The boat to BATTAMBANG

Eschewing conventional modes of transport in Cambodia, Trisha Fisk opted for the road less travelled and got more than she bargained for.

Blistering sun and here I was deck-surfing on a lumbering great beast with a throaty diesel engine, no draft and less steerage. A labyrinth of twists and turns in a river choked with water lilies. Sand banks. Fishermen. Children in boats. Heat and smells.

This is the boat to Battambang. Where demands on a skipper’s piloting skill increase by the minute. This is Cambodia.

After an awesome adventure involving cycling, bussing and trucking through much of Laos, I wanted to visit the temples of Angkor Wat at Siem Reap before heading to Bangkok in time for my flight home. But I was averse to sitting on an air-conditioned bus with a lot of other tourists. So I opted to take the “fast boat” to Battambang.

It wasn’t that I particularly wanted to see Battambang. But I did want to explore the floating villages on the river. And I much prefer riverboat travel to a busy road.

Life was only slightly complicated by the fact that I travelled

with a bicycle. I would have been only too happy to ride the 15km from Siem Reap out to the river at Chong Kneas. But by booking the boat trip, I was automatically on the pickup list from town. That entailed a tuk-tuk ride. Eight people and two bicycles.

It definitely would have been more comfortable to cycle. But I got to know the other passengers very well by the time we reached the boat, and our bikes were intimately acquainted and very difficult to separate by the end of the journey.

The “fast boat” turned out to be a lumbering great launch, about 45-feet long and maybe eight wide. The donkey at the back had lost its muffler but had heaps of grunt and pushed us along at about eight knots. Well, it could do eight knots – when needed – but we seldom risked this speed.

Lonely Planet estimates the journey at four to eight hours. We got in nine hours later, and that included only one breakdown – a stop to flush out the fuel filter. But the voyage was anything but boring. Hot? Yes. Very.

I chose to sit up on deck with the luggage and bicycles and a dozen other passengers. The view was better up here. Plus it was away from the racket of the engine – as well as the smell of the on-board bathroom “facilities”.

A visit to these required considerable courage. But sweating in the heat and humidity on deck, I don’t think anyone needed to go for a pee anyway.

A monk among us was the only one adequately prepared for the trip. He came with bananas, sticky rice and most importantly, a frilly little sun umbrella. The rest of us fried. But as the hole in the ozone layer hasn’t yet reached Cambodia, no one blistered as we would have done back in Godzone.

The first part of the journey – around Chong Kneas – is very scenic. The floating villages are quaint little houses, each with two windows and a central door facing the river. They are all painted bright colours and the scene is idyllic, if you like living next to your boat and food supply.

There are even floating schools for the kids and life looks pretty peaceful apart from when the “fast boat” churns through twice a day, and sets everybody rocking and boats bumping.

After a few kilometres the river opens out into the great Tonle Sap lake. This enormous inland freshwater sea runs from near Battambang in the north west, all the way to Phnom Penh where it joins the Mekong river for the rush towards Vietnam and eventually out to the South China Sea. The lake itself is quite shallow, which meant a nasty, short chop on our stern quarter thanks to a fresh southwester.

The boat has next to no keel, a very shallow draft and a rounded bottom so it can glide over the sandbars in the dry season. It also had heaps of mad falangi (white tourists) and mountains of luggage up on the roof. So those little waves might have put us on a death roll if the skipper hadn’t kept his wits about him. He used the engine to drive us ahead of the biggest waves and get safely stern on to them so they could roll through underneath us.

About this point a few of the passengers began wondering where the lifejackets were. Hey, this is Cambodia. You can swim, can’t you?

Then somehow we turned into an ocean of a different sort. Lotus lilies. Everywhere. Dense floating plants that were churned up and spat out behind the propeller while those pushed aside by the hull quickly drifted back over our path obliterating any sign of our passing.

Gradually the river course became more defined by mangroves and water-loving shrubbery on the edges. Until it narrowed. Shrubs and low branches often wiped the upper deck as we swung around the corners. They also obliterated much of the forward view, so the skipper blew the horn repeatedly coming up to any blind corners, hoping smaller river craft would scramble out of the way.

Our boat definitely lacked maneuverability. We tended to drift around the corners sideways and accelerate into the straights. It was quite skilful considering the strength of river current against us. But precision navigation it was not.

More than once, people living on the river had to rush to raise their gigantic circular nets as we cannoned into them having been pushed off course by the current. Or people out fishing in little longboats grabbed the sides of their craft to ride out our wake. It was hairy, crazy stuff. And so much more fun than a bus trip.

Twists and turns got tighter and narrower as we neared Battambang. Riverbanks changed from trees growing in a foot of water, to visible banks, with rice paddies behind them.

The passing of the “fast boat” caused considerable disruption. Our wake was often enough to surge over inland dwellings, upsetting pots and washing over various items.

Yet the locals were very forgiving. Most gave us a friendly wave, though they must curse the big boat each day. The children made the most of the surf behind us and leapt joyfully into the river as we passed by.

A few kilometres out of town the houses changed from facing the river to more substantial homes that we only saw the back of. Yet the river obviously remained a major part of life.

Every home had a long boat or two. Like a flat-bottomed kayak with hard-chined sides, the locals used a paddle with a stick with a skulling type motion. Or they roared along at great speed with a long tail propeller at the back.

These seem to be powered by anything from big lawnmower to small car engines. The engine drives a shaft up to four metres long. And the entire device is on a swivel or gimble, so the pilot can steer by swinging the engine from side to side. Or by raising the propeller the boat can glide over weed, nets or shallow ground.

By the evening, the sky had taken on rosier tints matching our sunburn. And even more fishermen were about. While none of the nets actually closed off the river, it was a labyrinth for the skipper to navigate.

Finally, we docked at a small floating platform and row of steep steps – the Battambang landing – where the crowd of hopeful tuk-tuk drivers reminded me that we were back on dry land. B