SIHANOUKVILLE: DAY 1

The day before us was shrouded in mystery. Where exactly are we going? How do we get there? When do we leave? All our questions were soon answered when deciding to book a bus from Phnom Pehn down to Sihanoukville, a laid-back beach town set on the Cambodian coast.

ROADSIDE FOOD: INSPIRATIONAL
By noon we were off. The bus ride was great- Katie and I got to share music, read, ya know... stuff you do on the bus. We stopped at a roadside eatery and I purchased a Cambodian dumpling- a spherical bread mound filled with some meat concoction in the center, kind of like a jelly donut, except more nutritional and not as good. I looked at my dumpling and saw potential for it to star in its own Primetime NBC sitcom in which the dumpling shares a downtown Manhattan apartment with a New York accountant, Dwayne. It's called "Dwayne and The Dumpling" and it premiers Tuesday night at 8 on NBC. When I pitched the idea to Katie, she loved it. Hopefully the NBC reps feel the same.

WELCOME TO SIHANOUKVILLE! EVERYONE YOU MEET WILL NOW LIE TO YOUR FACE
We arrived in Sihanoukville around 6pm, and were immediately met by the typical mob of taxi, tuk tuk, and motobike drivers. It was great. Narrowly squeezing our way through the crowd, we grabbed our bags and were easily persuaded by 2 young Cambodian motobikers to hop on the back of each of their bikes. They each put our huge backpacks in their laps and drove, while we hung on behind them. It was super fun. Without describing where we were headed, they drove us up to a hotel on the main road along the beach- on the other side of the beach. When we told them and the hotel staff that we were hoping for a hotel on the beach, they all responded with "No. Not possible. No hotels on the beach." "Really?" I asked, "That's strange, because I was just told by a friend that there are hotels on the beach." "No. The government does not allow hotels there. Only restaurants." I had a strange feeling. "Please take us somewhere else", I requested.

So we were off- to another hotel further from the beach. Again, the same conversation. Us: "Take us to the beach." Scooter Boys: "No hotels there." Finally we had had it. "Fine," I said. "We will go find one ourselves." The scooter boys immediately changed their tone: "Ok, ok. We will take you to a hotel on the beach." Astounded, I lost it: "No you will NOT take us. This business relationship is over. You lied to our faces multiple times. We are through, and I hope that you learn from this and never lie to foreigners again." It was actually very liberating. I paid them, and they were off- and more importantly, we were free.

MOTORBIKES TO CALL OUR OWN
It was at this point that things got good. REAL good. Katie and I went to the hotel counter and rented our OWN motorbikes. "We don't need those guys," we chuckled, "we're doing this ourselves!" And boy did that pay off. After loading our enormous backpacks onto our backs, fastening our messenger bags to our laps, and revving the engines on our new rental scooters, we were MOVIN'! The process was actually much less smooth than this, but we did our best. I mean, we had multiple bags hanging off each direction, and aren't necessarily accustomed to driving scooters on dirt roads in Cambodian beach towns. But we got the hang of it. Most importantly, we had FUN! We were both just laughing at how ridiculous we looked: white tourists timidly driving matching scooters around Cambodia with all their possessions strapped to their bodies. Add to that the fact that we couldn't really turn well at all, and it made for good material from a marginally funny Will Farrell comedy.

BEACH DATE NIGHT
That night we went out onto the beach, where they have restaurant after restaurant, each grilling fresh seafood and vegetables- while you sit in cushioned lounge chairs on the sand. It was an absolute delight. Such good food. Such an incredible environment. And so few people- it felt like an undiscovered slice of paradise.

As Katie and I were conversing, who walks by but my British friend, John. "John!" I exclaimed. John was less excited (Brits aren't a very excitable people), but he had a wide British grin. We all caught up for a while and then continued with John to a bar down the beach. Foreigners hired by the bar awkwardly invited us to join them on the raised wooden dance floor as a "DJ" pressed play on his iTUNES for various American Top 40 songs. We danced for a while (as the only ones). After a bit, Katie and I decided it was time to leave- and go to another place on the opposite side of the beach that turned out to be nearly the same scene. Except for the fact that 2 15-year-old Cambodian DJ's dressed up like 50 Cent were spinning poorly cut mashups of Lady Gaga mixed with The Mamas and the Papas "California Dreamin". It was interesting, to say the least. So we danced there, amidst the DJ's emerging onto the dance floor, complete with NY Yankees hats cocked to the side, sports jerseys open to the breeze, and baggy "gangster" jeans- while singing at the top of their lungs "All the leaves are brown!..." and pop and lock break dancing. I felt right at home.