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Phnom Penh smells. It smells of rubbish, sewage and decay. Ridiculously expensive, shiny black land cruisers rule the chaotic roads whilst thousands of motos carrying heavy loads or numerous other passengers weave in and out of tuk-tuks, hand drawn carts and the odd ox cart not caring if they are on the right side of the road or not. Some streets are separated by manicured lawns or lined with magnolia trees whilst others are strewn with rotting rubbish. Some elegant, newly renovated colonial buildings shine in the sunlight whilst others crumble and ugly blocks of flats are black with damp. The waterfront with its billowing flags is lined with restaurants and bars where you can eat anything you desire but a few streets away families beg on the streets in order to eat and survive. Amputees lingering on street corners are a constant reminder of the country's tragic past as thousands of landmines laid by the Khymer Rouge 30 years ago as they retreated into the jungle in defeat still remain a real threat to so many today.
On the back of a moto I now feel like a local. I always hop on and off from the left to
avoid the heat of the exhaust pipe and I even do side saddle if required. I no longer need to hold on or flinch when we take a corner with less than an inch to spare or swerve to avoid oncoming traffic on the wrong side of the road. Well, actually, I'm not quite a true local. I can't sit there with my small babies in each arm and my toddler between me and the driver. My moto driver and I whizzed past the scene of an accident and I suddenly decided it might be wise to hold on. I peered at the speedo to see how fast we were going only to see that of course it didn't work, silly me.
Initially Tuol Sleng in Phnom Penh looks like the school it originally was but step a little closer and the graves in the courtyard and the barbed wire on the doors are definite signs of its terrible transition into S-21, Pol Pot's Security Prison No. 21. Anyone believed to oppose the Khymer Rouge revolution was detained here, tortured until a confession was extracted and then sent to their death in mass graves just outside Phnom Penh. 8000
men, women and children entered these doors, only 8 survived their ordeal. The methods of torture, often carried out by children, were more than horrendous and too horrific to list here. The wooden frame once used by school children for gymnastics was used to tie prisoners upside down whilst they were beaten and interrogated. Once unconscious their heads were dipped into stagnant, icy water so that the interrogations could start once again. Signs on the wall ask visitors to refrain from talking but there really is no need. Walking from room to room thinking and imagining what happened beneath your feet just 30 years ago means it is impossible to speak. Former classrooms were converted into prison cells and torture chambers with bars and barbed wire on the windows. In the middle of each room stands a rusting bed frame. On it is a rusting instrument of torture. On the wall is a grotesque, black and white photograph of the tortured body found in that room by the Vietmenese troops in 1979. Another block has tiny cells just measuring 0.8m x 2m with shackles on the floor. Blood stains are still next to the shackles. All the prisoners were photographed
as they entered the prison and in one room black and white photographs of the terrified faces stare back at you. Faces that suffered immense cruelty at the hands of their own people. In Pol Pot's eyes, farmers were the true proletariat of the revolution. Doctors, politicians, the middle class, intellectuals or anyone educated were to be eliminated. People simply disappeared. A video showed families ploughing through mountains of records that the Khymer Rouge kept in an attempt to discover the fate of their loved ones. One woman's daughter died here 31 years ago to the day I watched the video.
Prisoners were taken in trucks to what is now referred to as the Killing Fields on the outskirts of Phnom Penh. Today by the entrance stands a huge glass tower filled with the cracked skulls of men, women and children which were exhumed from 129 mass graves in 1980. Signs show where prisoners had to wait for execution, sometimes up to a day due to the overwhelming number of people, where children were beaten, where a loud speaker was placed to play music to hide the screams of the dying and where headless bodies were buried. Chemicals were
used to hide the stench and ensure the prisoners were indeed dead. Today the sound of children playing happily in the school playground next door to the Killing Fields is somewhat strange yet also so very positive.
What a wonderful thing a tarmaced road is! Our smartly dressed driver in his shirt and tie drove beautifully, naturally honking his horn continuously. We stopped at a “service station” for refreshments and a “comfort stop” which was far from comfortable… A skinny cow wandered through the food stalls. The chairs at the assorted tables had covers you would expect in a swanky restaurant complete with fancy bows, even if it wasn’t the fabric you would have expected. Young girls selling fruit were so charming and persuasive it wasn’t long before I was tucking into fresh mango. Five hours after leaving the chaos of the capital I was in Sihanoukville and home was a thatched bungalow complete with pink mosquito net only 200m from the wonderfully named Serendipity Beach which was lined with beach shack restaurants and bars where you could happily lounge for hours. I met a guy I had met in Battambang and we whiled away the afternoon and evening.
The following day I read in the sunshine. Young girls asked if I wanted a pedicure, a manicure, hair free legs by using thread, a massage, a bracelet or four or to eat lobster or exotic fruit. They had their puppy dog eyes down to perfection.
What is sad is how the little girls look on admiringly at the young, beautiful Cambodian women trendily dressed with older, Western men on the beach. Call me sceptical but the majority of these couples are not together because of love. To hire a "girlfriend" in Cambodia is roughly 200US$ a month plus of course accommodation along with wining and dining. Maybe that seems expensive in comparison to brothels in the capital for 2US$?? Sex tourism and child prostitution are major problems in Cambodia, especially on the coast and in Siem Reap. Posters are everywhere saying "protect our children" but the police are so corrupt that if there is no money in it for them they are simply not interested. Cobra, my moto driver in Battambang, told me of a family who sold their two daughters aged 15 and 13 to an American for a week for 1000US$. Were they really poor I
asked? No was the reply.
The next day I escaped it all to a deserted island one hour away. I lounged, read, chatted to the four fellow guests and swam. Sleeping in a tree house beside the Gulf of Thailand was wonderful but my malaria tablet fuelled dreams were not.
Leaving the quiet, deserted island for the dirty, smelly capital was hard. The bus journey was also long, especially when the bus didn’t stop in time for someone with a dodgy stomach…and no, before you ask, it was not vomit that was down the aisle. I sat next to a chap who worked for the Chamber of Commerce. We talked about the approaching elections and how wonderful it is to be free and have a democratic vote. He then added that some parties still make the odd payment here and there to secure their votes. Cambodia is after all the most corrupt country in Asia. We talked about how the value of land in Cambodia is increasing dramatically and how the government is happy to sell land to foreigners who are buying land knowing they are sitting on a goldmine and are simply waiting to sell again at
vast profit. The government even sold the Killing Fields to the Japanese as a tourist attraction, something I and so many people find disgusting and insensitive. I suggested maybe it was wise to keep land for the future so that Cambodians could benefit from the rising prices but he disagreed saying it was great to have the money now. So many Cambodians think solely of today and of only the short term benefits and the here and now and not of the future. Initially it seems so wrong but when you think that not that long ago there wasn't even a future for them to think about you can start to understand their different approach. He asked me about my family and why I wasn't at home with a house full of children. I in turn asked about his family. What do you say when someone tells you that six out of his seven siblings plus his mother and father were killed by the Khymer Rouge? I hoped my face said it all as I stammered something. He talked about leaving his home in Phnomh Penh, the hard labour in the fields, the fleeing from one camp to another, the
starvation and how he thought it would never end.
Phnom Penh was, as expected, a shock after the relaxed atmosphere of the beaches so I headed to the FCC (Foreign Correspondence Club) for sanctuary and a glass of “Happy Hour” wine. I got chatting to a 60 something, obviously incredibly wealthy, slightly racist and rather overweight Swedish dentist who was there to set up a practice. Despite disagreeing on a lot of subjects it was interesting to chat to him but when he suggested a scotch and massage at his 5 star hotel I made my excuses and ran!
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Beeeevster
non-member comment
you're right, they're selling it all
Hey darlin, loving your reports. You're right about them selling the land off. there was a huge report on it last week in the Guardian. Rich bloody Russians and yanks and of course Brits buying all the coastline up for nothing and then kicking off all the locals from the beaches. They have nowhere to go and there's no plan to relocate them. Talk son and a big kiss