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An Early Morning Walk

THEY say the early bird catches the worm. I certainly find that is the case whilst travelling. Being in a tour group you get your best space early in the morning whilst everyone else is still asleep.

I woke up some fourteen hours before my massage. It was just before sunrise. My roommate Andrew was still asleep, so I left the hotel room and strolled down the stairs to the reception area where fortunately the door was being opened after having been locked to apparently keep the guests safe for the night.

I walked out into the alley passing a few seedy homeless people sitting in the gutter stirring from their night’s sleep. A monk wearing a bright robe and carrying a rather effeminate apricot umbrella opened over his head quickly brushed past me as I walked the short distance towards the main road.

The sun was now rising above the horizon unseen behind the buildings. It was aleady stifling hot. I crossed the road and walked along the edge of a grassy park. The park had an interesting snake like stone terracotta fence around it. I reached the entrance of the park and saw the snake end in a fanned array of seven heads on either side with a four legged creature (probably a griffin) standing directly in front. It was very intriguing.

Looking across the park, the orange rays of the sun magnificently highlighted the national museum, with its deep salmon coloured walls, layered terracotta roof and strange curved flourishes extending from each apex. It was a very beautiful building, so I made a note to go there later today.

I walked to the corner of the field and where the low snake fence turned the corner, the tapering snake tails rose coiled together in a spiral twist of two full rotations.

I crossed the road, now quiet being so early in the morning, observing the array of colonial French style street light poles and the tired cyclo riders who were slowly peddling their way up and down the road patiently awaiting someone to ask them for a ride somewhere. Some of the riders were talking to each other. Others were sleeping in their cyclos. Perhaps some were homeless and had spent the night here. Their trusty cyclos were their income and transport by day and their beds by night.

I crossed the small park surrounded by flocks of small birds swirling around the river’s edge approaching the market of insects I had walked past yesterday shortly after my arrival from Ho Chi Minh City. There was no one at the markets this early in the morning, so I walked to the waters’ edge of the Mekong River to follow the top of the large stone retaining wall. The tiny beach above the water line was occupied by several people with fishing rods all pointing out into the great river with lines unseen in anticipation of catching their breakfast from the depths of the murky water. Sea gulls hovered overhead keeping a close eye on the fishermen awaiting an opportune morsel.

The turbid river shone silver in the early morning sunlight as small tufts of vegetation floated past washed down in flood from far upstream. People stood at the waters’ edge, some fishing, and others washing themselves. They were obviously too poor to have their own washing facilities at home and to be able to buy their own fish.

I began to return to the hotel when I was approached by a man with a huge smile and very deep wrinkles over his heavily brazen face. He was riding a pastel green cyclo that was starting to fall apart. He was obviously looking for work for the day and had decided I was easy pickings – the big expensive camera bag gives it away every time. Much later when I was looking through the photos I had taken during my walk, I discovered he had been following me for quite some time without my noticing. He introduced himself as Sot (probably short for Sotha) and walked with me back to the hotel trying to convince me to ride with him around the city.

Sot was a happy go lucky guy with a huge beaming smile. He asked about where I was from. I said I was from New Zealand, now living in Australia. He thought that was very fascinating. Finally when we reached the hotel alley, I mentioned that I was going on a tour this morning, but should be back by lunch time. He told me he will be here waiting for me. I didn’t believe him.

I returned to the reception area where some of the others had already gathered waiting for my tour leader Eric to take us out for breakfast. We walked around the corner to a small restaurant where we bought and ate a cooked breakfast before returning to the hotel. We had fifteen minutes to pack before our van will arrive to pick us up and take us to the genocide museum and killing fields.

As I was rearranging my camera equipment making sure it was all ready to go, my roommate for the trip Andrew mentioned he had an absolutely amazing massage last night at a massage parlour just a few doors down the street. He told me about the ambience of the parlour. It had soft music playing in the background and that it was the best massage he had ever experienced, all for just six dollars. Perhaps he was sensationalising, but I was intrigued, and made a note to myself to go there tonight.

After five minutes of packing everything back into my main bag, Andrew and I congregated back in the dark reception area of the hotel waiting for our tour leader Eric along with the rest of the group. One by one the others arrived. We sat there for quite a while until he finally arrived – about ten minutes late. Perhaps he had some phone calls he had to make. We walked out to the street and climbed on board a white van before heading away from the city centre, not knowing what we were in for.

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