Kampot, Kampuchea

It has been raining for several days now and the temperature has not risen above 50 Fahrenheit. The sky is covered with thick blanket of clouds that don’t seem to want to go away.

This type of weather prompts me to think of one place that I have grown to love so dearly -- Kampot. Though I was born and raised in Phnom Penh, I had spent almost four of my teenage years during the Pol Pot era in that province. There is something about that territory that seems endearing to me. Perhaps because Kampot’s landscape is dotted with mountains and hills with lush, green vegetations; perhaps because within her bosom she has the ocean that bring cool breeze to a person like me.

In my opinion, there is nothing more relaxing than to stroll or to sit on one of the benches along the shore of her river; just sit there listening to the gentle sound of branches of pine trees as they sway to and fro. From this vintage point, I could see clearly the infamous Phnom Bok Kor majestically standing tall above the rest with white cloud swirling around her waist. If I close my eyes, I could have sworn I could faintly hear the sound of rushing water from a distance Teuk Chhu not so far away.

Just a short drive away from down town, I would run into a monument that bears the name of the town: Ses Sar (White Horse). Turn right and just a stone throw away the smell of freshly boiled crabs and of the mouthwatering fish sauce would lure me closer and closer to the serenity of the white sand beach. The view is breathtaking because just behind me stands yet a chain of mountains with remnant of old houses that once belonged to some people who have long been perished. Though the houses and their occupants have long gone, I could still see the elders watching their kids running up and down the hill chasing butterflies while some picked wild, colorful flowers that are so abundant there.

I could see myself sitting on my front porch, sipping a piñacolada watching waves after waves rushing to shore...