The Road to Phnom Penh

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The Kingdom of Cambodia was somewhere I knew nothing about when I left home but reading guide books and autobiographies as I travelled left me fascinated to go there. Recent Cambodian history is horrifically riveting and I would say being aware some of what happened is a pre-requisite for visiting the country. Such recent and mass scale bloodshed cannot fail to have an effect on people and as I gazed out of bus windows at endless rice paddies, cycled round Angkor Wat or ate noodles in the Russian Market in Phnom Pehn, the past echoed in the back of my mind. It's for this reason that I don't feel like I can write about my travels in Cambodia without first going over some of the country's history.

Cambodia like Laos was a French Colony. Coffee and baguettes linger, as do crumbling colonial buildings and sweeping boulevards. In 1953 Cambodia gained its independence but through the Vietnam war, the USA were unconvinced of Cambodia's pledged neutrality and the government was ousted in a US Backed military coup. Civil war broke out, punctuated by sporadic bombing from the Americans leaving Cambodia devastated and on the brink of famine.

In 1975, the Khmer Rouge, a far left faction headed by Pol Pot, won the war and took control of the capital, Phnom Phen. They were cheered on as liberators but the joy was short lived. Within days the cities were evacuated and everyone was sent to work the land as a mammoth attempt at agricultural reform began. As always seems to happen in these idealist systems, paranoia, greed and fear ruled the society. What little rice there was was sold by the Khmer Rouge to the Chinese in exchange for weapons. Organised killings began; Academics, ethnic minorities and anyone associated with the old government was eliminated, including children and babies. Disease and famine ran rife as living conditions deteriorated and doctors were massacred.

The mass graves can be visited across Cambodia. In Phnom Penh, S-21, the top political prison has been converted into a museum. The walls are hung with hundreds of photographs of inmates in communist pyjamas. Hair cut to conform, they stare blankly into the crumbling courtyard. They were nearly all executed. There are paintings of guards smashing children's skulls against the walls.

In just four years of Khmer Rouge rule, an estimated 2 million people, or 1/3 of Cambodia's population, died.

In 1978 the Vietnamese invaded and toppled the Khmer Rouge but it has taken over 20 years, several governments and a UN peacekeeping force to bring the country anywhere close to stability. In 1993 the country held elections and by 1999 most Khmer Rouge leaders were in custody. Some are now being tried for crimes against humanity.

The country now has free and fair elections but the main opposition to the ruling communist party lives in exile overseas. When we were there the prime minister (a former Khmer rouge official) met with Ban Ki Moon (head of the UN) and threatened to halt the Khmer rouge trials unless the UN withdrew its human rights observers from the country. Not a good sign in my books.

Despite these pit falls, Cambodia feels fragily hopeful. People are getting on with their lives and there is now a generation that doesn't remember the Khmer rouge. They wear fashionable clothes, ride scooters and listen to pop music. Dancing is a national pastime. In the cities, teenagers don't linger on street corners, they get a sound system and gather in their hundreds to perform Michael Jackson-esq dance routines. Sweetcorn and noodle vendors gather close by. And the older people sit on small plastic chairs watching the show.

Somehow, decades of war has not wiped out the beautiful South East Asian smiles, it has just made them a millisecond more hesitant. The friendliness was apparent from the moment we entered the country. The Dom Kralor border officials asked for bribes very politely and the lady who took our health declaration forms only charged us a dollar to pretend to take our temperatures with her broken heat gun. She also taught us to say thank you (“ar kun”) in Cambodian. “Ar kun” we said.

South from the Laos border, our once swish bus wallowed floppily along the tarmacked roads. Thai pop blaring from the speakers and the bus team gathering customers as we went. After several stomach churning hours we got off in Kratie on the side of a deserted road next to the river. Within seconds a motorbike driver pulled over and we found ourselves booked into a nearby guest house

Kratie, like the southern Laos towns was somewhat lost in history and dust. In the centre, wide colonial streets were now colonised by food stalls. The market overflowed with hagglers and buckets of mekong fish, sugar cane and vegetables. Smoky BBQ stalls tempted us and families perched on motorbikes swerved through the crowds. We wandered to the south of the town where the bustle died away to reveal the familiar deserted open dusty roads and crumbling western buildings. We passed a group of Cambodians asleep in Hammocks strung over the pavement and peered over the wall of a former UN base, now overgrown with creepers. After being intimidated by some roadside cows we found our way to Wat Roka Kandel. Stood among the palm trees, women dressed in long white robes indicated that the wat was closed for lunch and laughed when we were adopted by the scrawny wat kitten. On our way back, a truck load of workers, their faces covered by typical Khmer checked scarves, shouted and waved to us from atop a pick-up piled high with sacks. We passed the Kratie Meteorological Institute; an empty field. To be or had been, it was hard to tell.

Our room was spacious and cheap, set in a modern villa with an abundant gecko population and novelty of novelty, hot water. The owner of Balcony guest house was an Australian ex-pat who was happy to answer questions and suggest places to go. The restaurant was also excellent. I had eaten too much mutton in Mongolia, been wowed by dim sum in Hong Kong and learned the delights of street food in China. Laos food had been good but inconsistent and I was sick of bland, designed-for-tourist curries. Knowing nothing of the cuisine, we ordered at random, a dish called 'babar'. The smiling waiter brought us two bowls of rich peppery rice soup made with pork stock and green onions, a Cambodian breakfast staple. He laughed as he put down lots of little pots; bean spouts, soy beans, fresh lime, fish sauce, sweet chilli sauce and some unidentifiable pastes. “put in to taste good”, he said, gesturing wildly. I obeyed and my love of Khmer food began. A fusion of Thai, Indian, French and Chinese it deserves more ranting about than I can fit in this blog entry so for now I will move on.

Transport options in Cambodia are varied. Buses run most major routes but ticket prices vary so shop around. Minibuses are cheaper and in my experience more fun, but don't expect personal space. Our minibus from Kratie to Phnom Penh was no exception; with multiple people per seat and an unlikely extra row at the front it was a highly intimate experience.

I say 'our minibus Kratie to Phnom Penh' but in reality it was a minibus to a garage somewhere between Kratie and Phnom Penh. We were jammed into the back corner, five of us in the three seats. In front of us, a young couple from Phnom Penh stood out. Holding hands and wearing trendy clothes they were suspiciously un-dusty. One man spent a few hours furtively glancing over his shoulder at us, making us quite paranoid, before finally getting up the courage to speak to us in English. He was a law student, visiting his family in the sticks. Were we students? Were we married? Where were we from? He was more excited in the fact that he was talking to westerners than with what we had to say. The conversation dwindled out and we all stared out the window at the endless flooded rice fields. He got off at the next town. The bus started making clunking noises and after half an hours discussion we pulled over at a roadside garage.

Some scruffy children were watching a TV which bleared out yet more pop music. We stood aimlessly in the shade of the corrugated iron roof while the mechanic and driver argued about the van. The city couple sighed with impatience while other passengers gathered round the wheel and joined the discussion. After much talk and searching for tools the mechanic smashed up the wheel bearing trying to get to an enclosed part. He confirmed that he couldn't fix it and that now the wheel was too broken to use. We all watched in silence as the driver went from angry to crestfallen.

The passengers drifted to the side of the road and one by one waved down passing vehicles. Somehow, me and Alex wedged ourselves and our rucksacks into an already overfull minivan on it's way to market. So, settled between crates of fish we sped towards the capital.


Travel info:
Kratie Balcony Guest house, double room no bath $5- nice place, very friendly, good food.
Kratie- Phnom Penh, minibus $5,organized for us by the guesthouse, left early morning, I think it was supposed to take around 5 hours not including breakdowns...

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Photos

Kratie Meteriological Institute
Open for business?

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[D MJ Binkley]

As we stood looking at those mass graves
We had to wonder how that much evil could exist in one person. We are always amazed at man's inhumanity to man.