REBEL VILLAGE RECOVERS

***This post is dedicated to James R. Vallandingham. He enjoyed reading this blog.***

3 bridges right to left: 1 bombed out bridge, 1 under construction, and 1 temporary bridge

I'm heading out of the town of Neak Luong, cruising east down Highway 1. With no auto taxis in this part of Cambodia, I'm riding on the back of a motorbike taxi. It's not my preference, but there's no other option in this rural locale. With hot tropical air blowing in my face, we turn north, onto a bumpy dirt road. Out here in the countryside, away from the highways there are few paved roads.

Passing by rice paddies, we slow down to arrive at three bridges, all parallel to each other. The oldest bridge on this river is only ruined foundations; it was destroyed during the war years. We make a noisy crossing over metal planks, on a temporary one lane military style bridge. Just next to it, bare steel reaches up from the concrete supports of a third larger bridge under construction. Infrastructure like the new bridge is sorely needed in this poverty stricken province.

Before continuing on, I'm startled by a Russian made helicopter from Vietnam. It swoops low overhead as it flies eastward towards home. Young Khmer boys run up to the road, yelling at the chopper in threatening tones. Even though the war between the Khmers and Vietnam ended years ago, there's still a great deal of hatred directed at the Vietnamese.

We continue down the remote rural road, until minutes later arriving at our destination, the village of Svay Samsep.

Nakri at right, with her cousin

It's here that my guide introduces me to Nakri. Her name translates as a type of flower, which is fitting, since she's wearing a red flowered skirt. She's somewhere in her 50's, but she looks younger than her years. Her hair is styled in an old fashioned 1960's bob. Through her smile, I can see three gold teeth.

Nakri invites us to have a seat in the shade outside her village home. Over the next hour, her story unfolds. Like all Khmers who survived the war years, both Nakri and her village went through quite an ordeal.  

Back in the 1960's before the war, Svay Samsep was a quiet farming community. Nakri's family owned a lot of land, and her father was the village headman. As village leader, he was also loyal to King Sihanouk. When war came in 1970, and Sihanouk joined the Khmer Rouge, that meant that her little village joined the Khmer Rouge side too. Simple country people like Nakri knew nothing about communism. But just like their king, they were suckered into joining the Khmer Rouge. They had no idea that the genocidal communists would later destroy Cambodia.

As more Cambodians loyal to the king went to the countryside to join the fight, the nearby hills of Phnom Cheu Kach became a Khmer Rouge stronghold. I can see those hills today, and since they're close to the village, the war came to this quiet farming community. Nakri was in her 20’s, when her village was bombed for the first time.

“Afternoon bombing,” she tells me, “some people died.”

Over time, Svay Samsep and the surrounding landscape were hit with many B-52 strikes from the US  Air Force. The village didn't have many direct hits like the bombing that had hit Neak Luong, but there were many near misses. After one bombing close call, Nakri said that, “every building in the village had cracked walls.”

Some of the attacks lasted for hours, and this wasn’t just from aerial bombing, but from artillery attacks as well. Nakri recalls, “Sometimes  bombings were from 3pm, all the way until the next morning.”

Rusted tailfin from a 500 pound bomb dropped by a B-52 during the war

Walking towards her house, Nakri shows me a rusty, twisted tailfin lying on the ground. This is a tailfin from an American 500 pound bomb, dropped from a B-52 sortie during those dangerous days. There were so many B-52 air raids, that when the bombings finally ceased in 1973,  numerous large bomb craters remained surrounding the village. Later, Khmer Rouge executioners used some of these massive craters to bury corpses of those they murdered.

Even though Nakri's village had sided with the Khmer Rouge, that wasn't enough to save all of her family when the radicals took over. Nakri was sent to a neighboring province to work on a forced labor commune, and three of her seven siblings died during the Pol Pot years. They learned too late how the Khmer Rouge really were. 

Nakri's cousin, who is sitting with us, chimes in, “Pol Pot Regime, didn’t give us enough food.” Many who died during the Khmer Rouge years weren't just executed, others died from starvation.

Fortunately for Nakri, she had a skill the Khmer Rouge needed. “I know about weaving and sewing,” she tells me. 

That skill may have saved her life, as she no longer had to work slave labor in the fields. “Pol Pot people stop me farming, have me make krama,” Nakri says. The krama is the traditional red and white Khmer scarf, worn by all Khmer Rouge cadres. Today she's wearing a krama of a different style. It's checkered blue and white; she also wove it herself.

When the Khmer Rouge were forced from power, Nakri and her father returned  to their village. “When people come back, every village so quiet,” she recalled, “you could choose anywhere to live.” Many villages were virtual ghost towns then. But during that time it was also chaos. With no rule of law to protect them, Nakri's family lost most of their land. 

Hills where Khmer Rouge guerrillas once hid, are now used to supply construction sand.

Later Nakri's life took a turn for the better. After the Khmer Rouge were ousted, she married. Her new husband was a former student. Since he didn’t have any ties to the Khmer Rouge, he was able to become a police officer in 1980. He is now the village police chief.

In recent years, Nakri started her own business. As construction has picked up, she began selling sand to builders. I look over at the nearby hills of Phnom Cheu Kach. Even from here, I can see the yellowish scars of bare earth, where large sections of the hills were cut away. This is where Nakri gets sand for her business; her workers dig it out of the ground in that former Khmer Rouge stronghold.

Most of the massive bomb craters around the village are filled in now, as local farmers use the land for agriculture again. But her village still has a lot of unexploded munitions. Just last week, Nakri called up a demining group, asking them to come remove the bombs that still threaten their safety.

I notice Nakri still has short hair, rare for ethnic Khmer women these days. She wears the same bob hairstyle that the Khmer Rouge forced all women to wear back during their era of terror. Another remnant of those years, is her dislike for the Vietnamese, much like the kids I saw earlier.  

But overall, life has improved here for Nakri and her family. “My family is ‘normal’ now,” Nakri says. “With my husband as policeman, I don’t worry about anything.”

Hmmm... I wonder...  where did she get the money to buy those gold teeth? From her sand business, or from her husband the policeman??

FERRY TOWN BOMBED BY MISTAKE

Onboard a ferryboat crossing the Mekong River at Neak Luong

Neak Luong is a river town, a stopover for those seeking to cross the Mekong River. For travelers like me coming up Highway 1 from Saigon, this ferry town is a stopping point on my way to Phnom Penh.

The vehicle I'm riding in approaches Neak Luong, and as we cross the countryside outside town, I spot three large ponds from the roadway. The ponds are in a staggered line, surrounded by farming fields. These perfectly round ponds are much larger than similar depressions in the earth that I’ve seen before. That's because these ponds were formed years ago as bomb craters! They were formed by American B-52s.

The B-52 Stratofortress was one of the deadliest weapons of the Cold War era, a heavy bomber originally designed to carry nuclear weapons. A single jet could carry more than 100 massive 500 pound bombs. This high flying jet dropped its deadly cargo from 40,000 feet up, far too high for a pilot or bombardier to distinguish between friend or foe on the ground. This devastating weapon was built to fight World War III against cities in the Soviet Union. But here, it was unleashed on the bamboo villages and rice paddies of Cambodia.

Something that has been forgotten, after the US war in Vietnam ended in 1973, was that US bombing of Cambodia continued for months afterward. The total amount of bombs dropped here is almost beyond belief. From March of 1969 to August 15, 1973 when aerial bombing finally ended, 539,129 tons of bombs were dropped on Cambodia. This was 350% of the total tonnage dropped on Japan during all of World War II. For all of that tonnage, not all those bombs hit their intended targets, and these three bomb crater ponds are examples.

On August 6, 1973 the Cambodian government was fighting for its life against the Khmer Rouge. Neak Luong was an embattled garrison and ferry town, controlled by government forces. On that day, three B-52s mistakenly dropped their bomb loads directly on this government held town. 20 tons were dropped, leaving 137 people dead and 300 wounded. Most were government soldiers and their families. This deadly military blunder was exposed by New York Times reporter Sidney Shanberg, and depicted in the movie The Killing Fields. The tragic debacle that hit this town was one reason why the US bombing of Cambodia was finally halted for good only nine days later.

* * * * *

Swift boats like these reached Neak Luong during the US invasion of Cambodia (Photo: Wikipedia)

I return later to Neak Luong on a hot day, and sit down with my translator for lunch. This river town has few traces of the war years visible today; the downtown that was devastated by B-52s years ago has since been rebuilt. As I look around at the locals, I notice there are many Vietnamese here. Some have migrated up from Vietnam, to open shops and businesses in town.

I'm leery of unsanitary roadside food stands, so we step into a restaurant for a rice luncheon. As it turns out, it's not very sanitary in here either. While I'm eating my meal, some kind of animal dung falls from the ceiling, and lands on my wrist. Wiping it away, I look up at the darkened, cobweb covered rafters high above. I’m not sure if that was from a rat, a bat, or a lizard. Well, at least it didn’t fall into my food.

Paying our bill, we step out into the center of town fronting the river. As Highway 1 crosses the Mekong River here, there is no bridge to bring us across. Just like during the war, the only crossing today is by ferry boat. Now and then, that makes Neak Luong a very strategic place.

Khmer travelers wait for the ferryboat

Back in 1970, as the US military invaded eastern Cambodia, US forces came all the way here to Neak Luong. Since Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army (NVA) forces had found safe haven in Cambodia for years, the US military sought to destroy the communist bases and drive them out. American swift boats, and many other water craft (over 100 in all) reached all the way here to Neak Luong. Cruising up the Mekong River from Chau Doc in Vietnam, it took the first swift boats only an hour and a half to get here.

Once they arrived here in Neak Luong, they met little resistance. They went looking for the only ferry boat operating here then, as they suspected it of smuggling arms for the NVA. But the ferry was gone. Asking locals where it was, they revealed that the communists had scuttled the ferry in the river, trying to hide it from the Americans. They hoped to refloat it later after the US departed. The  submerged ferry boat was spotted by an airborne patrol; somehow they were able to see it through the Mekong’s dirty waters. The ferry was refloated, and then taken back to South Vietnam to deny the communists future use of it.

Decades after the war ended, there is still no bridge here. I'll be held up here in town for an extra half hour, waiting to cross by ferry. Just steps from the ferry landing, I spot an all grey stone monument made of two soldier's statues, from during the war years. But there is no plaque to explain its purpose. My translator explains, “Vietnam-Cambodia Armed Force military. They join together to kill Khmer Rouge.”

These two somber statues are facing towards Phnom Penh, as though they march there to oust the Khmer Rouge in 1978. The Khmer Rouge radicals battled the Vietnamese Army here in Neak Luong, but they didn’t hold them for long, and Khmer Rouge resistance collapsed. Maybe the Vietnamese would have captured Phnom Penh even sooner, if there had been a bridge here then to cross the Mekong. Then again, maybe the Khmer Rouge would have already blown the bridge, as had happened in the capital. 

Monument to fighters that ousted the Khmer Rouge

Oddly enough, high on a billboard overlooking this stone monument, is a picture of current dictator/Prime Minister Hun Sen, and some other 'Cambodia People's Party' leaders. 

After first fighting as a dedicated Khmer Rouge commander, he deserted them in fear, fleeing to Vietnam. 

Hun Sen later joined this Vietnamese invasion to oust his former comrades, and as a reward the Vietnamese government later helped elevate him to power.

“Hun Sen was installed by Vietnam,” a local vendor once told me. I'm not surprised by her view. Many Khmers still see Hun Sen as a Vietnamese puppet.

Finally, it's our turn to board the ferryboat. There are two running today, and ours is named “Vishnu”, after the Hindu deity. Each ferryboat is quite large; ours holds three buses, a couple of trucks, ten cars, many motorcycles, and pedestrians. Beggars and street vendors crowd the ferryboats too. When a bridge is finally built, the hordes of vendors and beggars will be the biggest losers. They mob all the buses and cars that line up waiting for the ferry, and then accompany them back forth across the river.

As we cast off and begin the crossing, I look upriver. Many businesses line the Mekong's banks, but one section is made up of flimsy shacks, built on stilts over the river. Since this is the rainy season, the river is rising. Already the water is dangerously close to the floorboards of some of these poor homes. If the river rises much higher, they could be swept away by the strong current.

Stilt houses of poor families are nearly flooded by the rising Mekong River

I ponder the future of this crossing. Having a sturdy bridge here over the Mekong is long overdue, it would increase the traffic flow from Saigon to Phnom Penh. There have been proposals floating around for years, from donors and businesses looking to build a bridge in Neak Luong.  

A recent proposal came from the Japanese government, to build a new bridge with foreign aid. But due to problems over purchasing the necessary land on the shorelines, and due to corruption problems, it didn't happen.

There will be a bridge built here someday. How long it will take before it finally becomes a reality?




(**POST STORY NOTE** - Sometime after I visited this river crossing, agreements were signed, and a bridge finally was built. I wonder how many bribes it took to pay off government officials to finally build it.)

BORDER BATTLES, CASINOS & MISSING JOURNALISTS

The 'Parrot's Beak' is on the Cambodia - Vietnam border

I'm standing in the extreme southeast of Cambodia, in Bavet Village, right by the border with Vietnam. This part of the country was known to US soldiers during the war as the ‘Parrot’s Beak’, an apt name for the shape of the border which reaches deepest into Vietnam. The tip of the parrot’s beak is only 35 miles from Saigon, which made this border a major smuggling route for the Ho Chi Minh Trail. A lot of blood was spilled fighting over this strategic zone, where communist weapons and troops flowed eastward to fight the Americans.

When the US war ended in Vietnam, that wasn't the end of fighting at this border. Soon the Khmer Rouge began raiding nearby Vietnamese villages and massacring civilians there, as they aimed to take back their former lands on the Vietnam side. That turf is what Cambodians call ‘Khmer Krom’, meaning Lower Cambodia. Their former lands used to reach across this border all the way to the South China Sea, and included the Mekong Delta. It's still shown on many Khmer maps as part of Cambodia today. 

Two of Pol Pot’s powerful inner circle were born in the Delta in Khmer villages, on Vietnamese territory. Ieng Sary, the Khmer Rouge Foreign Minister, and Son Sen, the Khmer Rouge military chief grew up there. Like Khmers living in the Mekong Delta today, they endured discrimination by the Vietnamese. This helped form their dislike for them, even though they were fellow communists. It was these territorial claims that led to war here after the US left, war between the Khmer Rouge and Vietnamese communists.

It was only a few years after the US left, when the Vietnamese Army invaded Cambodia on Christmas day in 1978, on this road where I'm standing. The former communist allies were 'comrades' no longer. This time the invading Vietnamese Army would overthrow the Khmer Rouge.

A 'Winn Casino' limousine by the border. Casinos have taken over the former battleground of Bavet.

As I leave the immigration post and walk into Cambodia, Vietnamese are still invading this border town today. Only now, they aren’t soldiers. They’re gamblers! 

Just steps away from the border itself, I find the Le Macau Casino, VIP Casino Hotel, King’s Crown Casino, Winn Casino Resort, Las Vegas Sun Casino, New World Casino, and finally the Sun City Casino. This former hick border town and war zone, has turned into a gambling haven!

“Vietnam people come here,” a Khmer tells me. Gambling is illegal for the people of Vietnam; a people culturally known for gambling. Enter the current Cambodian government, who built all these casinos only in recent years. More are under construction.

I walk into a couple casinos, finding them small and unrefined. Make no mistake, this is no Las Vegas. There are no elaborate stage shows or magic acts here. They may have pirated some Vegas names for these casinos, but the gambling is real enough. Well, at least these places are air conditioned.

I had already seen the ruin of an old French colonial casino, but these are totally different. The casinos here are obviously for the benefit (or to the detriment of) the Vietnamese. With most of the gamblers coming from across the border, staff here speak more Vietnamese than English.  Since casinos in Saigon are open only to foreigners, (and since Saigon is so close) Bavet is where rich Vietnamese go to gamble on weekends. One casino is literally right next door to the border crossing. Just take the first left after immigration. 

Besides these copycat casinos, there’s not much more to see in this small border town. Poverty is still evident, as run down shacks are situated right next to some casinos. There are a few passable guesthouses in town for those with a gambling itch that want to spend the night.

Poster for movie, starring Sean Flynn

As for food in town, most restaurants here cater to the many buses stopping for lunch. They roll into Bavet from Vietnam on Highway 1, before continuing on to Phnom Penh. On this very highway an unsolved American mystery began. It was here in April of 1970 where journalist and former actor Sean Flynn disappeared. The son of movie star Errol Flynn, Sean had turned his back on Hollywood, and proved himself to be a daring war correspondent. He had years of experience reporting on the Vietnam War, but in Cambodia, the conflict was different. In Vietnam, most foreign journalists captured by the communists were eventually released. But in Cambodia, most foreign journalists captured by the communists ended up dead.

Flynn had been traveling together with Dana Stone, a freelancer for Time Magazine and CBS. Missing here in Svay Rieng Province, they were captured outside the village of Chi Phan, just up the road from where I stand now. The two had crossed the border here in Bavet and headed up Highway 1 on motorcycles, only to be captured by the North Vietnamese Army’s 9th Division.

Years later, it was discovered that the two MIA journalists were moved north to Kampong Cham Province, and turned over to the Khmer Rouge. There the trail disappears. It’s believed that they were executed the next year. In recent years, a dig found bones and teeth that searchers thought may have been Flynn's, but DNA tests showed they were from a Cambodian. His remains have never been recovered. 

Flynn and Stone were only two of the 37 journalists who died during the war in Cambodia, while 33 other journalists died across the border covering the Vietnam War. 

Strangely, Sean Flynn became the single most famous person that was Missing In Action during the long war in Southeast Asia, and he wasn’t even a soldier. 

Memorial in Phnom Penh park for journalists killed in '70-'75 war

Flynn and Stone are among 37 journalists listed as killed in the war

THE SOLDIER THAT SURVIVED GENOCIDE

Sunrise over Bokor Mountain, a former battleground in Cambodia

Morning has come early, and I'm up before sunrise with the rest of my trekking group. Our Cambodian guide Tri has arranged a truck from the nearby Buddhist monastery to give us a lift, saving us a day long hike down the mountain we climbed yesterday. 

We ready our backpacks in the cool darkness, until the sun peeks over the eastern hills. Clouds hang low just above the range, leaving a long line of orange sunlight across the horizon, giving the appearance of a far off forest fire.

Soon the truck pulls up, and we climb on the back. The truck kicks into gear, and we are off down the dirt road. The sun gradually brightens the landscape as we descend the mountain switchbacks.

As we make our descent, I chat with our guide Tri. I learn that he has a fascinating story of survival!

Like most Khmers, Tri is small in stature, but lean and toned. His hair is black, though his slight beard stubble has touches of grey. With wrinkles round the eyes, his skin is tanned, from so much time backpacking up the mountain with foreigners like me. 

My war veteran guide Tri, a true survivor

He has a youthful air about him; and I tell him he seems younger than his 51 years. But he doesn’t agree.

“All the girls tell me, you old!“ He says. “You old man!” We both laugh.

Tri's youth had been promising. He attended university in Phnom Penh, studying French and Khmer language. As a youth he was one of the fastest runners in his class. No wonder he was able to walk so fast up the mountain with us. As a trekking guide he leads foreigners like me up and down the mountain, again and again. He’s a strong little man. His running ability also happened to save his life during the war.

“I had hard life,” Tri tells me. Like everyone else in Cambodia, the war brought tragedy to his family. Tri's father was a captain in Lon Nol’s army, so after the war ended his family was eventually targeted by the Khmer Rouge. His parents, his sister and Tri were arrested by 10 Khmer Rouge soldiers in Sihanoukville. Their hands were tied, and they were blindfolded. They were then led away to be executed.

After they were marched into countryside, he heard a gunshot. He pushed up his blindfold, to see that they had just killed his mother. Shocked, he also saw that there were no longer 10 soldiers surrounding them. “I look,” Tri told me, “I see only two young soldier.”

His odds had improved. Tri bolted, and ran for his life into the forest, where he hid in the thick brush. He returned later, to find the rest of his family dead.

With nowhere to go, Tri hid in the forest, living off the land. He occasionally was sick, from eating inedible leaves and fruit. But he still managed to survive, living the hermit's life for over a year.

Tri cleared hundreds of landmines from this ghost town atop Bokor Mountain

Then the Vietnamese Army invaded Cambodia, and he finally emerged from the forest. He joined their allied Cambodian army to fight the Khmer Rouge communists. “I was angry,” he says. That’s understandable, given what they did to his family.

For years, Tri fought the Khmer Rouge. Through a combination of rough English and pantomime, he showed me how they used to target the Chinese made tanks used by the radicals. As a tank approached their position, he would have one of his soldiers run across in front of the tank. When the tank turned to follow him, Tri fired a rocket propelled grenade launcher, hitting the tank in it’s more vulnerable side. He talked of dropping bombs into tanks, and making homemade grenades, and booby traps out of Coca-Cola cans.

Tri was injured a couple times, including from a small landmine. He tells me that when it happened, he dived to the side when it exploded. Somehow he didn't lose his foot. He showed me some scars on his lower leg, and he tells me, “My leg, it’s ok!”

As he was a good soldier with some education, Tri became an officer, and went to Hanoi to train for one year. After returning, he rose to the Cambodian Army’s equivalent rank of captain, commanding 200 soldiers.

Tri stayed in the Army for 12 years, but he grew tired of war. He tells me that he left the army, because he came to believe that the Vietnamese just wanted the Cambodians to kill other Cambodians.

He soon found a more productive job for his skills. He became a deminer for United Nations Transitional Authority in Cambodia (UNTAC). He even cleared  landmines and unexploded ordinance from the ghost town atop Bokor Mountain, which we were leaving now. He had worked the old French hill station for months, with a demining crew of 50 men.

I asked Tri, “How many mines did you clear up here?”

He thought it over. “Many. 400, maybe 500,” he said. That's a lot of dangerous explosives to handle.

Eventually the funding for demining ran out, and his UNTAC demining crew was disbanded. Since then Tri has lived mostly in Kampot, where our truck is heading now.

Tri the survivor has done pretty well for himself, under the circumstances. He now has a family with five children. Two of his kids are now working adults, so his burden is not so heavy these days. Tri is very much in demand as a guide, especially to climb Bokor Mountain. After we arrive back in town, Tri will spend the evening with his family. Then tomorrow morning, he'll be rested and ready to climb the mountain once again. He's so fit, he could almost run to the top if he wanted. 

Less than two hours later I’m back in Kampot. I bid goodbye to my amazing guide Tri. By afternoon, I’m back on the road out of town.

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.