“Hello, Hello, HELLOOOOOOOO!”
If you cycle into the Cambodian hinterland, you will hear this word, shouted by groups of children coming out of the gardens of their stilt houses to greet you. Their happiness is contagious and you’ll almost run out of breath, not because of the cycling, but because of how much you will shout back to return their greeting too. You can't not greet them, and you can't not shout with happiness, even if you’re dying from the insane heat and humidity, or in one of the downpours that are capable of turning the streets into rivers of mud in a matter of minutes.
I went back to Cambodia, again. And yes, this year I went back by bicycle, again. The route was 350 km long along the Mekong, through towns, countryside, and rivers, cycling from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap. In the 350 km route I not only cycled, I learned how rice noodles are handmade in the homes of ordinary people, I was taught how to weave palm leaves to create small toys, I discovered how linen is processed and how it is woven. I visited floating markets and temples, photographed, filmed, and ate spectacular food. It was 350 km of culture, local food, and smiles.
But no, I didn't come back to Cambodia just for that, I came back because I missed the endless fiery red gravel roads. The beautiful, compact, flowing gravel fills you with red dust and becomes even more beautiful when it suddenly starts to pour, hard, very hard, and no, you don't even care about finding shelter, you pedal even harder, even faster. Pure euphoria. Pure happiness. I missed this feeling of getting dirty, playing in the red mud. I missed the joy of pedalling from puddle to puddle, covering myself with red mud, almost hoping the rain won't stop. The Cambodian gravel roads are something spectacular. Red dirt, surrounded by incredibly lush, bright green nature.
I went cycling in Cambodia again because it’s not the same thing to make this journey by moped, car, or bus. Children don't greet you; you don't pedal with them on their way to school, and they don't invite you to their homes to drink or eat fruit. Because when it rains, it’s more fun to be on a bike, being on a moped when it rains becomes a drag. On a moped the locals see you as a tourist, on a bike they see you as a traveller.
Thank you Cambodia. Thank you for making me remember to smile and shout “helloooo!” to life.
