Words: Tim Patterson
Photos: Ryan Libre

I have twelve packets of Flying Horse instant noodles, my laptop computer, three oranges, a 1:750,000 scale map of Cambodia and amoebic dysentery. Ryan has his Nikon SLR, a water filter, a bag of sesame waffles and his Northern California brand of equanimity. Ken, my Cambodian friend and translator, has a dog-eared English/Khmer dictionary, new sunglasses, two baguettes and a fake gold Rolex. Voun, the fisherman at the tiller, has a brutal hangover and nothing left of the $50 that I paid him yesterday. It’s mid-morning and the sea is calm like a silver plate. We’re headed for an island, a big one far from shore, and I don’t know what waits beyond that flat horizon.

Getting into a boat always simplifies things, especially when so little is under control. I know that I’m off the coast of Cambodia and out of sight of land. I know that I have enough food and water to last me a day or two. I know that I trust Ryan and Ken. That’s all I know, all I can hold onto, so I scribble in my notebook and cling to words as my stomach rolls and the high blue cliffs of Koh Rong rise up from distant thunderclouds.

In the year leading up to this expedition, I planned every last detail of how we would get to the island, right down to asking Ken to arrange a long-tail boat charter. The one thing I did NOT plan was what to do when we actually arrived. Koh Rong is the most remote large island in the Gulf of Thailand, so I couldn’t just go online and reserve a bungalow, but to tell the truth, I didn’t even try to research our destination in advance. Too much knowledge would defeat my purpose, which was to have an Adventure. I was an Explorer on a Voyage of Discovery, and if any traveler had set foot on Koh Rong before, I didn’t want to know about it.

Soldiers? Cobras? Jungle bushwhacks? Sand fleas? A hidden Backpacker Bohemia, where tan topless French girls would greet us in the surf with shell necklaces and cold bottles of Beer Lao? Anything was possible and the uncertainty was exhilarating. I wanted hardship, close-calls and revelation…

Except that now, about to confront the interesting bits of travelogue head-on, I wish I could flip ahead and read the ending.

We’re close enough to make out coconut palms by the water and thick, tangled jungle on the hills above. No banana plantations here. The coast looks parched. It hasn’t rained in weeks. There might not be fresh water.

I unfold the map and look for comfort in the neat shapes and lines, trying to exert some small measure of control over the landscape that looms ahead. Focusing on the small print makes me nauseous, so I take deep, slow breaths and watch the barren coast pass by. An awesome and strangely calming fear rises up from my gut - the same sensation that long ago inspired the humble prayer: "Oh Lord, your seas are so vast, and my boat so small." Read More...