We woke up to clear skies, but rough waters. The boat was delayed about half an hour, waiting for the chop to die down, allowing us plenty of time to enjoy a last breakfast on the island. Nobody was envious of the trip we had in front of us. We had a late afternoon flight and were "only" a three hour boat ride from the pier and from there a quick jaunt to the airport, so at this point I wasn't worried. The trip on the tender boat to our ferry should have been my “red flag” warning. Even lightly loaded down after splitting the group in two and not carrying the weight of food, moving slowly through the break, and in the relative protection of the cove, we were fighting against the combined strength of the waves and the wind that worked together to do everything it their power to soak us.
We finally boarded the big boat and hunkered down with our travelling companions: seven guests ending their stay on Koh Rong, the co-owner of Lonely Beach, and the captain. After packing up all of our luggage in dry bags and pulling out some life jackets (hopefully only to use as cushions), we were off...
The sea was angry that day, as if mocking our comments from the trip over. No reflections in glass this time, just an endless series of whitecaps. Our handmade boat had to overcome four to six foot seas, with even bigger swells found mixed between. We did our best to keep the water out. Down came the canvas sides to keep out some of the spray, but nothing could stop the full bodies of water that crashed over our bow whenever we fell into the trough of the waves. We were thankful for our luggage being in the dry bags, but after the first few splashes to the face, we were jealous of the protection and warmth they offered. The boat began taking on more and more water with every passing wave, each time the weight of the water causing our boat to ride a little lower in the sea, meaning we would take on a little extra water from the next surge. Our crew began to become concerned when water started splashing up between the floor boards and was sloshing around the engine. When we rocked from side to side, our backs would get wet from the accumulated water sliding up the inner walls of the boat. A glimpse aft showed no water coming out of the bilge pump. Not good. Another large wave broke a 50 gallon jug of water free, adding its fresh contents to the salt water splashing below our feet. Worse. After fiddling with some knobs to no success, our captain scrambled up front with the passengers, handing control of the boat over to the owner. The captain shuffled people around and started to disassemble the boat. Floor boards came up, and the captain went diving below, into the quickly rising pool of water. He pulled out handfuls of debris – leaves, candy wrappers, crushed beer cans, and more undetermined refuse. Slowly the bilge pump came alive and started to spit out water faster than we could take it on, but we were never fully empty for the remainder of our trip.
Fixing the pump did nothing to lessen the waves. I was frightened, panicked. I was shaking terribly. Holding back tears, I was embarrassed. And I felt awful. Total misery. Of all the borderline experiences I have had traveling, this one "ranks" high above the rest. I can honestly say I have never been so terrified. For the duration of this petrifying cruise, I kept forcing Husband to promise he would not give up in the swim to shore when the boat cracked under the pressure of the seas. The other travelers faired only slightly better, with most trying to spread out as much as possible to help their sea sickness and avoid being tossed about by the worst of the waves. Some were more successful than others, with a few having to duck under the canvas coverings for a clear path the ocean below. The lucky ones got spot further back in the boat up on the benches where they could be relatively dry. Some braved laying on the floor, where their stomach dropping was the precursor to the boat falling into a trough between waves before the inevitable deluge that rained down upon them.
After an hour making little to no progress on our approach to the mainland, taking one step back for every two steps forward, the decision was made to pull the boat into the lee of an island to wait for calmer seas. We were warned the turn towards the island might not go well, as it would expose our broadside to the full force of the waves. The turn was as treacherous as it was sold to us. I have zero idea how the captain kept the boat from capsizing. After scurrying back to where we came from, we anchored amongst a few dozen other boats and within shouting distance of some very fancy looking villas where the guests looked on bemusedly at us with their mimosas in hand. I was relieved to be able to get off the boat and the hard earned few minutes of respite on land, only to be crushed when I found out that we would not be getting off the boat and instead would sit there at anchor, bobbing up and down. We waited for about an hour and a half, getting rocked back and forth as the waves rolled off the angry sea and only being slightly deflected by our island protector. Though I was calmer, and felt much better than when we were fighting the sea, I was still un-amused.
The day was nearing 11:00 am as we set out on calmer seas - although still not sufficiently calm for my liking. I turned on a podcast - not actually listening and instead repeatedly counting my blessings - to pass the time while water splashed into the boat from all angles and my body slammed against the wooden bench that I had laid down on. The hour was getting late and we had a plane to catch. If we were going to make it, we would have arrive at port soon and then not walk, but run across whatever series of planks were between us and the pier. The clock was now our enemy. The boat puttered slowly, but steadily towards the mainland which gradually grew from a mirage on the horizon, to a dark mass, to a green strip populated by ever expanding buildings. We finally arrived at the pier around 3:00 pm. Hallelujah. Our taxi was waiting on the pier ready to take us away, but there was one last bit of drama for us to undertake. An extra 20 minutes to find a “parking” space for our boat, or at the very least an accommodating boat to allow us to double park and scramble across. After an approximately 57 point turn, our boat got along side another, allowing us to jump on board and cross our final plank to be once again safe on land. The total boating time returning was more than double our ride to Koh Rong.
We jumped in the waiting taxi for a ride to the airport and because the boat ride wasn't enough drama: We had a flight to catch and time was getting short. There would not be another flight until the next day, a connection to make, and our bicycle tour was leaving – with or without us – at 7am sharp the next morning. We sacrificed the tranquility and quaintness of a final Cambodian tuk tuk ride on this leg of our journey for the speed a car. As we were pulling into the airport, our taxi driver pointed to the runway and laughingly said, "Do you see all those birds? Yesterday they made a plane crash and had to come back down." Husband did not react. It was only later I confirmed I had heard the driver correctly. He clearly was not on the edge I was.
At the airport, our bags were marked priority to make the connection and we received red "Transit" stickers to display on our persons to let airport personnel know we had a connecting flight in Siem Reap, making us feel very special. We made our first flight with some (very little) time to spare! During our layover, I even had time to get Dairy Queen because it presented itself and I was in no mood to combat any cravings.
We arrived in Ho Chi Minh City and had another thrilling ride to the hotel through rush hour traffic. Our taxi driver was the happiest, old Vietnamese man. He welcomed us to his city with open arms and for our 45 minute, heavily trafficked trip, chanted the only English he knew in his high pitched voice at the thousands of mopeds as they narrowly avoided each other and catastrophe: "oh my gaaawd!" He mocked the city to our delight, pointing here and there for our viewing pleasure at all the crazy sights to be seen on a Saigon night.
Another overly friendly Vietnamese gentleman greeted us at the hotel. Our arrival was eagerly awaited with cold-ish drinks and fresh-ish fruits and all of the arrangements for our morning departure made. After being escorted to our room in a very tight, very slow, very humid, and very un-air-conditioned elevator, we hit the streets for a street food dinner. We struck gold just around the corner from our hotel where several vendors had set up a mini outdoor food court with their carts surrounding a small square filled with picnic tables where they delivered your hot food. We gorged on delicious pork noodle soup, bahn mi, fish with quail eggs, and some meat stuffed steam dumplings. Then it was time for our first, much needed real shower after a few sandy days on the beach, a salty boat journey to Sihanoukville, and a smoggy night on the town in Saigon, followed shortly after by bed, much past our normal sundown bedtime. Our time relaxing was over, adventure time started in the morning.
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