An almost decadent late alarm call got us out of bed at 6.45am and into breakfast, ready for our first – and only – day in Cambodia. I really didn’t know what to expect from the country.
We had sensibly changed our original plan to visit Phnom Penh for the day. While I would have liked to see the capital – and in all probability we will never come here again – the drive from the port was almost four hours each way, making it an eleven-hour excursion at best. After our exertions on the Kanchanaburi trip, we correctly decided we couldn’t face another long day cooped up on a coach.
Instead, we opted for a tour called Sihanoukville and its Environs, which covers the town around the port. I had very low expectations and fully expected to regret not doing the longer trip.
The Lido buffet was nicely quiet, and we had omelettes made for us which we ate by the pool before heading down to the World Stage to meet up for our tour.
Today the tours was actually very well organised — it was just that people ignored the very clear and logical instructions. Everyone taking the same tour was told to sit in the same area of the theatre and then, at the prescribed time, leave the ship in row order. For many Americans this was clearly unacceptable, as they all wanted to be on the very first of several coach loads. It was like herding cats, with a strong undertone of me, me, me. Karen got quite wound up by it, whereas I was just grateful we weren’t going to be on their coach.
As it happened, the people pushing ahead filled coaches 12 and 13. We were the first allocated to coach 14, which I immediately knew meant we would be first on and have our pick of seats. We chose the front row.
Today’s guide was called Su. He worked hard all day to explain things to us, although his Cambodian accent was very strong.
Our first stop was only a short drive away: an old fishing village. It was authentic, working, and came with a pungent fresh fish smell that left nothing to the imagination. This was not set up for tourists and we were very much in the way as fishermen and traders went about their daily business. People were working hard to eke out a living in conditions that, to us, looked like squalor.
The trip continued to a nearby wat complex. After a brief explanation of some aspects of Buddhism, we were left to wander. We were impressed by several statues lining the various stairways.
As we left, I was pleased to see we did so well ahead of coaches 12 and 13, who were clearly struggling with parking and rounding up stragglers. We stayed ahead of them for the rest of the day, which meant better views and seats everywhere — something that amused me far more than it probably should have.
Next stop was the local market. It was hot, busy, and full of locals getting on with life. Fruit stalls were piled high with produce we’d never seen before and had absolutely no idea how to eat. Su attempted to explain a practice involving decorated coconuts and inserting things into them, which I still don’t fully understand. There were also several definitely genuine shoe stalls — well, I assume they were fake, given the prices. We were repeatedly asked if we wanted a tuk-tuk ride while waiting for the coach to swing round to pick su up.
A twenty-minute drive took us just outside town to a local primary school, where some of the older children performed dances for us. It was all rather sweet. The children were immaculately dressed in crisp white shirts, and many of the younger boys were fascinated by us visitors, grinning broadly and demanding fist bumps before running away, mortified. Karen described the entire thing as a risk-assessment nightmare.
I popped into one of the very basic classrooms, consisting of wooden benches and faded posters of times tables. There were no real resources. The guide asked some of us to write our names on the whiteboard, and then wrote them underneath in Khmer script.
We thought the tour was finished, but were then driven through what looked like an emerging upmarket resort area — including a Wynn hotel and even a small theme park under construction. It felt wildly incongruous for a fishing town. The coach stopped at a lovely beach resort area where we would happily have stayed for a night or two. We were given a free drink; Karen opted for the local beer. We could have been in a luxury resort anywhere in the world and would never have guessed this was Cambodia.
After a short walk on the beach — during which Karen declined to paddle in the South China Sea, citing concerns about cleanliness — we headed back to the ship. On the return journey, Su demonstrated the many uses of a traditional Cambodian scarf called a krama. I was mesmerised and immediately wanted one. Had I known, I’d have bought one at the market; instead, I may be ordering one online.
Cambodia turned out to be a real Brucie Bonus and the trip was thoroughly enjoyable.
For lunch I went to Dive-In (the burger bar) and had a very acceptable cheeseburger, washed down with a couple of banana daiquiris and then perhapsa G&T.
Karen was getting hot sitting outside, so we headed up to the air-conditioned Crow’s Nest for a cuppa — although we somehow managed to order some bubbles instead.
For no obvious reason, we decided to list all the countries we’d visited (Karen 44, Karl 48). This led to Googling alphabetical country lists, confusion over whether St Lucia counts (we decided it does), and — entirely coincidentally — booking another cruise on the spot. Alcohol played absolutely no part in this decision.
Before booking online, I spoke to the Future Cruise desk and secured an even better deal with a fully refundable deposit. So next year it’s Chile, Peru, Ecuador, Panama (and the canal), and the Cayman Islands — just six weeks after returning from our Antipodean trip. Fingers crossed some investments come good.
We still don’t really consider ourselves “cruisers”, but cruising gets us to places we would otherwise never visit. Holland America suits us: not a party ship, not full of kids, and not full of loutish Brits letting the side down. Some Americans can be annoying, but they are mostly few and far between. We like the gentle rhythm of the days on board.
There are plenty of people who sneer at cruising. We used to be among them. But having done a few now, we know what works for us. Activities are there if you want them, quiet spaces if you don’t, and nothing is forced. It’s not all “forced fun”, as Barry would say. And although he would disagree with me, I think there is more he and Ellie would enjoy about this cruise than hate. This applies even more to lots of family and friends if they could just get past the word “cruise”.
Dinner was again in the Dining Room. We waited just long enough for me to secure a glass of Cabernet to take in with us. We were starting to wonder if we were approaching our eleven-drink daily limit. I had the New York strip again, cooked differently this time — unfortunately, luck was not on my side and it was rather fatty.
We then headed to the World Stage to watch Taiwanese magician Sunny Chen. He was clever, funny, and superb at sleight of hand. One trick involved everyone using their phone calculators, and I would very much like access to whatever app he was using to deliver the ‘punchline’.
Finally, we popped into the Rolling Stone Lounge where the resident band belted out some classics — some with interesting twists, some less so.
At 11pm we headed back to our cupboard, and I was sound asleep before Karen emerged from the bathroom, the gentle swell of the sea rocking me off.
