to ship such a heavy thing here. 

The men use the crudely constructed mechanism to hold up the spool so they can spin out the wire as they make their way along the shore, hooking it in loops around palm trees in front of guesthouses. The black cords look too thick, too messy, too much in some places and too little in others. But it’s power, nonetheless. The whole island is finally going to have twenty-four hour power. No more unexpected outages or relying on unpredictable generators. This is the first step toward real civilization; next comes hot showers and then air conditioning. Full wireless Internet and television stations are in the near future.

Long term islanders stare up at the power line, unsmiling. I sense their anxieties. We’re witnessing the transformation of Koh Rong from a quiet beachfront/stoner paradise to an Ibiza-esque party town. This is what everyone knew was going to happen and wanted to delay as long as possible. This is the beginning of the end.

I wander down the beach, following the power lines with my eyes. I’m only on Koh Rong for a couple more days and I’m ready to leave. In the past week I’ve noticed trash building up on the shore; a wine bottle bobbing in the ocean, plastic cups furry with algae buried in the sand, Khmer kids playing with cardboard boxes from construction sites. The party lifestyle has worn me down as well. I could use a hot shower, a clean set of sheets, and a day away from the hot sun. I’m not looking forward to wearing shoes again, but I guess you can’t have everything. 

Post-Celebrations

Location: Koh Rong, Cambodia

It’s already half past ten, the sun is shining, and the island is just waking up. Hungover Aussies stumble into lounge chairs, mumbling out orders for $3 french toast and $2 omelettes. Nobody seems to be able to stomach any curry or fried rice this morning. 

I’m wandering over to my own breakfast, swinging my plastic water bottle in one hand, squinting under the brightness of the tropical sun. I pass by the Vagabonds bartender from the night before, the one covered in stapled notes. He waves “hi” and asks if I had a good night in his sing-song Norwegian accent. He’s so cheerful, it catches me off guard.

“Yeah, you know. How are you this morning?” I look at his shoulder, notice teeny puncture wounds from the staples dotting it. He’s like a human pin cushion. 

“Great! Did I see you last night? I don’t really know what happened.” 

“You don’t remember Jolie stapling stuff to you?”

“Is that what it is?!” His eyes go wide, clarity filling them. “I showered this morning and found a staple in my chest, and I thought to myself, ‘freak accident!’” He shrugs his shoulders and holds his hands in the air. I gawk at his unconcern. 

“Now it makes sense!” He pats me on the shoulder.

There’s a slogan that the Western staff on the island often quote and as the Vagabonds bartender away, I say it in my head. “Everything has gone Koh Rong.”

Australia Day

Location: Koh Rong, Cambodia

It’s 9AM on Australia Day and I’m staring into the Marischino-cherry-red grenadine mingling with the sticky, clear vodka and Malibu of my Wet Pussy (it’s a shot). The French girl with the nose ring behind the bar pours herself one, too. I can’t remember what these taste like, but I’m always wary of anything with grenadine in it. A low key rock n roll tune blasts over Island Boys’ bar speakers; I remember hearing it a few times on Triple J, but it wasn’t really my vibe. It’s okay though, we’re only an hour into the Hottest 100, the annual voting competition and countdown for the most popular songs of the year in Australia. More than two million votes were submitted for 2014 - and I’m hoping that Aussies everywhere picked my favorite songs.

The cheery, bearded owner of Island Boys is Australian and he’s stapling yellow and green streamers on any available surfaces: poles, doorways, the stairwell, the ceiling. Balloons bounce past the legs of bar stools and down the hall toward the dorms. The French girl has lined up five shots, now. She and I glance at my three Aussie companions, who aren’t paying attention. It’s their third shot of the day. They sip Klang (a cheap Cambodian beer) casually and joke about the music, unconcerned of the unreasonable hour and the dangerously strong shot they’re about to consume. One finally notices my gaze and snatches his Wet Pussy off the bar. 

“AUSTRALIA DAY!” He cries, quite warlike, and we all chime in. The shot goes down slimy and sweet. Heat boils in my belly and spreads through my chest, my limbs, and finally rests warm and fuzzy in my head. Immediately the French girl grabs the vodka and begins to pour another round.

It’s 11AM on Australia Day and the bar is full; people are milling about, Klang in one hand, cigarette in the other. Someone’s rolled a tulip joint and pinned it up on the map on the wall over Australia. I’m shaking all the orange powder to the bottom of my packet of Extra Joss energy shot. I rip the shiny, silver plastic at the “Tear Here” edge, and wedge my fingers into the opening, making it a big “O”. The Aussie guy in the floppy felt hipster hat and swim trunks beside me follows my movements. I just met him, but it’s Australia Day so we’re best friends.

“What’s this?” He asks me, struggling with the silver edge of his Extra Joss.

“It’s like a Red Bull, but in powder form. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal everywhere but Cambodia.” 

He laughs. “Do I swallow this first, then take the shot?” 

I hold my Extra Joss in the air, preparing myself for the toast and the head rush that’s about to come. “Just pour the powder into your mouth, take the shot, and swizzle it around! Then swall-“

“AUSTRALIA DAY!” It’s too late to explain, we’re already taking the shot. The powder fizzes in my mouth and the aftertaste is more of an acidic burn than a flavor. When I look out of Island Boys toward the beachfront I see a sea of lobster-red Aussie backs. You’d think that after all these years Down Under their bodies would become accustomed to the sun, but instead they’ve just perfected the singlet sunburn. 

It’s 12PM on Australia Day and the whole bar is dancing; bartenders, onlookers, the owner, everyone. In the chaos people have claimed dance spots on all the tabletops and even the rickety wooden staircase up to the second floor dorms. Everyone’s shouting, “I voted for this!” and “I thought it would be higher on the list!” but I’m not even sure how far we are into the Hottest 100. You can’t hear the radio announcers over the yelling. 

Then the deep, eery base of Zhu’s “Faded” begins to trickle out of the speakers and I’m screaming at the top of my lungs, “I’ve been waiting for this song all day!” I scramble up on a table top, joining my comrades for a dance to celebrate what might just be my new favorite holiday.

It’s 2PM on Australia Day and all the bartenders are holding aerosol cans, the metal glinting under the sun. Before I can investigate further what they are, I’m distracted by hush that flows through the bar, silencing the laughter and talk. The only sound is the Triple J DJ’s voice over the radio and a quiet, expectant mutter of suspense as he announces the number one song for 2014. Silence, then the rhythmic hum of Chet Faker’s “Talk is Cheap” buzzes from the speakers and everyone’s shouting again, people are jumping, and the bartenders are spraying green goopy silly string into the air. It’s all over. I can feel it in my hair, tangling into the fine strands. My tabletop is a platform of bare feet, bouncing. I dance and sing along, my voice lost among many calling out, “I wanna make you mooove with confidence/I wanna be with youuuuu alooone…” 

It’s 5PM on Australia Day and as I dive in, the cool ocean water clears my head, refreshing me from the inside out. When I resurface, I can hear dance beats slamming out of Island Boy’s speakers down the beach. Casual international beach goers, unaware of the holiday, have set up even further down the coast than usual to escape the noise. Someone tries to pass me a frisbee and I shake my head. It’s just me and the sea and my buzz right now.

It’s 9PM on Australia Day and Island Boys is nearly empty. There are a few hammered bar staff blasting Rage Against The Machine so loudly the floor shakes with the drums. One worker holds out the staple gun, swinging it wildly around the room. He’s been writing notes on little pads and stapling them to himself and others. One of the bartenders at Vagabonds is more than willing to participate - he already has stapled notes all over his chest, arms, shoulders, back, and even one shot dangerously into the back of his neck. He keeps forgetting about them and asking for more. I cringe. My friend and I look at each other, shake our heads. It’s time to go to sleep. 

The Koh Rong DL

Location: Koh Rong, Cambodia

The visitors of Koh Rong are in a constant state of party, but I’ve heard from long-termers on the island that it hasn’t always been this way. Only five months ago it was quieter, a place more known for smoking weed and relaxing than MDMA-fueled laser light show beach parties (those are commonplace, now). The island is segregated into a Western section and the traditional Khmer village, but the lines are beginning to blur. There are still signs asking the general public to respect the Khmer culture - women should cover up in the village area, ask locals before taking any photographs, etc. But nobody enforces those rules. Most people are respectful, but some aren’t. 

Khmer children are everywhere; they scramble along the beach, play fight and pose for pictures for Westerners. They’re not afraid at all, not even wary. But it’s strange to see little kids playing around tourists smoking joints and taking shots. I imagine how angry people would be about this back in the USA or Australia, how the older generations would put up a fuss. But we’re not there right now, and the people of Koh Rong are deeply invested in the tourism industry. 

Five years ago, there were only four teeny fishing villages on the island, including the one everyone knows today as the main port, Koh Tuich. Three years ago, about 300 Khmer people lived on the island and there were just three tourism-based businesses. A few travelers from off-the-beaten-path wandered through, braving the choppy two hour ferry ride. Now the Khmer population has doubled and there are fifty to a hundred Westerners living on the island at a time. About 600 tourists flock to Koh Rong on a daily basis. The island is going through a revolution - and, as one Westerner that has been living on Koh Rong for three years put it, both Cambodians and Westerners are jumping on this “gold rush.”

You have to wonder about tension between the Western owned guesthouses and the Khmer owned ones. The Westerners all have deals with each other; the bartender at Island Boys Guesthouse tells you the best breakfast is at Dreamcatcher Inn, the best weed cookies are at Mango Lounge, the chillest vibes are at Vagabonds Bar, the cheapest dinner is at White Rose’s restaurant. It’s like any promotion anyplace. But here it feels sketchy; are the Westerner business owners taking what is rightfully owned by the Khmer, using their land without giving back to the community?

If there are people on the island that feel that way, they’re not speaking up. Many Western owned guesthouses have Khmer partners that have helped them build business from the beginning and now keep their water running, their power working. Khmer work for most Western guesthouses as well, cooking and cleaning. The community as a whole is thriving off the tourism industry. There is money to be made everywhere and new bars, guesthouses, and restaurants are popping up on the daily. At the moment, if only for the moment, it seems that most people living on the island, Western and Khmer, are benefitting from the rush of people and business. 

In a few years, there will be a heavier influx of tourists, and more people means more problems within the population. Many popular Southeast Asian tourism spots have seen this same transformation; the people come in, the area gets dirtier, there isn’t a general infrastructure available to take money and invest it back into the community properly. It’s not good for the people or the place. But try telling any of the hospitality workers of Koh Rong that right now; every time I asked about the future, Khmer and Westerners shrugged it off, acknowledging that it could be problematic but focusing on the present, which is all about constructing and gaining and investing more into the tourism industry.

But even if both cultures can agree on a business plan, there are definitely still some underlying social questions. I was recently reminded that even though I’m staying in a community founded on mutual trust and respect (you have to when you’re stranded on an island), there are plenty of people who don’t follow those guidelines. Last night, Island Boys Guesthouse turned two years old and the hostel beside it, Mango Lounge, closed early so the bar staff could help celebrate. Around 2AM, while everyone was busy drinking and dancing and the music was blasting so loud from Island Boys’ speakers that you couldn’t hear a bomb go off next door, someone went through the dorms at Mango, slit every backpack and stole electronics and money. The perpetrator even smashed the locks on the private rooms and rifled through them.

This morning several Western staff seethed about the stolen stuff and the Khmer, who “sometimes just don’t get it.” It surprised me how quickly they jumped to that conclusion. It’s logical that whoever stole the goods was someone that lives on the island long term; you just couldn’t get all that stuff back across on the ferry without looking suspicious. You’d have to have your own boat to go out and sell it. But it still could have been a Westerner living on the island. That blind prejudice, that instant belief that it must be a Khmer person who stole those goods, demonstrates a serious underlying social issue. Even though the people of Koh Rong are sharing land and profits, they’re a divided community, and that kind of racial tension is what fuels problems and instability. 

Paradise At Last

Location: Koh Rong, Cambodia

Koh Rong is the kind of mythical destination that you only hear about from travelers who’ve heard about it from other travelers. It’s not on any “top places to see in 2015” lists by The New York Times or Buzzfeed. It’s not a cruise destination, there isn’t an airport, the island is only about fifteen square miles (most of which is jungle), and there isn’t a single car in sight. But it’s the kind of place wanderers of the world flock to, fall in love with, and never leave (or stay as long as their visas permit). 

And after 36 hours of traveling, I was exhausted. But I now know a sure-fire remedy for jet lag, sore feet, and a post-motion-sickness queasy stomach: sipping a frosty beer, digging my toes into ivory sands, and regarding a perfect stretch of iconically-clear, transparent-crystal-blue sea in front of me. I don’t know a greater joy than when I stepped off that ferry, tugged my backpack off my shoulders, tossed my socks and Converses into a lumpy pile in the corner of the hostel room, replaced my tank top and shorts with swimmers, and breathed a sigh of happy knowledge that I wouldn’t be wearing real shoes or lugging around my stuff for at least two weeks.

The lifestyle in Koh Rong is defined by a simple ideal that all visitors respect: re-fucking-lax. It’s easy to fall into the island ways when you’re so far from the mainland, where there’s barely any Internet, electricity for only a few hours a day, and you could count the number of televisions on the whole island on one hand. Dates slip by, answering simple emails becomes a chore. There’s so much hanging out to be done! Visiting Koh Rong is, as one of my friends put it, like becoming part of a society separate from the world.

The main strip is a stretch of hostels/bars, more bars, mini-marts, Khmer restaurants, some more bars, and bungalows. Everything is right on the beach and nobody wears shoes. The local Khmer community mixes with young tourists from all over the world. Most people are white, in their mid-twenties, and taking advantage of the tokens for three free beers a day each hostel guest gets. It’s an island without rules; I’m not really sure there’s any Cambodian government anywhere. There’s a few police who wander along the shoreline every once in a while, but there doesn’t seem to be a need for much reinforcement.

This is most obvious in the lackadaisical attitude toward drugs. You can buy pot and beer from the same bartender. Most hostels have frisbees they lend out to customers to chop weed on and use as a flat surface for rolling. There’s even one hostel with an English-style breakfast special for the extra-lazy that comes with a pre-made joint. Marijuana is cheap, food is cheap, beer is cheap, liquor is cheap. 

There are happy hour specials like two-for-one cocktails before noon, one dollar shots, and even a much-recommended THC-infused cocktail called The Happy Russian. The bartenders also run the hostels; they’re all young nomads who work for free accommodation, food, and drinks. Everyone here is in a stasis of happy drunkenness, stoned joy, or is just high-on-life. And how can you not be? You’re in paradise.

There are the downsides to living in this small world: the community only has power for a few hours every day, no hot showers, no flushing toilets, no television, barely any Internet, lice outbreaks, and bed bugs. But you forget about all of those things as soon as you step out onto the shoreline. It actually gives you a kind of freedom you can’t realize on the mainland; every day is unscripted. You could lay in a hammock for twelve hours if you wanted to or spearfish for your dinner or, if you’re feeling energetic, go for a hike or kayak to one of the islands on the horizon. 

I doubt that this paradise will stay mellow for too long, though - even in the past six months the buildup of hostels, restaurants, and bars has tripled, food is more expensive and so is accommodation. People are swarming the island, enticed by the chill vibe and bringing with their large numbers a party attitude. The word is spreading.

Expenses:

• Cambodian 1-Month Tourist Visa: $30
• 1 GB Data Sim Card: $3
• Food: $1-4 per meal 
• Beer: $ .50-1 per drink
• Water: $ .50 refills (or free depending on which hostel you stay at)
• Hostel per Night: $6-8 
• Tuk Tuk from Airport -> Bus Station: $1
• Bus Ticket Phnom Penh -> Sinhaoukville: $8
• Ferry Sinhaoukville-> Koh Rong: $10 (round trip) 

Travel Tips:

• Motion sickness sucks. Don’t drink alcohol before you get on a ferry (one of my buddies learned this the hard way). Puking for forty-five minutes straight isn’t a good start to a vacation.
• Never just settle on the first price you get - always haggle, whether it’s for a tuktuk or a token at the marketplace. And if you’re looking for accommodations, never just settle on the first place you find. There’s plenty of competition for Western money out there and you’ll always find a cheap price if you’re willing to forfeit a few luxuries.
• You’ll always spend more money on travel days than any other days. Things come up and you need to get from place to place. Be prepared when you make your budget. 
• You’re going to lose a lot of money during currency exchange if you do it at the airport or go to a bank or a corporation. Find a small exchange center on a side street; they will often have a fairer exchange rate (we got the exact price for AUD -> USD).
• Be prepared to squat when you use the toilet. Always bring hand sanitizer and toilet paper absolutely everywhere. You never know when you’re going to get sick and you never want to unprepared.