Revulsion

Today, Burmese Prime Minister/General Thein Sein arrived in Cambodia to much fanfare. When he arrived at the airport, the red carpet was out and he was greeted by Cambodian Prime Minister Hun Sen and other Cambodian diplomats as well as 1,000 school children.

From my office, I can see Cambodia's Independence Monument, a half-mile down the wide Sihanouk Blvd. The street, normally lined with Cambodian flags on the lampposts that do not work, now alternates between Cambodian and Burmese flags.

Just a few minutes ago, the wide boulevards outside were closed for Thein Sein's convoy. I've never seen anyone or anything so tightly guarded - and I'm an American from Washington, DC. Led by a dozen police and government vehicles, the General's Mercedes limousine was literally surrounded by a dozen of Hun Sen's personal bodyguards on motorcycles. While it is not at all surprising that the likes of Hun Sen would go to such lengths to protect such a villainous character, it is no less reviling.

Hun Sen, in a meeting with UN Special Envoy for Burma Ibrahim Gambari yesterday, refused to push for sanctions against the military regime and is likely to solidify his ties with the evil dictator this weekend. Even more troublesome, there will not be any protests this weekend against the Burmese regime; the government simply won't allow it.

Elevator Use in Phnom Penh Center

Below is an e-mail, exactly as it appeared in my Inbox, I recently received from the administration team here at Pact:

Dear all:

On behalf of Admin Unit, I would like to inform those of you who use elevator please pay attention to this statement. Based on our staff observation, it sometimes is found that there is no elevator when door of elevator opens.

We would like to draw your attention to this matter when you press button up or down on 3rd floor and the red light button of elevator shows you that it arrives. However, you must check it whether the elevator arrives or not in case of door opened before you step in. As a part of our job, we informed PP center to take care of this issue this afternoon. As acknowledged, PPC will take action to get it fixed as soon as possible. We would suggest that you should use stairs rather than elevator.

Your attention to this matter is our concern.

Before you get overly concerned, let me assure you that I always take the stairs. Though having an elevator is a nice convenience (and quite rare in Phnom Penh), the elevator is quite slow and usually overcrowded.

Kampong Cham and Kratie

Hold on to your seats folks…this trip was a bit of a wild ride (sorry for the length of the entry…)

With the entire week of work off for the upcoming Water Festival (Bon Om Tuk), I decided to head toward the northeast of Cambodia, an as yet unexplored area for me, to Kampong Cham and Kratie (pronounced Krat-Chay). On Saturday afternoon, I met up with my friend Kurt, who is based in Kampong Cham and works for the UN World Food Programme. We caught a bus up to Kampong Cham, making a quick stop at Kurt’s house before going to one of the two western-run restaurants in town. After a good meal with two VSO volunteers (one Australian, one Dutch), we called it a night.

We woke up early on Sunday to go for a bike ride along the Mekong with John, a Peace Corps volunteer based in Kampong Cham. Kurt and John both had mountain bikes, so we set off to find one for me. Though all the bike shops had some, they were new and not available for rent for a day. So instead of a mountain bike, I ended up with a red, one-speed bike with a basket in front; the kind that ten year-old Cambodian girls ride to school. To make matters worse (or more entertaining for John and Kurt), the only helmet available was a spare that Kurt had: a blue, too-small children’s helmet with yellow stars on it. Our ride was off to a good start before we even left.

Our destination for the day was a village called Srol Kong Mea, 30km south of Kampong Cham. The entire ride was through what John called the “hello gauntlet;” every kid we passed would scream “hellloooo” at the top of their lungs at least three or four times. The effect was not only a response from one of the three of us, but a warning to those kids ahead who wanted to catch sight of a barang (foreigner).

It was a really nice ride – though it did get progressively bumpy without shocks – and by a little after 11:00 we arrived at Srol Kong Mea, a cute village with a beautiful location on the Mekong. After a tasty traditional Khmer lunch at a stall on the riverfront, we tracked down another Peace Corps volunteer and hung out with her for a bit.

For the ride back, we decided to take the ferry across the river and try out the path on the other side. The ferry ride itself was an experience. After it unloaded, Kurt, John, and I hopped on to the small, rickety, wooden boat along with a few motorbikes and people. Eventually an incredibly overloaded pickup pulled up to the ferry and, without even stopping to unload the passengers or goods positioned on its roof, drove cautiously onboard.

Once across the river, the environment changed completely. Locals, Cambodian and otherwise, were far more surprised to see foreigners (too shocked even to say ‘hello’) and the scenery too changed quite a bit. Instead of flat rice fields, we now biked over rolling hills, through forests, past lakes, and by various plantations. At one point we stopped to buy some grilled bananas. Within an instant we were surrounded by some thirty-five children, who magically appeared out of nowhere. The whole thing felt quite surreal.

As we continued onward and the afternoon started getting later, we stopped to ask several people if we were indeed heading the right direction to Kampong Cham. For the most part, our informants answered in the affirmative. A little bit after 4:00, we arrived in a small town, where a group of kids led us in the direction of the bridge over the river to Kampong Cham, which was apparently another 7km away. At this point, my legs and butt, which haven’t been on a bike in well over a year, start to give a little bit. I push to get those 7km back to town. Also at this point, it starts to pour. Absolutely pour. Within an instant we’re soaked and biking through dirt that’s quickly turning to mud.

Half an hour later, and still not within sight of our destination, the rain stops. With the sun sinking lower, we pedal onward. As the clock passes 5:00, we start to get a bit worried. We stop at an intersection and ask for directions, but cannot get a clear response. We continue onward. Pedaling out into a clearing, John and Kurt stop. They know where we are. And it’s not close to Kampong Cham. The estimated that it was another 10km or so – a 10km I am practically incapable of biking – to the main highway, which leads back to Kampong Cham. It is here, and on the edge of an enormous rubber plantation, that we encounter a military man who, although quite friendly and helpful, made us a little uneasy with his automatic rifle slung around his back.

While Kurt and John speak with the military guy, I try to flag down the few and far between cars and trucks for a lift back to town. As three wet, muddy westerners with equally wet and muddy bikes, it did not seem likely we would be successful. At about 6:00, and with the sun all but gone, I flag down a pickup truck that agrees to take us into town. We throw our bikes and our bodies in the bed of the truck and hold on as we speed off.

Forty minutes later, we arrive back in town. We were a forty minute drive from town. We thanked the driver profusely and offered to give him whatever he asked for in terms of money (gas recently went up to about $4.50 a gallon here), but he refused all offers. As he did so, he confirmed what the three of us were thinking when he picked us up: if we hadn’t caught the ride (or another one), we would’ve been screwed. We either would have had to camp out with the military guy or bike through the dark, uninhabited, and dangerous (so we were told) rubber plantations to the main road.

Back in town, we went straight to dinner as well as to figure out where we went wrong. During a large and delicious meal, we scoured over a map of the region, telling the pub-owner – a British guy named Simon – about our ordeal. It turns out that at some point in our journey, we began following a tributary of the Mekong instead of the river itself. This pointed us in the complete wrong direction and despite biking an estimated 70-80km, we were still 30km or so from town. After polishing off our meal, we celebrated with a slice of chocolate cake and a whiskey on the rocks. Even better than the whiskey was the hot shower I had back at Kurt’s house. I promised myself a well-deserved massage once I got to Kratie the following afternoon.

After a tasty breakfast and a quick e-mail check, I caught the bus to Kratie. The scenery on the ride was entirely different from what I was accustomed to: rolling hills, rubber and fruit plantations, few palm trees, and a much less tropical feel. Two thirds of the way to Kratie, the bus stopped at the end of a line of cars about twenty-five deep. We all got out to see what was going on. In front of us were two bridges, one under construction and one temporary. The temporary bridge had a large truck in the middle, its front two wheels not on the road surface, but beneath it, in the middle of a large gap. As the too-heavy truck crossed, several of the metal beams of the bridge fell to the river below. I joined the crowds of people on the bridge under construction and realized we were stuck for a while. A crane was used to lift the truck out of the gap it created and workers began immediately to patch the bridge.

Two hours later, I noticed a western woman with all of her things coming from the opposite side of the bridge. I asked her what was happening and she told me that her bus driver instructed her to cross the bridge under construction and to get on the bus on the other side. I grabbed my stuff to do the same. The bridge, however, was still very much under construction; there was about a sixty foot gap between the finished and unfinished sections. The first twenty feet of the gap were connected by a narrow wooden beam with nothing below but the river, about fifty feet down. A line of people, from children to the elderly, were crossing with all their belongings despite the apparent danger. I crossed the first section slowly and carefully, thinking that someone was sure to get seriously injured. The second section, forty feet long was joined by a slightly wider metal beam with a shoddy looking mesh wire beneath. I made it across and went to the bus on the other side. The driver said he wasn’t sure what was happening, but that I should probably cross back and wait with my original bus driver, because he would not what I should do. Needless to say, I was not crossing back. After waiting another hour, one of the buses on my side of the bridge started leaving. I flagged it down and they let me hop on, thinking that I was originally with that company. We arrived in Kratie at 4:00, about three and a half hours later than expected. So much for a relaxing afternoon (I soon found out there wasn’t even a non-sketchy massage to be had).

On Tuesday I took a moto about a half hour North of Kratie to Kampie. In Kampie, I shared a boat with two Australian woman to catch a glimpse of the endangered Irrawaddy Dolphin, a rare freshwater dolphin that lives a few places along the Mekong (for more info, see the Mekong Dolphin Conservation Project). The boat ride was incredibly pleasant – we made it out to the middle of the river, tied to a branch sticking out of the water, and floated there for an hour and a half, spotting dolphins every few minutes. It was cool to see the dolphins – they behave more like whales in that they pop up for a second and then disappear for several minutes – but it was by no means exhilarating.

From Kampie I went to Phnom Sambok, a hilltop pagoda and meditation site. At the top of the first hundred or so stairs I climbed were several young monks awaiting my arrival. They spoke no English, but we were able to have some basic conversation without my saying ‘aht jul’ (‘I don’t understand’) too often. I think it was one of the first, if not the first time they were able to communicate with a foreigner and, as a result, they were enamored with me. They felt the hair on my arms, legs, and face (Cambodians are not usually nearly as hairy as westerners). The youngest one, only thirteen, even asked if I would be his big brother, a big complement. The monks gave me a private tour of the pagoda complex, posed for pictures, and showed me the inside of the temple as it was being repainted.

After a mediocre lunch back in Kratie, I took the ferry in Kratie across to an island in the Mekong, Koh Trong. This ferry was packed with people and supplies, but I was the only westerner making the journey. Several people had suggested biking around the island, but because of my recent experiences, I decided to walk instead. It was beautiful. The receding Mekong left some sandy beaches on the shores of Koh Trong and the pathway around the perimeter of the island was nicely shaded. All of the islands inhabitants, from the people to the cows, were not only surprised to see a westerner, but one that was walking around. I stopped to talk to a number of people, watched them harvest rice, and relax in the shade under their raised wooden and thatch houses. I stopped outside one house to take a picture of the grapefruit trees out front. I was soon greeted by the owner of the house, an old, happy, toothless man. Following a fairly simple conversation, I started to leave, but he insisted I wait for a moment. He cut down a fresh grapefruit for me (value $1) and refused any payment other than a few oranges I had in my bag; and this despite that he was incredibly poor. I continued on my way, turning back around to catch the ferry after a brief stop to help a farmer get his cattle over a barbed wire fence. On the return trip, a number of the kids I passed followed me toward the ferry pick-up, where they sat with me until the ferry came. I got back to Kratie just in time for a beautiful sunset – one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen – over the Mekong from the shared balcony at my guesthouse. Thankfully, I made it back to Phnom Penh without incident the following day.

A Double Entry: Independence Day and an Afternoon with a Monk

Independence Day

Last Friday marked the 54th year of Cambodia's independence from France. To celebrate, Phnom Penh's Independence Monument, the most recognizable landmark in the city - and one I pass every day on my way to work and can see from my office - was given a face lift. The exterior of the Monument was painted and a ring of fountains were added to the surroundings and lit in an impressive, if not slightly Las Vegas style manner.

The arrival of Independence Day itself resulted in what I could only expect to be a large celebration around the Independence Monument. My co-workers told me the festivities would start early in the morning. With the Friday off from work, Shanti and I roused ourselves from sleep and walked the short walk down Sihanouk Boulevard to examine the celebration for ourselves. On our walk to the Monument, we passed many schoolchildren dressed in uniforms of blue skirts or pants and white button-down shirts waving the Cambodian flag.

As we approached the Monument, we could hear a live military band playing the Cambodian National Anthem on repeat. The streets around the Monument were closed and swarming with schoolchildren. Wading our way through the sea of blue and white, we found ourselves on the inside of a large circle of schoolchildren waving flags and holding up images of the king and the prime minister. Inside of our circle was another, smaller one. Instead of the white and blue surrounding us, was a mix of navy blue, army green, white and black. The inner circle were the "important" people - the army, navy (yes, Cambodia has a navy), the prime minister's personal bodyguards, high-level government officials, and diplomats.

From what we could tell, nothing was really happening. The oddest part of the whole thing was the complete lack of "ordinary" Cambodians. The streets were lined with schoolchildren and there was the inner circle of "important" folks, but no one else. It was bizarre. After a half hour or so trying to get a glimpse of the King Father (the former king who abdicated in favor of his son a few years ago), admiring the cute kids, and fearing the armed forces and their bayonets, we left. I'm told the King Father lit a flame within the Independence Monument and even released a dove. The celebration was capped off by evening fireworks on the riverfront in front of the Royal Palace, a sight which Shanti and I could see from our terrace at home. Let's just say that America knows how to celebrate independence a bit better than Cambodia - with real fireworks and a BBQ.

An Afternoon with a Monk

After a series of telephone calls and text messages, I arranged a time to visit the pagoda of my monk friend (whom Shanti and I met on the bus to Kep). On Sunday afternoon, we hitched a moto to the temple of the Venerable (the title for all monks) Aneta (he goes by Ve Aneta for short). Upon arrival, I called him and he met Shanti and me outside. The pagoda complex was fairly small compared to others in Phnom Penh, housing the temple itself, housing for the monks that study there and visiting monks, a small Buddhist university, and a high school.

Ve Aneta ushered us into one of the buildings, little more than the shell of a building built in the 1960s, before we entered his room. It was quite austere, even for someone that does not believe in the importance of worldly possessions. There was a mattress on the floor, a handful of books, and bare cement walls. Ve Aneta had his younger brother - who is living at the temple and is essentially a "monk's helper" (bonus: his name sounded almost exactly like Shanti) - get some plastic chairs for us to sit in. We sat and chatted only briefly before being shown to temple itself. Not particularly impressive, the temple was beautiful nonetheless, featuring a life-size Buddha and a mural of stories depicting various aspects of Buddha's life.

After our tour, we sat outside in plastic chairs, just chatting. It was a beautiful day - sunny and warm, with a nice breeze - and this, in combination with the setting of the pagoda, was incredibly peaceful. It did not feel like we were situated in the middle of a bustling city populated by several million people. It was incredibly relaxing and soothing.

Though extremely poor - he was lamenting the annual fees of about $100 he pays to go to university - Ve Aneta bought both Shanti and I fresh coconuts from a passing vendor. It was an incredibly touching gesture. Within the pagoda complex, we were clearly a somewhat curious sight - it wasn't the kind of temple that tourists would wander into - and we were eventually joined by several other monks. They were very curious about all aspects of life in America and equally puzzled (and amused) by our ability to speak a little bit of Khmer. All in all it was a very rewarding and calming afternoon and one I hope to repeat again soon.

Winter Hits Cambodia

My colleagues at work tell me it is now "Cambodian winter." I laugh, but they're serious. The air conditioner is on, near full blast, at about sixty-five degrees and it's a warm eighty-three degrees outside. Granted, when I came in to work this morning it was probably a frigid seventy-eight degrees. But I don't think that that comes even close to warranting the number of winter jackets I saw on the walk to work.

Believe it or not, it's true. When the mercury dips below eighty, the Cambodians break out the winter jackets. For some, the "winter" jacket is little more than a lightweight pullover, but others take the "winter" aspect of Cambodian winter much more seriously. Some wear what look like down ski jackets along with knit ski caps. I'm hot just wearing khakis, a button-up shirt, and shoes (as opposed to the much preferred flip flops) and they're wearing ski parkas. Unbelievable.

Kep

With Shanti freshly back to Cambodia, we decided to take a quiet weekend to the quiet beach town of Kep. We caught a 1:00pm bus - which, unfortunately, did not leave until almost 2:00 - but thankfully made the trip uneventfully and without a flat tire. The fun started well before our arrival in Kep. On the bus, Shanti and I were surrounded by a group of saffron-swathed monks headed to a temple in Kampot Province. They spoke English fairly well and were eager both to practice and to chat with westerners. Shanti and I, finding monks to be both captivating and adorable, were equally eager. The discussion was fairly light, but quite cordial, and by the time we got to their pagoda (a bit of a ways before we arrived in Kep), there was an exchange of phone numbers. That's right folks, I got a monk's digits.

Anyways, having driven through Kep on our way to Kampot in August, we were eager to return. The sleepy town, about a half an hour east of the Vietnamese border, has the reputation of a very laid-back and relaxing atmosphere as well as excellent seafood (crab in particular) and beautiful offshore islands. In the 1960s, it was a favorite hangout for French expats, but the reign of the Khmer Rouge did its damage. The shells of dozens of formerly beautiful French villas line the streets of Kep awaiting restoration, only to be occupied by squatters with nowhere else to stay. With a bit of investment, Kep could easily regain the grandeur and eloquence it was known for in the '60s, though its charm will undoubtedly draw vacationers regardless.

After four hours on the bus - punctuated by a half hour stint on dirt road - we came to the outskirts of Kep at sunset with the road winding along the water's edge. A handful of islands lay offshore, the biggest of which, Phu Quoc, belongs to the Vietnamese in a somewhat contentious dispute. We caught a moto to our guesthouse. Courtesy of Shanti and as a birthday present, we splurged a bit and stayed at Veranda, which came highly recommended by a number of friends and coworkers. It was indeed magnificent. Beautiful stone walls and walkways led down to the restaurant, an open air wooden deck overlooking the Gulf of Thailand and Bokor Mountain (outside of Kampot). Separating private bungalows were wooden walkways, suspended in the trees and giving the feeling of a sophisticated Swiss Family Robinson-style tree house. We checked in and had a lovely dinner at the restaurant - spring rolls and pepper steak (Kampot is known throughout Cambodia as having fantastic fresh pepper) - while a cool breeze blew and the sun set over the water.

Retiring to our bungalow, we were playing a game of cards when my phone rang. It was the monk, the Venerable Aneta, checking to see if we made it okay, how the weather was, and if we were still planning to visit his temple in Phnom Penh. I, of course, assured him that we would and I'm quite excited about the visit. (He called again when Shanti and I were in the middle of dinner last night with some friends).

In the morning, Shanti and I caught a boat to Koh Tonsay (Rabbit Island). We shared the boat with a group of middle-aged Kiwis on holiday for a few weeks, which made for an entertaining ride. The island was far bigger and more developed - I'm using the term developed very loosely - than Koh Russei off the coast of Sihanoukville. Instead of settling with most of the tourists at the beach on arrival, we wandered around the island a bit looking for a nicer and more secluded spot. After a twenty minute walk, we came upon a beautiful long beach with soft sand. A few thatch huts and simple boats dotted the waterfront with families fishing, harvesting seaweed and kelp, or playing with young children. After saying hello, we took out our kramars - a cotton shawl-like cloth that's used for everything - and laid out in the sun. When we were sufficiently warmed, we waded into the shallow, clear, blue water sinking our feet into the softest sand I've ever felt. Sunbathe, rinse, repeat. Such was the manner our day was spent.

By mid afternoon we were heading back to the other side of the island to join our Kiwi friends for the boat ride back to Kep. We had another delicious dinner at the Veranda restaurant - enormous prawn kebabs and ribs - during another beautiful sunset.

On Sunday morning we decided to explore Kep on foot. We walked from Veranda's hilltop location down to the waterfront. It was hot, but there was a nice, cool breeze. The street along the water was lined with gutted French villas, the yellow paint faded but still visible. A few minutes into our walk, we came upon the crab market, a comparatively bustling row of about a dozen shacks, featuring fresh crab, shrimp, squid, and other seafood. Continuing on, we saw a group of four boys fishing out on some rocks. We sat on the side of the road and watched them haul in small to medium-sized fish and squid for a half hour, showing them pictures of themselves as they left to cook their catch. We completed a loop of Kep, ending up in the "downtown" area, where vendors flag down passing cars to sell bags of freshly cooked crab, ice cream, and trinkets like carved shells and bamboo bracelets.

All in all it was a very nice weekend. I'm a bit conflicted as to whether I liked Kep/Koh Tonsay better than Sihanoukville/Koh Russei. Kep was far far better than Sihanoukville: charming, peaceful, relaxing, and not at all sleazy. Koh Russei, however, felt more isolated and private than Koh Tonsay, even if it was a bit further away and slightly more difficult to access. Regardless of which locale I like better, I certainly did not think I would find so many nice beaches within in Cambodia itself, but that I would be frequenting southern Thailand instead.