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Updated: July 20, 2025
The Chutututch, I reasoned, must be better; it certainly could not be worse. And when I approached her owners they offered no objections to earning a few-score extra ticals by extending her itinerary so as to drop me at the tiny Cambodian port of Kep.
Of vessels plying between Bangkok and the ports of French Indo-China there were but two the Bonite, a French packet slightly larger than a Hudson River tugboat, which twice monthly makes the round trip between the Siamese capital and Saigon; and a Danish tramp; the Chutututch, an unkempt vagrant of the seas which wanders at will along the Gulf Coast, touching at those obscure ports where cargo or passengers are likely to be found.
The next day, then, saw me on the bridge of the Chutututch, smoking for politeness' sake one of the genial captain's villainous cigars, as we steamed slowly between the palm-fringed, temple-dotted banks of the Menam toward the Gulf. On many kinds of vessels I have voyaged the Seven Seas.
Three days out of Bangkok the anchor of the Chutututch rumbled down off Kep, on the coast of Cambodia.
But that voyage on the Chutututch will linger longest in my memory. From stem to stern she was packed with yellow, half-naked, perspiring humanity Siamese, Laos, Burmans, Annamites, Cambodians, Malays, Chinese journeying, God knows why, to ports whose very names I had never before heard.
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