Heaven is Real: Koh Rong Samloem
Awe:
n. a feeling of reverential respect mixed with wonder or fear.
In all senses, our time on the island of Koh Rong Samloem was awesome. Truly one of the most beautiful places I have ever been, we spent hardly enough time taking in the natural beauty, basking in the shallow bay, and swinging in the hammocks on our bungalow's front porch.
by Rachel
Purgatory
Getting to the island requires a 45 minute "speed ferry" which spews heavy black exhaust and careens against the waves in such a manner that, on our return trip, we had the pleasure of watching four members of a single family lose their lunch during the ride. Upon arrival at the island's main dock, we were swiftly unloaded from the ferry and required to load onto our hostel's 'shuttle,' a long, low boat about 4 feet below the dock itself. This requires some careful maneuvering over the logs that support the pier's sides and a few leaps of faith. Despite an overheated engine and a brief stop, mid-bay, for the pilot to pour it full of water, we arrived promptly at the inlet where the hostel was located. About 20 feet out from the shore, the boat anchors and all the passengers climb out, into the shallows and carry their luggage to the beach. The water is maybe a foot deep and completely transluscent, making for quite the entrance.
The dorm we stayed in is basically a platform with a lean-to built on top as a roof. The several rows of bunkbeds sit on a wood deck, with the headboards against a half wall, connected to the ceiling by a tarp. The view faces directly onto the sand and water. Unfortunately, we had chosen to stay at The Mad Monkey, the local party hostel and the awful music from the bar drowned out any nature sounds that might have otherwise been heard.
A Change of Venue
Almost immediately, we decided to change locations and hopped on the morning shuttle which dropped us at the nearby "naval base" (three buildings, a weathered dock, and two seaworthy-ish boats), from which we trekked through a cow pasture, small forest, and over the beach to our paradise found, EcoSea Dive & Bungalows.
Heaven
At $40 USD/night, we blew our budget and splurged for a bungalow on the beach. Shaded by a line of trees along the sand, the single room is built on stilts, with a bathroom in the back and two hammocks on the front porch. There's no hot water and the electricity, powered by generator, is on from 6pm until about midnight. Most importantly, there's no Internet - no contact with the outside world.
The resort is "staffed" by volunteers, with the exception of the kitchen, where a team of Khmer women serve up generously portioned and impeccably fresh meals. Without refrigeration, food is delivered from the mainland and directly from local fishermen each day. We delighted in the seafood, caught no more than 8 hours before it was served to us on a plate.
The first thing you notice is the silence. There's not a sound to be heard other than the muted lapping of the tide against the shore. Looking around, you then see the burning hot white sand, easing into a crystalline bay; the water is separated from the resort by a lively tide pool, a sand bar, and about 10 feet of shade trees. The bay is so shallow, you can walk 100 paces into the water before it reaches your waist. A mile in the distance is a small island mountain, slanted up at an impossible angle and populated only by forest.
A minute later, the noise begins to pick up again. At least half a dozen variety of songbirds begin cooing and calling in the distance. The leaves below rustle as salamanders and lizards chase potential mates from tree to tree. An army of tiny crabs, no bigger than my own fingernail, emerge from elaborate tunnels to sift the sand for their lunch. Insects chirp and clap all around, the most minute sounds carried by the gentle breeze.
The beach, just a few feet from our open door was mostly empty, save for the occasional drop off of dive students or supplies. For hours at a time, we'd have the entire landscape to ourselves -- unable to see any other humans, just the structures of the fishing village at the far end of the island and open water at the other. And for the first time we've seen in Asia, it was entirely free of trash. (The hostel asks you to pick up 1 piece of trash each time you walk or dive, and offers a free beverage in exchange for 1 bag collected.)
Days were spent doing lots and lots of nothing: watching the minuscule crustaceans roll the sand into tiny balls as they hunt for food, playing in the water with schools of shiny fish and a handful of foot-wide sea stars, and reading a selection of mediocre whodunnits in the hammock. I finished a 429 page book in something under 48 hours. With the company of friends, we'd met at several previous hostels and a friendly neighbor, we wiled away time chatting and laughing and relaxing. We walked along the coast into the fishing village to watch sunset and enjoyed dinner at a local restaurant with low round tables and soft cushions for seats; finding our way back by a combination of moonlight and Damien's iPhone flashlight. The nights were hardly cooler than the days and we slept with the doors and windows wide open, despite the nighttime encroachment of ravenous biting flies and mosquitoes. In four days, we used an entire canister of 15% DEET bug repellent -- which mostly helped.
Bugs, lizards, birds, dogs, cows and all -- I'd happily spend my days there.
by Alex
The Ferry
If the days on the island were relaxed and uneventful, the ferry seemed to be designed to elicit the opposite feelings. We had heard plenty of grumblings from the staff about how unreliable the ferry was and how they just couldn't seem to get their shit together. Imagine our surprise, then, when we saw the 4:00 ferry cruising in at 3:51. This might not be so bad right? Wrong. Instantly, the dock turned to madness with westerns disembarking, carrying huge backpacking packs, Cambodians bargaining passage with the crew, and hostel staff trying to procure any shipments that may be on board. It took about fifteen minutes to get on the boat and on our way.
Once we got on the boat, it became apparent that it was the last place we wanted to be. First, the engine starts spewing heavy plumes of smoke that drift into the open air seating area of the catamaran. The people sitting closest to the motors are getting the brunt of it and are hastily relocated to the bow. The rest of us sit covering our mouths in futility. Once inhaling smoke is normalized, we address the fact that the boat ride itself is rougher than watching a Republican presidential debate dead sober. We dart across the water at full speed regardless of waves, current, or wind. The boat lists, rocks, and keels, sometimes so extremely I find myself coming up with plans for if we capsize. This might have been all well and manageable if not for the amount of vomit flying around the boat like confetti on new years. Seriously, at least half the boat looks green just 10 minutes into the hour long ride. People are holding on to loved ones, putting their head in their lap, and just trying to solider on. We do as well, and despite a few scares from Rachel, we manage to step on solid land once again and mutter vows to stay there for a while.
Island Life
You always hear the ocean. Everywhere on the island. In fact, at many times, it is one of the only things you can hear. The simple yet orchestral sound of waves lapping gently against the shore. You hear it in your bed, when you are sitting down for breakfast, walking on the beach, reading in a hammock, playing cards, or talking with other travelers. The sounds of the ocean are constant. I would say that this one aspect, this one sound constantly applied to day-to-day life, could cure any stress or depression. The sounds of the ocean beg you to be at ease. They want your full attention. As our friend Damien observed one night, [the sounds of the ocean] are more entertaining than any televsion show, movie, or song ever made. You may disagree, but after three days of doing nothing but listening to the waves and staring out at emerald waters, I'm sold.
All this flowery, hippie-dippie language is meant to say that our stay on Koh Rong Samleom was heavenly. We had the choice, as most travelers do, of heading to Koh Rong - a well known party destination - or its little buddy island, Koh Rong Samloem, famed for nothing. We chose the latter and nothing is exactly what it delivered. Minutes, hours and days of nothingness. We woke up and debated between sitting in a hammock by the shore, swimming in the ocean, or eating. Life was uncannily simple and we spent a lot of time listening to the waves crash and feeling the earth turn. Sublime.
When we weren't doing nothing, we were exploring the island around us which was either dense jungle or beach. Hike through the jungle a mere mile and you're on your own private beach, not a soul in sight. Hike down the beach and you are in a little fishing village built on the sands of the shore and stilted piers above the water. One night in the village there was a wedding, they played pounding music until four AM, something that would have driven me insane normally. Instead, I got some reading in and enjoyed the sound of the waves in between the thunderous bass noises coming from across the bay. No worries, be happy was no longer a song but life on Koh Rong Samleom.
