February 11, 2015
Another accident: If you don't like reading about the aftermath of serious accidents, don't read this page either
There was something in the road ahead - a white shape that was impossible to identify from a distance. As I got closer I saw that there were three or four motorcycles parked at the side of the road, and men standing, looking at whatever it was that was lying there. It looked like a sack of wheat or something that had fallen off the back of one of the bikes, but if so, why weren't they picking it up? It crossed my mind that it could be a person, lying there injured. But all of the bikes were standing, and none of the men seemed terribly panicked, or to be paying much attention to whatever it was. Then I got closer, and it began to take shape. Visions of the Mongolian accident returned once again. I saw bent legs, crumpled arms. And blood, so much blood. It was a person. A seriously injured person. I laid down my bike and ran over to see what I could do.
It started like any normal day. Well, any normal day that starts in an apocalyptic scene of burning embers. That's where I set up camp the night after I left Stung Treng. One thing that I forgot to mention about Stung Treng, by the way, is that it is only about 40 kilometres downstream of Four Thousand Islands in Laos. During my detour to Vietnam I'd almost gone around in a complete circle and considered popping up to see my old friend Dare again, and might have done had it not been for the international border that was in the way. Instead I crossed the Mekong and, saying a final farewell to the great river, headed due west. The rest of that day passed without incident and was only notable for the tremendous amount of the countryside that had either been burnt or was in the process of being burnt.
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The next day began in much the same way. The road was flat and the kids were all waving and saying hello, and all was quite alright with the world. But then in one moment all of that was forgotten and I suddenly found myself crouching down in the middle of the road, looking at a blood-soaked face and trying to decide what to do. This time there was no hesitation to jump in there and help. I actually felt like quite the professional now. But actually there wasn't anything much that I could do. The man was conscious and breathing well, he was basically in the recovery position and, although there was a lot of blood, he didn't seem to be bleeding heavily from anywhere now. Compared to the men I'd seen in Mongolia this guy was in positively good health. The other men on the scene had already phoned for help and actually seemed to know what to do. No one was trying to shake him back to life anyway. And so the best thing seemed to be just to keep him still and wait for that help to arrive. I felt a bit helpless.
I took up a position a little bit away from the injured man, to help alert and slow down traffic. The victim had obviously come off his motorcycle, and he'd managed to end up right on the centre line of the road. Fortunately there wasn't very much traffic. Over the next fifteen minutes quite a few more people arrived, mostly men on motorcycles, although a woman also came. She was probably the man's wife, or relative, because she wailed when she saw him, and knelt by him crying. As more people arrived I began to wonder whether my presence was necessary or even if it was a bad thing for me to stay, as it might appear that I'd only stopped to do a bit of rubber necking. Then a man started playing with my spare tyre and laughing, which seemed wholly inappropriate given the circumstances, and I decided it would probably be better if I left.
I had been wondering how long it would be before any emergency services could arrive on the scene, what with Stung Treng being a good sixty kilometres away, and the next city being Preah Vihear, 80 kilometres ahead. So it was a bit of a surprise when not two kilometres down the road I cycled up to an emergency service vehicle. It was a gendarmerie vehicle, with a big back end capable of carrying a stricken man, and flashing red lights capable of securing an accident scene. But it wasn't going anywhere, it was parked up next to some sort of checkpoint, where four or five uniformed gendarmeries sat around and played with their phones. One of them came over to me and thankfully he spoke a little bit of English. I explained what happened. I told him it was only two kilometres away.
"Two men?" he misunderstood.
"No, one man. One man. It is two kilometres away. It's only two kilometres that way."
"Two moto?"
"No, one moto!!! Two kilometres. There is a man seriously injured, two kilometres away."
"Yes, we know about it."
For some reason I felt relieved that he knew about the accident, and consequently the next, obvious, question of "aren't you going to do anything to ruddy well help then?!!!" never quite materialised, and I cycled on. About twenty minutes later that emergency vehicle did overtake me with its lights flashing, which might have meant that they went and picked up the victim and were driving him to the city of Preah Vihear. Or it might have meant that they were going to get beer. Who could be sure?
As I continued onwards I felt a bit dazed and shell-shocked about having seen another accident, but it was nothing like the aftermath of the Mongolian one. Perhaps that was because I was used to it now, or perhaps because this time there had been other people there that knew what to do and I hadn't had to deal with it all on my own. But probably the biggest difference was that this man actually looked like he was going to live. Whatever it was I decided that life was too short and that I wasn't going to hold back anymore, wasn't going to put off until tomorrow what could be done today. So when I came across a surprisingly well-stocked clothing store in the middle of nowhere I wasn't going to hold back.
With my new shoes on I reached a slightly larger village where I found a woman who could sell me fresh mixed fruit juice, and, with another reminder of my own mortality in mind, I decided it was high time I started being more healthy. So I ordered a delicious apple and dragonfruit shake and sat at a table to drink it. Almost immediately I was joined by a young Cambodian man named Monno, who spoke excellent English. I was pleased about this, because I hadn't had much chance to talk with Cambodians, but what he had to say was not so pleasing.
He talked about the widespread corruption within the country, and about how Vietnam owns everything, and how as a consequence of this ordinary Cambodians suffer. Monno was lucky to be educated, having received a scholarship through some international program, but that in his field of IT there was no money to be made. He told me that in IT he could make only $80 or $100, although he did then add "but I'm not that good at IT." So instead he worked buying and selling furniture, and with this work he was able to make $200 to $300. These figures, by the way, are not per day, nor per week, they are per month. I was struck once again by my own good fortune in life, and by how amazing it is that the people of Cambodia, though living in a corrupt country under the influence of powerful neighbours and devoid of the financial opportunities we Westerners so often take for granted, still maintain such a positive outward appearance. I felt guilty. Monno smiled, and still he refused my offer to pay for his juice.
It had been a terribly sobering day, but one which reminded me that I had plenty to be thankful for. I arrived into Preah Vihear at around four in the afternoon and stopped to buy supplies. It had not been my intention to stay here, I wanted to go on a bit further before camping, but by chance I happened to be buying bread from a woman next to a five-star hotel, when one of the hotel workers came out. Out of curiosity I asked him how much a room was, and he told me "seven dollars." That was surely the cheapest I was ever going to find a five-star hotel, and the temptation to stay was certainly, erm, tempting.
Incidentally, some of you may be wondering what happened to Alan recently, what with all my splurging on accommodation, and there is a perfectly logical explanation, which can be explained thus. At some point it dawned on me that almost all of the things Alan had to say were taking place entirely within the confines of my own head, and I realised that if I really, really concentrated, I could actually make Alan say whatever I wanted.
"What do you think about the seven dollar five-star hotel then Alan?"
"Well Chris, I think you've got to go for it. You've got no visas to pay for this month, which frees up the capital, and you'll not get the chance to stay in such luxury accommodation at this price often. Furthermore, if you spend more money while you're in Cambodia you'll maybe be able to help the people, so I'm authorising you to pretty much spend at will for the rest of your time in the country. I suggest you stay two nights. Nice shoes by the way."
I liked this new Alan. A lot.
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10/02/15 - 49km
11/02/15 - 96km
Today's ride: 145 km (90 miles)
Total: 37,067 km (23,019 miles)
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