Advertisement
Published: December 1st 2006
Edit Blog Post
Phnom Penn; The Killing Fields
A street market in Phnom Penn. The meat was covered in flies and she wondered why no one was buying. Saturday 25th and Sunday 26th November
As I waited bleary eyed for my 6am pick up for the transfer to the boat a strange thing occured to me. People were STILL cooking and people were STILL eating. It was six o'clock on a Saturday morning for heaven's sake so why are they all so thin when all they appear to do is stuff their faces all day long?
A half hour drive through the shanty towns that are the Siem Reap suburb's took me to the landing stage for the speed boat to Phnom Penn, a five hour dash across Asia's biggest lake, Tonle Sap, a huge expanse of water which from our position in the centre you could just about make out the land on either side. Throughout the journey we kept passing small wooden shacks elevated on spindly, frail looking legs (bit like yours truly's come to think of it) miles from land, no jumping in the car to nip to the shops for these people. I could have sworn some of them had developed flippers.
My mode of transport for Phnom Penn was to be moto and Shah was the man accosting me and wrestling
Phnom Penn; The Killing Fields
This lovely family invited me to watch the footie with them. my rucksack off me before I'd even put a foot on the quayside. He took me to a hotel, even better than the last one and for only fifteen dollars a night, and I ventured out on foot immediately for a bit of exploration. If Siem Reap was the poor relation to the rest of Asia then Phnom Penn was the poor relation to Siem, at least my neighbourhood was and the smells and sight's out grossed even those of Bangkok. I stopped for a bite to eat at a more acceptable looking restaurant by the river and had my first proper chat with some westerners since my departure, a scouse couple to be precise who'd been on the same boat earlier that morning and who recognised and acknowledged me when they walked in. I've noticed when travelling that 99% of introductory conversations are about who's been where and why and this one was no different but I must say it was nice to be able to speak at a normal speed and be understood and nice to just chat full stop.
I managed a run just after dark along the promenade of the river. At various points for
Phnom Penn; The Killing Fields
On the road to the Killing Fields. All this WAS being towed by a motorbyke. Until it fell off. various reasons (parked cars, buildings etc) the prom ceases to exist so you have to take a little detour to run on the road. Not recommended. It was on one of these little sojourns off the main drag that I nearly came a cropper. Some buffoon had decided to string a washing line between a road side tree and shack that doubled as a restaurant. He'd been considerate enough to string it above the head line of more than 99% of Phnom Penns population but had neglected to remember that Westerners visit his town also and to put fairy lights warning of it's existence along its length. Consequently, my darting pace was interupted by having a plastic encased wire hit me just above the top lip and be dragged up and across my nose and over my head in a brief instance. As is the done thing in such situations I tried to be cool and didn't look back, just carried on running feeling gingerly to check my nose was still in place whilst picturing the little Cambodian man giggling and pointing behind me.
Shah met me in the morning and we took the Moto to the Killing Fields,
Phnom Penn; The Killing Fields
The Killing Fields. The craters in front of the memorial were massed graves in this former orchard. fifteen km of potholed, sandy tracks outside of Phnom Penn. Although familiar with the name I'd never taken time out to find out the exact story behind them which made the revelations all the more haunting. Thousands of innocents had been taken to the former orchard by Pol Pot's forces during the civil war of the mid seventies and secretly executed before being laid to rest in mass graves. The fact that all this was less than thirty years ago makes it all the more macabre and the former school back in the City where Pol Pot used to teach and which acted as a prison, Tuol Sleng or the more sinister S21, and which we visited next was just as upsetting.
I managed to catch the last hour of the fourth days play in the Test match and Pietersen instilling a small amount of hope over a bite to eat (green curry and a big blob of boiled rice) before I finished my afternoon off with a visit to the Royal Palace where I faced forty questions about my private life from a cool young monk before retiring to my 'suite' with a pizza to prepare for another
Phnom Penn; The Killing Fields
The glass behind exhibits the skull remains of the exhumed. early start. I attempted to watch Manchester v Chelsea but (4pm in UK, 11pm here) but sheer exhaustion put paid to that.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.083s; Tpl: 0.038s; cc: 7; qc: 30; dbt: 0.0327s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
DB
non-member comment
More great tales Matty Boy.Keep 'em coming.Nice to know you haven't forgotten about me.(yet).Looking forward to your next adventure.