AsiaLIFE

Will reminisces about holidays in the Kingdom while freezing his tush off in Oregon.

The closest to paradise I have ever been able to afford to visit is Kompong Soum.

Sihanoukville – as it is called by those who love the monarchy and trans-lingual portmanteaus – has beautiful beaches, calm breezes and everything you could want in a tropical paradise. The rose-colored glasses of time may have descended, but in my memory Kompong Soum's sky is always clear, its sun is always shining and fresh coconuts are always available for rock-bottom prices.

I'm not alone in my love for Kompong Soum's beaches. Every time I visited I saw a string of Europeans and Americans along the beach. Each tourist reclined under an umbrella with a book in one hand and a coconut in the other. The only interruption is a dip in the ocean, a ride on the banana boat, or being pestered by the various urchins peddling snacks. Actually, there can be a lot of interruptions, but it's all part of the Cambodian experience.

But pleasant memories are only memories. My wife and I long ago left the sandy beaches of Cambodia for Western Oregon, which is the climatic antipode of Kompong Soum. (Technically, the antipode of Kompong Soum is somewhere in Peru, which is also beset by Maoist insurgents — but I digress.)

Western Oregon is blessed by verdant forests, beautiful mountain ranges and more than 500 kilometers of ocean shore. All that combined with the westerly winds means much of Oregon is wrapped in a dull cloudy blanket for more than half the year. For the long winter months, the only thing that interrupts the dull, gray monotony are sudden storms that shower neighborhoods with precipitation and tree limbs.

Also, coconuts are rare and expensive. Though there are sea urchins off the coast.

So instead of sitting around and drinking coconuts while basking in the sunshine, Oregonians seek other ocean-inspired entertainments. A favorite is whale watching.

At the height of every Oregon winter, gray whales pass by the coast of Oregon on their way south to Mexico to calve. These are large, graceful animals, so many people head to high bluffs along the coast to look for the migrating gray whales.

But as this is winter in Oregon, people often drive for hours to stand in the rain straining to see a gray whale spouting off a jet of gray water somewhere in the distance, where the gray, overcast sky and gray ocean converge. While this sounds like a particularly cruel and insidious form of torture, people are passionate about it and return year after year, much like the whales.

More than a few disinterested spouses and assorted family members get dragged to the ends of Oregon to watch whales. For those who are not lovers of the cold and wet, the best option — aside from huddling in the rain-shadow of a lighthouse — is to stay in the car. Many of them lean their seats back and read a book to pass the time.

All that's missing is a coconut, and sun.

Will Koenig lives in Oregon with his wife and son. E-mail: This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .