Children of the Random Contraption

Kampot, Cambodia. There was still nothing to do in Kampot, so I switched to a new guesthouse to spice things up. I'm glad I did. The prior evening I had met an interesting (i.e. few sandwiches short of a picnic), expat who claimed he would be harmonizing at Bodhi Villa the next night, along with a few other local musicians. As an expat, he immediately lay claim to intellectual superiority through such supposedly biting comments as "Hah, you are such an American" and "Here in Cambodia..." refrains. How droll.

He continued to get to know me by condescendingly injecting purportedly "important" book titles into the conversation, starting with Guns, Germs, and Steel. Imagine his surprise when I asked if he had read Jared Diamond's follow up, Collapse. All of a sudden I was interesting. We spent the next hour talking about Howard Zinn, Naomi Klein and Noam Chomsky, all of which made him no less of a douchebag. Though I have to admit, he was certainly a well-read douchebag. Still, this did not dissuade me from moving to Bodhi Villa come morning.

I wished I had found Bodhi Villa earlier. Located 2km out of town, it was in another universe. Set in a lush garden abutting the river, several open front bungalows sat just behind the main reception area (i.e. fully-stocked bar) which opened up to a beautiful veradana and dock. For an extra touch of excitement they had constructed a 15 ft high diving platform which consisted of two x-beams supporting a long, wobbly wooden board that extended twenty feet over the river. If you managed not to lose your balance while trundling to the edge, you could throw yourself headlong into the river with wild abandon, like a salmon.

I met a ton of people at the party that night. My expat "friend" turned out to be a violin player, of all things. He was joined by two acoustic guitarists and another expat with an accordian. I immediately began to suspect that they were intentionally deported. As it turned out, the music was quite good and I met a few English blokes, a trio of Irishman, and a few Americans, all of whom, amazingly, despite their various cultures, professions and unintelligible accents, enjoy drinking heavily. I know, I was shocked too.

I enjoyed the company of my new mates, so I asked if they might consider a minor adventure the following afternoon. Despite the hooks of a late day hangover I managed to convine a handful of them to join me in a 6km ride to some caves located on the edge of town. Having misunderestimated the amount of time it would take to wrangle such a group,  we didn't leave the parking lot until around 4:30pm. The sun sets fairly promptly around six so I didn't think it was going to be a problem.
The timing of the ride was perfect. School was just letting out. We were soon surround my dozens of giggling children, all shouting a cacophonous Hello! in a non-stop chorus. They chatted with us, they slowed and took pictures, and at one point I raced a kid who had another kid sitting on his bike rack. I would like to say that I let him win, so I will just say, "I let him win".

A small brigade of children led us right to the entrance of the cave, located in the center of a small village along a dusty, pot-holed dirt road. The brigade soon became an army led by a general, as an older gentlemen took the reigns and led us inside. We entered an absolutely stunning antichamber, where sheer rock faces climbed 100 ft overhead and opened partially to the sky, save a massive boulder that had collapsed across the opening. It was brilliant, so we headed father in.

Flashlights were lit all around us and the children became fireflies in the dark. Mind your head! Mind your head! they repeated ad naseum. They pointed the lights at the floor behind them, so we, the tourists, could find our way. These kids, barefoot, and most no older than ten, were as sure-footed as mountain goats in the dim passageways. I love caves, so I soon found myself scrambling where my new mates dared not follow. My guideling, however, was right there by my side. I scrunched, squatted, crawled and wedged myself in a nice crevasse that opened up into the main chamber, my head dangling out of a hole 30 ft up the wall, an unmounted hunting trophy.

We spent another 40 minutes racing around the cave before indicating we needed to get going before the sun set. Instead of leading us back out, they led deeper into the cave until we hit a dead end. A large shaft of light cracked through the ceiling about 60 ft off the deck. There was only one way out--up. The kids started the train. Mind your head! Mind your head! they continued as they pointed out each and every handhold, assisted to by nicely placed vine that crawled up the wall towards the light, towards air. It was exhilirating. We finished our jaunt back down to the bikes, crossing a ridge that looked down over the entire village as the sun was setting. It was a stunning sight.

The sun was nearly snuffed so we thanked our army of guides, passed them a few dollars each, then sped off towards home. We were filthy, exhausted and happy. As we pedaled back, discussing our good fortune, we spied three children dangling from a large, intricate see-saw style metal contraption that rose twenty feet in the air. Helllloooo!!!! they all chanted in unison. I cannot yet say what prompted my oddly phrased response: "Hello, my Children of the Random Contraption!". We all had a good laugh, and as we continued to pedal, I promised I would make that the title of my next blog. I am a man of my word.