Ocean waves at our doorstep. Sandy beaches. Simple island lifestyle with no traffic. Fresh air. No schedule to keep. There are plenty of perks to a week on a remote island. And they’re worth it, even if you have to sacrifice reliable internet service (in fact, taking a break from the virtual world is a benefit in itself). But the real sine qua non on the little Cambodian island of Koh Rong Sanloem is the snorkeling. That’s what we came for above all else.

The morning after our arrival, we wake up to hear a high pitched hum — not terribly annoying, but quite noticeable — coming from somewhere out front. We search, and search and can’t find the source, though it appears to be made by some form of insect. Or else a bird who’s a ventriloquist. We’d hear it a couple of more times during our stay, but it was not constant or frequent.

In the morning we go wading in the water in our front yard. It’s literally no more than the length of a football field to get to the beach. The water is warm and not too choppy, and quite clear. In the afternoon, we hike to a different location on the island and — oh joy on bliss — go snorkeling.,

We both own high quality snorkels and masks, but they happen to be thousands of miles away, stashed back in the States. We’d brought them along on our first jaunt around the globe, and used them only once. So after some deliberation, we’d made the tough decision to leave them behind, as they were only taking up precious cargo space. And on the present tour, lo and behold, we’ve met several occasions when they might have come in handy.

In preparation for this island excursion, we bought new snorkels — very cheap ones compared to our others, and not as bulky, but quite serviceable. Kimberly also bought a cheaper snorkeling mask. Dennis opted for goggles and a nose clip, which is an even more compact arrangement — and he tested it at the local pool in Phnom Penh. He was concerned, however, about needing a life jacket, as he’s not a strong swimmer. (Kimberly, who spent a chunk of her childhood as a beach bunny in Hawaii, had no such reservations.) We contact the host of our Airbnb, who lives in Phnom Penh, and ask them if there’s a place on the island to rent life jackets. They reply that there’s a life jacket under the bar in the lobby that we’re welcome to use. Problem solved, free of charge.

Thus equipped, we head to the prime snorkeling spot we’ve sleuthed out online, about a mile away. The previous afternoon, after arriving and checking in, we’d gone to scout out this spot, but found only a seemingly endless network of stairs heading down to various observation points on the side of the cliff. This time, we stop at an outdoor dance floor at a cliffside bar, and ask a couple of the workers who are there gearing up for the coming evening’s revelry, and they point us to a stairway and say that yes, we just follow it all the way down — a bit farther than we’d gone before — and we’ll be in snorkel heaven..

The spot in question is a little platform at the edge of the water from which you can enter by stepping on some rocks before the bottom starts becoming steep pretty quickly. The rocks are a bit rocky, and Dennis doesn’t have any protective footwear except his sandals, which he wears into the water; but these sandals already had some repair work done on them, and after awhile the ocean water causes the glue to dissolve and the soles to start coming off. (Not to worry, we’ve brought along some super glue — which is not the best shoe repair adhesive, but it’ll do in a pinch.)

The water is clear, and the marine life is captivating and cooperative. The display for our benefit isn’t as lavish as what we’d observed snorkeling on Oahu years earlier, but maybe it’s a close second. We spend nearly two hours blissfully admiring the spectacle, only coming out occasionally to drink water, adjust goggles or nose clip, and take a breather. Only as sunset begins to announce its arrival do we decide it’s time to call it a day.

Walking through the village on the way back home, we stop at a little store to buy some produce to cook for dinner. The pickings are slim, because we seem to be on the tail end of an interval between deliveries of produce from the mainland. But we obtain enough to make a hearty meal, which we cook in our kitchen on a stove that seriously needs some TLC — the burners sputter and spew out black smoke and soot along with the flame, and if the kitchen wasn’t so wide open, we’d be too concerned about carbon monoxide to do any cooking.

At night, there is rain and lightning. Which causes us some concern because our host had warned us that there might be leakage. But so far so good. What we did have to contend with, however, was a party next door, with one woman in particular laughing and talking loudly until 3:00 a.m.

The next morning we get up and begin taking extra measures to avoid being quiet. Then after breakfast we go out to the same snorkeling spot again. But this time the water is extremely choppy, so much so that even the tour boats are not out. So we decide that this is not the time or place for more snorkeling, especially with Kimberly having no life jacket.

In the afternoon, however, we decide to try the beach in front of our house. We don’t have high hopes for it, as the water deepens more gradually, and there are not many rocks to harbor marine life. But to our surprise, we do indeed spot quite a bit of it, almost as much as we had at the other location.

In the evening, we once again are disturbed by noise, this time coming from down the beach a little distance. There is amplified music coming from somewhere, a very common occurrence in Cambodia — many people buy and use speakers the size of Sherman tanks at every opportunity. We hear the music even after we go to bed, so finally, Dennis gets up, gets dressed, and goes down to investigate.

There are about half a dozen guys — locals, not tourists — sitting on the beach, drinking beer and rocking out to their ditties. Dennis asks them what time they are going to turn the music down, and they sheepishly reply at ten — at this point it’s about fifteen minutes after. So they immediately turn it down to a respectable level and apologize for the disturbance, and he thanks them, and we have a peaceful night after that.

Alas, it seems very rare these days when a getaway actually gets you away from it all. The trouble with island paradises is that they are very popular. And whenever you have more people, you have more noise and other inconsiderate behavior. We’re just glad that we came during the off season.

08/23-24/2024