Phnom Penh was a bit of a shock to the system. Unfortunately there is a seedy side to the city. I won't go into detail but at any one time there is a surprisingly high number of single middle aged caucasian males in town.
We were lifted however, by a happy coincidence. It transpired that we had arrived as the biggest festival in the Cambodian calendar was about to kick off. As we sipped frozen Daiquiris on a rooftop bar (treat day), below us, vast crowds stretched for miles along the banks of the enormously wide Mekong River. One of the main events was a Dragonboat tournament involving 400 dragon crews from across the country. These slender vessels are seriously lengthy, each carrying some 50 oarsmen. The event made the annual Oxbridge fixture look like an inebriated water boatman and a rather maladroit nymph going for a lazy afternoon jaunt in a drainage ditch.
The Water Festival boasted endless market stalls offering a plethora of weird and wonderful food stuffs. I noted a few Phom Penh delicacies and I shall now do my best to describe them in layman's terms:
- Genetically modified fried insect pick&mix selection
- Fluorescent green horror sausage
- Bulbous 'Bush Tukka Trial' larvae
- Pizza-base-like disc of glued together shrimp. No toppings. Adhesive unknown
- Spherical mystery meat skewer
- Desiccated flat fish alien, in grey
Last night we had a lock-in at Salty Dog Tattoos, an ink parlor owned by one of Grace's old school friends. Coincidentally, one of the other twenty something expats I got chatting to used to work for Cambodia Daily, the very same recently shut down independent news outlet I mentioned in my last post. As a journalist working in 'a secret dictatorship' George knew his stuff and clearly enjoyed delivering a detailed, if a bit slurred, account of Cambodia's recent history. He also gave me the inside scoop on the incumbent despot, Hun Sen, who recently imprisoned the leader of the opposition and passed a massively controversial law allowing his ruling party to dissolve any opposition party. One last fact: He also happens to be the world's longest ruling Prime Minister. Not a good sign.
Sadly, what I gleaned is that as the West has little interest in the country, economically or strategically, our media largely doesn't bother with its plight either.
Update: at midday today the Cambodian Supreme Court officially ruled in favor of
the government actually dissolving the opposition party, accusing them of plotting to overthrow the government. And yes, the supreme judge is a friend of Hun Sen's. So this court decision has effectively ruled out a democratic vote in the 2018 general election. Just imagine for a minute if Theresa attempted to disband the Labour Party.
Thought of the Day:
One of Grace's favourite funnies is literal or simply incorrect translations in foreign menus. 'Fried Species', 'Special Porn', and 'Filed Rice'.
What are these meals!?
I particularly enjoyed the mental image of the latter option. Presented on a bed of old office filing cabinet etc.
Our visit to the Killing Fields was, as expected, a difficult experience however an absolute must. The brutality and inhumanity of the Khmer Rouge regime is incomprehensible. S-21 was the Rouge's answer to the Nazi's Colditz Castle, soon becoming Cambodia's most infamous high security prison. Thousands were tortured and executed here. A former secondary school in the heart of the city, S-21 was turned into a museum within a year of the Vietnamese army's "liberation" of Cambodia and as such it persists as a 1979 time capsule, well insulated from modern Phnom Penn. Ominously, its 1960s brutalist architecture is prophetically prison-esque in appearance; something in the plan-view symmetry, the layout of its four constituent four-storey teaching blocks-cum-prison wings. Such a sinister place. I shall never forget it.
We left questioning how on earth intelligent people like Pol Pot and his inner circle can become so deluded and lost in their ideological fantasy that they actually think they can turn an entire country upside down and establish an 100% self reliant agriculture-lead utopia, founded on the deaths of 2.5 million of its own. It beggars belief. Pol Pot and his Khmer Rouge brethren were spot on about one thing though, the international community would largely turn a blind eye.
The restaurant opposite our hostel is simply named 'Come Here'. Bold, authoritative, instructional, brilliant. And no question mark, the audacity, I love it. Needless to say we went there, ate there and never returned. This most genius of names now portraying more of a desperate plea for patrons.
Critter Watch:
Not technically a critter but cockerels are everywhere, even in the city centre. Charging around, looking strange and flirting with the local chicks. It struck me that, as a true urbanite, I all too easily forget that the common male chicken can sport some surprisingly exotic plumage. And what on earth is going on above the shoulders? I wouldn't be surprised if there is an old Cambodian myth that describes the day Johnny Cockerel, with his beautiful floor length feather coat, took the forbidden grain from the forbidden grain silo. A divine being appeared and immediately struck him down with a wicked curse. Cockerels would forevermore retain their luxurious velvet smoking jackets but be born with a scarlet red sort of clitoral daysack attachment thing swinging beneath their chins. On top of that they would be given silly jesters hats and ferocious facial complexions. Oh and a lifetime flying ban to boot.
Harsh.
In my last post I wrote 'Angkor Wat could Koh Rong', with regards to our trip to the beach paradise of Koh Rong. Unfortunately these turned out to be famous last words.
- We arrived at our hostel only to realise that we had booked the wrong arrival day. We were a full twenty four hours premature. Not a great start.
- The whole village was booked up because of the Water Festival, however one guy offered up a spare room in a hostel closed for refurbishment. The shower wasn't plumbed in, he fleeced us on the price because we were desperate and later on, once drunk, he was quite rude. Even to the point where he aplogised for his behavior the following morning.
- Having arrived for our six day beach holiday with no cash we soon discovered that the island has no ATMs and the two restaurants which offer the only means of getting cash out charge a budget busting 10% commission. Sure enough, the web is awash with backpackers warning each other to take all your cash out to the island. Those who know me can imagine this was a particularly bitter pill to swallow.
- We trekked a few hours to a beautiful beach only to find it teeming with miniature stinging jelly fish.
- Both Grace and I caught a bug, which wiped out a couple of days.
- An enormous spider checked into our room uninvited. This led to hours of panic, sweating, hunting and then guilt. All on my part I might add, Grace is a grown up.
- Grace is the biggest book worm I have ever known and so to wake up one morning and find it inexplicably dead as a dodo was truly heartbreaking.
- It was overcast for all but one day.
Having said all that, of course we had an amazing time and met some fun people. Literally as we stepped off the ferry a rep invited us to 'the biggest bar crawl in Cambodia'. Being a couple of (former) seasoned Freshers Weekers, we signed up there and then. Richy Rich's* Crawl was complete with free vests, free people drawing on you and free drink spilt all over you at irregular intervals. 'Ooo I'm 18 again' Olly cried, brashly.
*Mr Rich looked about 40, however I estimate he was probably close to 28. A gaunt, lanky yank with <50% of his skin left untattooed. I couldn't imagine a time when Richy Rich hadn't been hosting a bar crawl.
We also went to the Full Moon party; fortunately a more modest affair than Thailand's original Ko Phangan behemoth. Five hours of Techno wouldn't usually be my cup of terrible, intolerable tea, however London's clubs don't have the luxury of an en-suite beach. Plus, pootling around in the tropical shallows at sunrise is magical. The perfect experience for one of romantic disposition.
The highlight of the week for me had to be our final day. 20 or so backpackers on an eight hour boating odyssey, with the sun braving a ridiculously belated appearance. The snorkeling sites were pristine and once darkness had fallen we apparently had ideal conditions (back to cloudy again) for a bioluminescent plankton swim. Apparently there aren't many places in the world where this phenomena occurs. Diving into the mysterious inky blackness was exciting enough but that immediately paled once we got under water. Every arm swing/ leg kick set off a chain reaction. Literally thousands of tiny fairy lights brightly glowing when disturbed. It was like floating in a Disney inspired corner of the cosmos. Amazing.
Tour rep Nemo encouraged me to dive down for optimum pyrotechnics. That was a disconcerting experience; swimming straight downwards into pitch black 20m deep water. In the moment I was more concerned with head-butting a reef shark than a light show.
Booking our bus to Kampot we didn't expect much from the understated company name, however the Diamond Limousine Express was actually not bad. Saying that, I do feel we were slightly mislead. Waiting at the bus station I was rather excited at the prospect of a jewel encrusted pimped-out stretch limousine. So yes I was disappointed when a clapped out, moth-eaten coach of 1970s vintage pulled up.
Thought of the Day:
I am really enjoying eating out. Since Heathrow we have had one solitary meal in. The other 100 plus lunches or dinners have been prepared to order. I feel like the relentlessly animated Rob Brydon in episode after episode of The Trip, with my dishy dining partner Grace Storm as Steve Coogan. Boy I would love to double date with those two. As in date both men concurrently.
Our first hostel in Kampot was cool but the second one really hit the spot. High Tide is situated upstream, a few kilometers out of town. The bar is literally on the river (raised up on stilts) with our thatched bamboo bedroom adjoining. As a result, one could wake up, open the door, shout a coffee order at French Andy (Frandy) and jump in the river all in one unnecessarily obnoxious move. Needless to say we extended our stay. Twice.
High Tide is nestled in a stretch of riverside jungle with no other signs of life in view. It's run by a bunch of real life 'dudes', who have an impossibly carefree attitude to life. The bar is home to an equally chilled pet troupe; three dogs, three cats, two geese, two ducks and a pig called Piggy the Pig.
Grace and I have since agreed that our favourite traveling day to date was Tuesday's High Tide group outing to a secret waterfall. At first I thought secret shmecret, it's just another tourist trap complete with ticket kiosk and loud obnoxious tourists. After all, Kampot's so called 'Secret Lake' is clearly mapped on Google. This however was the real deal.
Firstly I got to fulfill an adulthood dream of participating in a motorbike 'ride-out'. Our 10 strong moped convoy off-roaded through some pretty hairy terrain whilst I hummed the Sons of Anarchy theme tune and pretended our Honda Airblade was a Harley Davidson. Once the path became too narrow and rocky we ditched the wheels and headed into the jungle proper. Two and a half hours of scrambling, climbing and swimming then ensued, as we ascended up the steep river, pausing at each mini waterfall/ plunge pool for obligatory backflips. The climax was a beautiful river cascading down the front of a 10m tall chunk of red sandstone. I've never been somewhere that's felt so isolated and wild, or felt like such an intrepid explorer. A rain storm of biblical magnitude saturating everyone to the core only served to heighten the Bear Grylls factor.
It was an incredible experience, made all the better by the effort in getting there. Miraculously, Lola the hostel Pit Bull was there every step of the way, from riding the petrol tank of Frandy's dirt bike to the summit and back.
Critter Watch:
Suspected biscuit crumbs in Grace's rucksack result in a night raid by a local ant colony. By the morning thousands of the wee ones were hurriedly maneuvering bag detritus out of the bag and down the path. I'm a bit disappointed that we didn't witness the bag actually walk off to be honest. Why do we lie to our children with dangerously misleading cartoons?
One aspect of this country I didn't expect was the rather sour Chinese sentiment amongst expats and some seasoned travelers. Yesterday a middle aged Aussie labeled them predatory; casual xenophobia seems pretty rife. To be honest, having learnt so much of Cambodia's suffering these last few weeks it's hard not to get emotionally embroiled when you hear stories about China exploiting Cambodia's natural environment to fuel it's insatiable expansionism*. And how the biggest benefactors are Hun Sen and his deeply corrupt establishment.
Did you know, Hun Sen even has his own private army? A touch paranoid perhaps?
*yes I know I'm a child of the biggest empire in human history.
Our final night was an early night for an early start, however I shouldn't have bothered. Metres away the bar played endless minimalist Techno till late and someone was banging an African drum ever so slightly out of time for what seemed like hours; pure torture. I imagined myself sitting bolt upright, palms over my ears and screaming in a cartoonish fashion.
Ok guys, it's our final night at High Tide, it's 2.30am and I'm live streaming my thoughts. I usually write my blog posts with hindsight, on bus journeys but this time, it's realtime. I'm the hottest I've ever been and for the last two hours I've been scratching a number of itches on average once every five to ten seconds whilst Grace sleeps, silently, arrogantly immobilised just centimeters away. Completely unaware of my perpetual fidgeting.
In a Critter Watch special we are now live from the scene. Earlier I constructed an impenetrable slash very penetrable (critter dependent) mozzy net cocoon around our bed. Mozzies, beetles, roaches and (crucially) arachnids, no. A few determined bitey ants, yes. In this creeping state of delirium I have identified four distinct types of itch:
- Ant induced
- Swinging fan air flow tickling my leg hair (a bad time to be covered in a million exterior nerve endings)
- Fan causing mozzy net to gently caress feet. Our bed is weirdly short
- Repetitive heat itch (this is a new and very irritating dermatological phenomenon for me)
Ok so it's the next day and I have just read back what I wrote last night. I agree, it's a bit weird.
I'm going to leave it in.
Grace has just taken possession of her replacement credit card. This is splendid news. Having said that I'll have to stop referring to myself as 'Master of Coin', which is a shame.
I do miss Game of Thrones. What will I do when it ends? Discuss.
Cambodia Summary:
Lovely people, horrible past, uncertain future. Sadly the current political trajectory has civil unrest written all over it. Although having said that it will probably only take a popular uprising to topple this (excuse my français) nasty piece of work.
Thanks again everyone for tuning in. How is cold old England by the way? (Olly laughs heartily).
Saying that, we did both admit to missing Bonfire night. I mean emotionally, not literally. It's likely one of us would have noticed had the other popped back to London for a night of razzle dazzle .
Next stop Vietnam.
Regards,
Oliver Brown.
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