Cambodia Jan. 24 - Feb. 15, 2009

Cambodia's been a bit of a bumpy ride. Although there are parts of it we have really enjoyed, there are parts that have been, well, very challenging. Perhaps the most difficult thing to cope with has been the tremendous contrast between the nouveau-riche Cambodians, all with their 4WD Lexuses, which are literally a dime a dozen here – as many as a dozen in one city block – and the abject poverty of the urban poor, the street people, and the endless streams of beggars.

We are trying to understand the wealthy Cambodians' drive to show off by buying expensive cars, clothes and jewelry as part of the larger dynamic of social dysfunction in a country where, just 30 years ago, a ruthless dictator imprisoned, tortured and executed thousands, where millions more died of starvation as a result of his misguided communist policies.

But it's hard not to be judgmental as we dodge oncoming droves, or wade through sidewalks filled with Lexuses, Mercedes, Cadillacs, while fending off persistent beggars, and seeing the incredible poverty of the vast majority of people. I'm afraid we're both feeling quite oppressed and outraged by it, and it has affected our overall enjoyment of the country. So it's time to leave, and we'll soon be off back to Laos.

That aspect of Cambodia aside, we did enjoy our week of traipsing around the group of ancient temples commonly (but erroneously) referred to as “Angkor Wat.” (Angkor Wat is in fact just one of the temples. There are literally hundreds of others, mostly smaller, but some bigger, and some definitely, in our view, more fantastic.) We were awed, as all visitors to Angkor are, by the sheer size and number of temples, by the artistry, and by the knowledge that they were constructed at least 800 years ago, using the simplest of tools. What of the monuments and edifices our society, our culture, has built? Not one of them will be around 800 years from now.

We splurged and bought one week passes to Angkor. We didn't spend all day tramping around temples, but started late, around 10:30, when the large groups of tourists were already leaving to go to fancy restaurants for lunch, and ended most days by 3:30 or 4. Somewhere in there we had lunch at a food stall within the temple complex. We took our time, as long as we wanted, looking at the awesome stonework, the beautiful and intricate sculptures. We just sat in the midst of the ruins and imagined the spectacular ceremonies that might have occurred there.

We hired a wonderful tuk-tuk driver named Pov (pronounced 'Bo'), who drove us from temple to temple, waiting for us as we explored. He was lovely. Careful, considerate, and always with a wonderful smile. Once our week of temple-hopping was done, we asked Pov to take us out to the biggest lake in Cambodia. It's a lake fed by the mighty Mekong, and it's level changes dramatically depending on the season. There are a number of famous 'floating villages' on the lake that tourists go out to see, generally in large groups on special 'tourist boats.'

We dislike tours, and had decided we didn't want to be part of that scene, but would just like to take a drive and see the lake. We'd been advised by several travellers, and by the blurb in our guidebook, that we would not be able to get anywhere near the lake unless we went on a tour, but we decided to give it a try anyway. We're intrepid that way... .

We drove out through paddy fields and small villages, following the course of a stinking polluted 'river' into which poured all the sewage and garbage from houses and shops all along it. We saw kids swimming in it and women bathing in it. It's all they've got.

As we neared the lake a couple of guys on motorcycles came up beside us and motioned for us to stop. Pov finally did, although he knew we were not going to want to talk to these guys. They were trying to sell us $15 tickets (each) for a boat ride on the lake. We just kept repeating “no boat, no boat,” and finally they gave up with us. Pov got quite a kick out of all this, and although his English was very limited, he was clear about one thing: we did not want to take a boat out onto the lake.

A little further on down the road, now almost at the lake, we were motioned to stop at the 'Boat Tour Operators Committee' centre. The guy who motioned us over looked almost like a police man. Pov stopped; he seemed a little anxious. The guy started in on us about how we had to buy tickets for a boat trip and how we couldn't go any further down the road. I was having none of it. I just repeated my mantra, “no boat,” and added “now going, now going down road.” And motioned for Pov to go.

The official looking guy gave up, and off went Pov, at this point almost delirious with his association with people with such power. He was grinning from ear to ear.

Then we got to 'the lake.' But of course it wasn't the lake at all. It was what looked like a land-fill – a vast expanse of bare dirt literally covered with litter and bisected by a muddy river lined with.... tour boats! There was a kiosk and a barrier across the road. But now Pov was himself empowered. He just yelled to the two guards that his passengers were just going to take a look at the lake, not ride in a boat, and kept right on driving, right around the kiosk. I loved it! Good for Pov!

So there we were, looking down on the pathetic sight of a muddy litter-filled river and a lake nowhere in sight. A young fellow came up and asked if we'd like to go out to the lake in his boat. “Where is it?” I asked. He pointed down the river. It was a small boat, with maybe a dozen seats. “How much?” I asked. “Thirty dollars.” “Twenty,” we said. “We'll give you twenty.” “O.K.” he said, “twenty.” “And,” I added, our driver comes with us. The guy looked dubious. “Twenty-five,” he said. You must pay for the driver. “He's Cambodian!” I exclaimed. “He shouldn't have to pay. And he has to come,” I added. “He's our body-guard.” The guy got a kick out of that, and we finally agreed that Pov could come if we paid $23.

Now Pov would never, on his own resources, be able to go out on the lake, and he had never been out on it. This was one way in which we showed him our appreciation for driving us about. It was a little gift to him. But it was just as much a gift to me. It was so wonderful to witness his tremendous enjoyment of that boat ride. He stretched out in one of the seats at the back and he took it all in.

It took around 10 minutes to motor down the river and get to the lake. The floating village was right there. It was pretty interesting – quite a large and very permanent collection of buildings – houses, stores, schools, restaurants – all loosely grouped together. Some were on stilts, some were more like barges. Many were colourfully painted; some were pretty dilapidated. It was a real community, interestingly of mostly Vietnamese (not Cambodian) fishermen.

We stopped at a restaurant and tourist trap store that had a cage filled with crocodiles. There was also an enclosure filled with big flapping fish. Pov enjoyed hob-nobbing with the tourists, looking at the crocodiles, laughing at the fish. When we got back to the boat there he was, sitting in the driver's seat pretending to drive the boat, a huge smile on his face. Just that image alone – of Pov lost in childlike glee at the wheel of that boat – was worth the entire trip to me. There was no time for a photo – it's a memory I'll have to keep in my mind.

After our time in Siem Reap, the city where the Angkor Wat temples are located, we went to a small city called Battambang. It's about half way to Phnom Penh, and we'd been told it was a nice place to visit. And it was. Battambang is a cultured sort of city, with quite a western feel. It has wide tree-lined boulevards, and a nice walkway along the river. It also has a number of 'universities,' schools and colleges. People sit around reading. Many of the townspeople speak English. The town was quite clean. There were actually garbage cans around, and people use them.

But most impressive was the evening exercise session at the riverside park. We were walking to meet a Canadian couple we'd met (for a game of bridge – ya hear that Dot!) when we saw several groups of people – all women – doing dance aerobics to disco music in the park. It was so great. They were having such a good time, dancing in long lines, following a male(!) leader. Some of them were singing along to the lyrics as they pumped their arms and kicked their feet.

Other people were walking for exercise, playing badminton, or playing a kind of hacky-sack game with a shuttle-cock. But these guys were good. They would wait until the shuttle-cock was behind them and then kick it from behind! Wow! Other people just sat in the park watching the action, talking, or eating food from the many stalls set up along the road. Corn on the cob, sandwiches, fruit, drinks. It was like a fair. And... it happens every evening! What a great thing!

It was in Battambang that we relented on our NO motorcycles rule and hired a couple of guys to drive us round the countryside. The NO motorcycles rule is a result of two things: first my fear of motorcycles as a result of an accident I had on one in Cuba (I was driving, for the first time, and literally just drove it right into the ditch); and second the terribly dangerous situation here in southeast Asia with millions of motorcycles and no rules of the road. We see accidents almost daily, and many tourists with bandages on arms and legs from spills they've taken.

But... Battambang was different. The little tour we wanted to take was on very quiet country roads that were so rough that even tuk-tuks couldn't navigate them. And there was almost no traffic on them. So we hired a couple of guys who'd been recommended as good and careful drivers, and we made it clear that slow and safe was what we wanted. We also insisted on wearing helmets, which many tourists don't do (the fools!).

Our first 'stop' was the 'bamboo train.' This is an ingenious idea – a low-tech way of using the railroad tracks for small scale transportation. Here's how it works. Individual people (not rail companies) have built a sort of pump-car to transport people and goods along the tracks. Here in Cambodia, the 'pump-car' consists of a small (about 4'X6') wooden platform covered with a bamboo mat that sits on a couple of sets of miniature train wheels. An engine about the size of a lawn-mower engine sits on top of the platform. A belt attached to the engine and one of the sets of wheels provides the power that scoots the 'bamboo train' along the tracks. Simple, cheap and very effective.

Once our train was set up on the track (it had to be turned around first, which involved picking up the platform, engine and wheels and reassembling them in the opposite direction to where they'd been), we piled on with our drivers and their two motorbikes. We were given pillows, and sat at the front of the platform. Our drivers sat on their bikes. The 'engineer,' who looked like he was about twelve years old, filled the engine with gas, then started it up and off we went.

We had to stop a couple of times and unload everything when we met up with another 'bamboo train' coming towards us that was more heavily loaded. One was carrying a big load of wood with a small woman on top. So everything was taken off our 'train,' including the engine, and the whole thing was lifted up and taken off the track so the other train could pass. Then our train was reassembled, and we were on our way again. Fantastic!

Apparently the 'bamboo trains' will soon be a thing of the past, as the governments of Cambodia, Thailand and Vietnam have plans to use the line for a new train that will go from Bangkok to Saigon. It's a great idea, but it will require all new track. The tracks we were on were as wavy as a couple of wet noodles – it was a very bumpy ride! So, in terms of the new international train, we'll believe it when we see it.

Back on our bikes, our little ride we went through a fair amount of rice-paddy country-side and a few small villages with no electricity and no running water. The houses were mostly made of wood and up on stilts. Some had palm thatch rooves, others corrugated iron. They appeared fairly neat and clean, and the people looked well fed. Kids had clothes and shoes. We saw several groups of school kids riding bikes. All had white shirts or blouses and dark pants or skirts. All also had big smiles and yelled “hello.” They see very few tourists, and seemed truly thrilled – almost awed – to see us.

Given what we've heard about the rural poverty here in Cambodia we were fairly favourably impressed. Our driver said that the rice crop had been good this year, so the villagers were well fed. His family, like other families, owns a two hectare plot of land on which they grow rice. It yields around 700 kilos of rice a year. He comes from a family of nine children. The rice they grow is enough to feed them all with just a little extra that they can sell. They all do something else to make money. He's a motorcycle taxi man.

At one point we saw a great big pig sleeping in the shade of a tree. “They feed them marijuana!” my driver yelled. “What?” I called back over the roar of the motorcycle engine. “What did you say?” “They feed them marijuana to make them eat more and sleep a lot. So they get very fat very fast.” “Do they smoke it themselves?” I asked. “No, they don't smoke it, they eat it. You know, like 'happy pizzas.'” I did know. 'Happy pizzas' and 'happy shakes' are all over southeast Asia, as is marijuana generally. But I had assumed that it was mostly tourists that gobbled up the marijuana-laced goodies. Apparently the Cambodians enjoy it as well. Silly me!

One of our destinations was a hilltop wat (temple) which was used as a prison and execution site during the terrible years of the Pol Pot regime (1975-79). Thousands of Cambodians were executed during this time at sites all over Cambodia. At this site, hundreds were executed, mostly by having their throats cut or by being bludgeoned before they were forced over the edge of a cliff and into a large cave that was and is part of the temple.

As we walked down the stairs into the cave, we could sense the horror of the place. At the bottom was a glass-enclosed building filled with the skulls and bones of those who were executed here. One of our young drivers accompanied us into the temple. He talked to us at some length, and very emotionally, about the temple and about that time in Cambodia's history. Some of his family members were murdered by the Khmer Rouge.

It's hard to find a Cambodian family who did not lose at least one family member during this time – either to execution or to starvation. Families were also broken up by the Khmer Rouge, mothers and fathers separated from children. So many Cambodians just don't know what happened to their family members. The appalling atrocities that occurred during this time, the sheer horror of it all, is absolutely overwhelming. This is a terribly damaged country, with a brutally traumatized people. It is truly impossible for us, as westerners who have never witnessed or experienced anything remotely like this, to even begin to imagine what it must have been like, what it must be like now, for these poor little people.



When we got back to Phnom Penh, we went to see the Toul Sleng Genocide Museum. Toul Sleng, also known as S21, was the largest of the detention and execution centres. Well over 2000 Cambodians were executed here. The museum was actually in the old school buildings that were used as the prison, torture, and execution centre. It has been left just as it was when Vietnam finally invaded Cambodia and liberated the Cambodian people from Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge. The dreadful cells, the implements of torture, and hundreds and hundreds of photographs of the people. Most were just mug shots, many of children, even toddlers. But some of them were photos of people being tortured. I couldn't keep looking. It was just too disturbing and depressing.

There is nothing more repulsive and degrading as man's inhumanity to fellow man. What a terrible terrible time Cambodia has been through. I am left speechless. For me perhaps the worst thing of all is the knowledge that not only did these atrocities happen here, not so long ago, but that they have happened repeatedly throughout history and that they continue to happen. We do not 'learn from history.' And the world is not prepared or willing to intervene even when it recognizes that atrocities and genocide are occurring. We sit by and wring our hands and say 'never again,' until the next time it happens, when again we sit by and wring our hands and say 'never again." I feel truly hopeless and helpless in the face of it.

Today we have spent almost the entire day holed up in our hotel room watching t.v. and avoiding the city sights and smells. Phnom Penh is like a massive open garbage dump. And it's hot and humid, so often stinky. We are looking forward to getting out of here tomorrow. We are going to a small place in the northwestern part of Cambodia called Kratie. Kratie is in the Mekong Delta. It is famous for the Iriwaddy dolphins who live in this part of the river. We hope we will see some – we've heard that others have. We also hope we'll see less garbage and fewer beggars.

And from there it's on through northern Cambodia and into Laos. We got our Laos visas today. They'll give us another month there. Just over the border from here is a place called 4000 islands – they're in the middle of the Mekong River. We've heard, and were hoping, that this will be a nice place to relax and recover from our trip through Cambodia. Time to process all we've seen and experienced.