Money talks

Wednesday, 24/10/2012 – 132 A.D.

Now then, if you loved yesterday’s post at the Genocide Museum then you’re just gonna be oh-so-enamoured by our trip this morning to The Killings Fields! The two sort of go hand-in-hand, with most tourists visiting both in the same day, but we’re not like most tourists. First off we had to find a travel agent who could book us onto the Mekong Express to Saigon at the end of the week. That wasn’t too hard at all. Then we needed to find a tuk-tuk driver who would take us the 15 or so kilometres out of town to The Killings Fields. That was even easier. A $13 round trip was a pretty good price as well.  

The Killing Fields outside of Pnhom Penh are called Choeung Ek and they are the most famous, but there were hundreds of such sites all over the country. Victims were brought here by the lorry-load for swift executions and then buried in mass graves. When you buy your ticket you get the audio tour as standard, which is fine because it allows you to walk around the site at your leisure, listening to the commentary from survivors. And I had thought that the stories of bones, teeth and clothing seeping up out of the ground after heavy rains was a little far-fetched...not at all, as it happens. 

[The main "stupa" or monument to the victims. More on this later, particularly what's inside it.]

[There are pits like this all over the place.]

[You wouldn't think a sign like this would be necessary, but unbelievably I saw one bloke do it without realising what he was walking on.]

[Mass grave in which 450 bodies were found - the largest at Choeung Ek.]

[The lake at the far end of the site. There are more mass graves beneath it, but the decision has been taken to leave them undisturbed. It's a strange sensation to sit besides such a quiet, tranquil body of water and then suddenly remember what it contains.]

[As mentioned earlier, bits of bone, teeth and clothing that have risen up from the earth.]

[The grisly contents of the  stupa.]

[The contents just go on and on and on.]

I'll spare you the descriptions of some of the even more extreme behaviour that went on at Choeung Ek, because I think you've had enough. While standing in the stupa and quietly lost in thought, I had to do a double take at the guy standing next to me. It was Duncan, a fellow traveller who we'd met on the train from Surat Thani to Bangkok. I didn't know that he was planning on coming to Cambodia - small world. Well, sort of - if you come to Phnom Penh, chances are you'll end up at Choeung Ek at some point. In fact, I like the way that there isn't a massive amount of things to do here - you leave feeling satisfied that you've really experienced as much of the city as you could, rather than with regret for those things you never had time to see.

Come the afternoon we had some free time, so it was decided we should have a What Carcass Moment. I realised that previous What Carcass Moments often involved Tim going off to do something and me staying back at the hotel to chill. Therefore I decreed that today I would be the one to go off and leave him to...chill, I guess. Thing is, I didn't really have anywhere definite to go! But What Carcass Moments are always a great excuse to wander round the city to some top tunes on the Ipod. And whereas many people may not regard it as a top tune, there's something enjoyably surreal to witness the dusty chaotic Phnom Penh hustle and bustle while listening to Unchained melody. Strange choice, I know, but in this context it somehow worked. 

I went to the travel agents to pick up our bus tickets, then headed off to the large Central Market. There was plenty of stuff on offer, but it's not the same without a wingman to distract the stall owners and give you a bit more peace as you browse. One thing I did pick up was some apples - been a while since I've had `em, don't think they grow `em around here because they're not the cheapest fruits on offer. To round out the afternoon I headed to the north of the city to check out Wat Phnom, i.e. big temple on the city's only hillock, then went to meditate beside the river, which is quite a pleasant strolling spot late in the afternoon when it's out of the direct sunlight.

It was our fourth out of five nights in Phnom Penh...time to go out and party! It had been far too long since Bangkok, but ping pong shows were definitely not on the agenda tonight. In fact, we didn't really know what was - at the end of the day we may well just go out for tea as normal and have a couple extra beers before going back to the hotel to watch the karaoke channel with milk and cookies. But first it was time for something a bit stronger, and I was overjoyed to find a place doing Indian cuisine, in particular my favourite dish, chicken madras. And it wasn't bad, though nowhere near as hot as I've had in Southport. 

We moved north beside the river, stopping off at a couple of the places that are frequented by the few Western tourists in the city. I wouldn't really call them bars, more like restaurants with a bar-like feel. However, come 10:30 and we found ourselves wandering back towards the centre of the city. Here all of the places had flashy neon lights outside and women squeezed into dresses three sizes too small shouting across the road at us to enter. To enter the bar, I should clarify that. Plus they all seemed to offer rooms for the night. Yep, these were the so-called "hostess bars" where the single male punter is made to feel extremely welcome. Don't get me wrong, there's a sliding scale here, ranging from bar girls paid to serve drinks and talk to customers (and nothing more), all the way to those girls who'll give everything to a paying customer. The problem is, it's difficult to tell from the outside of these places if they're the okay kind where you can have a drink and a laugh, or the ultra-seedy sort where you'll be dragged upstairs before you can say "Cheque, please!" 

It was getting to the point where we'd walked past the same venues several times, much to bemusement of the tuk-tuk drivers hanging around, and an early night was beckoning (without the milk and cookies). But we're English, and we're up for an adventure, so we figured we'd minimise the risk and go back to the place we ended up eating at the first night. This was the Golden Sorya Mall where there were all kinds of bars scattered around an open warehouse-type setting. We'd had a bite to eat at the safest spot near the pavement, but now we ventured deeper into the complex.

It was a hostess at the Sorya Beergarden bar who attracted our custom. Why? Can't really remember, but probably something to do with happy hour prices. We took our seats at the bar, which was more like a long, bendy, neon-lit table. In general, the punters sat one side, the hostesses on the other. Oddly enough, once we'd ordered our jug of beer, a chap who worked there was the first to strike up conversation. We really weren't fussed about talking to him, especially as it seemed a little strained. When we asked him which football teams he liked, he said Barcelona and Chelsea. Upon looking round the mall a little later, we saw that the two TV screens were coincidentally showing the Barcelona and the Chelsea games. Good job they weren't showing  Yeovil against Darlington as we wouldn't have believed him for a moment!

Anyway, the dude soon departed and a young hostess called Thavy took his place. She at least seemed genuinely interested in what we were talking about, but at the back of my mind I still couldn't be sure if it was just all part of the service. I should point out that Thavy was was wearing the white T-shirt which is standard regalia of the bar staff, whereas those girls who I got the feeling were the hostesses-who-go-where-most-other-hostesses-won't, if you'll pardon the expression, were dressed in mufti. Very tight mufti, in most cases. Anyway, Thavy came and went as the night went on and we learnt a lot about why she worked there, the hours she did, the scary place she worked at before, how she wanted to go to Canada to visit family, how she wanted us to teach her the minimal French and Spanish we knew, etc. Just a nice girl, at the end of the day, nothing more than that.

During a moment when it was just The James and The Tim left to their own devices to talk among themselves, I suddenly felt an elbow in my back, followed by a couple of hands squeezing my shoulder blades. Upon turning round I saw a middle-aged woman who, I'll tactfully say, may have had a hard life. My initial reaction was that she wanted me to buy her a drink and etc., etc., etc., until we get into extremely censored territory. Well that wasn't going to happen! So as I politely said, "Thank you, no," a thousand and one times, she eventually got the message, feigned a sulk, and walked away. A few minutes later we saw her across the bar giving a massage to a zonked-out bloke who'd barely been able to hold his drink. Turned out she was just a masseuse, nothing more, giving on-the-spot massages to the patrons for a buck. And I have to say that she may have only done my back and shoulders for a few seconds, but she certainly knew what she was doing! Back in Thailand, Longtip had advised us that if we do go for massages we should go for the older, experienced masseuses. We'll have to see about that one another time!

[James is relieved to have escaped the dodgy massage...]

[...but this guy wasn't so lucky.]

Things were rocking in the Sorya Beergarden and the Grayboys were in good moods, with enough entertainment around to keep us going for a few hours. When we initially arrived there had been a decent mix of clientele, but as the night wore on it was basically just us and the blokes-of-a-certain-kind. These guys were mostly smashed out of their heads and the drool on their faces was visible as the girls pretended to flirt with them and tried to look touched when they were bought a rose from the passing child selling flowers. I got the feeling that, with so much inebriation around, things could turn ugly at any moment, not that we had anything to worry about - we're English and we're well `ard. Besides, there were some black-shirted security guards hanging around near the entrance, although most of them looked about 15 and barely taller than the hostesses in their heels. At one point trouble did break out. We didn't understand why at the time, but Thavy told us later that one of the blokes-of-a-certain-kind who was with a hostess-of-a-certain-type went and kissed the sister of said hostess. And hostess went ballistic. Heels came off, fists came out, and the two of them went at it like wild beasts. The security guards piled in to help separate them, but they only succeeded in getting them to either end of the bar, where they still shouted at each other and traded insults. A few minutes later, one girl grabbed a glass and prepared to launch it (thankfully her friend grabbed her arm) and the other grabbed a glass ashtray to lob (thankfully her friend held onto the ashtray). We were sitting halfway between the two of them and if either missile was launched inaccurately then we may have got our drinks paid for free (but not our hospital bill!) The fracas ended when bloke-of-a-certain-kind picked up his hostess, put her under his arm and walked out of the mall with her!

[The long and lonely walk to the Gents - keep your eyes open and your pockets closed!]

One thing all of these hostess bars have is a pool table - the old-fashioned kind where you can simply take the balls out of the pockets for a new game without having to stick any money in. Judging by some of the skillful shots these ladies were playing, they've obviously got quite a few games under their designer belts. It's  one of the ways for the customers and the girls to break the ice - have a light-hearted game of pool (and keep it light-hearted when you get beaten by the girl!) I'd been talked at by one of the more louder mufti girls, called Bowpar [SIC], who demanded I get my name down on the board for a game. Okay, what the heck, I may not have my specs with me, but I've got enough Angkor inside me to feel competent. And so I took to the table and took on a hostess whose name I did not catch for the England versus Cambodia international classic. And England won! Get in!

Unfortunately Cambodia struck back when Bowpar came to the table and beat me. But only just. And she got quite lucky with some shots. And I was distracted by something shiny in the distance when I potted the white. 

The evening was rounded out with a couple of games of doubles - me and Bowpar against Tim and Thavy (my team wins) and then me and Bowpar against Tim and unknown hostess (again my team wins, much to younger brother's chagrin). There was a bit of confusion over the rules, especially the one where you're supposed to nominate which pocket you pot the black in and you lose if it goes in another one, but who cares, it's only a game. Which my team won. And, if you're reading this months down the line, Tim...MY TEAM WON!!!

By now it was gone 02:30, and the place closed at 03:00. Not only did we not want to be around to see what happened at that point, we also had to get up early to get down the Chinese embassy next morning. And so we went to pay our bill and get going. As we were leaving, Thavy came over (no sign of Bowpar and the others) and asked if we could keep in touch via Facebook. It surprised me, but pleasantly, and we were only too happy to. It's good to have made a friend who's a local and not another fellow traveller. She's going to Ho Chi Minh City at some point soon - I forget when exactly - but no doubt we'll have moved on from there by then. We're always moving on from somewhere!

Walking back through the streets of Phom Penh in the early hours was very strange; they were absolutely  deserted, bar the odd tuk-tuk driver offering us things I should not repeat. Such a contrast to the daytime when everywhere is teeming with people and vehicles. And such contrasting experiences today - The Killing Fields in the morning, the hostess bars in the evening.When we reached our hotel the shutter had been pulled across the door. For a brief moment we thought we'd have to return to the Sorya Beergarden and find a hostess with her own place to stay the night with. Then one of the staff who'd been sleeping behind the desk poked his head up and let us in. Damn! 

A touch of evil

Tuesday, 23/10/2012 – 131 A.D.

[Note - possibly some difficult and disturbing reading in this post, so if you're having a bad day then you might want to save this one for another time.]

This morning we woke up feeling fine, Tim’s night terrors having dropped to a manageable two occurrences, down from an uncountable number the previous night. Breakfast was hearty, the sun was out, the sky was blue…how best to spend this fine morning in Phnom Penh? At the Genocide Museum, of course.

It was a fair walk down to the south of the city again (not quite as far as the Chinese embassy), but we fancied stretching our legs to help the digestion of that spicy sausage the Diamond Geezers serve up for brekky. After about 15 minutes walking, after the seven-and-a-half-minute-sweats had started, we arrived at the Independence Monument, which I assume relates to Cambodia going it alone from the French in the 1950s. Without any pedestrian crossings in sight, getting from one side to the other was akin to an assault course. I felt like the main character in the classic Frogger computer game!

The streets of Pnhom Penny are all numbered – odds running north to south, evens running west to east and increasing in number the further you get from the river. This is quite helpful for globetrotters like us. However, house numbering is totally up the wall and you often get more than one building with the same number along a street, which was probably why our tuk-tuk driver had so much trouble finding our hotel when we arrived. Halfway along Street 113 was Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum. There was no mistaking it, the barbed wire around the periphery being a dead giveaway.

History lesson time again, I’m afraid! This building was originally a high school, but when the Khmer Rouge seized power they turned it into a supposedly secret prison known as S-21. From 1975 to 1979 estimates reckon that 20,000 were brought here to be detained, tortured and either killed within its walls, or sent out to the killings fields outside of the city. Only seven people survived the place. The building shown above is A block, identical on the outside to B, C and D block. Nowadays B and D have been converted into exhibits, but C has been left exactly as it was found with hastily-constructed 0.8 x 2 metre cells, some with walls made from wood, others from rough brickwork. If prisoners somehow did get free of their shackles, each level had extra barbed wire rigged up to stop them trying to jump and commit suicide.

It's quite surreal because the forecourt in the middle of the site wouldn't look out of place in a hotel of reasonable quality. As you walk through the cells, notices on the wall ask you not to speak, but you don't feel the need to, even if you had something really important to say. It naturally doesn't stop the tour guides saying their bits, and we were able to hang around a few groups and earwig some info for free. 

Bet you've never seen me so stony-faced, have you? What was that? A million times already in this blog? Well I've always found it difficult to smile for photos. Anyway, we continued to make our way around Tuol Sleng. I won't go into detail on some of the torture methods that were used, but throughout the whole thing I found myself repeating one word over and over: "why?" The darker side of human nature, I guess. I mean, I know this kind of thing happened at Auschwitz, but this went on in even more recent memory. Were no lessons learned? One thing that struck me was that in every piece of literature on the walls relating to the liberation of Phnom Penh, and subsequently Tuol Sleng in 1979, not once was it acknowledged that the Vietnamese effectively made it happen. Instead vague references were made to something like the United Liberation People's Front of Kampuchea, which you won't read about in wikipedia. Guess they're a bit embarrassed to have been set free by their neighbours. It's strange the things you think about in such a place. If I do go out for a boozy sesh in this city I'd best not bring these topics up. Keep it light, stick with football.

Like the Nazis, the Khmer Rouge were meticulous record keepers, filling out plenty of paperwork for everyone they brought into S-21 and taking photos of all prisoners. It was interesting to see how the style of photo they took of the inmates changed each year - in 1975 they didn't even have numbers, but 1978 they had so much info hanging below their chins that the set-up almost resembled an LAPD mugshot. And sticking with the visual theme, because the records were intact when the prison was liberated, the subsequent government decided to put all of the (mostly) anonymous prisoner's photos on display for visitors to see. It would be difficult viewing if it were just the one room, but the display goes on and on and on...

Grim, grim and more grim. I'd read the write up of the place beforehand, but by the end of our time here I was having to call upon all of my English stiff upper lipness to prevent it from wobbling, and I think Our Kid was the same. And, as harrowing as it was, it was a thoroughly worthwhile exhibit and one of the best museums I've been to on this trip (and if you're a regular reader then you'll know that I've visited hundreds of `em). As I exited through the gates (didn't see a gift shop), I was left with one thing that I'd read several times - the current government's wish to keep the place open so that another Khmer Rouge situation could never occur again in the future. Jeez, if it did then I think I'd be voluntarily conscripted into the opposition forces!

But then it was time for lunch, an occasion that always brings a smile to my lips...

China in your hand

Monday, 22/10/2012 – 130 A.D.

Taking things back to last night, we came back from having our tea knowing that we’d have to fill in our Chinese visa applications. We even had to suspend nightly liquor rations to get these things completed. Whereas Cambodia wanted 100 baht, China want to know everything about us and everywhere we plan to stay in their country. We had to pre-book into four hotels just so we could satisfy these requirements, whereas normally we don’t like to have more than a couple of places sorted down the line (don’t forget that we’re doing Vietnam before we even set foot in China!)

I felt a bit concerned listing my occupation as “government official” (though it could be argued that I’m not even close to being one of those) so I put down “company employee”. Much more run-of-the-mill and unimportant. I also listed all the details of my immediate family members (chill out, dad, I didn’t mention the offshore account numbers). We also realised late on that whereas we had form V2011A, we did not have form V2011B, which you need to complete if you’re applying for a visa outside of your own country. Fortunately the hotel’s Diamond Geezers were able to print copies out for us. Once submitted, the application takes four days, which is why we were doing five nights in Phnnom Pennn, otherwise we’d probably be here for…maybe two.

Next morning we were up at 7 and down for a very tasty breakfast of coffee, bacon, eggs, toast and shrivelled spicy sausage that Tim wouldn’t touch with a bargepole. The Chinese embassy was open from 08:30 until 11:00, so it made sense to get down there quickly. Surprise, surprise, there is no public transport system in Puhnom Pen, so it’s tuk-tuk or bust if you don’t fancy walking. We’d have no shortage of offers – the drivers parked out the front of the hotel were calling over to us and asking if we wanted a ride while we were still sitting down eating our breakfast!

My plan was to ask the girl on reception what a fair price would be for the journey down to “Mao Tse Toung Boulevard” (I kid you not!) The plan backfired because while I was pointing it out on the map, tuk-tuk driver sidled up to the desk. Haggling was minimal – Tim said he had a 10,000 riel note on him. Sounds a lot, right? It’s about $2.50. Although it was nice and cool at that time of the morning, it was a good job we didn’t try and walk it as the journey took a good 20 minutes, what with the traffic-from-hell to contend with. I really cannot believe how we have not seen at least one accident during our time in Asia!

Upon arriving at the embassy, the guard on the gate asked for our cameras. The building looked derelict – as if we were going to take any piccies of it! The plan to come early was a good one and there was only one other person inside. A far cry from the embassy in Bangkok, which was akin to catching the last plane out of an imminent warzone. Tim took his application forward and the guy behind the counter (with no sense of humour whatsoever) rubbished his efforts like he was a sergeant major dressing down an untidy private.

“Where is your bank statement?”

“Uh…”

“You need proof of $100 per day for every day you will be in China.”

“Okay, but…”

“I need all your hotel bookings.”

“I’ve noted them on the form…”

“No, they all need to be printed out separately.”

            “Oh, I see. Well…”

“And where is travel itinerary?”

            “Here – look, there is proof that I will be flying out of Mumbai in December…”

“No, travel itinerary in China.”

            “What?”

“Write down everywhere you will be going for every day you are in China.”

            “Umm, okay. Do you have a printer?”

“No.”

AAAAARGH!!! All that time checking that we’d filled out the form to the nth degree and we were several documents short! The website did not say that we needed to bring that information with us, but as I’ve said in earlier posts, getting a straight answer regarding visas online is like trying to find a needle in my old flat. So, we’d have to go back to the hotel, do the business there, then come back and hope we’d got it right second time. We got the feeling that guy-at-counter was the type who’d reject our applications just because he was in a bad mood that morning. Oh please don’t let this be another situation where they expect a few extra notes chucked their way!

A tuk-tuk was parked outside the embassy and he naturally came straight to us. I made the mistake of thinking he was the same tuk-tuk driver who brought us there – no wonder he wasn’t understanding a word of what I said. I tried to do a deal with him that he’d take us back to the hotel, wait 20 minutes for us to get what we needed, then bring us back here. I may have been asking in German. He suddenly dialled a number and gave me the phone to speak to someone who I couldn’t hear and had barely more grasp of English than our driver. But somehow this did the trick and we settled on a $5 round trip.

The end of our road was cordoned off when we arrived, so we jumped out and agreed with driver to wait for us there. Considering he didn’t actually know what hotel we were at and hadn’t demanded half of the money, it was nice that he was taking us on such trust. Up to our room we rushed, then straight to our laptops and into our data files. It was a pain in the ass having to look up and type out every train number and flight number for our time in China, especially as we hadn’t actually booked them yet! If we didn’t end up getting seats would that constitute a booting-out-of-country offence?

Once we’d saved what we needed to our memory stick we took it downstairs and thrust it under the noses of the Diamond Geezers and Gals who were gathered around the front desk. Given that we needed two copies of most documents, we must have had 50 pages printed. The staff smiled sympathetically as I did my best to explain why we needed them, thanking them unreservedly for helping us out like this. They nodded, then charged us a dollar for their trouble. Okay, no more unreserved thanks coming their way! All of this farting about had taken about 40 minutes and I’d agreed a 20 minute wait with our driver (well, I'd counted to 20 on my fingers and he seemed to get it). Would he be spitting feathers at us when we turned up, thinking we’d done a runner on him? Not at all, as it happened, possibly that’s the way it’s done in Pyon Pem – quote a time, then double it and everyone’s in agreement.

And after another 20 minute drive across town we re-entered the embassy to see it a lot busier than before. Still, we had to shuffle our paperwork before getting in line and then the moment came when the guy who earlier destroyed our dreams eyeballed my fresh application. He took his time reading it, asking the odd question here and there. He queried why I had listed 9^th November on my itinerary when the Shanghai booking was for the 16^th November. “Because, Sir, on the 9^th November we cross the border, the 16^th in Shanghai is listed further down the sheet.” Duh! [said quietly in my head] He also got me a little worried when he started going on about flights and I thought for a moment he would want to see a print out of the booking on our flight out of China, a flight we have not yet booked. He was actually asking if I was flying out of Phnom Penh and into China. “No, Sir, I am going to Vietnam first. It’s all there, printed out in the itinerary.” Finally he nodded and told me to come back on Thursday and pay then. He even glued my photo onto the form for me. And then Our Kid swaggers up and stuffs his papers through the window with the words, “It’s all just the same as his.” The jammy git doesn’t get asked a single question!

After that we fancied a walk right across town. It ended up being an even longer walk than a single one of our tuk-tuk drives, but we were on such a buzz after submitting our applications that we didn’t mind. It gave us a pedestrian’s view of Pnohm Pen…which didn’t make it stand out any more than it did while sitting on a rickety trailer attached to the back of a low CC motorbike. The weather was baking, but at least here, unlike in Siem Reap, there is a bit of a breeze.

Just past the train station – a grand old building that has long closed its gates to passengers – was the DHL office. We’re fast acquiring plenty of trinkets which we could do with sending back home, so we were keen to check out their rates. Hmmm…for the prices they were charging we could have paid a tuk-tuk driver to run them back to Blighty in a golden safe! But oh did they have some fantastic aircon in that office and we were disappointed that we had to leave so soon and head back out into the blazing dustbowl streets.

We cheated at lunchtime. I’m sad to admit it, but I finally wanted something other than a noodles or rice-based dish for lunch. Therefore we hit a KFC-style place called Lucky Seven. It was okay. Funnily enough, even though KFC has made its way to Phnom Pennnn, Macdonalds has not – who’d have thunk it?

Getting back to the hotel, we had to negotiate the treacherous road crossings where anything goes. Bottling it, we went and stood in the slipstream of a schoolgirl who was a fellow pedestrian trying to walk across the city – a rare sight. Knowing that this little girl was between us and any oncoming traffic we confidently strode out into the road, imitating her route. I did say thank you when we finally got across, but I’m not sure if she heard / understood.

Back at the Diamond Palace the Diamond Geezers were charging 50 cents for each piece of laundry. No chance! But unfortunately it’s jeans I need to do, so I handwashed them and went to hang them over the balcony, but the slightly-camp male maid (nice guy, but speaks little English) took them off me and took them to the roof where he hung them on coat hangers from the pipes. That was cool, but a couple of hours later, probably when they were just about dry, he brought them back to me wet again because the rain had come. With spending most of the afternoon in a room without an outside window, I’d had no idea it was pouring down.

The rain came again just as we were about to head down to the nearby riverside for tea. Therefore we had a few games of cards on the balcony’s seating area and waited out the storm. Or so we thought. Over dinner the rains came down harder and we found ourselves marooned in the eatery. Oh well, at 50 cents for a beer, that’s not too much of a problem! What’s more important for 50 cents – a beer or getting a pair of socks through the laundry? Yes, I knew you’d agree. The only problem with being marooned in the eatery was that the hawkers were hanging around to stay dry. One enthusiastic child offered me, in order, a wrist band, a T-shirt, a “girlfriend”, a meeting with her older sister, and a trip to the killing fields on the back of her brother’s tuk-tuk. Suffice to say, I took her up on none of these, though maybe I should have asked if she could get me a Chinese visa for a decent price? 

[There's about a tenner there!]

Diamonds and pearls

Saturday, 20/10/2012 – 128 A.D.

Chill out day #2 was spent doing a huge amount of admin at the hotel in Siem Reap. There are far worse places to do admin – I really think I will miss the Angkor Pearl when we leave. The reason for all the admin is China and its visa application process. They want to know everywhere we will be and on what days. So much for the ride the wind, happy-go-lucky approach! Anyway, it forced us into planning our schedule a bit more stringently and into making the following decisions:

·         We don’t have time to go to Japan or South Korea. Another time…maybe another life.

·         Trying to get to Tibet will be far too much hassle and cost far more than we expected. Once again, the Chinese make life difficult for us.

·         We will go to Xi`an in central China to see the Terracotta Army.

And so we booked a few hotels and bought a few bargains down the night market. Nothing much to tell, but that’s not a problem when all is well. Cambodia is okay by us. 

Sunday, 21/10/2012 – 129 A.D.

All aboard the Mekong Express!

We were up nice and early for the final breakfast. They always play the same CD – power ballads done on slow piano – and it’s starting to grate a little hearing I miss you like crazy every morning when I’m munching my toast. But that’s the only thing that did grate about the Angkor Pearl. I feel as though we have hit a peak and will never get this high a standard for this low a price. And I’m sure it was purely accidental when they tried to charge me a second time for the bus tickets that we already paid for in cash the previous day.

A small bus arrives to take us across town to the bus station. The driver gets his vehicle down alleyways that I would shy away from in my Ford Focus, and probably in a Smart Car as well. Siem Reap bus station is a bit dingy, but it’s what we’ve come to expect. In fact, it’s more like a market place than a major national transit hub. The toilets are the most dingy part of all, and there is a price to enter them (not uncommon). I find myself haggling over the cost of taking a piss, but get nowhere with the old woman on the door. Oh well, 1000 riel it is – can’t put a price on having an empty bladder, especially when you’re me.

The Mekong Express does not look like the greatest bus, but the staff seem to be reasonably organised. They take our luggage and attach tags – just like in the good old Greyhound days of old [fond sigh!] We get on board and leave on time. It is my turn for the window seat, but there are these stupid tassley-dangly things that rub against the side of my head (no one else on the coach is tall enough to suffer this annoyance). The legroom isn’t great either, but we are given a wet wipe, a bottle of water and a snack, half of which is a tasty bun, the other half of which is an oniony pastry thing. I take a bite and discard it immediately. Aren’t peoples’ tastes supposed to change every seven years? I turned 35 and I still cannot stand onions! Oh well, I might care for them when I’m 42. The attendant on the bus takes the mic and speaks in both Cambodian and English, but seems to say three times as much in Cambodian. Despite it only being about 10:00, I fall asleep soon after leaving the city limits.

Halfway on route we stop in a dustball of a place to have a quick lunch. It’s rice with pork, though it could have been rice with chicken, or that other classic favourite, rice with beef (we don’t risk anything with seafood unless we’re right on the coast). Every town of any size that we pass through (i.e. more than a simple collection of shacks) has a procession passing through the centre in memory of the King. And rather more disturbingly, every series of fields that we pass has a landmine warning sign at the edge.

[The scenery doesn't vary much from the above shot!]

Soon after re-boarding the bus, I fall asleep again. Such decadence is not usually tolerated. I blame the mix of heat from the seat and semi-reasonable aircon from above. A little later I awake and Tim goes to Slumberland. I get some great video footage of his head falling back and forth. You think that’s cruel? I’m just getting him back for capturing me mid-snooze on a Los Angeles bus once upon a time. To be honest, I’m surprised he managed to sleep at all as the latter part of the highway was barely a large gravel track, with not an ounce of tarmac in sight. If there’s one word that sums Cambodia up then it’s “dust”. We see far more people wearing face masks than we’ve seen in any other country. One guy even wears one on the bus, only taking it off to tuck into his snack.

After six hours on the road, the outskirts of Phnom Penh come into sight. It is a city that I frequently mispronounce and often misspell. At first it looks like a disaster zone, rather than a capital city. If you’re a regular reader of this blog then you’ll know that I’ve already mentioned pretty much everything about the Khmer Rouge, but here’s some more – when they came to power they effectively emptied Phnom Penh of its citizens and sent them out to forced labour camps in the countryside. Any grand old buildings that still exist from the days when the French were here tend to have a big wall around them as well as armed guards. There isn’t a great deal to see here, but we already knew that, and it might be nice to stay in a place that isn’t crawling with tourists. But we’re staying here for five nights! Why so long? Ask the Chinese.

The city bus station is about as large as a wardrobe and very claustrophobic. The attendant has arranged a tuk-tuk to take us to our hotel for $3 – maybe we’re getting stuffed on the price, but who cares at this point. Unfortunately the tuk-tuk driver thinks we’re up for going on one of his tours of the city, despite the fact we’ve got all of our luggage with us – no, mate, just get us to the Diamond Palace II! ‘Angkor Pearl’…’Diamond Palace’…they give them grand names here don’t they? You’d think with a name like that the driver would be able to find it. Nah, he doesn’t have a clue where it is and we’re back to squinting at the snapshot of Google Maps saved on Tim’s phone. While driving aimlessly around the streets with eyes peeled, he leans back and says something. It could have been a request for more money or some other kind of ruse, but I told him I didn’t understand and sat back stony-faced. He got the message, and after asking a mate the way to our hotel, he got us to our destination.

The Diamond Palace II is okay, but nowhere near as good as the Angkor Pearl. Plus we only opted for the room because the website claimed it had a balcony and a seating area…there is a balcony and seating area, but they’re in the communal spaces. The location seems alright though, just across from the Royal Palace and on the edge of the old French Quarter, though there’s probably nothing very French in it anymore. When our friends across the channel made Phmon Penh into “the pearl of Asia” they built big, wide boulevards for easy walking, but now these have been swallowed up by market stalls and extra traffic lanes. Speaking of traffic, the usual rule applies here, i.e. the largest vehicle has right of way by virtue of its size. Traffic lights are few and far between (as is street lighting) and it’s anything goes at crossroads if there are no police directing the vehicles. The guidebook said that “traffic in Phnom Penh is chaotic even by south east Asian standards”. Relax, mum, we won’t be renting any mopeds while we’re here!

After about half an hour of settling into the room, I sit down at the desk to check email. Things are fine until I look to my left and see…ants! Hundreds of the bastards! Crawling across the wall! This is definitely not cool, and we trace their path from the top corner of our door in a diagonal procession down the wall, behind the desk and wardrobe to the bin in the far corner. Looks like a tried and tested route for them in the past, though all that’s in the bin right now is the packet my wet wipe came in and Tim’s empty bag of peanuts. Upon further investigation out in the hall it looks like they’re coming from the room next door, which we presume is unoccupied.

I give the front desk a call and ask one of the Diamond Palace’s staff to come up to our room to see the ants for themselves. The Diamond Geezer arrives and makes some low umm and ahh-type noises, then leaves, promising to return with some ant spray. I half-heartedly mention that it might be best for us to move to another room, but either this was lost in translation or he wasn’t going for it. Besides, the next one might be infested with a plague of locusts! A couple of minutes later the Diamond Geezer phones us and says there is no ant spray, but he’ll get some in for tomorrow, is that okay? Guess it has to be. I grab some of my mosquito repellent lotion and smear it in a line on the wall, right in the middle of the ants’ invisible highway. Seems to work – they really don’t want to pass through it, and those on the left side of it retreat out of the room, while those on the right are slaughtered mercilessly by Tim and his towel. Diamond Geezer reappears as the carnage is ending and has a closer look at the few survivors kicking around. He laughs and says it’s okay because they are the kind that don’t bite. Sure, but do we really want an animated tapestry of non-biting ants on our wall? And what if they leave the wall and crawl all over us when we’re asleep? Diamond Geezer has this one covered as well – he reckons the ants are “afraid” of the marble floor and won’t walk on it. Not only can this guy take room reservations, he can also give David Attenborough a run for his money!

The only thing we could do after all that excitement was go out to eat, but we hadn’t done our homework as to the best place to go. Instead we wandered blindly, literally in some cases where the street lighting was non-existent. Not having much luck, we settled on a bar and eatery complex a few streets away, the best of a bad bunch. There were lots of old Western blokes hanging around, either sitting alone with eyes scanning the passing pedestrians or playing pool with their shirts off.  We kept our eyes firmly on the menu – one dish in particular stood out: Cambodian fried rice with red ants (house speciality). Hmmm, maybe another time…

The times they are a-changin`

Friday, 19/10/2012 – 127 A.D.

Today we were going to see Cambodia’s greatest tourist attraction…correction, Cambodia’s only tourist attraction: Angkor. From about the 9^th  until the 15^th century, the Khmer empire was the dominant power in south east Asia and Angkor (meaning “Holy City”) was where all the action happened. Recent research has discovered that at its peak medieval Angkor was the biggest pre-industrial city that ever existed in the world, possibly supporting up to one million people and featuring a sprawl that may compare to that of modern day Los Angeles. Pretty good, huh? Once upon a time, maybe. Like all great civilisations, the Khmer empire got too big and started to fall into decline before its neighbours, most notably Siam, came along and broke things up, much the way the Barbarian tribes did for ancient Rome. Over the next few centuries Angkor was abandoned to the ever-increasing jungle and the once-great city was swallowed up by a fresh army of greenery.

Then the French came. Not always a great thing, but after making Cambodia a protectorate, they started to hack away at the undergrowth and dig out the old temples, restoring them where it was practical. I should note that throughout the 390 square miles of what is now known as Angkor Park there are around 1000 temples, ranging from unidentifiable piles of stone rubble to the greatest of them all, Angkor Wat. Back in the days of the Khmer empire only the Gods deserved houses built of stone, so all other buildings were built of perishable materials such as wood, which vanished long, long ago. Phew – that’s enough of a history lesson for now! You get the picture that it’s an important archaeological discovery? UNESCO World Heritage Site? Dead good place of stoney ruiney stuff? Then we’ll proceed…

Angkor Park lies about 6 kilometres outside of central Siem Reap, which meant a tuk-tuk job. The Angkor Pearl Hotel has been a cracking residence so far, and they have a few tuk-tuks of their own that they transport tourists around in - $15 all day. We had no problem with that, but the only dilemma was which route to take. There is the Small Tour Circuit and the Grand Tour Circuit, the former packing more places in at a shorter distance, the latter featuring less places but going further afield. At the recommendation of the guy behind the desk, we went for the Small Tour Circuit. Come 10:00, we were introduced to our driver for that day. He introduced himself as “Thy” (pronounced “tee”) and we saw that he had “Mr. Thy” written on his vehicle. Mr T.? “Hannibal, I aint getting` in no tuk-tuk!” Not quite.

We headed off across town, Thy firing the throttle on his motorbike to about 30 miles per hour maximum (probably a good thing), with Tim and I sitting in the back and feeling like a right couple of lords. Oh well, it beats walking! Within ten minutes we were at the outskirts of Angkor Park and buying our day tickets, which we’d have to show every now and then throughout our visit. Then it was off to the first stop on the Small Tour Circuit – Angkor Wat.

Angkor Wat is the premiere draw at Angkor Park and may well be the biggest religious structure ever built, but I cannot be bothered verifying that right now. It has survived better than most of the temples because it had its own moat to hold back the advance of the jungle. Like most temples of its time it was built to represent Mount Meru, which is where certain deities lived in Hindu mythology, hence it has five main towers (or had, as one of them is pretty dilapidated). Originally Angkor Wat was a Hindu temple, but was subsequently converted to a form of Buddhism which currently escapes me. Whatever religion it belongs to, it’s a grand approach to the ruins.

So what does one do when they arrive at such a vast religious space? Sit down and quietly contemplate a million and one things before enlightenment is reached and one accidentally ascends from this world of pain, suffering and bed bugs? Nah, not really, but it was a bit calmer at the back of the complex where there were less visitors – Angkor draws in about two million a year, so it’s usually teeming, although October isn’t the high season. However, Thy had given us two hours to go off and explore the area, so we had a schedule to keep. Not sure what he would do to us if we turned up late…probably just sulk.

Oh yes indeedy did they like their steep stone staircases in the Khmer empire! Climbing these would be enough to give anyone vertigo, so fortunately there are modern wooden steps attached to the sides of the most popular climbs, but they’re still no simple ascent or descent, and the introduction of escalators would go a long way. Thy told us that during the recent rainy season there was a Japanese lady who was told by her guides not to climb up so-and-so temple, but she did anyway, slipped, and died. Even if I was wearing my hiking boots with extra grip, if a guide says don’t go there then you don’t go there! And so where was everyone going? Up to the highest level of Angkor Wat, that’s where…

There were very good views of the surrounding acres from the top, if slightly obscured by the odd bit of scaffolding here and there, but that's restoration for you. I tried to imagine how the place would have looked all of those hundreds of years ago at its peak, with Khmer warriors guarding the gates and monks wandering around and performing esoteric incantations...my visualisations weren't too bad, but invariably I was brought back to the 21st century by a fresh batch of chattery tourists moving from one ante-chamber to the next. It was also a bit too sweaty to get too deep, because we all know that the best lucid historical imaginings are done at a few degrees above room temperature, right?

Back down on the ground we saw the biggest spider we'd seen so far on our travels (I won't show the pic in case any arachnophobes reading are offended / scared sh*tless). A nearby guide told us it wasn't poisonous, but that the local people ate the larger tarantulas. I'd been wondering what those hairy, spindly bits in my Khmer curry had been. In fact, barely 15 minutes later Tim spotted this formidable character casually leaning against a rusty  metal bar. We think it's a praying mantis...well, definitely a mantis, but maybe not a praying one. Then again, it could be the smaller male version - females rule in the insect world. Just like in the human world. 

By now our two hours were up and we returned to the front of Angkor Wat where Thy had dropped us off. He was patiently waiting and produced from his coolbox a couple of wet towels and ice cold bottles of water. Nice touch. I asked him what he had been doing with himself, but he either missed what I said or preferred to ignore the question, instead asking us if we were ready for lunch. We were, and so he took us on a short ride to the nearby Angkor café. He explained that he gets a discount off his meal for dropping us here. Oh well, at least he’s up front about it! Upon entering, things got off to a bad start when I accidentally kicked a dog that was sleeping half under the end of a table. I saw it limp away, but we reckon it already had the swollen leg before I got involved…here’s hoping I didn’t make it worse! The prices were a little higher than we were used to, but nothing too extortionate. Unfortunately I was tempted by the words “bacon sandwich”, but forgot that on this continent a bacon sandwich comes with barely any bacon, yet tonnes of tomato and onion. As I painstakingly removed them and put them to the side of the plate, I told Tim to remind me of this moment whenever I saw a bacon sarny on a future menu. He just shook his head and looked away.

[On the road again with Mr. Thy!]

First stop with full bellies was the temple of Bayon in the surrounding Angkor Thom complex. Tourists are fascinated by the 200 or so large faces that are carved into the temple's 54 towers and I was no exception. There is no universally regarded theory on whom they represent, and that type of thing fascinates me all the more. Rain clouds lingered in the distance and for once I wished it would chuck it down, if only to cool me down. Climbing loads of steep steps in this kind of climate is not good for the Grayboy knees!

Next we went to Ba Puon…

Followed by Phimean Akas, which was a personal highlight because it was a bit more off the beaten track and we were the only ones there…

At every site that we were dropped off at we were immediately pounced upon by people young and old desperately trying to sell us their wares. We'd both spent our fair share at the market the previous day and wanted to curb expenditure for now. But boy did they insist! Even when I was blatantly carrying a full bottle of water, they were still asking if I wanted something cold to drink! At the market I developed a strategy where I say I want something from them that they probably won’t have, such as a hard glasses case, and when they realise they don’t have it they more often than not leave me alone. Today I went for apples, which I do actually want and can’t seem to find anywhere in Siem Reap. Responses I got today included, “Apples? What are apples?”, “No, Sir, we only have pineapples,” and, “You buy this instead.” One small girl was so bloody persistent that I caved in and bought a trinket, mainly because it heped me get rid of some riel notes (akin to loose change), but as soon as those notes came out there were another half dozen kids around me trying to flog their stuff. Tim suggested to Thy that it might be a good time to fire up the tuk-tuk and get us out of there. 

The afternoon went on, we saw more ruined temples, and both started to tire a little. You may also have started to tire a little of the tales and photos from the former Khmer empire, and I don’t blame you. At a little after 17:00 I got my wish and the rain shower came down, so Thy had to pull down the waterproof sides to the tuk-tuk as we headed home, pausing to pull them up again once the rain stopped and we took the opportunity to photograph the sunset of a day spent taking more photographs than Jessops would have thought was ever possible.

Upon returning to the dry, aircon-based comfort of the hotel, I saw that the maid had been in to clean the room and change the sheets at some point. She had even taken my sleep shorts, folded them up and placed them neatly at the end of the bed. I bet they didn’t get treatment that good at the height of the Khmer empire!