FRENCH GHOST TOWN

Deserted French colonial resort community atop Bokor Mountain

I'm standing in the middle of a ghost town. A very empty, very eerie, ghost town. It's a French ghost town at that. I may be in Cambodia, but all these dark old buildings were built by the French colonials. 

It’s very eerie up here. I look around at the old buildings, and decide this 'hill station' was poorly named. This was once much more; a glorious colonial hill top resort. But no any longer, it's been abandoned for decades. 

Old concrete colonial buildings in various states of decay lie by a small mountain lake. By the placid waters, a two story hotel waits to receive guests that will never come. A larger building beside it housed a restaurant and night club. Beyond the lake are even more derelict buildings, including an old police station. Between them all, uncut green grasses are swaying in the cold mountain wind. 

After a strenuous seven hour hike up the mountain, I'm here to explore this place. The Bokor Mountain Hill Station was first constructed back in the 1920's. Given the tropical heat and lack of air conditioning in Cambodia then, this cool highland spot was built as a weekend getaway for French colonists. It later expanded, to include a casino. The decaying French architecture that I see everywhere, has an air reminiscent of the long gone roaring 20's. 

One of the few colonial era churches left in all of Cambodia

Closest to me is a Catholic church, with a cross reaching from the tower steeple. Heading up the hill, I enter. More chapel than church, this is one of the few old Christian places of worship left in Cambodia that was not destroyed by the Khmer Rouge communists. (Even the historical Notre Dame cathedral in the capital was leveled by the radicals.) Catholic priests that were found by the Khmer Rouge were executed, as were many Buddhist monks. After the communists' fall, the Buddhist faith recovered, but Christianity has not. The % of Christians left in Cambodia is now lower than before the Pol Pot years. 

Surprisingly, the church is relatively intact, save for graffiiti on the yellowish interior, and a hole in the wall used for a gun slit during the war. The old altar still remains. I wonder how many happy couples were married here. Since the main attraction at Bokor was the casino, I wonder if this chapel was used to marry young couples, much like the chapels in Las Vegas. 

Exiting and descending the hill, I look back up at the old church. My view is clear until moments later, a smoky mist comes across the sky behind the church. The mist parts around it and passes over it, giving an impression of spirits flying out from the church. An eerie feeling, an eerie sight. 

Ruins of the French colonial post office (click to enlarge)

There's much more to explore, so I follow the ridgeline road towards the cliff, rising up the hill to the resort’s peak. I find a shell casing on the road; it’s small in size, probably from a pistol. There is more evidence of violence on the building right in front of me. 

The Bokor Post Office is a reddish two story building, curiously large for such a small mountaintop community. It won't be handling any mail anymore. One whole corner of the building has been blown away, due to fighting that took place here between the Khmer Rouge and the Vietnamese Army. Bullet holes dot the exterior. The fighting here was fierce. 

Not all of the destruction here was from the Vietnamese fighting to dislodge the Khmer Rouge. The first conflict up here took place way back in the late 1940s. Back then anti-colonial Khmers known as the Khmer Issarak, (Free Khmer) charged up the mountain to oust the French colonists. 

Bokor Casino during colonial days

Passing the post office, I continue up. There were many landmines buried here during the war, and they've been cleared, (so they say.) Not taking chances, I stay on the road, and head for the largest building on the mountain. The once majestic, Bokor Palace Casino. This is nothing like a Vegas casino, but the abandoned palace is an intimidating structure. 

Approaching, it has a very forboding look. Four floors high, the wind is blowing mountain mist over it. Patches of dark orange paint have fallen away, revealing dark cement beneath. Dark green moss creeps across the exterior, looking for sunlight in this gloomy place. Grass and weeds grow from ledges. Even darker are the empty open windows, all broken or looted long ago. Their great black vacant spaces stare out at me like ghostly eyes. 

The spooky old abandoned casino today

I climb the staircase, and walk through the front doorway. I can almost hear the doorman from the casino's glory years: “Bon soir monsieur, bienvenue.”

Passing the vacant reception desk, I enter the largest room in the building. This was the casino. I can almost feel it: A luxurious weekend during the roaring 1920’s. French colonists in tuxedos, smoke cigarettes, and talk politics with the rich elite of Cambodian society. The roulette wheel whirrs, as gamblers try their luck at the tables. Their wives and girlfriends in the latest Paris fashions look on and gossip. Smartly dressed Khmer waiters bring around trays of champagne.The opulence, the luxury; this was the glory of French colonialism, an apt example of the decadence0 and opression of the time. 

Now the gaming tables are gone, along with every other bit of furniture. The casino is bare. The paint is faded or stained. I can hear the sound of running water, and looking up I see water lightly pouring in through the ceiling, leaving puddles dotted on the floor. The air is cold and damp, but there will be no heat coming from the empty fire place. The lavish lifestyle, gourmet French cooking, and high rollers are gone. The party’s over; the celebration of colonial life here is but a dim memory. 

Now looted, fortunes were made in the casino

I climb the casino's marble staircase to the top floor verandah. Looking out, just steps beyond this old ruin is a sheer cliff. The view up here is incredible. The drop is practically vertical, revealing a commanding view of the surrounding landscape. The plain far below the mountain is covered in a blanket of jungle, reaching the Gulf of Thailand beyond. Now I see why the Khmer Rouge fought so hard for this place. From this vantage point you can see any movement along the coast, whether by road or by sea. Well, at least they could see everything when the view was still clear. As I watch, a cloud of fog moves across my view, totally obscuring the scenery down below the cliff. 

With the wind and weather up here, visibility changes in seconds. These passing clouds are even more impressive outside the casino.You can be a hundred feet outside the front door, and watch the fog roll in. The mist grows thick and in seconds, the casino disappears completely from view. A minute later, the mist fades away, revealing the old palace again. It’s better than any TV magic trick. 

Walking the roof to the building’s west side, I find walls peppered with bullet pockmarks. Glass block windows are full of bullet holes from rifle fire. These are reminders of when the Vietnamese Army were here, blasting away at the Khmer Rouge. Fighting was heavy, until the radicals finally gave up and fled into the jungle. The Bokor hill station has been quiet and mostly abandoned ever since. Nature has gradually reinvaded the mountain top. Manicured lawns and landscaping have given way to lush green foliage and wildflowers. 

Rear view of casino, with young explorers sitting on railing

Nearby is a  rare sign of modernity up here in this ghost town; two new mobile phone towers. The mountain's altitude is appealing to cell phone companies. Phone towers aren't the only recent construction here. Just west of here, laborers are busy working today on a foundation. They plan to build a new '5 star' hotel and casino here, although there isn't a 5 star hotel in all of Cambodia. It’s an ambitious project that will take years.

It's beginning to darken, so I head to the only semi-modern building here that is actually inhabitable. The sign out front says: “National Protected Area Training Center”, the defacto hotel and ranger station, built with foreign aid money. It's where I'm sleeping tonight. 

My guide Tri leads our group in, and unfortunately for us, all guest rooms are taken by a Chinese construction crew. So our entire group is forced to bunk together in the ranger’s bedroom. I let out a groan; seven people will be packed into bunkbeds, in a small room with little ventilation. 

Casino looks over cliff to jungle below and Gulf of Thailand

After dinner, I lie down on my bunk bed. There’s no sheet, and the stench from the mattress is unbearable. I recall the words of the travel company clerk that sold me this trip. “Oh yes, first class accommodation. You have your own bedroom,” she promised me. I shouldn't be surprised, many third world travel agents, will say anything to make a sale. I politely explain my displeasure to my guide Tri, who apologizes. He can’t find me a sheet, but he does bring me a large clean towel. I lay it down on the offending mattress, and the stench is contained. 

Before going to sleep, our luck improves. Tri speaks to one of the monks from the monastery, and they have a truck leaving to drive down the mountain at 6am. We are welcome to ride along on the back if we want. Thankfully, my fellow trekkers vote to avoid the long sweaty hike back down the mountain. 

I lay down in the darkness, and slowly drift off to sleep. Tomorrow I'll leave Bokor, and I'll learn more of the compelling story of my guide Tri, a former soldier and survivor. 

The old chapel rises over the surrounding scenery.

Sunset on Bokor. Tomorrow I head down the mountain.

RELIGIOUS FREEDOM AND VIETNAM'S CATHOLICS

***Ever wonder what it's like for Christians living in a communist country? Read on below***

Good Friday procession during Easter week in Hanoi

It’s Good Friday, and Christians around the world are marking one of the holiest days on the Christian calendar. Standing in a crowd of Catholic faithful outside an old gothic cathedral, I’m watching a live depiction of the stations of the cross. The somber procession depicts the passion of the last days of Jesus Christ, as it gradually makes its way around the exterior of the sanctuary.

The elaborate procession includes costumed actors. A young man portraying Jesus wears a realistic looking beard, and bears a large wooden cross. Young Roman soldiers that accompany him, are dressed complete with Roman armor, and carry plastic tipped spears.

This isn’t an Easter week scene from the Vatican, or even from America. It’s in the ‘communist’ country of Vietnam, and this Christian procession is making its way around the dark stone walls of St. Joseph's Cathedral, in downtown Hanoi's old quarter.

Although the majority of Vietnamese are of the Buddhist religion, there are indeed Christians in Vietnam. The vast majority are Catholic, and in most cases they are given the freedom to celebrate their traditional sacraments. Unlike other French colonies in Southeast Asia, missionaries did have a greater degree of success in converting the Vietnamese here. When the French left in 1954 and the communists took over the north, many priests were imprisoned, and church property was confiscated. This led to a mass migration to South Vietnam by more than a million Vietnamese Catholics. As a result, these days there are more Catholics in Vietnam’s southern provinces, than there are here in the north.

St. Joseph's Cathedral in Hanoi, built in the 1880's by the French

Whereas China’s Cultural Revolution closed churches and practically outlawed religion for years, the revolution in Vietnam treated religion quite differently. Here the conflict between church and state was mainly over control of the church itself. That struggle continues today, mostly behind the scenes as the communist party continues to demand that the church be subordinate to the state. This contradicts most Vietnamese Catholics, who continue to believe that the church should only answer to the Vatican.

There are now more than six million Catholics nationwide, and while their numbers only add up to around eight percent of the Vietnamese population, their numbers are growing. With a shortage of churches in many areas, Sunday morning services are often packed.

These days most Vietnamese Catholics celebrate their faith without government interference, and on the surface, most parishes seem to run smoothly. But problems still continue in some areas, out of the public eye. Although freedom of religion is supposed to be guaranteed in Vietnam’s current constitution, recent years have seen further incidents of government repression against certain groups of Christians.

The procession concludes with a depiction of Christ's crucifixion on the cathedral steps

In 2010, a dozen Catholic parishioners were injured by police in Hanoi. They were trying to stop the police from using explosives to blow up a five meter crucifix on a hilltop cemetery.

Earlier in 2007, a dissident Catholic priest was tried and sentenced to eight years in prison. In addition to these events, religious unrest still occurs sporadically in the southern highlands. There demonstrations by Christians usually end in arrests, and there have been injuries and fatalities at the hands of the police. The power struggle goes on today, as the communist party continues its attempts to assert authority over church affairs.

Although problems between church and state continue, there are no problems outside of Hanoi’s Cathedral today. Atop the steps of the venerable cathedral, the Good Friday performers complete their procession, and the ceremony comes to a close.

As the Catholic parishioners begin to depart the church grounds for Hanoi’s streets, I notice a crowd of Vietnamese gathering around an older priest near the entrance. His vestments are somewhat more elaborate than the others. As I approach, he smiles.

“Happy Easter,” I tell him, as he shakes my hand.

I believe that I just shook hands with the Archbishop of Hanoi. 

FRIENDLY LADIES OF THE HIGHLANDS

A traditional 'rong' house towers over a Bahnar neighborhood in Kon Tum

It’s a sunny day here in Kon Tum in Vietnam's highlands, so I decide to take a hike about town. Reaching the edge of town I enter a highland community, and find a neighborhood very different from the Vietnamese. Most homes I see are less affluent than the usual brick houses in Kon Tum. These homes are wooden, and built on stilts. A tall rong house in the center rises high above the humble residences surrounding it. The highlanders have a saying about rong houses. “The higher the roof, the stronger the village.”

Some children in uniforms chatter away as they make their way home from school on the crumbling road I'm taking. A highland woman shuffles along slowly, with a handmade basket backpack hanging over her shoulders. Despite the sunlight, women don’t wearing conical hats for shade like the Vietnamese do. Most of their heads are wrapped in scarves. Curious children peer out at me from stilt house windows. Everyone here is darker skinned, and their facial

Bahnar woman with traditional backpack

features are different then the coastal folk. I can’t help but think that they resemble indigenous people I once saw in Guatemala. These people aren’t ethnic Vietnamese at all.

“Hello!” I hear from a long haired local lady, as I walk by a house doorway. I return the greeting, and I’m surprised to hear that the young woman speaks English fairly well.

I introduce myself, and ask. “What kind of people live here?”

“This Bahnar people”, she answers. Another of the larger ethnic groups, the Bahnar are thought to be the original inhabitants of the highlands.

“My name Luu,” she says, and then she introduces her approaching confidant, “My friend Ba.” I’m not surprised that I’ve met these ladies so easily, Kon Tum has the reputation of being the friendliest town in the highlands. There are many Bahnar in town, and they are not as shy as the Vietnamese.

The pair invite me into the humble home, which belongs to Ba’s family. I learn Ba will be enter university soon. Luu’s house is in a village an hour away, and she’s studying to be a teacher.
With no furniture in the room we sit on the floor, and Ba offers me juice. As I look around, I notice some pictures on the wall. An old black and white photo of a young soldier with a US made helmet stands out.

“He my father,” Ba says. “He with American Army.” I’m not surprised that she said he was with the Americans, rather than with the South Vietnamese Army (ARVN). Most Bahnar militia were trained by American Green Berets, and fought with them side by side. Her father passed away a few years ago.

Beautiful old wooden church of the Bahnar Catholic community

Back during the war, their families didn’t live in town, they lived out in villages. Luu described to me how her mother hid from fighting when the North Vietnamese Army arrived. “My mother, when (the North) Vietnamese come, they go down”, and then she pantomimes that they went down into tunnels. “Then they go away, they come (back) out.”
 
A US Army veteran I know, Phillip, had resupplied Bahnar outposts by helicopter. “They were good fighters,” he had told me. Among the American’s, the Bahnars had a reputation as being more brave than the ARVN. Thousands of Bahnars were killed during that long war of attrition. 

Luu said that many years after the war ended, Bahnar soldiers were offered permanent residency by the US government. Some veterans in her village left, and are now in America. But others lack money for the expensive paperwork, and remain.
 
Ba says some GI’s married Bahnar women, and took them to the US. She said, “Bahnar very much like American. American very much like Bahnar.”

I wonder how much of that has to do with religion. Although the Bahnar were historically animists, many were converted to Catholicism by the French. Few Montagnards (hill tribe people) are Buddhist, further setting them apart from the Vietnamese. Not far from this neighborhood is a magnificent old wooden Catholic church, where Luu and Ba attend services. With it’s dark wood and gold painted trim, it looks like its straight out of medieval Europe.

Another friendly Bahnar walks in the front door, and he shakes my hand. It’s Ba’s brother. I ask Luu how many siblings she has.

“Have eight brothers and sisters,” she replies.

“Wow!” I exclaim, “that’s a big family.”

Curious Bahnar children watch me as I pass by their home

Then Luu asks me, “You like to go see my village?”

I would love to accept her hospitality and go, except for two problems. For one, I have to hit the road in a couple of hours to continue my journey. But the other reason is that foreigners are not allowed in certain hill tribe villages without official permission, or a government guide. I might get away with it, but I don’t want Luu or her village to get into any trouble after I’m gone.

Instead of driving to her village, we opt for a walk in the nearby countryside. Leaving the Bahnar neighborhood, we're soon walking in farmer's fields. It’s a hot afternoon, and the two ladies cover their heads with coats to protect them from the blazing sun. Motioning to a cornfield Luu says, “This my family field.” They also grow rice, and manioc. Like most Bahnar, they don’t work in the city, most highlanders still work traditional agriculture.

Walking further, we reach the banks of the Dakbla River. They’d like to cross and show me the other side, but there’s no bridge. 

“Want to go swimming?” Dang asks. They mean swim across the river with their clothes on. Since the river is deep and I’m carrying a cell phone and camera, I decline. So we head back to town.

Like most Bahnar women, both Luu and Ba are quite short, and they can’t get over how tall I am. With my long legs, I have to slow down my walking pace for them to keep up. Since highlanders are generally shorter than the already short Vietnamese, I must seem like a giant to them.

“Oo, you very handsome!" Luu says to me, and her and Ba giggle.

Luu asks if I’m married, and when I say I’m single, Luu says, “You marry me!” Then she giggles again, and flashes a lovely smile. This is my first marriage proposal in Vietnam. Of course there are many women in Vietnam who would gladly marry an American as a ticket out of poverty. But I’ve only just met Luu today, she’s just kidding… or is she?

Scenic scene of Bahnar farmland outside Kon Tum, with the Dakbla River beyond.

It’s getting late. It’s time for me to leave Kon Tum, and I find myself lingering. Unlike when I was in Saigon or at the beaches, these two sweet young ladies didn’t try to sell me anything, didn’t ask me for money, in fact they didn’t ask for anything at all. They invited me into their home, gave me some juice, and showed me around their community. These are friendly highland folk, who have showed me some much appreciated hospitality.

As I depart, Luu waves to me and says, “See you again. Miss you!”

I was so touched, I really wish I could see them again.

DICTATOR'S LAIR

French tile in a bunker??

I enter a hidden passageway, and walk down dimly lit, gloomy grey steps. I’m descending into a deep, damp, underground hideaway.

Reaching the lower level, I walk down a quiet corridor. Walking alone, the only sound I here are my own footsteps. Looking down I’m surprised to see checkered French tile beneath my feet. Small fancy light fixtures are spaced evenly along plain white walls.

No money behind this bank door

The underground corridor leads me to a strong steel door. A wheel in the door’s center turns to lock it at four points, much like a bank safe. Stepping through, I walk deeper inside this hidden hideout, and the room opens up. I’m startled to find elegant, handmade wooden furniture. It’s a sitting room. Obviously this underground bunker with fancy furnishings wasn’t made for your usual cave dweller. This was made for a president. Or a dictator.

As the country turned against him, Diem hid down here

These tunnels were one of the last refuges of Ngo Dinh Diem, the former dictator/president of South Vietnam (aka Republic of Vietnam) who ruled after the departure of the French colonials. Atop these tunnels, is a rather drab French colonial structure that was once home to the Deputy Governor. When Diem took over from the French, he became the Catholic leader of a predominantly Buddhist country. Together with his brother, Ngo Dinh Nhu, they ruled the south with an iron fist. Corrupt and staunchly anti-communist, they oppressed, imprisoned or killed just about anyone who opposed them, whether they were communists, or Buddhists.

Diem survived a coup attempt in 1962 when his main office and residence, the nearby Independence Palace, was bombed by his own air force! Soon after that attack, the old building above me became Diem’s headquarters. In recent years it became the Museum of Ho Chi Minh City, but what’s most interesting here, is what they built beneath when Diem moved in.

Old Independence Palace, damaged from the coup attempt. (Museum photo)

When the strongman Diem moved his offices here, there were so many people who wanted him dead, that he ordered these tunnels built for his safety. They constructed six rooms in total, with one branch of these tunnels going all the way underground to Independence Palace. I’d love to see it, but that section is now flooded, and no longer in use. Diem wisely felt he needed the tunnels to escape, in case there was another coup attempt. It wasn’t long before he needed them. Less than two months after the tunnels were completed in 1963, there was another coup and Diem and his brother took shelter down here in these very tunnels.

Leaving the sitting room, I continue down the passageway. I discover it ends inside a blockhouse, complete with gun slits. Another steel door opens up to the outdoors. Climbing the steps outside, I find myself standing in the garden, behind the former palace. When Diem escaped these tunnels years ago, he fled to the other side of Saigon, taking shelter in a church in Cholon. Unable to garner any support to keep him in power, he finally surrendered. ARVN soldiers came and arrested him and his brother, and placed them inside an armored personnel carrier. As they drove them back into town, the two were shot and stabbed to death inside the vehicle. The coup was over.

Tunnels end in a garden blockhouse, complete with gun slits.

When the public learned that the two most feared and despised men in all of South Vietnam were dead, Saigon’s streets erupted in celebration. Human rights organizations cheered. Political prisoners were released. There was new hope for the fledgling nation, and the future looked bright.

But the success of the coup did not mean the beginning of stable government. In the next couple of years a series of power hungry generals and inept politicians ruled South Vietnam, and effective government remained elusive. The war in Vietnam would continue.