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Tuesday, 7th September We've only got today left in Phnom Penh which sadly means no gap in between our genocidal tourism. Our dessert, as it were, to Choueng Ek was the prison of Tuol Sleng. Set right in the middle of the neighbourhood just a few blocks down from our guesthouse the prison was formerly a school and now a museum. Not quite the direct route to Nirvana but a museum is as close a place as any.
As mentioned yesterday those Red Khmers sent everyone away from the city, so anyone left here must have been a bad boy or girl from the party's point of view. The tall white-cum-grey buildings were falling into disrepair but a hive of builders was putting paid to it. Difficult to know if it's better this way, it might lose its edge with a touch of paint. But then it might lose a wall without some touch up, so who's to know. What was powerful was that the original beds used to chain prisoners to were still there. Untouched. Maybe cleaned of blood.
I feel sad here, but detached somehow. Like I don't really appreciate it or can't picture it or something.
Not that I really want to. Especially with the instruments of torture everywhere.
A list of rules stood out in the school yard. A few of them:
"Dont be a fool for you are a chap who dare thwart the revolution"
"While getting lashes or electrification you must not cry"
"Don't make pretext about Kampuchea Krom in order to hide your traitor" (KK = Khmer Rouge)
"If you don't follow the above rules you shall get many lashes of electric wire"
A lot of electric use in there. And stubborn refusal that you may be innocent. I've just finished Catch 22 - great book by the way - and the "if you say you love Khmer Rouge you're a liar, if you don't it's the truth" does the whole exasperation thing a lot more justice.
The whole thing really is unbelievable. Never have I seen anything so revolutionary and so backward at the same time. Never anything so brutal too, and you really never hear anything about it. The sad thing (amongst many) is that the perpetrators were mostly teenagers; the most manipulable. There was next to no punishment for those people, you never hear them cry
"woe is me" like those holocaust criminals. Any 40 yr. old trying to sell me cheap souvenirs could have been involved.
Found out today the guy who admitted his guilt, Duch, got 35 years reduced to 16. Paltry. Roger Paltry. Doesn't matter he'll be dead long before. In the afternoon we went to the Russian Market. It's about as Russian as Pizza Hut is Italian. It's mainly souvenir stuff and bl**dy huge. The stall holders all smile and take no for an answer which is about as refreshing as the 5 o'clock shower we are due.
Cambodians so far have been the friendliest, smiliest, least pushy and with the best English of this leg of the trip. I like them a lot. All apart from one man who starting shouting at me for no reason. Scary b*st*rd.
Wednesday, 8th September The morning started with an uneventful but comfortable 6 hour bus. The last stop of our 'real' tour before we just hit the beach for a fortnight is Siem Reap. Home of Angkor Wat, but not today. Instead we walked around the town in the crisping sun before meeting up with everyone's favourite Kiwis Sam and Laura.
Fish Spa
They love the taste of flip-flop scabs True to their nature they'd just spent hundreds of dollars on stationery and toys for the local orphanage. They looked glowing from the experience. What better way to toast it than with 50c beers or a $1 margarita, of which we had a fair few. I was battered.
Quick nap before we hit the night markets which are a big part of such a tourist trap. On the way we caught a group of kids begging. It's not been mentioned much here but it's fairly prevalent across the limited bits of Cambodia we've seen. The poverty is worse than anywhere yet. These particular kids only want £6 baby formula - one aimed at a 2 yr. old for the 6 month old they're carrying around. They actually told us to "f**k off". Four year olds!!!
The markets were choc full of paintings, all of them unique. Could have spent a fortune. There were scarves, watches and bags made of newspaper. The best thing however were the fish spas. Let me explain the premise - put your feet in a swimming pool of fish, they eat the dead skin. That's it. Hayley loved it. I couldn't bear it, it
tickled too much. Where I forced myself into the water the hungry little devils ate my flip-flop scab. Tasty.
We somehow ran into Pete and Becky, not seen since they comfortably flew into Hanoi whilst we caught the sweat vessel. A couple of beers then to bed with us.
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