The Rocky Road to Ratanakiri

  Ban Lung, Cambodia
Tuesday, January 29, 2008

I think I have found the perfect mode of transport: it's more comfortable than a bike, less smelly than a bus, not as cramped than a pick-up truck, faster than walking... and it's one of the few modes of transport in Asia that, mercifully, does not have a built-in stereo.  It's an elephant.  I'm perched on her head, my hands splayed out above her eyes, her ears cradling

lumbering back into camp

Tukde, queen of the jungle...!!

my knees and moving back to pin them in securely when my balance falters, and I'm learning how to communicate my wishes to her through taps to her massive ears.  Occasionally this steering system fails and she walks straight into a mass of evidently appetising bamboo so I have to use my arms to prevent a head on collision with which she can cope but I can't!  As she tugs back and fore with her trunk on the choicest growth,  the

lunchtime

elephant's ear and mahout's foot

surrounding branches crash around me and I feel as if I'm having an encounter with  Harry Potter 's 'whomping willow'!  Apart from this, it is a superbly serene means of travelling through the jungle, and I feel my body relax into her lumbering pace as we move through the teak trees to the sound of whirring crickets, the stream gurgling over stones, the crunch of heavy ele feet on dry leaves and the swish of her tail against the tree trunks.  When we arrive at the river she knows it's time for a drink and a rest and she slowly sits on all fours, lowering her head for me to slide over and down her trunk to the ground.  They say stroking a dog or cat is therapeutic because of the skin contact and the awareness of another's heartbeat.  This elephant ride has the same effect on me and I am so relaxed I just want to flop in the river with her.
 
I had been put in touch with Jack, a young English guy, who had a life-changing week with elephants in Thailand a couple of years ago, and as a result is now running an elephant NGO in Mondulkiri (www.elie-cambodia.org).  His dedication to these creatures is overwhelming and his enthusiasm for the preservation of their habitat is admirable.  He seems to be fighting a losing battle, however, with the alarming rate of deforestation in the area and his aim now is to gain government backing for the creation of a protected community forest.  In a country where a miserably paid civil servant in the Department of the Environment, with a family to support, can make a few extra dollars by illegally selling a few hectares of forest, this is no easy task.

cycling schoolboys

village boy at river

  

snake head still wriggling, after the chop

sleeping pig under house

red dust on banana trees

Jack put me up for three nights and introduced me to several of the local NGO crowd: a French woman working on anti-malarial projects; a Belgian guy involved in water management; a retired English couple, she working as an education advisor through VSO.  They were fascinating company, as we sat outside the watering hole on the one main street each evening, all with informed opinions on what is happening in Cambodia today and how the past has influenced current life.  I was reluctant to leave but I had arranged a motorbike ride north to Ratanakiri.


 
My guidebook said: "There is no real road linking Mondulkiri to Ratanakiri... it descends into a series of sandy ox-cart tracks through jungle...a trickle of hardcore motorbikers use this trail but it really is not for the average traveller...only attempt it if you have years of motorbiking experience and are an extremely hardy soul with an iron backside...".
 
 

Mony at the beginning of the trip

if only the road had stayed this smooth...!

Sounded like a great adventure!  I had gone for the comfort option on the road to Mondulkiri, I would go for the daring option on the road from Mondulkiri! So, I climbed on the back of the bike at 7.30 am, held on tight to Mony, my driver, who had come highly recommended as being 'an ok guy' by Jack and friends, and we were off...  The first two hours on the unsurfaced but flat dirt road to the only village enroute were grand and I wondered what the guidebook was fussing over.  When we left that village, however, things deteriorated fast and soon we were on no discernible track, swerving round trees and boulders, over roots and stones, and through craters and treacherous soft sand patches.  It was almost impossible to handle a bike on the sand and we

biker chick? no, maybe not!

flipped over twice.  Luckily the sand broke the falls and the weight of the bike on top of us caused only bruises.  It was all quite exhilerating until we stopped in a forest clearing for our packed rice at lunchtime.  And then Mony blew his 'ok guy' reputation by rubbing my leg and telling me how good it felt when I held onto him on the bike and would I do it again now.

crossing the river on cano-barge

He was more pathetic than threatening but it still made me acutely aware of my situation: on my own with an unknown quantity of a man, three hours on a motorbike in either direction to the nearest town, through a mostly uninhabited jungle, and God knows how long on foot...if I could find the way.  Luckily he got the message and his response was just embarrassment but it kind of soured the rest of the trip.  I hate the reality of the fact that travelling lone females are more vulnerable than men and resent the fact that this colours what I can and can't do, and how I view people as a result.  It's three days later and I'm still looking suspiciously at any man who speaks to me. 



 

LOOK AT ME...no, not fake tan, just dirt!!!

Ratanakiri sunset

Still, overall, it was a fabulous ride but after 8 hours on the back of that bike, every bone I had was jarred and every muscle in my body ached.  I returned to Phnom Penh (and a much-needed massage) two days later, with views down over the clustered broccoli effect of the jungle from the air... in the luxury of a six-seater plane!  

this one's for you Sergio!!

taking off