Koh Rong is heaven island — or it would be, if heaven had a litter problem. The beaches are dazzling, the sea is a shade of green that makes paint charts look inadequate, and yet everywhere you look there’s rubbish. Plastic bottles, crisp packets, flip‑flops that have clearly seen more of the world than their owners. It’s paradise, laminated in trash.

Breakfast with Chickens

Our mornings began with a cinnamon roll from Ma Bakers and a Khmer iced latte from the mobile cart across the road. We’d carry them to the beach, where the waves lapped politely at our toes while the locals set up their day.

The sand was never just ours. It was shared with chickens, who staged a daily parade, chicks in tow, pecking at scraps washed up overnight. By lunchtime, those same chickens were destined for the menu, which gave breakfast a slightly unsettling edge.

Dogs curled up in their own little sand holes, enjoying a rare moment of peace. All except one pug, who spent three days chasing a female dog on heat and, failing to reach anything useful, settled for her leg. He was panting, delirious, and oddly heroic — Koh Rong’s great tragic romance.

Walking Left, Walking Right

We walked and walked. One day left, one day right, and then it was time to leave.

Left was better: inviting beaches, albeit dotted with the casualties of the island’s nightlife. Spliff in the air, sunglasses still on, moving with the slow determination of people who have absolutely no idea what day it is.Some collapsed gracefully on beanbags, others gracelessly in their own juices, like extras from a cautionary tale.

Right was another story entirely. A mud‑slide road with no real access to the beach, just a few tiny bays ruined by oil canters or industrial waste. Every night it had rained hard, and the damage was clear — huge puddles, mud slicks, and mini landslides that made walking feel like an obstacle course designed by someone with a grudge.

Our shoes were a mess when we got home. Craig tried to wash them, but the white stuff clinging to them was stubborn. We suspect it wasn’t mud at all, more like animal fat, as everything here seems to be thrown down the drains.

Overcast Days and Mud Showers

The days were overcast, which suited us perfectly. We could walk, talk, and wonder why no one seemed to notice the rubbish piling up around paradise. After hours of wandering, we’d return to our digs, join the Babybong staff for a few beers, and unwind. The owner and staff clearly enjoyed the party scene — leading by example, living in a state of euphoria that seemed to run 24/7.

Spiral Staircase

Our bathroom water was colourful — brown, to be precise. Showering felt less like washing and more like mud therapy, minus the spa ambience. It didn’t feel great on the skin or in your hair and one more day and we’d look like David Dickinson’s relatives.

At night we’d stroll up and down the mud street, weaving past stalls selling the usual Cambodian mix: tours, seafood, fish, fruit. Cafes dragged their chairs and tables onto the sand, stringing up lights that gave the beach a carnival glow. It was chaotic, messy, and oddly charming — Koh Rong’s nightly transformation from sleepy island to neon bazaar.

Night time also meant BBQ time for the vendors. Mainly seafood, fresh in the sense of being alive and fluttering at point of sale. Sadly, the water they were kept in looked more like dishwater than anything fit for human consumption.

Neighbours and Nightfall

Mud Street

Our next‑door neighbour was a brothel — quiet by day, but come sunset the ladies appeared, adjusting dresses and laughing with the camaraderie of shared chaos. Their pimp was young, determined, and sporting a wig so bad it deserved its own museum exhibit.

Two nights of torrential rain helped dull the thumping bass from next door. You could hear the rain pelting the corrugated tin roofs like someone was firing gravel from a cannon. By morning the roads were drenched and flooded, puddles deep enough to qualify as minor lakes. The island looked hungover, which felt appropriate.

But on the last night, when the drizzle revealed our walls were thin, the music faded and another rhythm took over. By the knocks alone, I’d say she had a very good night.

Behind the Façade

As a rule of thumb, the buildings are only one street deep, with the odd lane running uphill. But behind them is a different story: a dumping ground, shockingly so. Walk around and you see land giving way, partly from the concrete mess, partly because trees that once underpinned the soil are being cleared. The ground looks unstable, like it’s holding its breath. If they keep ignoring the signs, this island will destroy itself — paradise collapsing under the weight of its own neglect.

Community Pier Chaos

The Koh Rong Community Pier was the island’s pulse — ferries docking, fishing boats unloading, tourists spilling out with backpacks and hangovers. Around it, shops and bars buzzed like a carnival, but behind the façades the land was giving way. The pier was paradise’s front door, but also its warning sign  

From the pier outward, Koh Rong sells you the dream: hammocks, cocktails, and beaches that glow under lantern light. Step behind the buildings, though, and you find the backstage — dumping grounds, broken concrete, and land sliding away where trees once held it together. It’s a reminder that paradise is fragile, and the cracks are already showing  

Food and Feuds

Craig, meanwhile, attempted a chicken Tom Yum soup at a busy café full of Europeans. Wrong move. It tasted like boiled socks and looked equally as bad.

The Quiet Truth

In between sessions, the owner told us it was very quiet this year. Maybe the tourists have already stopped coming. Maybe they’ve seen what we’ve seen — the litter, the erosion, the slow unraveling of paradise.

Final Thought

And yet, despite the rubbish, the mud showers, the wigged pimp, the pug’s tragic love story, and the island’s hangover mornings, we loved our time here. Koh Rong gave us three days of walking, talking, laughing, and watching life unfold in all its messy, human glory. Paradise may be cracked, but it’s still paradise — and we were lucky enough to walk through it, sand included, free of charge.