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KOH KONG: WHERE THE STREETS
HAVE NO NAME A relentless sun. Dusty, red dirt roads
that leave you blinded in the wake of
the latest motorbike swooshing off to the edge of the world, the last
frontier. For this is a narrow, straight road
on a flat stretch of land that leads
to where myths are made, beyond the invisible horizon. The wild west? A John Wayne film? No, this is the small island of Koh Kong, Cambodia, a border town that really isn’t so much a town as a loose web of roads coagulating by the river. The kind of town where the streets aren’t named, but numbered, where offers for directions go something like this: "Take a left off the main road by the big tree and then make your first right at the banana stand. If you’ve reached the pile of big rocks, you’ve gone too far." But anyone conjuring images of a quaint little town, unmarked by time and the worst manifestations of urbanization, might want replace the word ‘charming’ with ‘disarming’. For not unlike those good ol’ Westerns, all is not as peachy in this mystifying place as it might seem in the opening frames of the movie. For me, Koh Kong was the last leg of a trip to Cambodia, what I thought would be little more than a resting stop before catching a ferry to the southern Cambodia-Thailand border (there are two between the counties), where I would return to my temporary home of Bangkok from the Hat Lek border town via the city of Trat. Koh Kong was far from being on my list of ‘must see’ wonders in Cambodia. After all, I had just seen the magnificent Angkor Wat and reveled in the post-Colonial capital of Phnom Penh. So I wasn’t disappointed, as I had no expectations. The disadvantage was that I hadn’t done my research on the ways of basic Wild West survival before arriving. Koh Kong, as I was to learn, is somewhat notorious of late in Thailand, for its casino – which draws many Thais who are forbidden to gamble in Thailand, but is actually on the Hat Lek side of the river – and renegade reputation. Recently, it was all over the news that a murder suspect might be hiding out, of all places, in Koh Kong.
We had no idea the boat would be stopping here, and as we watched rucksack after rucksack be hoisted off the boat and into the flimsy looking contraptions, we assured ourselves that we were doing the right thing by staying put. We convinced ourselves all the others were getting scammed, and that we were doing things the way the locals did. We all but patted ourselves on the back. But nervousness was beginning to set it, like a contagion. A few minutes later, the boat slowed down at the port. I reached for my camera, but soon discovered I would have no opportunity to take it all in at my leisure. The next few minutes were a blur. Three of the four of us emerged from the inside of the boat, looking for our fourth companion, who had been snoozing on the top. Immediately, a horde of what I would very soon label the "moto-mob" swooped in like they had just caught a glimpse of heaven. We had to step into and out of a little wimpy sailboat before we could climb a few rocks and get onto the dock; meanwhile we were still looking for our friend and our bags. The moto-mob were eagerly trying to grab our bags to "help" us get ashore. One of my companions did not take well to this, shouting more than a few expletives. I smiled my "brace yourself for a harassing experience" smile, and lugged myself up onto the dock. We were solicited by what seemed like the entire male half of the island. There were many, many more of them there than there are places to stay, there being only four hotels and 10 - 15 guesthouses on Koh Kong. We already knew where we wanted to go, and tried to convince the moto-mob to take us there: the Koh Kong Hotel. "It’s not finished. They’re building it." "Not good place. No go there." We were insistent. But we got nowhere. Number two choice: the Nakhor Reach Hotel. Same excuses. But when we started walking on our own, the moto-mob decided they would take us, for free. Wary, we rode. We got to a fairly sign-less guesthouse-looking establishment after a very short ride down Street 1. As soon as we hopped down and headed to the young woman behind the front desk, the moto-mob shouted at her in various intonations, all of them loud. Moments later, she said to us, "No room." We were incredulous. The place was obviously empty. We started shouting. They were at an advantage, speaking Khmer and familiar with the island. But we figured out that it was pretty darned small, and took off on our own. They told us the most creative lie we had yet heard: that Koh Kong’s governor’s daughter was getting married, so all the places were full. Except presumably, for where they wanted to take us, although they didn’t tell us where. What they did do, however, was get back on their motos. With the precision and grace of a John Woo-choreographed film scene, they, one at a time, zoomed in on us, literally squaring us in so we couldn’t move. That did it. We broke free of the mob, and
walked down the street. After a few We ate delicious food, we watched the sunset – and delighted in a surprise rainfall – and talked late into the night. Some members of the moto-mob turned up too, joined in the peaceful ambience of the outdoor restaurant patio. What started as an outtake from a spaghetti Western ended in serene relaxation. We chatted with a few others staying at Otto’s about the island, and they confirmed our suspicions that there wasn’t much to do on Koh Kong but relax, and maybe shop a little bit. Most of those transiting, they told us, opt out of Koh Kong and stay in Trat instead. But the next morning, on our way to the pier and the Hat Lek border, we passed through the town, and witnessed a quiet fishing community doing what they do, as well as a strip of gorgeous upscale hotels and related establishments. There are two Koh Kongs, it seems. If the Koh Kong I saw was a little untamed and manic, I am equally sure that a second, more experienced visit would yield different results, and a fascinating trip. Knowledge, I learned the hard way, is power.
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I didn’t know these
interesting facts as our boat was getting ready to dock. There
were four of us on the boat heading to Koh Kong from the southern
Cambodian city of Sihanoukville, who decided
to spend the night in Koh Kong, the
boat’s third and final stop. When we got to the second stop, we
watched nearly all the backpackers and
travelers disembark, only to plop themselves into
tiny ‘ferry boats’ heading for the border. 
trial-and-errors, we
reached another un-assuming place that was clean, friendly,
inexpensive – and dubiously called the Koh Kong Hotel. That accomplished,
we walked in search of a place to eat, and came upon a very charming
guesthouse and restaurant, Otto’s, whose official address is "1
Block South of the Sihanoukville Pier."
(It turns out the other two main restaurants
on the island are called "Foreigner Food Restaurant" and
"Foreigner Food Restaurant #2".)