Sorry for the Group Email

It’s impossible to leave for a foreign country without having a built-in, ready-to-go preconception of what it’s going to be like. The first time I went to France (aged six), I expected a different world, where they had chocolate with bread (for breakfast, the wags!), and everyone had to wear blue and white horizontal stripes. The first time I went to Germany I expected flawless and ruthless efficiency, and the first time I went to America I expected everything to be big.

From Cambodia I expected something similar to Mongolia. Dusty, under-developed streets and a few weeks of hard travelling. What I should have realised, of course, is that Cambodia is just too close to Vietnam and Thailand, and as such would be heaving with people and tourists.

Ban Lung, our book promised, would be different. Ratanakiri sits in the far northeast of Cambodia, near to the border with Laos and only a few hundred kilometres from Vietnam. Getting there, as always, was a treat. There are no flights, but even if there had been I suspect we’d have taken the bus anyway. We’re suckers like that.

The bus took eleven and a half hours. The first eight of these were on flawless, sealed, modern roads. We had plenty of legroom and the air-conditioning, mercifully, was working at full capacity. Then the sealed roads ended. The last few hundred kilometres into Ban Lung (capital of the Ratanakiri region) are on dusty, pock-holed dirt tracks, wide enough for two buses to comfortably pass each other, but not what you’d exactly call “smooth”.

Nonetheless, we made it in with the tiniest crack of daylight still showing on the horizon. An enterprising motorcycle driver invited us to see a few hotels. This, of course, is a scam, complete with kickbacks and commission, but we were tired so we said yes. Cramming our big packs at his feet, we hurled ourselves onto the backs of a pair of motorcycles and sped off.

(I’d never been on the back of a motorcycle before. For those apprehensive, the only thing you can do is keep your feet on the footrests and try to stay still. The driver does all the balancing, and the only way you can get into trouble is if you try to help.)

We arrived at a hotel called the Tribal, where the prices had trebled because of the Khmer new year. We were shown to a ten-dollar a night room with mouldy-looking walls and a squat toilet. As there had been in Phnom Penh, there were curious splatters on the wall. Worse, we said yes, until we realised that the door didn’t lock. We were shown, rather apologetically, to another room, whose door did lock, and – the icing on the cake – air conditioning.

Ban Lung is little more than an afterthought on the Cambodia tourist trail. It could hardly be anything else. It’s not big enough to offer clever shopping options, and there are none of the backpacker staples like all-day bars or bungee jumping. But it was nice, for once, to be somewhere that only had a handful of westerners staying in it. It was very easy to be left alone.

You only need a few full days to explore Ban Lung itself. The town itself isn’t particularly lovely. There’s a single sealed road running through the middle, and even that was covered in dust blown over from the surrounding countryside and imported by the motorcycles. We paid our motorcycle riding friend from the night before $2, and were taken to the nearby crater lake. The crater lake is what passes for a big tourist attraction in Ban Lung, and on the hot day we were there, hundreds of local people had congregated for a spot of swimming and barbecuing. For the first time, we were visiting somewhere as popular with the locals as it was with tourists; it was one of the few things we’ve visited where the locals made up the majority. The lake itself was beautiful. A few hundred metres across and with perhaps a mile and a half perimeter, it was plain sailing to find a quiet beach to swim from. The water was cool and deep, and we had a great time, notwithstanding the occasional fish brushing past our calves; this always led to a great deal of spluttering and shouting.

The next day we squeezed ourselves onto the bike again (three on a bike has the same dynamics as two on a bike, except for the person in the middle, who has to live with being crushed. Luckily for me this fell to Mendy, who takes these things with much more grace than I do). Ban Lung has a selection of beautiful waterfalls dotted around it, and we spent a few hours at each, jumping in and seeing exactly what it was like to swim under a waterfall. Answer: very difficult, and just a little scary. The waterfalls we swam under may not have looked like the Niagara Falls, but there was enough downwards pressure to push us under.

We were in Ban Lung for two full days. We had intended to stay longer: the nearby national park is famous for its trekking, and you can stay for up to a week in the jungle, animal-spotting and visiting local villages. The idea of sleeping in the jungle in a hammock holds appeal as well. However, not for the first time, we were caught out. We had brought $300 with us; a decent-sized trek would cost us $200; leaving us with an insufficient amount to pay for our bus tickets out of town and to pay off our hotel. Ban Lung has no cash machine.

We left town reluctantly. Ban Lung is only a footnote. We weren’t there for long enough and missed out on the most interesting thing it had to offer. Still, it was nice to be left alone for a few days, and the temptation of a jungle trek is enough to persuade us back.

Dave was really looking forward to seeing some tigers. So it goes. Many, many more pictures of Cambodia in the Flickr set. Click here to have a look.