3 Dog Night

There were three kinds of dog sounds. The close up staccato bark that seemed to be in the street directly below me. The howling that came from the next street or off by the bus station (fermata). And the distant plaintive howl that seemed to be echoing around the mountains (Lento molto e fluido). This dogmusic played above the drone of the crickets as I lay awake in this moldy cavern of a guesthouse.

I took the bus from Phnom Phen to Campot. Towards the end of the 5 hour trip the flat delta gave way to the mystical hump backed mountains of South East Asia. They loomed in the distance surrounded by muddy rice fields and coconut trees. I found the Mealy Chenda guesthouse in the guide book. It is a great empty hulk. My room was at the top of a winding staircase and the end of a crooked hall had ten foot ceilings. The rooms just below me, 14.

This place has so much potential. Germans must love it. Imagine a massive Harlem Flophouse "the way I found it". Now imagine an entire "Harlem Flophouse the way I found it" town. On one end a flat muddy river bends through it. Beyond the river, palm trees and mountains. If they turned Kampot over to Berliners they could fill it with cool bars and clubs. In fact a lot of the buildings were made in this very theatrical poured concrete style of the communist bloc. The trick would be not to fix it up too too much.

Every night there is a sunset show behind the flat topped Mt. Bokor. There is a huge swath of ancient forest missing across its chest. The local Governor who logged it, in spite of the law, now resides in the crumbling building next to the Governor's Mansion or... the local jail.

After one sleepless night Mealy Chenda proved a little too much potential for me. Even at four bucks a night. Even with... forget an overhead light fixture, or a window that worked, or something to cover the naked fluorescent... or the millions of bugs and gekos that roamed the vast empty corridors.. yes even with satellite TV. I still tired of looking at my own poop in the unflushable toilet. I found a more realized piece down by the river, The Moleden.

Along with the handful of trendy western places in town there is also some great local food. I found a man who makes ice cold cane juice for 12 and a half cents. Right next to him there was a sweet grandma who made me thin green pancakes stuffed with beansprouts and peanuts on a bed of some bay-mint and cucumber salad.

My plan is to spend a few days catching up on my blog. For this I need access to a decent cup of espresso. Several of the restaurants on the riverfront offered cappuccino's on their menu but none of them actually had a working machine, or a machine at all. Apparently it's just something that looks snazzy on a menu.