I’ve been putting off writing about Cambodia for too many days now. I thought I would blog as I travel – that didn’t happen. I like to write, but had to desire to do so this time. Could it be the outcome of how I felt in Cambodia, or about Cambodia? Could it be the people that I met. Could it be the partying and socialising that took those evening hours away. Or maybe I was just recuperating from a very crazy Nov/Dec 05. I say a combination of all of the above. Here is why.
An Inspiration. Perhaps Not.
You hear endless times how a writer, poet, painter goes to a place and finds an immense inspiration in the beauty of a place and its people which make his artistic years most prolific. I found this inspiration in India. Cambodia however had the reverse effect. I’ve been pondering hard if I should deliver it so bluntly, and ended giving up subtleness, as this is my blog, not a Lonely Planet entry. My comments may be highly unfair, but reflect my personal feeling about the place. I’ve traveled a fair bit, love and understand Asia better than most western travellers, hence I let my gut feel take over.
In short, the devastation of the country caused by Pol Pot is immense and the effects omnipresent. People are extremely simple, mostly uneducated, yet very kind and forgiving. They crave knowledge. I met people at Prema’s college who travel for hours every weekend to attend classes. Pol Pot killed the entire intelligencia, sparing only the least intellectually-engaged. Every village has a squad of men with missing limbs. Many are harmless beggars in bigger towns, some get help from the various NGOs in form of prosthetics and skill training. People are extremely kind and happy given what they went through in only recent years. Sometimes I look at people – like a family on a motorbike, all squeezed up to fit in 5, kids in torn and dirty clothes, all in smiles. People here are happier than an average New Yorker. You can’t escape the pathos – the only books available on Cambodia are about the killing fields, child abuse, teenage prostitution, Pol Pot explained etc. I brought no book with me, and ended up buying none of those.
Another thing that struck me about Cambodia was the lack of a strong identity. The say Khmer food, Khmer massage, Khmer silk. Truth is, it’s all parts taken from either Vietnamese and Thai culture, with slight Chinese influences – in its cuisine, clothing, music. This is why Angkor Wat carries such huge significance to the Khmer people – this is the one thing that sets them apart from their powerful and intimidating neighbours. I also felt that people live in an inertia; take the fact that all fruits and vegetables are brought from Vietnam and Thailand.
Going Local.
I regularly ventured out to the local markets, first in Siem Reap, then in Battambang. I fear nothing, and love to try everything, so went for it. Had no idea what I ate many times. Thought if Raph ate a worm I gotta do the cricket – and I did (see pic). Very crunchy, slightly nutty, not disgusting at all. I ate many dinners just by grabbing food off the stalls, ordering by pointing at my neighbour’s bowl, standing and eating, making locals giggle. Most foreigners come and photograph the markets, dare not eat. This became part of my amusements, to look at the travellers’ faces and deciphering the ‘she’s gonna get soooo sick”. Never did. Loved it.
Later on, in the town of Battambang I did a one-day cooking course of Khmer food. We made amok, beef lok lak and a banana flower salad. The guy running the show is great – he takes us to the market, explains every peculiar looking item. Having lived in Asia for so long, there are still things I don’t know – like small round things in green curry are baby eggplants. Did you know it?
Doing what you can.
It makes you so angry that one individual could bring so much devastation to his own people. The number of handicapped people was making me tearful each time I walked back to my guesthouse – it was a prosthetics workshop and a training centre for the handicapped. So many young, capable men there, waiting to get their lives put together again. I was told by many not to give money, as the NGOs have a bad reputation. I had no time to figure out what else to get and how to organize delivery, so donated anyway.
I hopped around my room later that day to see what it felt like to have no leg. It felt terrible and enslaving.
I saw a blood-donation book at our guesthouse, so went and donated blood with Paula the following day. Offered them to take more, but they say I will collapse. Apparently you should donate 350ml only every 4 months (and 3 months for men).
On my last nite in Siem Reap, I had enough of partying and went to have a quiet dinner by myself. I sat outside, and left my banana-flower salad and a mango salad half-finished, together with an untouched bowl of rice. The little beggar boys were eyeing my plates, so I asked them to come over and help me finish the food (see pic). A French couple sitting diagonally across from me were visibly outraged at the prospect of dining in the company of beggars. They could only be upset for 3 minutes, as this is how quickly the food vanished from the plates.
People asked me how different this place and the whole experience from India. I think one thing people don’t realize about India that the society has a minimal support system – from the filthy rich, the good-doing, the god-loving or god-fearing for the pariahs and the under-privileged. I felt I saw far less of that in Cambodia - as if your own people where just left on their own all the way, as if they lived in too much of an inertia. Almost as if the responsibility of rebuilding the country lied with others.
Angkor Wat
What can I say – just go and do it. It’s worth it. It’s grand, it’s mysterious, it deserves large respect, it’s full of surprises and moods that no lens can deliver. There are ways to avoid the crowds – just avoid the peak morning hours and evening craze of Japanese and Korean groups. I took a mountain bike and cycled the area for 2 days. Angkor Wat is a whole complex of temples and canales, there are enough temples to keep one busy for 2-3 days. The bike ride was reminiscent to cycling Bali – empty roads, local life unnoticed by most travelers, the freedom to stop where you want, the beauty of being closer to it all.
One highlight for me was stopping by a local school – I was surrounded by 15 kids in 2 minutes. I got them to yell out “Ole!” and took some shots (see pic). Had to surrender all my pens, lip balm, sweets, chewing gums, tissues, scrapbook. They wanted my camera filters too.
Day 3 in Angkor Wat wasn’t spent on land, but air –I hopped on a chopper to get an aerial perspective of Angkor Wat. That was great fun, as first time in a chopper, a cute pilot too. We were supposed to get Angkot Wat with an orange sunset, but the air was too hazy due to the dry season and local fires.
People, people.
Met people who I think I will remain friends beyond this trip. Paula sat behind me on the flight and knocked me too many times to say ‘no’ to sharing a taxi to the guesthouse. Paula is your English version of Bette Midler, or my aunt Joanna. Hilarious, loud, easy-going, witty, spontaneous. BIG. Tells me about the 24-yr-old she shagged in Argentina for 4 months without leaving the room. She is 43. Through her I meet a bunch of crazy off-road bike riders who thrive on finding, mapping and riding the most remote and virgin jungle treks in Cambodia. They all seem to have a lifestyle pattern: kick-ass for 6 months back home, earn the dough, then ride Cambodia for the next 6. I boast to them how my friend Guy Ermer used to be the top dirt-bike rider in Malaysia. I spare them the crash story.
In need to move on from Siem Reap, I decided against the beach option. Every time I go to a beach (don’t remember when..) I remember nothing from those few days and bring nothing back. I jumped on a boat to Battambang, going through some very picturesque river scenery, with everything you can imagine floating – from homes, to police stations, hog farms, crocodile cages, karaoke joints to mini-football fields. On the boat I sit next to a typical north-european girl giving me her logical, highly structured, predictable, trivial and beyond all; fucking boring stories of her life and her camera problems. I escape her claws to the top deck, risking a sun burn, but meeting 6 great guys I end up spending the rest of the very long day. 2 well-travelled German guys working for Siemens Beijing, 3 Finns and Will, a Canadian. The boat ride takes 11 hours instead of the promised 5, but no complains when you are in good company. The Finns pulled out a bottle of whiskey which we ended up finishing in the blazing sun. I was very hung-over from the nite before, and a day after the blood donation. In spite of that, we ended up doing dinner, pool games, and a Khmer-only disco till 2am. We danced to the most brutal saddo-techno sounds, then covered a few slow numbers to the Khmer love songs. Will lives in Shanghai and tells me how he plans to see Xinjiang province in May. I’m all excited and want to go too – this is the place Catherine and I have been dreaming of doing a … weekend in –the famous Sunday Market which has hardly changed for the past 1000 years.
Educating Magda
“I’m going to Cambodia” I said. “You have to visit my cousin who teaches English there!” tells me very good friend Ann Tan in KL. This is why I ventured out to Battambang and not the beach, in search of the real Cambodia, the real issues. I met Prema, Ann’s cousin. She’s found her calling in Cambodia; teaching, helping the local people. She talks about how she did not fit in in Malaysia. The transformation of her students and the mark she can make on their lives is what keeps her here. It’s not just about the English language, as it’s only a tool – it’s about what you do with it, in a community, how you develop yourself, what skills you can enquire using this language. I didn’t get the full drift at first. By talking to her cousins (Jeevan, Raveena and Satchin), the other element surfaced – the religious aspects of these activities. I was confused about how I felt about it – I have a huge disliking and distrust to anything concerning religion, hence I kept thinking “this is manipulation”. My own experience from the catholic church, their preaching, the guilt-trips, the abuse, the brain-washing has left a scar forever.
‘We are of the Baha’i religion.” Never heard of your religion. “You know the Lotus Temple in Delhi?” Yeah, now I remember, in fact I blogged about it in September 05: “I head for Bahai Temple. It’s a miniature of Sydney’s Opera House, represents lotus patels opening up. The outside board reads it’s a place for all religions to worship and find god. I see nuns, muslim traditionalists, hindus and me all sitting in silence, appreciating the calmness of the place.” I also remember how I felt – totally loved sitting there. The lack of prejudice, openness to new and foreign has always inspired me, and made me want to be with like-minded people. But because I’m anti-establishment when it comes to religions, I pick their brains and challenge my young Baha’i friends. Jeevan is the ‘crusader’ of their believes – patiently deflects my cheeky comments (‘this MTV generation, what’s wrong with you guys, going to religious camps?’). They are well grounded, very smart, fun-loving kids . And they tell me that the Baha’is don’t shag before marriage. I think they need some reforms.
On a more serious note, I have to say I’m very intrigued to know that there is a religion which welcomes people of all religions to their house of worship, shows such acceptance and takes a more contemporary view on today’s world. Jeevan asks me to pick up some Baha’i music CDs in KL – I’m not sure if I’m ready for such a move – hearing about it is one step closer to practicing any religion for me. I need one step at a time.
On the last nite in Battambang we go back to Prema’s place and have a Bhangra party. We blast the music from my iPod. It takes a Polish chick to get the young ones to dance bhangra– they would rather listen to Coldplay. Ehsan (Pakistani, teaches English, also a Baha’i) is delighted. We then pull out Prema’s sari, assuming under my assurance that I know/remember how to tie it. A photo shoot follows, with fans and wind in the hair.
I take a taxi back to Siem Reap; the most dusty road with visibility sometimes less then 5m, and a mad driver. I put on my iPod, play my fav tunes, thinking if I die, at least with some great music.
Finally,
My comments and observations are very personal and people who love Cambodia will highly disagree with many of my conclusions. I operate a lot on intuition and conclude that Cambodia and I may not have the synergy. Yet, it is a country one should visit at least once. I’m glad I did it.
