Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale….
I told Deena that I planned to spend the afternoon at a table under the thatched roof of the restaurant looking out to the sea between the trunks of the thick leafy coconut palms writing about our time on Koh Rong Island. “You’ll be just like Ernest Hemingway in Key West,” she said in her usual encouraging tone, and the comparison did a lot to boost my confidence. Yes, I could be just like Papa Hemingway...except for the cool beard, and the spiffy safari shirts, and some of the best short stories ever written, and the classic novels, and the Pulitzer prize...sigh.
Joseph brought Koh Rong Island to our attention after spotting some pictures of the beaches on the Instagram page owned by a travel guy he follows who mentioned that the seashore here was his favorite in the world. That’s pretty high praise from an international traveler and photographer, and when Joseph asked if we could come here while we were in Cambodia, we made it happen. The eighty-square-kilometer island sits in the Bay of Thailand about twenty-five kilometers from the mainland of Cambodia, and we arrived here yesterday after a two-hour ferry ride in some choppy jewel blue sea. The entire perimeter of the island is a beach, and while it has a few settlements including a small fishing village, it’s been the setting of several international Survivor seasons due to its beauty and remoteness.
Stepping off the dock on to the fine white sand and walking through the coconut trees, we immediately felt like we were on Gilligan's Island, especially since we had all of the things we needed to survive on a remote island after a short boat ride just like the cast of the show. The smiling staff gave us a welcome drink and escorted us to our cozy bungalow set back in the trees, and it looks just like the one that belonged to Thurston and Lovey Howell. Along with most Americans, I loved that goofy show, and it was fun to talk about it with the kids who saw most of the episodes in a compilation DVD years ago.
We’re staying in the Palm Beach Bungalows owned by a middle aged couple from the Netherlands. They have a beautiful place on Koh Rong along one of the widest and most picturesque stretches of beach on the island. There’s a small private island across from our dock with bungalows built over the water and a steady stream of yachts pulling up to the pier. We’ve been told that it’s an expensive, exclusive place to stay and that many famous people make pilgrimages there, and I bet that Nature Boy Ric Flair or Pee Wee Herman or some other big time celebrity is over there right now. The main building on our side of the bay is a large, open-air restaurant with colorful lanterns strung between the rafters, a pool table in the corner, and reggae music playing over the sound system which makes me want to stick a chopstick in my eye. Other than the reggae, the setting is breezy and relaxing, and we spent a nice afternoon walking the beach and enjoying a meal looking out to the sea.
Once the sun set, a staff member lit a huge bonfire in a cinderblock firepit using dry palm fronds, scrap lumber, and kerosene, and the leaves on the branches above the fire were dancing in the heat of the flames. A British man named Nigel who looks just like Dennis Hopper is a permanent resident here, and his job is to drink gin and tonics and provide evening entertainment with the use of computer-generated backing tracks over which he plays decent solos on a cherry-red Stratocaster. He half sang, half spoke songs sounding like an English Willie Nelson, and the more gin he consumed, the more he played loud solos on a huge coronet, which I’m sure could be heard back at the mainland twenty-six kilometers away. He performed next to the pool table, and while Joseph and I played a game, he picked away at an impressive Santana solo while announcing our flubbed shots to the crowd in the restaurant. I complimented him on his chops when he finished, and he gave me a lopsided grin and a fistbump before signaling to the barkeep for a refill.
Unfortunately, the girls had some stomach distress during the night probably caused by the fish they ate (it’s always the fish), and Deveny wanted to make sure that I included this situation in the blog so others could empathize with the depth of her suffering. Since I don’t recall any episode of Gilligan’s Island centered around vomiting and explosive diarrhea, I’m not making it much of an issue here. Suffice it to say that we had a low-key day so they could recover, and we were in a perfect place to relax and let the sea breeze work it’s healing magic. Deveny set a family record for time spent in a hammock at seven hours, and she managed to contract a rosy sunburn on her legs to go with her tender stomach. Joseph spent the day in and out of the water, and I followed him around taking pictures of the palm trees behind the lagoons full of blue green water while tiny sand colored crabs skittered away from my approaching feet in the surf. We played several games of eightball on the regulation table—he’s getting good at billiards and beat me soundly in all but one game.
Deena felt like eating a light lunch, so we ordered some grilled cheese sandwiches, and I practiced some pool shots while we waited for our food. A French guy took a break from backpacking around the island to have a meal in our restaurant, and he challenged me to a game of pool once he saw my prowess on the table. He was a nice guy, and I enjoyed talking to him about his travels while we played, and even though we were evenly matched, he beat me by one ball, and I had to suffer defeat at the hands of Pepe le Pew. After lunch, Deena returned to her hammock, Joseph went back to the ocean, and I prowled the seashore in search of shark teeth until one of the staff members informed me that there are no sharks in the sea around the island due to the warm water. That little bit of information prompted me to seek out a lounge chair in the shade where I lapsed in and out of a coma caused by the steady, soft breeze rustling the dry palm branches over my head.
After a dinner of mostly bland food, we’re hoping for an uneventful night under the protective confines of the mosquito netting in our bungalow. I felt bad for my girls since stomach issues are no fun at all, especially on an incredibly beautiful island off the coast of Cambodia. We made the best of the situation just like we try to do at home—sometimes family members get sick, even on Gilligan’s Island, and it’s up to the ones that are well to tend to them and cheer them along until the situation improves. We have a long day of travel tomorrow as we leave Koh Rong Island and head to Phnom Penh, and I’m hoping Deena and Deveny can get through it ok. We have plenty more beach time scheduled in the next month in some exotic places, so I’m sure we can make up a sick day.
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