Worn out by thousand-year-old temples and other attractions for farangs (read white tourists), we set out to see the life of the locals in its purest form. A poor fishing village where naked kids run around in the mud and mothers wash themselves with a bucket of water out in the street gave us a sufficiently authentic experience...
The work teleconference didn't happen in the end, so that afternoon we headed out to another local attraction, sunset over the lake. Our TT (tuktuk driver) took us there, and apart from the town, which we know a bit by now, he also drove through a fishing village. The wooden and reed huts right by the road are almost completely open, so life basically happens out in the street. Naked kids everywhere, interesting little corners, as Patrik said, "100% authentic Cambodia". We drove for quite a while and the whole time my camera was itching like crazy. But you can't shoot jack while moving, the TT keeps bouncing around and goes too fast. By the time we got all the way to the harbour, I was completely frustrated by how many interesting shots of naked little tykes playing in front of their houses or riding on a moped I'd missed.
The harbour was a disgustingly sterile white brick building besieged by a heap of white farangs. Touts jumped on us right away, wanting to sell us a boat ticket. The idea of spending the whole evening with a bunch of loudmouthed Germans or revolting American feminists travelling around "rough" Cambodia on their own (via 4* hotels and by taxi) totally put me off. Patrik and I agreed that going back to that fishing village and shooting a few authentic gems before they turn the lights out up there would be a much better experience. And how! We got right in among the locals, they were lovely, photogenic kids everywhere, beautiful. In the end I even bagged a shot of something that fascinates me here. On a rattling moped built for one you get, for example: a 3-year-old boy holding the handlebars, behind him the father (steering), then a one-year-old baby (standing on the seat) and finally the mother. All of them not only without helmets, but often stripped to the waist (except the mother). We had another mango shake and tea at one of the shacks and after bagging about 200 shots we set off towards the Hilton. Our TT guy couldn't get his head around what the hell kind of tourists we were, when instead of the boat trip (for $40, which he gets a commission on) we had ourselves taken to a poor neighbourhood where even he wouldn't drink that tea! (and he didn't, we offered:) ). His surprise was even bigger when, instead of the usual (programme he'd suggested – a shower at the Hilton and then a visit to a local dance club full of farangs and maybe some local dancers), we had him take us to a completely ordinary local "restaurant" (plastic chairs by the road). Those Dutch guys are really kinda weird!!
