...Shit-anoukville

We'd been forewarned about Sihanoukville's Ibiza style vibe, tacky western shops and hastle-y beaches, not to mention the sex tourism. Shunning the notorious Serendipity beach and unimpressed with the 'town' we resolved to find our own beach in a national park.... We set off in glorious sunshine, pack lunches wrapped and proceeded to circle Sihanoukville, soon realising that we really did need a map. This was soon supplied by a bemused concierge at an out of town posh hotel. After battling some rather testing inclines on the Cmabodian motorway we arrived at park head quarters, met with beautiful photo's of paradisical and more importantly deserted beaches. After paying national park entrance fee and being reassured that the ominous cloud in the distance was nothing to worry about, we headed onwards. Within minutes, we could see a monsoonal wall of rain approaching. Optimistically donning anorak and glasses and heading the wardens advice, we blindly battled on. Quite literally. When it got to the stage that we couldn;t see or control the bike, we turned back, the thought of the beach rapidly losing it's appeal. After completing what has to be the scariest moto drive ever; rivers, unrelenting winds that swpt us off the road and bruising rain, we consoled ourselves with and irish coffee as we sheepishly ate our picnic lunch amongst the Noah's ark scene unfloding outside. It was clear the monsoon had arrived. We resolved to leave the following day, the idea of Ireland hoping into Thailand rapidly diminishing. It was at this rather sorry moment that we met the hunting shooting gap yarrrr brigade. Inevitably leading to endless socio-political debates which left us banging our head on a brick wall. We were soon, much to our surprise, rescued by a friend from home and all headed off to a beach club to celebrate her birthday. With three hours sleep and the remnant of neon paint we jumped aboard what was to be one of many buses to Bangkok.