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.

AMAZING ANGKOR WAT

Stone sentinels on the causeway, leading to the famous Angkor Temples

The kingdom of Angkor was once the greatest empire that Southeast Asia had ever known. Their lands included not only Cambodia, but what are now parts of Thailand, Laos and Vietnam. They were a culture far ahead of their time, accomplished in architecture, engineering, irrigation and agriculture. 

Recent history during the Khmer Rouge era was a low point in Cambodia, but through it all the glorious sights of Angkor survived the wars, survived communism, survived the jungles, survived the ages. Long unknown to the outside world, these wondrous Angkor temples are again open to foreigners like me. 

On this tropical day, I’ve departed Siem Reap, an unromantic town that is awash in hotels, restaurants and bars aimed at tourists. Fortunately, the town is far from the temples. I've rented a tuk-tuk and driver for the day, and headed out to the temples to explore. I won't be disappointed. 

Archway used by royalty to mount elephants!

On my way into the temple complex, my tuk-tuk crosses onto a long causeway bridge. The railings on both sides are like those I’ve never seen. Each is formed from a long line of ancient stone statues. Stern warrior faces are topped with Khmer headresses. The long snake-like railing they bear has broken off in some places. Some of these statues have been decapitated by looters, in years gone by. 

Reaching the end of this bridge, I'm met by an amazing archway of stone. At the top, enormous faces look out from three towers, as if keeping watch over all who enter. This high archway was made for elephants! Used by Angkor royalty, the king and his family used to mount and dismount elephants from the steps beneath the arch. Elephants still occasionally walk through here today, though most traffic passing through these days are tuk-tuks and bicycles. As I pass through, I look up to see numerous bats clinging to the high ceiling. Like most of Angkor nowadays, there are more animals here in this ancient city than anything else. 

Continuing on through the jungle, we soon reach my destination, and I leave my ride. My eyes widen, and I stare. 

Angkor Wat! 

I gaze at a wonder of the ancient world. It is the unmistakable outline of Angkor Wat, the largest religious building in the entire world. It's spectacular, awesome, stunning, mind blowing. The Angkor temples are one of those places, where adjectives are insufficient in describing them. Angkor Wat is so synonymous with Cambodia, that this temple is on the country's national flag.

Amazing Angkor Wat, the largest religious building in the world

Approaching the complex another causeway leads me across an ancient man made lake, arriving at a stone entranceway. A doorway between two stone pillars leads inside. I notice some lightly colored dots and marks to the sides. These were bullet holes from the war years, only recently filled in with cement. Renovations are still underway. 

The doorway takes me through the outer wall of this grand complex, and onto a long stone walkway. Angkor Wat is directly in front of me in the distance. It’s blazingly hot! It’s afternoon, and the tropical heat is at it’s peak, easily over 90 degrees. I’m unfazed though, since the heat at this time of day will keep away many tourists. There are some visitors about, but not the masses that will be here for sunset. It’s a long hot walk; seems a mile. But it’s fitting for me to walk this way. It is better to approach Angkor Wat just as its pilgrims did centuries ago, on foot. With each step, the great 12th century edifice grows larger in front of me. 

Remains of a brightly painted interior hallway, the whole temple was once this color

Finally arriving at the temple itself, I climb the steps and walk into the cool shade inside. 

Along the interior, there is a noticeable splash of color. The exterior is all dark stone, but here I see the originally painted colors. These pillars still have patches of dark crimson. As magnificent as this temple looks now, I can only imagine how Angkor Wat must have looked back before the paint started to fade.

There are many great carvings upon the walls. Common among  them, are the Apsara nymphs. These female Apsara dancers are depicted performing their graceful dances in front of the Khmer king. They wear shapely outfits, low cut skirts, tight tops, and ornate headdresses. Some have mysterious smiles. 

There are few statues to be found in Angkor Wat, and I soon find out why. Coming into one hall, I find many Buddhist statues. Most have been decapitated, by looters, or by the atheist Khmer Rouge. With so much else to fill the senses here, the lack of statues is hardly noticeable. 

Monkey resting in temple shade

There are many faces, friezes and bas reliefs all over the walls, along with the stunning architecture. I find a long covered walkway in the back, with a bas relief stretching the entire width of the temple depicting a religious scene from antiquity. It’s crowded with carved Hindu deities, royalty and mythical figures. Gods, chariots, and soldiers, with fighting depicted. Like many of the Angkor temples, Angkor Wat was originally made for Hindu worship, and converted to Buddhist use later. 

As I walk along, I notice a stray dog far ahead of me, and it walks out a corner doorway. Taking my time, I finish my stroll admiring the huge bas relief, until I walk out the same door. 

I freeze in my tracks. That wasn’t a dog walking in front of me, it was a monkey, and a big one at that! It’s now only two steps in front of me. Brown with a long tail, and white fur on his chest and neck, it’s a macaque monkey. He’s seated, resting in the shade of the entranceway. 

Upon seeing him, I jump back with a start, and he glares up at me, perhaps annoyed that I’ve disturbed his privacy in the shade. He turns, walks down the steps, and makes his way across the grass before disappearing into the jungle. 

Before it gets too late, I take my leave of this magnificent place. 

Buddhist monk walks in Angkor Wat

On my way out, I head down the walkway from whence I came. A Buddhist monk slowly walks towards me, on his way to the temple. He wears the simple orange robe and sandals that all Buddhist monks wear. The only thing modern about him is his orange umbrella, which is  shielding him from the hot sun. 

As these temples were once a place of conflict, I'm glad that they are once again a place of peaceful religious worship. Angkor Wat is now a place loved by many; both tourists and Buddhists alike. 

Apsara dancers on the temple walls

PORT TOWN REVIVIVING

Coco House in the coastal town of Kampot, Cambodia

I’m taking an after dinner stroll down an old Asian riverfront. It’s dark and quiet; few are out walking this evening. Along the way I pass old French shop-houses, they’ve been uninhabited for years. Once stylish archways and pillars are now in gradual states of decay. Where bright yellow paint shone, it's now dingy and peeling. These used to be prestigious river side homes, businesses that brought important foreign trade into Cambodia.

This is Kampot, on Cambodia's southern coast. The Prek Kampong River flows through town, emptying into the nearby Gulf of Thailand. Kampot was once Cambodia's principal port. But when the larger port at Sihanoukville opened in the 1950's, this small town's importance rapidly declined.

Now these former buildings of commerce are empty; decaying and dilapidated. Weeds out front grow high through cracks in the sidewalk. 

There are lovely old French colonial buildings in town, but like these many are idle and deteriorating. Some are unoccupied and boarded up.

Dilapidated shop-houses on the river front

Fortunately, Kampot has been reviving. As I stroll further up Riverfront Road, I pass restored restaurants, and cafes. In recent years these have been renovated and reopened. Here diners are seated on sidewalk tables, with palm trees surrounding them. Redevelopment downtown is ongoing, though progress is slow. There are no crowds of customers out tonight; unlike Sihanoukville, Kampot has not capitalized on the rising tourist trade. But that's why some of these foreign folk have come here. It's quiet and serene, with scenic views and fresh seafood.

As little known as Kampot is today, it was once known as a center for one of the world's favorite spices. If anyone wonders what unique and quality product Cambodia provides to the world, the answer is: pepper. Kampot was known for exporting pepper to foreign markets as far back as the 13th century.

“Kampot pepper is the best in the world,” a lady drink seller told me. She’s right, and the Khmers aren't the only people who believe this. So do the French, and of course they know good food. Kampot's pepper was preferred by France’s gourmet chefs. During colonial times, all the best restaurants in Paris had pepper from Kampot on their tables.

Up until the radical Khmer Rouge halted all pepper plantation production, pepper was one of the country’s largest agricultural exports. At the height of production here, the fields of Kampot Province had more than a million peppercorn plants. With the Khmer Rouge gone, local farmers are growing peppercorn again today. Kampot pepper is once again gaining international prestige.

Tasty fish cakes for dinner in Kampot

Further down the river front,  I come to the town's oldest bridge. Crossing the Prek Kampong River, it leads right into the town's center. 

It's dark now and hard to see, but if you look at this bridge in daytime, it’s a rather bizarre looking structure. Parts of the bridge are old, parts are new. As far as construction styles go, there are not one, not two, but three different styles of bridge construction evident here! The oldest section has large arches, with steel support beams rising overhead. But two adjacent sections are basic flat bridges, with two distinct sets of support pillars descending into the riverbed.

This oddity is another legacy of the Khmer Rouge; the old bridge was destroyed during the war. Afterward, rather than tear it all down and rebuild it from scratch, they had to reconstruct it using what remained. I don't blame the engineers, as poor as Cambodia is, it's a wonder they were able to rebuild it at all back during that turbulent time. Having seen the three different building styles, I wonder, was this bridge destroyed more than once? 

Daytime view of the river. The old bridge beyond, destroyed during the war, has been rebuilt.

Winding up my riverfront walk, I go from the old, to brand new. Pounding music and flashing lights announce a disco. I've arrived at “Alaska Super Club”. It’s the only new building I've yet seen in all of Kampot. Cheesy neon signs show figures of female dancers. This gaudy night spot is out of place on this otherwise rustic riverfront. It's a weeknight, so they don't have much of a crowd. I decide not to pay a cover charge for a near empty club, so I turn back. 

I chuckle at the name: 'Alaska Super Club'?? I don’t think I’ll see Sarah Pailin and her brood walking in here anytime soon.

I head back to my hotel, avoiding some stray dogs on the way. Beyond the bridge and the river, loom the nearby Elephant Mountains. The most notable of these, is Bokor Mountain.

I’ve never climbed a mountain before, but I'll be climbing it tomorrow morning.

FLOODING AND BATHING IN PHNOM PENH

Driver pushes his tuk-tuk through flood waters in downtown Phnom Penh

It's night time downtown, and I'm getting an evening view of the riverfront. It's not late, so its safe enough to walk. There aren’t many people about, just an occasional passing tuk-tuk, a 3 wheeled taxi. While walking past a parked van, I see an unexpected sight. There in the shadows behind the van, a Khmer woman was bathing. Illuminated by a streetlight, she was squatting down, taking a bucket shower, wearing nothing more than a pair of shorts! 

Although momentarily stunned, I continue walking, hoping not to embarrass her. Seeing me, the lady bather turns away, pulling further back into the shadows to finish her ablutions. 

In the remote countryside some Khmer women bathe in this manner, since they lack plumbing. But I certainly did not expect to see a woman bathing nearly nude right in front of me in downtown Phnom Penh. 

Cambodia is just full of surprises. 

* * * * *

Flooding happens every year during the rainy season

It's another day in downtown Phnom Penh, and walking out my hotel's door I find it's raining. That’s not surprising, since it’s rainy season, but it’s been raining all day long. 

Water everywhere is rising. On both sides of this downtown street it's almost up to the curb, although a strip in the middle of the road hasn’t flooded yet. This isn’t clear rainwater, it’s brown as it flows by. That’s a bad sign; it means it’s flooding in from somewhere else, and I see where. On the street corner, water is flooding up and out of the city sewer!

An occasional motorbike rider drives by, braving the dirty deluge. Even wearing a raincoat, these are days you don’t want to be out riding a motorbike. These streets are already accident prone when dry, when wet, they're far more slippery on two wheels. 

Walking two blocks down, the water is rising even higher, peaking at a busy intersection. In the middle a car has stalled, after it tried to plow through the floodwater. A tuk-tuk driver is pushing his vehicle through the high water on foot. 

Surrounding businesses are faring worse. Floodwater has risen high enough to invade their front doors, flooding their shop floors. I watch as the shopkeepers scramble, putting all their merchandise on tables and shelves above the flood waters. 

Finally, the punishing rain stops. The backed up sewers reverse, and the water level on the street finally drops. This problem isn’t a rare occurrence either. I ask my hotel manager about the flooding, and she says to me, “This happens every year.”

With all the years of war and poverty in Cambodia, it's not surprising that there has been little work done to maintain or improve the city sewers. I learn a major drainage project funded by the Japanese government is underway to stop Phnom Penh's seasonal downtown flooding. This new drainage system may stop the floods, at least that’s what Khmers are hoping. 

MARKET MAZE IN CAMBODIA

Downtown market in Phnom Penh: an assault on the senses

This place has the air of a Hong Kong action flick.

It’s dark, cramped, hot and steamy. Countless shop stalls are crowded together, one after the other in a dimly lit maze. As I walk narrow passageways, I have to keep ducking down to avoid striking my head on overhead beams. A lady vendor I pass points to my head, and then to the low ceiling. She smiles, and her neighbor laughs at me: a tall, out of place foreigner.

I'm in Kandal Market, a Khmer market in downtown Phnom Penh. This is no tourist market either, it’s locals that throng here. Not surprisingly I'm getting curious looks, as few foreigners venture into this maze. Unlike Americans, most Khmers stay away from supermarkets. They find their food cheaper, and fresher, in neighborhood markets like these.

For a westerner, a walk through this Southeast Asian market is an assault on the senses. The biggest assault is the smell. With rotted food on the ground, poor drainage, and little ventilation, it takes some getting used to if you want to walk through it without holding holding your nose. The odors are even worse after it rains.

The colors on the other hand, are the most pleasant. Despite the lack of hygiene, these are still the freshest fruits and vegetables in the city. After properly washing and cooking your purchases at home, this can be one of the best meals you’ve ever had at such a cheap price.

Dark market interior, with makeshift roof

The stalls are beyond cramped, they're packed together in claustrophic conditions. Still you have to admit, there's a real energy about it, you can almost feel it in the air. With the tight quarters, some fear pickpockets, but that’s reasonably rare. Armed robbery is even more rare. For one thing, most of the shoppers, and the shopkeepers, are women. They all look out for each other as well.

There is no single rooftop covering this market. Overhead the roof is as chaotic as the layout of booths below. It’s a patchwork of corrugated metal, plastic sheeting, and different colored tarps stretched every which way. Some gaps are filled with cardboard. Old tires lie atop some sections to keep them in place.

A strange sight in the market are miniature beauty salons. These have a chair or two, or sometimes just a stool. Like ladies anywhere, Khmer women want to look good. For women that can’t afford a real beauty salon, they come here, to these tiny beauty booths.

Walking on, I pass a line of seamstress booths. It's rather dim; there are no electric lights. Somehow even in this dim light they are able to make dresses. Their sewing machines are not electric either, but powered by old fashioned foot pedals. These skilled ladies make dresses as though this is 100 years in the past.

I pass a foursome of ladies seated around a tiny table, playing cards. One is simultaneously having a pedicure done. I recognize these ladies from their work in the food stalls, and with lunchtime over, they have some time to relax.

There is plenty of clothing for sale, mobile phones, and pirated music, but most shoppers are here for the food. As this is Cambodia, you'll find food here you'll never see in your local supermarket. There are freshly fried bananas, and fried frogs. Some regions of Cambodia are known for fried spiders, but I don't see any today. There's fresh fish from the Mekong, and saltwater fish brought from the coast. Another passageway sells incense and fresh flowers, next to a fortune teller.

Some stalls sell durian. For those not familiar with it, durian is the most 'aromatic' fruit in Southeast Asia, and not in a good way. You can usually smell durian before you see it, even when it’s still growing on the tree. It has a rather nasty ammonia like smell. Cut it open, and it gets even worse. It took me years to gather up the courage to finally taste durian for myself. Surprisingly, that horrid smell does not match the taste, which is reasonably pleasant.

Live chickens for sale, tied together by their feet

There is also live poultry for sale. Several stalls sell chicken, available three ways: cooked whole, plucked but not cooked, and live. At one stall, a chicken butcher is cutting the chickens necks, and draining their blood. Beside him, another vendor takes groups of the freshly slaughtered chickens by the feet, and puts them in large pots of boiling water for a couple minutes. This makes it easier to pluck their feathers.

I've spent time on farms before, but I've never seen live chickens treated like this. I’m surprised to see numerous live chickens not in cages, but lying in piles on the ground or on tables, lumped together. At first I wonder why they don’t get up and walk away, until I see that all the chickens are bound around their ankles, three of them tied together. Unfortunately, it’s the lack of hygiene and unsafe handling practices in Asian markets much like this, that led to the spread of bird flu to humans.

Further on, tiny restaurants and food stalls are packed tightly together. Customers sit on small plastic chairs around metal topped tables. Cooking over electric burners, charcoal stoves, and even over open fires, they serve up Khmer food, such as fried rice, plantains and chicken. With conditions so cramped here, the market is a bit of a firetrap, as some Southeast Asian markets are. Years back in Hanoi, there had been a market fire disaster in 1994 that killed five people.

Not long ago, some Cambodian markets sold weapons. AK-47s, pistols, even grenade launchers were available with the right connections. Fortunately, those booths have been closed. With increased police enforcement, (corrupt as they are) and with successful disarmament programs, most weapons are finally off the market.

Heading home, I find piles of garbage from the market covering nearly the width of a nearby street! There's only a narrow path through the middle to walk through, as the city has yet to implement timely trash collection. Much of the garbage dumped here is organic, and the stench is overpowering. A Khmer with a deadened sense of smell is standing in the middle, picking up trash with a pitchfork. He tosses it high into a commercial garbage bin, which isn't big enough. Not 20 feet away from this mess, an ice vendor cuts through a large block of ice, and sells it to a customer. (Now I know why I was sick after drinking an iced drink in a cheap local restaurant.)

Walking by these markets at night is eerie, as there's little light. One night I saw how local market security works: to keep their sales items safe from theft, some vendors pull a tarp over their tables, and sleep on top of their goods. The usual scavengers also slink about: RATS! Rodents are common around the market at night, and with so much discarded food around, rats grow big here. I've seen some as big as cats. Worse, at night they have a nasty habit of running right in front of your path, or around your feet, as you walk by their hiding places.

Hoping to keep rodents as far from me as possible, I developed my own rat alarm to warn them away. Whenever I walked by the market in the evening, or down narrow alleys, I simply clapped my hands loudly. After doing this, I often saw rats scurrying away ahead of me, before I became uncomfortably close. I swear by this method.

MEETING A BUDDHIST MONK

Young Buddhist monks (photo:Wikipedia)

Although much of Cambodia’s cultural heritage is decaying, one important part is thriving: Buddhism. Much like Vientiane, numerous Buddhist temples and monasteries, (wats) are all over Phnom Penh. There are more than I can visit, and they are grand. Cambodia may be a very poor country, but you’d never know it by looking at their Buddhist temples. They are far more elaborate and grandiose than those in neighboring Vietnam.

In recent years, many new Buddhist temples have been built, and old ones are being restored. The French may have brought Catholicism here, and the communists brought atheism, but Buddhism survived them all.

Tonight, a friend is introducing me to Cheuh, a 24 year old Khmer with a different view on life. Originally from Kampong Thom in the countryside, he has lived for years in Phnom Penh. Cheuh loves books, and has a real thirst for knowledge. He speaks a fair amount of English that he learned back in school. His occupation, is a common one in Cambodia.

Cheuh is a Buddhist monk, and he’s been one for ten years.

We’re meeting Cheuh at Wat Sarawan, a monastery and pagoda downtown. As we enter the living quarters, it resembles a dormitory. Curious monks look at me as I walk down the hall; once again I’m venturing where few white people go.

We walk in, and Cheuh gets up to shake my hand. Short like most Khmers, his head is shaved, and he wears the bright saffron orange robe that all monks wear. I already saw many more robes hanging out to dry on clotheslines in the hallway.

Buddhist temple on the Mekong River

Cheuh shares this small room with another monk. He invites me to sit on his small twin bed, while he sits across from me on his roommate's bed. He apologizes for the room’s size, but I say it’s no problem. This is about the size of the dorm room that I occupied for two years back in University. The shelves above his bed are loaded with books, in both Khmer and English.

As we chat, more monks gather in the doorway, curious about the tall foreign visitor. Many monks come from poor families; it’s likely they don’t understand my English. I ask Cheuh how many more monks live here in this large dormitory.

“Wat Sarawan have 200 (to) 250 monks,” he tells me.

Like all monks, 24 year old Cheuh leads a strict, celibate lifestyle. His is the monastic life, even more conservative than that of Catholic priests. Buddhist monks in Cambodia neither smoke, nor drink. They are not allowed to touch women at all, not even to shake their hands. If a Khmer woman hands a glass of water to a monk, it is common for her to place the glass on a plate first. This manner respectfully avoids physical contact.

Statues of Buddha in a temple (photo: Wikipedia)

“Is it difficult for you to lead a life, with no touching of women?” I ask curiously.

His answer to me is a bit evasive. “The rule,” he says, “I respect.”

Back when the Khmer Rouge were in Phnom Penh, Cheuh wasn’t here, but he knows all about it. “They don’t like the Buddhism,” he says of the radical communists, “they hate (it).”

Cheuh relayed to me how when the Khmer Rouge took over the city, they immediately invaded all the Wats. “They make the monk leave the pagoda,” he said, speaking of the forced exodus. “Go work in the field, feed the animal(s).”

The violently atheist Khmer Rouge targeted the wats, pagodas, and the monks too, aiming to eliminate all facets of Buddhism. 

“Some of the pagoda, they destroy,” Cheuh told me of those terrible days. “Some monk, they kill.”

But for Buddhists, everything is temporary. After the war ended and the Khmer Rouge were demobilized, many of their former fighters returned to their Buddhist faith. These killers had returned to the very religion, that they had once been ordered to destroy.

Like in Catholicism, I’m learning that forgiveness is also important in Buddhism. Among the world’s religions, Buddhists are certainly among the more tolerant that I’ve met. Cheuh and I briefly discuss other religions, and he says, “Buddhist, Catholic, Islamists, we can respect other religions.” Indeed.

A Buddhist spirit house

As it’s getting late, I thank Cheuh for his time, and take my leave. As I head for home, I ponder the simple, yet admirable life that Cheuh and other young monks are leading. Their life seems to be totally detached from the rat race that us westerners know too well. Beyond his books he has few possessions, yet he truly seems to be content. Just by speaking with Cheuh, I felt a sense of calm, an aura of peace.

So much of what I’ve heard about Cambodia before I had came here was negative, and I’m pleased that I’ve seen a new side of the Khmer spirit. The chaos of the capital and the government corruption may have blinded me during my days here. True, I'd seen corrupt policemen with AK-47's, shaking down street vendors. I’d also seen politicians with too much power shut down entire streets, simply so that their motorcades could pass at high speed. They are all chasing the dollar, all pursuing more power.

With all these pessimistic scenes, I had forgotten that most Cambodians don’t live solely for those worldly, empty pursuits. The tenets of Buddhism remain a part of that honorable culture.

It’s been refreshing to get to know Cheuh tonight. He represents the real spirit of Cambodia, far more than those in power.

FOREIGNER HITS ROCK BOTTOM IN PHNOM PENH

I awaken in the “Indochine 2”, a curious name for a hotel, since nobody refers to Southeast Asia as Indochina anymore. It’s a comfortable place in downtown Phnom Penh, easy on the wallet, and only a block from the Tonle Sap River.

Decaying downtown building where 'Broken Bricks' was located

It’s a lovely day outside, and I check out the scenery outside my window. Pulling back the curtains, my entire view is taken up by a large old French colonial across the street. This was once a beautiful building, but no longer. The French shutters, detailed ironwork, and stylish balconies are all seriously decayed. Many windows are broken. The faded yellow structure is mostly abandoned. Except for one apartment holdout and a cheap ground floor restaurant, this old shell sits dark and empty.

The humble little restaurant has a history of its own. It used to be a bar with a rather unusual name: “Broken Bricks”. The former owner of this bar spent years in Phnom Penh, and his story is worth telling.

'Steven' was from England, and first came to Cambodia back in the 1990’s, a time when Cambodia was even more lawless than it is now. Steven liked to party, and he fell in love with the place. He also fell in love with a local Khmer woman, and they eventually married.

One tragic day, a grenade was thrown at the house of his neighbor. It exploded outside, and a piece of shrapnel penetrated his home, and struck his wife, killing her. Attacks such as this to settle scores were common here in those days. Predictably for Cambodia, the killer was never caught.

Despite this tragedy, Steven didn’t leave Cambodia. He still liked the place, and he opened a bar known as the “Peace Bar”. His establishment became very popular with the expatriate community, and for some time business went very well.

Steven also began his own personal program of disarmament in the city. Back then there were many machine guns and other weapons left over from the war, that were now in private hands. As the weeks passed, Steven found himself in possession of a sizable cache of small arms. Then the Khmer police found out about it. His storage room was raided, and all the weapons confiscated. Steven was arrested. Eventually, after a great deal of explaining, he was released. The police kept the weapons.

Of course, Steven was no weapons dealer. He was planning on hauling all the guns out to an open field, dumping them in a pile, pouring on gasoline, and setting them all ablaze. (This had been done with other disarmament programs.) He just hadn’t gotten around to the bonfire part yet.

As years went by, it became apparent to Steven’s friends that he was enjoying himself far too much. By this time, he had become a drug addict.

“Too much ‘yaba’, one of his Kiwi friends said, referring to the local slang word for crystal methamphetamine.

Trying to stay in the bar business, he opened “Broken Bricks” in this dilapidated building across the street from me now. But this bar was very small, and business faltered. His Kiwi friend complained that when he stopped at the bar for a drink, they didn’t even have any beer.

Then one night, things finally went too far. While working at Broken Bricks, an argument with his Cambodian waitress escalated into violence. The fight escalated, and eventually his angry Cambodian neighbors jumped into the fray. If this angry mob hadn’t been stopped, they would probably have beaten Steven to death. But he was pulled from the melee by acquaintances and the police. He was arrested, and finally put in jail.

Upon examining his passport, police discovered that his visa had expired years ago. Since he was an almost broke drug addict by this time, he didn’t have the money to pay a lawyer to try and get him out of this legal mess. After a month in jail, his remaining foreign friends in Phnom Penh took up a collection. His ‘fines’ were paid, and they bought him a one way ticket back to England. He was then deported. Last heard, he was wandering the streets of Birmingham.

Steven’s story is not unique. There are occasionally foreigners who come to Cambodia, and they get completely caught up in a free for all of excess. They party far too much, they stay far longer than they should, and sooner or later, they hit rock bottom. Some of them are now in prison. Others end up dead from drug overdoses.

A cautionary tale, he is one that got out alive.

UNWANTED NIGHT VISITORS

Parts of Phnom Penh sorely need better garbage pick-up

It's evening in downtown Phnom Penh, and I'm walking home along the quiet river front. For some reason, some rube dumped a pile of garbage right on the roadside just ahead of me. 

But this doesn't get my attention. Further ahead, I see a group of tourists approaching. As I tread ahead, I squint, trying to see the group of foreigners clearer. That's when I reach the garbage pile, and I instantly realize that I’m looking in the wrong direction.

The pile of garbage, now right next to me, is MOVING! In the dim light large spots move about the refuse, and now that I've arrived, they quickly scatter.

RATS!!

There must have been 20 of them. Big ones too. In a flash they abandon their dinner on the trash heap, and scamper in all directions. For the most part the rats run away from me, all except for one. For some reason, one of the large rodents runs straight at me!

The kamikaze rat runs right towards my feet. Shocked and surprised, and not knowing what to do, I begin hopping from foot to foot, hoping the vermin won't run up my pants leg. My jumping around from one foot to the other, must have looked like the bizarre dancing of a madman.

The brave rat runs into the darkness, and I stop jumping around. The tourists, which I had been staring at before, are now staring right at me! From that distance in dim light, they weren't close enough to see the rats, but they easily saw this tall white man jumping around like a maniac on a downtown street. They must have assumed I was stoned on drugs.

Catching my breath from my close encounter of the rodent kind, I cross the street embarrassed, and continue my trek home.  

* * * * *

Window screens are not just foreign to Southeast Asia, they’re almost non-existent. Culturally they never caught on, and they’re too expensive for the average family here. Khmers like the fresh air, and their windows are usually left open.

However this lets in not only the fresh air, but also other unwanted guests, like mosquitoes. This is one reason why malaria and dengue fever are health problems in the region. But I would soon discover that insects aren’t the only unwanted visitors that enter these open windows.

Mice, the unwanted urban visitors (photo: Wikipedia)

One night returning to my hotel room, I walk into the bathroom. Flipping on the light, I'm startled to see rolls of toilet paper lying on the floor. Hmm… that’s strange, I think. Last I saw, those rolls of TP were up on the shelf, next to the open window.

That’s when I spot something in the toilet.

A mouse!

He’s still alive too. He’s hanging on at the front of the toilet bowl, with only his face and front feet above the toilet water. He’s also staring right at me.

Apparently the little rodent had came in through the window, and hopped up onto the toilet paper on the shelf. Somehow, they had all came tumbling down, leaving the TP on the floor, and the mouse in the toilet bowl.

I’m in no mood to deal with this, so I go wake up the hotel clerk, to have him take care of this problem. Soon the clerk comes up, and I show him the little intruder. The clerk ponders a few moments, closes the lid, and flushes the toilet! That wasn’t what I was expecting.

The clerk opens the lid, and surprisingly, the mouse is still there!

He flushes again, and still the mouse survives. That mouse is one strong swimmer.

Giving up, the clerk leaves to get the security guard. Thankfully, the guard has a better solution: he removes the mouse by picking it up with a plastic bag around his hand. He then disposes of the critter by taking it outside.

I’ve seen plenty of rodents before in Southeast Asia, but in a toilet??!!

RICH WEDDING IN A POOR NEIGHBORHOOD

Weddings are glorious occasions, even for the poor(photo:Wikipedia)

A wedding is always a great way to experience local culture, so when I was invited to a Cambodian wedding, I quickly accepted. Since the groom's family is of limited means, I’m not expecting a fancy wedding. But I will be surprised by what I experience.

I’m told that a 'taxi' is picking me up, but upon arrival, it turns out to be a small motorbike. I should have guessed that, since there are few automobile taxis in Phnom Penh. I climb onto the back seat, and we motor off to the northern suburbs.

The reception is located in a neighborhood where the groom has family, and on arriving, I’m rather surprised at the exact location of the festivities. I was expecting a poor neighborhood, but this is the first time I’ve been to a wedding reception located on a road. Right in the middle of a dirt road!

A wedding canopy with tables and chairs, is taking up most of the roadway. Walking closer, I spot a security guard sitting off to the side, cradling an AK-47 rifle. Hopefully, he won’t have to use it tonight.

The canopy is very colorful, made of bright red and blue fabrics, decorated with balloons. Beneath the canopy are wedding sights familiar to my western eyes. A lovely cake. Fancy tablecloths. An enormous sound system. Golden chair covers, which stretch all the way to the ground. 

Just a few steps from the canopy and tables, are railroad tracks! The train hasn’t run here in years, so curious neighbors not invited to the wedding are sitting on the tracks, in shorts and t-shirts, watching the festivities as spectators. A scratchy stray dog joins them. Beyond the railroad tracks are small neighborhood houses, crowded tightly together. Some of these homes are merely shacks. There is little open space here; that’s one reason why the wedding reception is on a dirt road.

To the other side of the wedding canopy, what’s left of the road is still open to traffic. It’s not busy, but as I watch a motorbike buzzes past, followed by a cart, squeezing through with a load of pigs. Beyond the road is a swampy pond, with old plastic bags and litter lying about.

A Khmer couple takes pre-wedding photos at Angor Wat (photo:Wikipedia)

Glancing around at the well dressed wedding guests is a total contrast to the humble surroundings. What a sight!

The ladies are all done up in marvelous formal dresses. Women’s formal wear in Cambodia is much more colorful, bright and festive looking than western fashions. Each dress is one solid, bright color, and many have elaborately decorated trim. Scanning the crowd, I see many colors of the rainbow. Most guests aren’t rich either, but even poor Khmers usually have one elegant dress for these occasions.

The male guests are dressy, but more conservatively casual. Most wear formal trousers, and a dress shirt. With the evening’s tropical heat and no air conditioning, a suit and tie would be very uncomfortable here.

Entering the canopy, I’m greeted by the wedding party, and the bride is absolutely stunning. She looks like a Khmer princess, or even a queen. Her wedding dress is absolutely fantastic, Tim Gunn would approve. It’s bright blue, with a silver sash, and gold trimming throughout. There is nothing gaudy about her ensemble, it gives an air of royal finery. The bride’s hairstyle is equally fancy. Her coiffure has a reddish tint, pulled up with loops and curls, with a matching hairpiece filling out the back. Her lavish hairstyle must have taken a couple of hours to complete. It’s topped with something that looks like a cross between a tiara and a crown. 

Her two bridesmaids stand next to her attentively, looking like ladies in waiting. Unlike in western weddings, here it’s the bridesmaids wearing white. To the other side of the greeting line, the groom’s outfit is also traditional and fancy. As is true with most cultures, the groom’s wedding garments are not as flashy as those of his beautiful bride. He has a red silk shirt of Asian style, with black trousers. He looks like a young, 19th century Khmer prince. The groomsmen at his side wear similar apparel. The whole wedding party gives me a traditional Khmer Buddhist greeting. (Both hands with palms together in front, with a slight bow.) I'm handed a key chain as a wedding souvenir.

Dinner is a delicious four course meal; Khmer rice, chicken, and beef, all with various Khmer sauces. Dessert is sticky rice, and of course the wedding cake. Following dinner, the happy couple exchange their rings. Then the groom kisses the bride on both cheeks, which results in great howling by the guests. Public displays of affection are rare in Cambodia. Then the two leave to change out of their royal outfits, returning in a white wedding dress, and a white suit and tie, just like in a western wedding.  

The dancing begins, with the sound system blaring Khmer love songs and local pop music. Everyone dances Khmer style, which is different from western dancing to say the least. Khmer dancing is not partner dancing at all, it looks similar to Tai Chi. Their traditional dancing involves slow, rythmic walking movements. Rather than an open dance floor, the group circles around a central table. There is lots of rolling of the wrists with outstretched fingers, and I recall that they look like traditional apsara dancers seen on old temple wall carvings. As the hours go by, the young wedding couple changes outfits again, this time into party dance clothes suitable for clubbing.

Beer and mixed drinks flow through the night. As the hours pass, shirtless children from the adjoining neighborhood dart around the edge of the wedding canopy, collecting the empty beer cans to recycle. I’m struck by the extremes of luxury and poverty I’m seeing, which are packed literally right next to each other. Nobody seems to mind, and neither do I. The wedding couple aren’t rich, but for tonight, they certainly are. For one night only, they have become royalty, and the guests and I have been honored to be their court. This wedding may have been in a very humble neighborhood, but they have truly given me a night to remember.

I’m more impressed tonight, than I was when I visited the royal palace. 

SWEDISH PIRATE IN CAMBODIA

Media pirate Gotfrid (photo:Wikipedia)

I’m having lunch in a riverside restaurant bar; one of the more expensive places that caters to foreigners in Phnom Penh. Despite the pricey menu and atmosphere, a small cockroach runs across my table. 

Well, they don’t have regular health inspections in Cambodian restaurants, so it’s no surprise really. Rather than kill it, I take a deep breath, and blow it off the table onto the floor. Maybe these peaceful Buddhists here are starting to rub off on me. 

As I eat my sandwich, in walks a very white European, with a long, uneven red beard. A young guy, he looks like he’s still in his 20’s. Taking a seat at the bar, the American bartender and owner walks up to greet him. 

“I saw you on CNN,” he says shaking the bearded one's hand. Upon hearing that my ears perk up; I figure he must have an interesting story to tell. I’m not disappointed.  

This fair skinned young man is Gotfrid Svartholm, and he had just flown in from Sweden this morning. He also happens to be one of the founders of an infamous internet website, by the name of ‘The Pirate Bay’. Following in the tradition of Napster, Gotfrid and his friends had created a file sharing site for exchanging and downloading movies and music, for free. 

Their website became so popular providing free digital entertainment, that it was soon targeted by American media companies. Since his website brought no royalties for the movie and music companies, it violated the copyright laws of numerous countries. Their offices were eventually raided by Swedish police, and shut down. 

“They filed a $15 million dollar lawsuit,” Gotfrid told me. Their case had been all over the news. 

I'd heard Cambodia was one of the few countries in the world, where fugitives from the law had come to hide out, and now I'd met one! But I wasn't expecting a fugitive to be as personable as Gotfrid. He’s a friendly, pleasant guy. Except for his teeth, he certainly doesn’t seem like a pirate, 

He's not living life under the radar either, he opened an IT company here in Phnom Penh, “I’m glad that copyright laws are not enforced in Cambodia,” he tells me. 

Finishing his lunch, he says goodbye to me. He has to go get some sleep after his long flight. I think I would have a hard time sleeping, if I was facing a $15 million dollar lawsuit. 

Sometime later, I learned that Gotfrid was arrested, and extradited back to Sweden. He and three others were found guilty of collaborating to violate copyright law. They were sentenced to one year in prison, and collectively fined $3.6 million. 

Apparently foreign fugitives are no longer welcome in Cambodia. 

JACKIE KENNEDY ONASSIS DRANK HERE

Elephant walks in traffic in downtown Phnom Penh!

Walking out of a riverfront café, I’m confronted by an unusual sight: an elephant standing on the street corner before me. That’s right, a full grown Asian elephant, looking just as though he stepped out of the pages of the Jungle Book. I’ve seen these in more appropriate Southeast Asian locales, but what’s an elephant doing in downtown Phom Penh? 

The great animal had nobody riding him, and looking him over, I saw no saddle or adornments. The only extras that he wore, were circular wooden plates strapped to his soles. These kept his feet from burning on the hot pavement. 

Nobody except me seemed to even notice his presence. His only company was his Khmer handler, standing by his side. Dwarfed by the heavy beast, I watched as the handler prodded him with a pole. Following his command, the out of place pachyderm curled up his trunk, stepped off the sidewalk, and headed off into busy downtown traffic. He didn’t even gather a crowd. While motorbikes and cars passed the massive animal, their drivers didn’t even pause to look. The handler and elephant got as much attention, as a boy out walking his dog. This elephant was just another slow moving vehicle in downtown Phnom Penh.

Looking to escape the downtown myself, I scan the streets for a ride. Rather than a beast of burden, I choose a more common means of local transport, a tuk-tuk. This half-bred vehicle is a cross between a motorcycle in front, and golf cart in the back. Here these take the place of taxis; a rarity in poverty stricken Cambodia. 

Overweight monkey eats at Wat Phnom in the city

The driver hops in front, the undersized engine sputters, and we’re off into the downtown maze. Like everything else in Phnom Penh, city traffic has gone through several revolutions. On my first visit here a few years ago, noisy motorbikes ruled the streets. Back then downtown boulevards at rush hour were so thick with buzzing little motos, that crossing the street was a frightening experience. But automobiles have slowly come back, and are more common these days. Predictably, larger vehicles mean worse traffic. Toyotas are taking over the roads, along with the odd Mercedes driven by the elite. 

Taking me to the northern side of Phnom Penh, my tuk-tuk driver weaves through afternoon traffic, on a road curving around the city’s highest hill. It’s this hill that gave the city it’s name centuries ago. 'Phnom' translates as ‘hill’, and local legend says that a Madame 'Penh' once found four Buddhist statues over by the Mekong River, and placed them up on this overlook. There’s been a Buddhist temple (called a 'wat') up there ever since. 

Turning away from Wat Phnom onto Street 92, I’m on my way to another icon from the city’s past. Arriving out front, I approach the archways of a hotel. As I walk through the entrance, I feel like I’ve just stepped back in time. 

Jackie Kennedy visited in 1967(photo:Wikipedia)

The doorman greets me, wearing the traditional costume of a Khmer royal servant. Wearing a smart white coat, his ensemble is topped by a golden hat with a pointed spire at the peak. A musical trio entertains in the lobby; the flute, clarinet and cello play soft music from a bygone era. A European gentleman with a bushy moustache and silver handled cane, reads documents at a nearby table. The décor and architecture are all French. Much like in Laos and Vietnam, the influence of the former colonial masters is evident. It was as though I've just walked into a movie from Cambodia’s French colonial period, while the trio plays the movie soundtrack. At $300 a night, you too can have the colonial experience.

The Hotel Le Royal first opened in 1929, and is Phnom Penh’s oldest surviving hotel. It was also it’s much prestigious. This is where the rich, famous and powerful stayed in the capital. Silent film star Charlie Chaplin stayed here, along with the famed writer W. Somerset Maugham. Seeking more history, I enter the Elephant Bar – perhaps named for the elephant figures woven into the carpeting. Taking a seat at the bar, I glance around. The Elephant Bar is not especially grand, but hotel bars never are. I’m searching for the aura of notalgia, but there’s not much colonial feel in here anymore, except for the wicker chairs. 

I order a draught beer, from the same bar that once made Jackie Kennedy a champagne cocktail. The famous former First Lady stayed here in 1967, when she was on her way to Angor Wat. Word is that they kept the champagne glass that she had drank from here for years; complete with her red lipstick marks. 

Where rich and famous stayed, Le Royal is city's oldest surviving hotel (photo:Wikipedia)

As the years passed and the war in Vietnam spilled across the border into Cambodia, this bar became the place to be for expats looking for inside information. Diplomats, journalists, spies and the usual suspects used to meet here during the early 70’s, reporting on the ebbs and flows of the conflict. Information exchanged here led to headlines around the world. Pulitzer Prize winner Sidney Shanberg spent time here, and his experiences with his local fixer Dith Pran later become a book and movie. “The Killing Fields” brought the world’s attention to the genocide wrought upon the Cambodian people. 

Shanberg’s buddy John Swain wrote his book, “River of Time”, about the last days of this hotel before the city fell to the Khmer Rouge. As time grew short and rebels encircled the city, rooms on the top floor were available for only $5 a night. The cheap rate was only available because the Khmer Rouge were rocketing and shelling the city, so nobody wanted to sleep under a rooftop. Anyone sleeping on the top floor was the most likely to get killed during those final turbulent days. 

Back when the rebels took the capital in 1975, Le Royale was shut down., and Khmer Rouge troops moved in. What had once been the most glorious lodging in the land, had become the barracks for Khmer Rouge Battalion 310. Eventual peace and the return of foreigners saw the hotel reopened years later. After several name changes, renovations in 1997 sought to restore Le Royale to its former colonial glory. It’s now owned by the same company that owns the famed 'Raffles Hotel' in Singapore. 

There aren’t many foreign reporters in Cambodia anymore, but with the US embassy just down the street, diplomats still stay here. While seated at the bar, I spot a pair of them sitting nearby: two American government officials meeting with Cambodians. I start eavesdropping on their conversation, and I catch the phrase, “The US government does not” – but I miss what the diplomat says next. I wonder how he finished that sentence. Listening further, I learn their conversation is nothing secret; they’re only talking about an education project. Still, given the history of this Phnom Penh hotel, I wonder how many times that very phrase has been said in this bar before... 

I finish my beer at the bar, and head back out into Phnom Penh traffic. There's still much to see in this intriguing city.