Yesterday I found an amazing blog on the internet called This American girl (http://www.thisamericangirl.com/). There I found a little song about Koh Rong that took me back there and made me remember all the good times I had. I had to share it with you!
Koh Rong is a place that does not want to be reached.
If the weather is poor or the sea is too rough
you may be stuck in Sihanoukville. Sorry, tough luck.
For those who do wash up on its blinding white coast
the island is not exactly a hospitable host.
Sand fleas feast on tender legs on the shore
the warm saltwater corrodes and infects open wounds.
This island does not want to be discovered.
This island does not want to be known.
Yet one day the twenty seven hidden beaches lining the jungle backed coast
may be disrupted by casinos, clubs and resorts
The jungle will be flattened with a paved road and an airport.
But today with bites behind my knees and between my toes
intermittent electricity, cold showers and one sand path instead of roads
nowhere but Koh Rong could feel so right.
Awakened by roosters and sobbing children I watch the sunrise on the pier
fishing boats rock in the distance the waves are all I hear.
Women sell fruit from picnic tables on the beach
children, puppies, roosters run freely in the “street”.
Walking past the backpacker bars serving eggs, beans, and toast
guesthouses become fewer bungalows dot the coast.
Through a jungle path then wading across a bay
the stretch of sand on 4K beach is my morning getaway.
For adventure I hike a jungle path up and down rocky cliffs
the deafening sounds of cicadas surround me until I finally reach the sea.
On Long beach time stands still with miles of shore white as snow
the ocean is clear and turquoise the sand so clean it squeaks under my toes.
When the fiery sun lowers on the horizon tourists gather silently honoring its majesty
all that exists is the crash of the waves, the hum of the jungle, the beat of my heart.
the island has everything I need.
For dinner I eat Khmer noodles or freshly grilled catch
sip wine with a plate of gnocchi while the Italian owner sings.
Bars compete for tourists playing reggae, dub step, or hip hop
come midnight the electricity ceases forcing the party to stop.
When darkness surrounds the island wade out into the night sea
comb the water with your hands plankton glows luminously.
For Koh Rong this is what I hope.
So if you must go
if you must build
please hear my plea:
Keep Koh Rong real.
Keep Koh Rong right.
