STRANGE TRAIN

Riding the bizarre 'norry' train in Cambodia

I’m riding the rails in Cambodia, and this is unlike any train I’ve ever ridden in my entire life.

I’m sitting out in the open, and the wind is in my hair. I’m riding on a miniature flatcar and locomotive, all built into one. Much of this bizarre flatcar is made of bamboo; it's only about the size of a king size bed! Behind me, the ‘engineer’ mans the engine, which is about the size of a motor from a lawnmower. This is one strange train.

This train is known locally as a norry, a makeshift mini-train. It’s also known as the 'bamboo train', and it just may be the smallest functioning commercial train in existence.

“It’s 240 kilometers to Phnom Penh,” says my trusty guide Sok, as we chug along on old tracks just south of Battambang. We pass an old village train station. Like the original train system, it was originally built by the French colonials. There are no passengers waiting today, there haven’t been for years. The real trains stopped running 10 years ago. Service was slow, and it took a lengthy 12 hours to travel all the way to Phnom Penh. Trains occasionally derailed.

I look down as we cross a wooden train trestle, a rarity these days. Few train trestles anywhere in the world are still made of wood. I wonder how much support the beams still have left in them, as the wood is deteriorating in the tropical heat.

Rail service in Cambodia deteriorated gradually, going all the way back to the war years of the 1970’s. Despite their rejection of technology, the Khmer Rouge managed to keep trains running during their repressive years of rule. After they were forced out of power, they returned to attack the trains in the 80’s and 90’s. The new government took measures to protect them. On each train, they transformed a boxcar into a rolling bunker, installing gun ports and a heavy machine gun to discourage attacks.

2 trains meet, 1 is disassembled, then reassembled, so both can pass!

Further south back in 1994, the communists hit a packed train headed to the coast. First they blew it up with mines, shot dead 9 civilians. They then took numerous hostages into the jungle, including three foreigners from France, Australia and the UK. These unfortunate three were later killed when government troops tried to rescue them.

After attacks like this, the engineers employed an old train trick to counter the use of landmines on the tracks by the Khmer Rouge. To keep the locomotives safe, they pushed two flatcars out in front of it as they traveled. If a flatcar hit a mine and blew off the tracks, the more valuable locomotive survived. That didn’t stop Khmer passengers from riding the front flatcars though. With little money, they were glad to ride these rolling mine detectors, since the tickets were cheaper!

But the war is over now, and my translator Sok and I are enjoying the breezy ride on our simple, rolling bamboo bed, I’m serenaded by the loud clackety-clack of the wheels on the rails. I’m out in the open air, and the rails are warped, so the racket is even louder than when I recently road an overnight train to Vietnam. There are wider gaps between the rails here too, making the ride sometimes jarring, but no less fun.

Sok informs me how locals use these mini-trains. “The people use (it) to move the rice to Battambang,” he says, “because we have no roads.”

As we pass rural houses, I see Sok’s point. Without road access, some houses are built right next to the rails, surrounded by flooded rice paddies. The train tracks are their only dry access into town during this time of year.

The norry train's 'engineer'

We scare birds and squirrels off the tracks along the way, and the foliage grows high, leaning over the tracks in places. If it weren’t for these norrys, the tracks would be completely overgrown. As I lie flat, I looking down below my feet. The brown, parallel train tracks stretch straight ahead to the horizon, seemingly into oblivion.

There’s a light sprinkle of rain, but I hardly notice. We’re only going about 15 mph, but the wind in my hair feels great. Some rice farmers out working the fields wave to me as we pass. I’m grinning from ear to ear. This sure beats riding the bus.

Straight ahead of us on the tracks, another norry is chugging along towards us, head on! This ought to be interesting, I think. There are no switches to pull off to the side, so something has to give.

Both engineers/drivers slow as we approach, and we coast to a stop. Apparently there are no brakes. Since the other norry has eight passengers crowding it, it’s up to us to get out of their way. So we do. We climb off, and our driver removes the drive belt, then lifts off the small Kawasaki engine. Then the other norry driver walks over, and helps my driver lift off the frame. Finally the wheels are removed, and their way is clear. Amazingly, it took less than 30 seconds. All the norry drivers know each other, and they have this dis-assembly process down to a science.

The other mini-train moves through, and the two drivers immediately reassemble our mini-train. Wheels down, frame on top, put on the motor, attach the drive belt. He winds up the pull string, yanks it to a start, and we’re off again. Still amazing me, the reassembly took less than a minute. We continue our journey towards the horizon.

I’m amazed at the ingenuity of this simple system. Cambodians may be poor, but these farmers are certainly inventive, in coming up with this strange train.

*NOTE* - Sometime after this trip to Battambang, long delayed plans to resume real train service came through, and the 'Royal Railway' company is finally running trains again in Cambodia.

WORKED TO DEATH

At this 'gas station' our fuel comes from a plastic bottle

I'm far off the tourist trail, in a tuk-tuk traveling down a dusty dirt road in Cambodia. I'm south of the city of Battambang, in what used to be dangerous, hard core Khmer Rouge territory. A roadside sign directs us towards Kamping Poi, where my wise local guide Sok is taking me. Approaching a small shop on this bumpy road, our driver pulls inn.

We need gas, but there’s no petrol pump at this shop. Instead, a Khmer woman with a towel over her head walks out of the door, carrying a plastic bottle that looks like orange soda. She dumps the entirety in the gas tank. Apparently this passes for gasoline around here. This little hole-in-the-wall is an odd place to shop, but Sok walks inside to buy a few things. I don't know it yet, but his purchases will later surprise me, and make me feel guilty about this whole trip.

We resume and drive ahead through poor farming villages, stopping on a wide dirt road. Getting out, I see trees on both sides. To one side through the greenery, is a vast lake, Kamping Poi. It's huge. Other than Tonle Sap Lake, this is the largest I've seen in Cambodia. But this isn’t a natural lake. It's a reservoir, created by the hated Khmer Rouge regime, with a very high human cost.

Road atop dike built by slave labor. Thousands died here.

“They build Kamping Poi by hand,” Sok tells me. “No machine.” The dike which created this reservoir, was built with slave labor between 1975 – 1978.

I look at this unnatural dam we're standing on, and it's huge. “They fill this,” Sok says motioning to the immense dike, “eight kilometers (long).”

Life for the unfortunate Khmers who were forced to work here as slave labor, was nothing but never ending back breaking work. Conditions were abominable. “Work six am to six pm,” Sok says. “They smell like animal after three to four days. Over there river. Every five day or seven day, they let people have bath.”

With such a low level of hygiene, combined with overwork and scant food, many of the Khmers that suffered here didn’t survive. As many as 10,000 people died working on Kamping Poi from the slave labor conditions.

Khmer Rouge forced labor site. Thousands died from overwork and starvation. (Photo: Cambodia Government)

“They die of diarrhea, they die of starvation, they die of fever here,” Sok tells me.

Since the Khmer Rouge were obsessed with collective farming, the Kamping Poi reservoir was built to improve irrigation for the surrounding rice paddies. “5,000 hectares of rice field over there,” Sok points out to me. So two people died for each hectare of irrigation? What insanity.

The Khmer Rouge destroyed so much in Cambodia. This dike is one of the few things they built that still survives today. But as with everything else those communist maniacs did, it was only built by destroying many lives in the process.

We walk to another part of the dike, overlooking a concrete sluiceway. The flood gates here are lined up one after the other, to control the reservoir water levels. After the Khmer Rouge were forced from power this section collapsed. It was only rebuilt with foreign aid a few years ago. I’ll bet nobody died rebuilding this.

Once the site of brutal tragedy, the scenic reservoir is now a site for weekend picnics

Walking back along the shoreline, I find simple thatch shelters with hammocks hanging inside. They're empty today, but on weekends folks from Battambang who can afford it, drive here to picnic and enjoy the scenery. It’s hard to believe that a place that was built at the cost of so many lives, has become a place of relaxation and fun for families. But such is Cambodia.

I peer out over the vast waters of the reservoir, and one side of the lake appears to have many bright green islands, which are curiously dotted with pink. These are not actually islands, but enormous bunches of lily pads. The pink dots I see are flowers.

Also out on the water, are several small boats filled with Khmers on holiday. At this point I learn, that this reservoir is a very sad place for Sok. His son died here. He didn’t die here from the Khmer Rouge years, but afterward. His son came here one day, and went out boating. He fell into the water, and didn’t know how to swim. Sok doesn’t like going to Kamping Poi, but he came today because I wanted to come here.

A wave of guilt washes over me. Now I feel like a heel for having him bring me here. I've brought Sok back to one of the saddest places that he knows.

Still, Sok is making the most of his visit. Since we've traveled all the way here from Battambang, he planned on leaving a Buddhist offering for his departed son. Now I know why Sok went into that roadside shop earlier today. While our tuk-tuk got gas, he went inside to buy food for his offering. He explains his gifts for his son: “He like coconut, he like sugar, he like noodle.” His son's favorite foods, Sok bought them all.

My translator and guide Sok

We drive further on atop this dike of sadness, and stop. I stay near the tuk-tuk to give Sok his privacy. He walks through the brush and down the slope, pausing to pray and leave his offering for his son at the lake’s edge. His devotion is touching.

I've seen all I needed to at Kamping Poi, and soon we're back on the long dirt road, headed towards the highway. Along the way we pass a long forested ridge, known as 'Crocodile Mountain'. It’s well named; the outline of the ridge looks much like the horizontal reptile. Some of the very first Khmer Rouge attacks took place in Battambang Province way back in 1968, and they continued to fight trying to hold this mountain well into the 1990's. Who would have thought that the war here would be going on for three long decades?

Sok tells me that there was a lot of see-saw fighting in villages along this road, especially during harvest time. “1995, have lot of fighting here between government and Khmer Rouge,” he tells me. “In morning, government come fighting, get rice. In evening, Khmer Rouge fighting, get rice.”

Those who were wounded here had a long, deadly trip ahead of them, as medical care in these villages was non-existent. “No ambulance,” Sok says. “Then, the wounded take eight hour (to) get to Battambang. Then no road. They go in hammock, or oxcart. Sometime die.”

As we travel slowly on this bumpy dirt road, I see some local farmers lounging outside their shack homes. Many of these men are ex-Khmer Rouge fighters. Back during the war, they would have killed or kidnapped any westerners they found, so I'm wondering if any of these men might still pose a threat to me. But Sok says not to worry.

“Here no problem. If you here 8 pm, (when it’s dark) your motorbike broken, they help you,” Sok reassures me. “They give you dinner. They take you back to Battambang. Good people.”

Sok (at right) views the lake atop the repaired flood gates

“Now peace everywhere. No problem,” Sok continues. Given that Sok lost many family members to the Khmer Rouge genocide, I'm surprised he shows no anger towards them. “Khmer Rouge people, normal people, we combine. Live together, no problem. Take away communist (communism), simple people.” I imagine that his Buddhist faith has something to do with his attitude.

We finally reach the dirt 'highway'. Bumping along in the tuk-tuk, we pass a roadside billboard with Khmer writing showing an M-16 rifle that's been cut in half. Sok tells me it's for a disarmament campaign. After the war ended, they needed to get all those deadly weapons away from ex-Khmer Rouge.

“All the guns turn in now,” Sok says to me at first, but then he thinks better of it. “Some bad people still have (guns),” Sok says, “they hide.” I quiz Sok to clarify who 'they' are, and he's referring to bandits.

Sok told me earlier that it was now safe here in the evening, and yet, some 'bad people' here still have machine guns?

With this news, I'm glad we're on our way out of here. I'm glad we'll be back in Battambang before it gets dark.

SURVIVORS AND JUSTICE IN BATTAMBANG

Old French colonial buildings in Battambang

Sok has a shocking story of survival. He's lucky to be alive, like so many others that lived through the years of the Khmer Rouge genocide. 

But today, he's my guide and translator. Sok is 67 years old, and I tell him he looks much young for his age. He runs his fingers over his head, and tells me, “I paint my hair.”

He’s better dressed than your average Cambodian; wearing dark dress pants and a collared pink shirt. He looks like a teacher, except for the safari hat he wears for shade.

Years ago, Sok used to be a French teacher until Khmer Rouge guerrillas overran the country. He apologizes for his English; it’s not as good as his French. I tell him his English is better than many other translators I’ve had in Cambodia. Driving through the northwestern city of Battambang, I learn his story.

When the Khmer Rouge captured Battambang, his hometown, Sok wisely hid the fact that he was a French teacher. The Khmer Rouge hated colonial influences. I ask him what happened, the day the city fell to the Khmer Rouge. Sok says, “Khmer Rouge say all rich man, all teacher, go on bus. They say 'go to Phnom Penh to see (King) Sihanouk'. They go three, five kilometers on the road, and (they were all) killed.” Demonstrating, Sok makes a slash motion across his throat with his hand. During the course of the day, he uses this motion often, as he tells me how the Khmer Rouge executed many people.

Rice paddies here are among the richest in Cambodia

Escaping death that day, Sok and the city's population were forced to march into the countryside.

“In 1975, I work rice fields. I tell (Khmer Rouge) I from poor family in the country,” he explains. “If I tell them my history, they cut.” Then Sok makes the throat slashing gesture again. Sok was forced into slave labor on a farming commune. He says Battambang Province is big on agriculture, and very fertile with the best land for growing rice in the country. He says they used to load rice onto boats on the Stung Sangker River, sending it south all the way to Phnom Penh.

“It’s good soil here,” Sok says. He describes how they worked the fields all day, harvesting crops. The Khmer Rouge took it all. They took all food, and cooked it only for themselves. They gave the field workers nothing.

“There was very little food. Maybe no food,” he says of those awful years. “(My) three brother died from starvation.” Sok's sister died too.

I ask Sok how he managed to survive, while others died around him. “I eat everything,” he answers. “I eat leaf, small frog, insect. I eat like dog.”

Finally, the day came when the communists fled. “I free from Khmer Rouge when Vietnam Army and Khmer Army push Khmer Rouge to the Thailand border,” Sok recalls. “I free April 25, 1979. I very happy. Very happy,” he continues. “I cannot compare my happiness.”

Sok left the commune, walking for days in search of food. He passed many weak, malnourished seniors by the road on the way. “It was very difficult. I see many old people, sit under tree, no rice,” he recalls sadly of the dying elders he saw. Nearly starved himself, he could do nothing to help them.

Our tuk-tuk heads south on a Cambodian 'highway'

Eventually, he made his way back home. “I go to Battambang City,” he says. “Three months after, they need me to be a teacher.” He returned to his chosen profession. The Khmer Rouge had abolished currency, so there was no money for his salary. So he was paid with rice.

Sadly, his tough times didn't end after the Khmer Rouge years ended. In the 1980's his wife was killed by a drunk driver. He managed to raise his three children himself, and support their education. One son became a math teacher; he tragically died in a drowning accident. His other son became a banker. His daughter immigrated to Australia.

As I listen to Sok, our tuk-tuk (motorcycle-trike-taxi) continues through Battambang, Cambodia’s second largest city. Crossing the Old Iron Bridge, we head through the town center. Looking through a wrought iron fence, I spot large old yellow buildings. “Before in 1904, the governor stay there,” Sok says, pointing to a well preserved colonial mansion. It still houses government offices today. Sok is old enough to remember the colonial years; he’s a great source on local history. We pass two fabulous looking French mansions, and I ask who lived there during colonial times.

“Rich French, or rich Khmers," Sok says. Back in colonial times, Khmer elite wanted to emulate the French. But not all of Battambang's old French buildings are preserved, as many were torn down in the name of progress. We pass a downtown construction site. “Years ago, that was prison,” he says. “Now they build market.”

Ieng Sary on trial for crimes against humanity

We head west out of Battambang, and the road turns rural. This road is safe enough, but many nearby villages have yet to be cleared of landmines and old munitions. Shortly before my visit, a local woman and her teenage son were killed outside Battambang when their oxcart rolled over an anti-tank mine. The scourge of landmines still claims innocent lives here. 

Sok describes the journey ahead. “Up there, road not like this,” he says. “Bad road.” True to his word, soon our tuk-tuk is off the blacktop, and on a It's a slow, dusty dirt highway. Motorbikes, tuk-tuks, and trucks loaded with cargo pass in both directions.

“This road to Pailin,” Sok informs me, as the paved road ends and we continue on aj reddish dirt road full of potholes. When the Khmer Rouge fled from Battambang, they weren't completely defeated. Pailin became one of their remote hideouts by the Thai border. By the 1990's, cold war support for the Khmer Rouge disappeared, so they turned to the black market for money.

“There many gemstone and ruby (mines). They cut down tree, they dig gemstone. Now, all gone,” Sok says. The Khmer Rouge sold lumber and gems from Pailin to Thailand, with the help of unscrupulous Thai generals. This black market economy kept the guerrillas equipped well enough to fight on for years.

“Ieng Sary, Khieu Samphan, Nuon Chea had house in Pailin,” Sok says. These former Khmer Rouge politburo members, pushed on in their losing war from their border hideout.

A Buddhist memorial for those murdered at the caves

With the war dragging on, in 1996 Ieng Sary and 3000 of his fighters finally defected from the Khmer Rouge, making their own separate peace with the Cambodian government. It was a giant leap towards ending the war. That separate peace didn’t keep them from being arrested later though. All three of these communist radicals ended up in a Phnom Penh prison, on trial for genocide at the Khmer Rouge Tribunal.

Even though Ieng Sary went to prison and died during his trial, his family still has some power in Pailin. Sadly, his son Ieng Vuth is now deputy governor there. They still have influence in Battambang too. “Nuon Chea family have house in Battambang,” Sok says. “He from rich family.”

Our tuk tuk passes a tree covered hill with a Buddhist pagoda and stupa visible at the top. This is Phnom Sameau. I'd like to go up for a look, but Sok stops me. What's up there is a very sad memorial. “This killing field too,” Sok says somberly. “They have one cave for adult, have one cave for the children. (Khmer Rouge) kill baby with rock. The other cave for the parents. I don’t like see that."

What Sok is trying to tell Me, is that he doesn’t want to go to that horrific place again. I don't blame him. I’ve already seen too many cracked skulls and human bones at other killing fields during my stay in Cambodia, so I agree to travel on. We continue in our tuk tuk, heading down the bumpy dirt road. Next stop: the scenic, and tragic site of Kamping Poi.