pointed to a plastic bag he was carrying which contained several empty cans. I realized that the trio were simply collecting the empty cans for scrap, so I motioned to the boy that I would let him have mine just as soon as I had finished my beer.
Whilst the boys waited they indulged in a spot of play-fighting, and I was taken aback by the ferocity of their game as they attempted to impress the watching farang . They punched and kicked each other with real venom, and I winced as some of the older boy’s blows smacked hard against the head and body of his smaller friends. I flinched again when the youngest of the lads took a kick to the stomach delivered by the dirty, bare foot of his much bigger pal and he flew over backwards, cracking his close-cropped head on the sidewalk with a hollow thud. I expected the small boy to cry, but the doughty little fighter picked himself up and, rubbing his head, threw himself back into the fray, laughing. He received another heavy thump round the ear from a small bony fist almost immediately, but shook that off as well. I watched the street-kids bashing lumps out of each other in playful delight for ten minutes, and I couldn’t help thinking that I wouldn’t want to come up against one of them in a dark alley in five or six years time.
When I had all but finished my drink the ringleader pointed at the can and raised his dark eyebrows at me. I nodded to him and he grabbed it, then threw back his head and drained the last few drops of beer with exaggerated relish. Then, the three ragamuffins chased each other down the street, yelling and cuffing at one another. I would like to have given the boys a dollar or two, but realized if I did every other farang that came to Koh Kong would be pestered by the tough little urchins.
When I had finished watching the youngsters punch each other silly I walked all around the small town and through the crowded, smelly market place. I was struck by how friendly all the local children were. Nearly all of the kids I passed greeted me with a wave and a ‘Hello’ and I was surprised when none of them asked for money. When two lovely teenaged girls pedalled by on their bicycles and smiled at me shyly from under lowered eyelids, I almost felt I had started to enjoy myself already. I finished up with a walk along the road that runs parallel to the Kah Bpow River, and stopped at a bridge just before the headquarters of a mining company to look at the ramshackle hamlet of wooden houses built over the scummy water. As I leant on the concrete rails a shining blue kingfisher plunged into the filthy water in front of me and emerged with a wriggling fry in its beak. The beautifully irridescent feathers of the little bird contrasted strangely with the rubbish strewn waters from where it had taken its squirming prey.
Back at my guest house, I sat in the elevated restaurant and had a nightcap of another couple of beers and looked out at the wide expanse of dirty river and the gigantic new Koh Kong bridge. The huge structure had been built to take the place of the boats that until fairly recently had been the only way of crossing the muddy waters of the Kah Bpow River. The young waiter told me that the bridge had opened on April fourth in 2002 and before that, the crossing could be extremely hazardous in bad weather. When I paid for my second beer I tipped the teenaged Cambodian a twenty baht note I still had in my wallet and he smiled at me gratefully. He immediately went behind a wooden counter and returned with a handful of sweet-smelling brown and green stalks and leaves which he placed on the table in front of me together with a pack of King-size cigarette papers. It had been a long journey and a tense day for me, so I took him up on his offer.
The boy grinned at me again as I lay back in my comfortable bamboo chair. I gazed out over the darkening river and blew out a lungful of wacky backy smoke. Despite my preconceived dislike of Cambodia, I was surprised to find
Whilst the boys waited they indulged in a spot of play-fighting, and I was taken aback by the ferocity of their game as they attempted to impress the watching farang . They punched and kicked each other with real venom, and I winced as some of the older boy’s blows smacked hard against the head and body of his smaller friends. I flinched again when the youngest of the lads took a kick to the stomach delivered by the dirty, bare foot of his much bigger pal and he flew over backwards, cracking his close-cropped head on the sidewalk with a hollow thud. I expected the small boy to cry, but the doughty little fighter picked himself up and, rubbing his head, threw himself back into the fray, laughing. He received another heavy thump round the ear from a small bony fist almost immediately, but shook that off as well. I watched the street-kids bashing lumps out of each other in playful delight for ten minutes, and I couldn’t help thinking that I wouldn’t want to come up against one of them in a dark alley in five or six years time.
When I had all but finished my drink the ringleader pointed at the can and raised his dark eyebrows at me. I nodded to him and he grabbed it, then threw back his head and drained the last few drops of beer with exaggerated relish. Then, the three ragamuffins chased each other down the street, yelling and cuffing at one another. I would like to have given the boys a dollar or two, but realized if I did every other farang that came to Koh Kong would be pestered by the tough little urchins.
When I had finished watching the youngsters punch each other silly I walked all around the small town and through the crowded, smelly market place. I was struck by how friendly all the local children were. Nearly all of the kids I passed greeted me with a wave and a ‘Hello’ and I was surprised when none of them asked for money. When two lovely teenaged girls pedalled by on their bicycles and smiled at me shyly from under lowered eyelids, I almost felt I had started to enjoy myself already. I finished up with a walk along the road that runs parallel to the Kah Bpow River, and stopped at a bridge just before the headquarters of a mining company to look at the ramshackle hamlet of wooden houses built over the scummy water. As I leant on the concrete rails a shining blue kingfisher plunged into the filthy water in front of me and emerged with a wriggling fry in its beak. The beautifully irridescent feathers of the little bird contrasted strangely with the rubbish strewn waters from where it had taken its squirming prey.
Back at my guest house, I sat in the elevated restaurant and had a nightcap of another couple of beers and looked out at the wide expanse of dirty river and the gigantic new Koh Kong bridge. The huge structure had been built to take the place of the boats that until fairly recently had been the only way of crossing the muddy waters of the Kah Bpow River. The young waiter told me that the bridge had opened on April fourth in 2002 and before that, the crossing could be extremely hazardous in bad weather. When I paid for my second beer I tipped the teenaged Cambodian a twenty baht note I still had in my wallet and he smiled at me gratefully. He immediately went behind a wooden counter and returned with a handful of sweet-smelling brown and green stalks and leaves which he placed on the table in front of me together with a pack of King-size cigarette papers. It had been a long journey and a tense day for me, so I took him up on his offer.
The boy grinned at me again as I lay back in my comfortable bamboo chair. I gazed out over the darkening river and blew out a lungful of wacky backy smoke. Despite my preconceived dislike of Cambodia, I was surprised to find
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