Cambodia’s mystical magical caves

Matt Lundy Special to the Star



KAMPOT, CAMBODIA—The Cambodian children hop between jagged rocks like little mountain goats, even though they’re wearing the same cheap, plastic flip-flops that we are. Our sandals have a thick lubrication of trail mud and perspiration, to the point where every few steps they slip right off. And yet the children – who likely make this trek daily – are goading us on, higher up the mountain and then deeper into the cave, saying “It’s so easy!”

My girlfriend and I didn’t plan on coming to Phnom Chhngok in Kampot, but our driver, Sarath, is ferrying us around to all the hotspots in this part of southern Cambodia, even if our attire is completely inappropriate. Minutes earlier, when we arrived at the closest village to the caves, a group of boys surrounded the car, led by a 10-year-old named Opp, who asked our names in the perfect grammar of an English composition professor. This is the point when we find out our driver is now useless to us: the youngsters, locally known as “the Cave Boys,” will be taking us into the limestone peak’s bowels.

As we make our way to the base, we cross through rice fields that are punctuated with palm trees, a scene that looks like b-roll footage from an old Vietnam War flick. Opp points to rice crabs that scurry along the paddies’ shallow floor and to far-off mountain ranges that have never seen a day of logging. We have about 300 stairs to climb now – it’s a luxury that there are stairs – but our footwear has been rendered useless by the mud trails, not to mention our wits are at half-mast following last night’s generous flow of Angkor beer.

About halfway through the climb we pay a one dollar entry-fee to a middle-aged man who is surrounded by gaudy statues of elephants and religious icons. The steps are then gradually replaced by uneven rocks – likely the result of lazy construction – that are made more difficult by their wetness, a by-product of Cambodia’s monsoon season.

When we finally reach the top and descend into the cave, it opens like a limestone blanket and reveals a 1400-year-old Hindu temple, made out of mud brick. It’s a little surprise “the Cave Boys” and Sarath failed to mention, but seemingly appropriate for the cities of Kampot and Kep, two Cambodian dark horses that delight visitors with their unexpected natural beauty.

Some veteran travelers have anointed Sihanoukville, a resort town on the Gulf of Thailand, as Southeast Asia’s “new Phuket.” But when real Cambodians want to escape the motorcycle mad streets of Phnom Penh and head south, they invariably go to Kampot and Kep, laid-back cities crammed with fresh seafood bodegas, densely forested mountains, and a host of accommodations to please any price range.

When we get back to the car, and after saying our goodbyes to “the Cave Boys,” we ask Sarath about how Kampot has changed in the past five years and where it’s headed.

“Kampot, it used to be very dirty,” he says. “But the city cleaned up the boardwalk on the river and many guesthouses are being built. I think the future will be good for Kampot. More people come here now.”

With its crumbling French Colonial architecture, sparse traffic, and stray dogs sleeping in the shade of noodle shop tables, Kampot looks like a Wild West relic. But a closer look reveals a city with gorgeous sunset views along the river, guesthouses that rarely exceed 15 bucks a night, and close proximity to some of Cambodia’s crown jewels: the Elephant Mountains and its jungles, Bokor National Park, and some of the world’s finest pepper plantations (just ask the French, who still import Kampot pepper, decades after Cambodia’s independence).

After sampling some fresh peppercorns straight off the plant, we go to Kep, a seaside town on the Gulf of Thailand just 30 minutes from Kampot by car. Formerly a coastal playground for Cambodia’s elite, Kep has developed into a chilled-out vacation spot with accommodations ranging from thatched-roof huts that please a backpacker’s wallet, to proper luxury resorts with all the frills you’d expect in the Caribbean. And although Kep Beach is popular with locals who come to swim and picnic, the beach itself has seen better days. When you come to Kep, you come to gorge on mounds of fresh crab meat, just pulled out of the water.

But for those, like me, who need a white sand beach lined with palm trees and a hammock, go to Rabbit Island, just 20 minutes from Kep by boat. Sarath tells us that the island reportedly got its name after King Sihanouk stocked it full of rabbits so that he and his buddies could hunt them on vacation, though no outside literature can back that up. Rabbit Island is a postcard-perfect retreat that is highly accessible, and yet totally rustic. The little overnight huts might not have running water, but cold cans of Angkor are available, because it wouldn’t be Cambodia without them.

After we leave Rabbit Island, Sarath drives us through the countryside on the way back to our guesthouse. My girlfriend and I aren’t talking, but not because anything bad has happened. We just look out the windows of our driver’s beat-up car – at the kids riding over-sized bikes, roosters crossing dirt roads, pigs being led by a leash – and realize why Cambodians overwhelmingly come here to escape.

Matt Lundy is a freelancer writer based in Phnom Penh.