Koh Chang tree house tryst

Seaside innuendo 

As our wonderful homecoming was nearing its end we consulted the map and considered our options. We had no intention of crossing back into Thailand by way of Poi Pet/Aran and we had some more time to kill, so we decided to head southwest from Phnom Penh to cross the border at Koh Kong, head to a small town near the gulf named Trat and catch the ferry over to Koh Chang Island for a few nights. Though we were wary from our previous experience, crossing the border into Thailand at Koh Kong was far less harrying than Poi Pet—even though there were times we thought we might not make it.

We opted to take a bus from Phnom Penh to Koh Kong that offered an additional shuttle service up to Trat once we crossed into Thailand. And though I was feeling a bit ill, the first leg of trip passed by without any problems. Rana and the family assured us that the scenery was quite nice and I believe we were chasing the outskirts of a nearby national park.

We were cruising along nicely for about an hour until the paved highway dropped out onto a dirt road and bounced us around for a bit until the bus found its legs again. We laughed it off and were content to carry on this way for some time. It was a little slower going but the view was as good as ever. After half an hour or so, the bus suddenly slowed down to a crawl and I lurched into Reaksmey, squeezing her into the window as the left side of the bus dipped down into a rut and then bounced us back up towards the roof again. We leveled out for a moment, crawled a few more paces, and then our seats dropped out from under us again as the left side of the bus jumped into another ditch, alleviating the upper storage compartments of some cargo. Again, the top-heavy bus leveled out and we continued up the road.

I leaned out into the aisle to take a look out of the front windshield and saw that the next 100 yards of road was pocked with giant craters and long canyons. My guess is that the last rain/mud season had done the road no favors, and there was no other way to get to where we were headed. The trail we were navigating was more suited for an ATV or jeep, not a 10,000 lbs. bus with 40 passengers and their luggage. But our stalwart captain remained calm, shifted gears, and continued typing out the clever tweet he had been composing on his cell phone.

The bus dipped, bounced, lunged, and lumbered up and down and side to side while the oncoming cars that were forced to share our minefield ducked out of the way. The ground outside our window zoomed quickly in and out of focus as if we were riding a playground spring-horse and our fellow passengers weren’t sure whether to laugh or pray. Thankfully, we only encountered two such gauntlets and the manic road eventually leveled off for the rest of the trip to Koh Kong, and we made it to the border unscathed.

On the songthaew.
That's Matthew behind me.

We got our papers in order and were shuffled towards our van. Evidently our bus was late, and the other passengers had been waiting for a while. It was only about another hour or so up to Trat and our driver wasted no time. In the van, we met an amiable Frenchman named Matthew and his smiley Cambodian friend who we’ll call Chuckles (he never stopped smiling and was constantly laughing at life. It was refreshing). Both of them were working under the table at a guesthouse on Koh Chang Island and they invited us to come and stay with them. As we had no real plans and had made no prior arrangements we gladly accepted their offer.

Didn't notice the sinkhole
the night we rode in.
The sign is pretty great.

The van driver dropped us off at a bus station in Trat and we all caught a songthaew—a pickup truck outfitted with benches and a roof over the bed—down to the ferry pier. The ferry out to Koh Chang takes about an hour, so we bought a few beers and watched the sun set over the mountainous islands that speckled the horizon. We met a German gentleman who was headed back out to the island to reclaim some luggage he’d left behind and invited him to come along with us to the guesthouse for the night. Matthew called ahead and made arrangements for a motorbike and bungalow for us.

The rocky night ride

It was completely dark by the time we got to the island and the guesthouse was still another hour away on the opposite side. We got our motorbikes situated and proceeded to follow Matthew and Chuckles through the tropical mountains of the island by moonlight. Eventually, keeping in step with our pattern, the narrow cement road turned into a rutted and rocky trail. Climbing and descending the rocky hills in the dark was exhilarating, and we would have never found this place on our own.

The guesthouse property, aptly named “Tree house,” was primitive in the sense that there was no electricity or running water, which was fine by us. The bungalows were made out of wood, bamboo and cane, and the first one we stayed in sat on tall stilts. There was an open-air community space/restaurant with a small bar, hammocks, and small chairs that opened up to the private beach and we sat in the candlelight with our new friends for a while before climbing up to bed.

Bungalows on stilts

From the communal house

When we came down in the morning we got to see the entire cove in its expanse. Dense green islands floated quietly in the distance as we relished the warm breeze. Calm, crystal blue water lapped up onto the small white beach that snuck out of the tropical forest that hid our bungalow. In the mornings the water was still cool and we swam lazily as the sun crept overhead. That night the locals that lived at Tree House put on a fire breathing/spinning show for us and we watched in awe as we drank milk out of fresh coconuts. 

Motorcycle gas.

Unfortunately, the ill feeling I had experienced the bus on the way out to Koh Kong was a foreshadowing of what was to occur while we were enjoying our private piece of paradise. During our second afternoon at the Tree House I became violently sick, and was reduced to curling into the fetal position when I wasn’t vomiting or… you know… It’s funny, I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be somewhere and so physically violated at the same time. Every time I ran to the outhouse I was traversing the extremes of the human emotional spectrum—pretty heavy for an island vacation, eh? But this story has a happy ending and we were able to enjoy our last day on Koh Chang before we had to get back to Bangkok.

Actually, that is the ending.

The End.

(Click to open slideshow)

Outhouses. 

End of the world. 

Sleeping it off.