Niall Clerkin

Our last stop in Cambodia was the beach town of Sihanoukville. Named for the King of the later half of the 20th century, the town is supposedly the Thai Islands of 15 years ago. In the pyramid of cool everything has a half-life, and whereas the Thai Islands star is waning among the hardcore cool due to over commercialisation and populism, that of Sihanoukville is rising. Off the beaten track, 12 hours from Siam Reap, only backpackers make it to this town. There is not a rich cash flashing 2 week tourist for 200 miles. Everyone we had met for the last 2 months raved about Sihanoukville and we wanted to know why.

At the kerb in Sihanoukville

It was 6am when we arrived on the overpriced night-bus (17 dollars) but it was more comfortable than those in VN. We slept pretty well with the help of some over-the-counter-not-a-hope-in-a-regulated-country sleeping pills, despite the bumpy Cambodian roads. You have to remember in Cambodia that this is a country only beginning to construct a semblance of a modern road network. In most towns a 6am arrival is not an issue, even on a Sunday. The locals are already through breakfast and cleaning their shops, restaurants or guest houses preparing for the day. Sihanoukville was different. We got a tuk-tuk to Mick & Craigs budget hostel, to find it still closed. Next door at Monkey Republic it was the same story again. I sat with the rucksacks, smoking (because I am a bad man) and Elaine went walkabout to check a few of the other hostels nearby. All closed. We gathered the bags and ambled off in the direction of a few more hostels we had marked on our map and on passing a small street shack shop were asked if we needed a room. A rather nice collection of rooms, hidden, without a bar or restaurant, but clean and a good bed and bathroom for 6 dollars a night. Thank you very much. It was only 6.45 and there were still 40 travelers from our bus wandering the dusty streets looking for rooms or non-existent breakfast but we had a bed and we were happy.

After a rest, a coffee & croissant at a French bistro(the thrill of it), we sidled off to the beach. To call it a beach could be stretching it a little (and stretch it someone should). Technically it was made of sand and it did have sea frontage but is that the criteria fulfilled? Bar shacks line what is 10 feet of beach at the widest point. In some places a single beach lounger would have the tide lapping around its front feet while its back feet were off the beach. Flip-flops stolen by the sea were a common bobbing sight. I couldn’t help thinking that you cant peg back the sea with a few sandbags but many shacks had their frontage lined with sandbags to try and save a few precious inches.

The loungers are free to those eating or drinking a a particular shack and with about 50 in a row there is a lot of choice. We chose by the price of the food, the softness of the bed and crucially, the width of the beach. There is very little as relaxing as the sun, the sound of the sea and a good book. In my case “Down Under” by Bill Bryson. But folks that is where the chilling out ended. In the next 10 minutes no less than 20 hawkers of all makes & measures vied for my attention, and more importantly my dollars. “Hello Sir, You new here? You just arrived? You want bracelet/sunglasses/book/massage/waxing/manicure/fruit/shrimps/pedicure/threading/hat/you name it I got it/perhaps marijana?” Children, teenagers,mammies, grannies, daddies, blind beggars, bling beggars, legless beggars, armless beggars, army beggars, big beggars, beg of my neighbour, pick me! Are you getting the picture here? How on earth is a man to relax in that atmosphere? It’s amplified of course by the tightness of the beach, all the travelers corralled like wild horses ready to be broken, and I was tired, but there is still only so many times a man can say No thank you and mean it. Not to mention the fairer sex, who will routinely have their legs caressed by a nomad “beautician” paired with the words “Not so smooth, you need smooth? I thread your legs”. At this point the hawker will sit on the girl in questions lounger and start her work oblivious to protestations of the “What the hell!” nature.  Ladies, if you go down to the beach today, be sure to shave your legs….     We lasted about 2 hours. Enough time to have lunch, a beer, take malaria tablets and get thoroughly annoyed.

Later that day we decided to eat at the french bistro on beach road where we had drank coffee that same morning. Good food, good coffee, happy days. Happy chef. Very happy chef. He was chain smoking weed. A few more french men sat at the makeshift bar (I say makeshift because though it was title a french bistro, it was actually a french shack) rolling up and passing around the joints. So the chef was happy. I didn’t mind, I’ve been known to be a little happy on occasion myself, I just thought this a little obvious…

As we got to know Sihanoukville over the course of that evening and the next day, it transpired that everyone was happy. There were happy shakes, happy pizzas, happy salads, you name it the talented chefs could happy it up a notch or two. People smoked weed on the beach, in the bars, in tuk-tuks, under the stars. I’m getting poetic in my passively acquired happiness. This is why everyone was singing the praises of the little town. It was like Rag Week in a cannabis plantation. It didn’t matter that the streets weren’t paved, that the beach was being stolen by the sea and that legs weren’t shaved. It just didn’t matter.

There were a lot of older western men in Sihanoukville also, the good character of whom couldn’t be safely assumed. There are plenty of such men throughout south east Asia, finding easy dollars bring easy virtue, but in this little town in southern Cambodia there was an unusually high concentration. It’s never fun to share a bar with a sleazy git.

The setup at IBall

We decided to be adventurous. There was a new Zorbing park opened up outside of town and we thought it might be a fun way to spend a day. Zorbing for the uninitiated, as I was, is the fun of being hurled down a steep hill inside a giant inflatable ball.

The wet Ball

There are wet balls for slopping and sliding around inside and their are dry balls where you are strapped in and complete 360 degree rotations inside the ball as it rolls at high speeds down the hill. Both are a lot of fun, but the dry ball in particular is off the scale. It is more disorientating than any theme park ride, more adrenaline spike, more crazy. The park, called I-ball, also features a zipline with a drop in a pond, beach-football & volleyball and archery equipment has been ordered. Colm from Ireland who runs the park enjoys a chat and is more than willing to fill the afternoon with anecdotes of life in Cambodia. When the I-ball park gets off the ground and there are groups 20 or 25 it will be a great day out. On our day there were only 7 so it wasn’t all that it could be, but the balls were still great fun.

Inside the dry ball

It must be admitted that we did have lunch one bright and sunny afternoon at “Happy Herbs Pizza”. 2 Anghor Draft and a medium pepperoni pizza please. Big happy or little happy? We plumped for medium and spent the afternoon on the beach  in a pleasantly relaxed manner. An Italian couple ate next to us, with their 2 young children. Maybe they had had too much sugar and needed calming down.Will no taboo remain uncrossed? That afternoon I finished “Down Under” on the beach and swapped it with another Bryson reader for “Shakespeare”.  An easier transaction never was conducted. I gave in to a gabby little girl and had a bracelet weaved for a dollar. Damn pizza!

Cambodia was thataway

On the whole we were unimpressed with Sihanoukville. After all we had heard we were disappointed in the poor beach, (though apparently Otres Beach up the road is great), the disgusting toilets, the pushy hawkers and the singular dimension to the travelers entertainment. We came, we tried, we left. It was a pity to leave Cambodia with this fizzled out little dust-bowl as our freshest memory because it had been a great visit in the main, and surprising. But onwards and westward to Thailand and beyond. There are green curries to be had.

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One of the most famous images in the world is the great Khmer temple of Anghor Wat. Rediscoverd by a French man in the 1860’s after centuries of being lost to the jungle. Truth be told there was a group of Buddhist Monks living at the Wat when he “discovered” it, but never mind. He still brought Siem Reap into the consciousness of western nations. After years of being utterly inaccessible to tourists, the temple cities at Anghor have been back on tourist maps for most of a decade.

Anghor Wat from a less familiar angle

These temple were built between the 10th and 12th centuries and after the Khmer Civilisation fell, were lost to the world for centuries. The constructions are astounding and so large, for such a time. There is so much more than Anghor Wat. Ta Prohm, was used as a location for the
Tombraider movie and is especially cool as it has only been recently reclaimed from the jungle. Anghor Thom, an impressive fortress of 3km squared, feature the rock faces of Bayon. Many smaller temples are equally endearing and amazing. We hired bicycles for the day and covered 35KM cycling from temple to temple. What a great few days and how lucky we are to be able to do it.  I shall let a few photographs do the talking…

Sunrise at Anghor Wat

That's 5am to you

Ta Prohm

Ta Prohm; Tombraider

Reminiscent of Mayan temples?

One of 6 gates to Anghor Thom

Some of the faces of Bayon

Inside Bayon

Self timers are great

One of the many great moats

Anghor is a brilliant place. So very enjoyable to see such huge blocks of stone employed with such imagination, moats 100m wide, 8 m high walls, temple cities that are 3 km north to south and east to west, intricate carvings and reliefs, set beside towering strength. Many of the temples are tumbling, but many are not. There are improvement and repair works everywhere. The goal seems to be just to keep everything accessible, a sizable aim in its own right, and keep the tourists coming. A country as poor as Cambodia really needs the tourist dollars that this great site brings.

It would be a mistake however to visit the temples for a few days and neglect the little town of Siam Reap. It has a very small but delightful downtown area, with quality eateries, cute bars and a few clubs. Something for everyone. We ate at the “Khmer Family” restaurant enjoying Fish Amok, and Pork Cha Krueng. We accidentally picked their sister restaurant the next night and had the Khmer tasting menu with curry, amok & spring rolls. Kako soup is spicy and delicious, a salty goulash. Cambodian food is waiting to explode on the world with its mix of thai & indian spices and vietnamese freshness.

Bar Alley, but really a cute street of boutique style restaurants

We tried our hand at a few beers in the Anghor What? on our second to last night and had some good fun. Beer was only 50 or 75cents. A very spaced local kept challenging me to arm wrestles and at 5-0 down he still wouldn’t give up. Annmarie & Denise are 2 Scottish nurses who joined us for a few, and then a few more and then led us to the  dance floor in Temple Club. Some random Aussies wouldn’t leave us alone, though I feel it could have been the allure of the 3 lassies, rather than my own good looks that kept them hanging on. We ate salty chips at 3 am, just like home, and we met the Rock&Roll Tuk Tuk man, who, attempting to stand out from the crowd, has his little machine wired for Ipods and with speakers in the cabin.

Temple Club on Bar Street

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Secret Wars are by their nature not publicised. So when the US decided to bomb the east of Cambodia to flush out any Viet Cong who were hiding there, they didn’t tell anyone. Apparently not even the Cambodians. Cambodia had been neutral since 1955 and in 1969 told the Vietnamese that they were not welcome to combat the Americans from Cambodia Soil. President Nixon took the opportunity to launch a massive secret bombing campaign, called Operation Menu, along the Cambodia/Vietnam border. Nixon had previously written to King Sihanouk that America respected “the sovereignty, neutrality and territorial integrity of the Kingdom of Cambodia…” but apparently only in so far as they didn’t object to his blowing it up. They only killed somewhere in the region of 150,000 people, so I guess the worse crimes were to come…..

What the US bombing campaign did do, was allow a small leftist communist group led by Pol Pot, named the Khmer Rouge, build a following. It is very easy to recruit when families are dying around you. King Sihanouk was ousted and an American backed Monkey placed in charge.  The KR started recruiting on a number of fronts. The Americans are bombing, the Americans are in charge, therefore the government must be overthrown. 2+2=4

They even made a deal to represent the exiled King (whom at that point knew not their maniacal plan) to further recruit royalist citizens. What happened next is one of the great tragedies of modern Asian history.

On the morning of our trip to the Killing Fields & S-21 Prison, our local guide, tuk-tuk driver and all round smiley headed fella, KhaVi, was late. He phoned one of the other drivers at our hostel and had them find us to apologise, so that we could go ahead with someone else if we wanted to. The engine on the moto was getting tinkered with…. We elected to wait, chuffed with his decency and tenacity in contacting us.

When he did arrive he was full of apologies, which we quickly brushed aside and hopped on board. Touel Sleng (Hill of Poisoned Trees) Museum or S-21 as it became known,was a Phnom Penh High School, as inane and innocent as that, but was turned into a torture and interrogation centre under the Khmer Rouge. The man who oversaw the torture in S-21, known as Duch, is currently in court in Cambodia with a joint UN/Cambodian judiciary. He reported directly to Pol Pot and is the only major figure yet to be tried, on account of Cambodian Government interference. Lots of the Khmer Rouge leaders were subsumed into the government in the 90’s and the political appetite is not there to weed them out. Heaven knows why, as the appalling crimes committed resonate in every single family to this day.

Kha Vi took us through the boulevards of Phnom Penh grand, then westward through the graveled and dusty streets. When we pulled up at S-21 there was already the tell tale sign of tuk tuk drivers tucked up in the shade waiting for their charges. We are never morbid alone.

S-21

It’s a high school, it looks like a high school, even a pleasant one. To think of what it became is almost beyond comprehension. From 1975 to 1979, an estimated 17,000 people were imprisoned at Security Centre 21.  They were victims of ritualistic tortures and coerced into naming family and associates who would receive similar treatment. In the early months of S-21’s existence, most of the victims were from the previous Lon Nol regime (US Supported) and included soldiers, government officials, as well as academics, doctors, teachers, students, factory workers, monks, engineers. Anyone with an education or skill was detained. In later years Pol Pot’s paranoia was such that he turned on his own ranks and thousands of party activists and their families were brought to Tuol Sleng and murdered.

A classroom turned cell

Walking around the Prison/School is eerie in the extreme. The sun was blazing from the sky but the rooms remain cool and ghostly. With images on the walls of the last 14 victims who were found in situ when the KR were overthrown, and the beds and torture devices left in the empty cells it was hard to take in.

S-21

Other sections of the museum show thousands of images, just faces, of prisoners taken on arrival. Men, women, old, young, children, some defiant, some scared, all surely about to endure more than our worst nightmares. A wooden frame stands in the front yard, once exercise equipment for children became a key torture device and makeshift gallows.

Gallows

Another room tells the political story of the KR, their rise to power and the factors that brought a despotic leadership to essentially murder a quarter of their own people (1.7 million).

The Rules

Outside I asked Kha Vi where he had been from 75-79. His father was a Doctor and Captain in the state Army, the forces of Lol Nol. 5 days before the KR walked victorious into Phnom Penh Kha Vi’s father knew it was inevitable. He  had his family, including the 4 yr old Kha Vi,  sent to a small village on the Thai border, and he stayed to defend the creaking city. Kha Vi and his mother didn’t return until 1984. They sifted through the photographs in boxes at the S-21 prison, (before it was cleaned), looking for a trace of husband and father. They didn’t find one and still don’t know what happened to him. Every family has a story like this and in fact Kha Vi says that they were lucky. However 25 years later the pain was still visible in the face of the man as he told his story.

We headed out into the country then, just 10 or 15kms to the famous “Choeung Ek”, one of the “Killing Fields”. It is not by any means the only execution site and mass grave in Cambodia, and not necessarily the one with the most bodies, but it is close to the capital and had operated hand in hand with s-21. It is now maintained as a memorial and as a reminder to the world of what happened in Cambodia.

Stupa

The central memorial, is a 17 storey glass “Stupa” containing almost 9000 unidentified skulls.

One of 17 levels

We walked the fields, mostly deep pits, that have been dug out and the bodies removed. Graves of women, mixed graves, graves of 100’s of bodies all headless, children’s graves.  Children engaged in these crimes, taught to kill before they have learned to think.

Each pit held hundreds of bodies

We watched a short film about the delivery & dispatch system that owed so much to Nazi Germany and an interview with “Duch” who apologised.

The Magic Tree

As I write this the verdict has not been handed down on Duch, but in closing this week, the Warden of S-21 asked to be released, he had apologised and should be forgiven.

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We made it through the border checkpoint with about 5 hours until the end of VN visa. We had previously bought Cambodian e-visas online for ease of passage and they worked a charm. Then again as the crossing wasn’t busy that particular day working a charm only saved us 10 minutes.

Ferry across the Mekong

We took a 6 minute ferry crossing across the Mekong River en-route.

The rather large Mekong

We got off the bus in downtown Phnom Penh to a melee of moto and tuk tuk drivers wanting our business and the commission to be earned from guesthouses. We turned them all down, confidently, like we knew what we were doing and strode with a young English Couple (Charlie & Lauren) to the closest cafe.

From little things come great deeds

Here whilst getting fed and watered we consulted the travel bible (lonely planet). We picked a couple favourites and were getting ready to ruck with the taxi drivers when one of them broke from the pack, into the cafe with a brochure for Okay Guest house. Lonely planet gave it the briefest of sentences, all positive but not outstanding. However, something told us to go with this guy. Even if it didn’t work out it would be a free tuk tuk closer to the area we wanted to be in, so the four of us, rucksacks in tow clambered in. (How his little moto engine pulled the combined weight is a miracle of engineering).

The hunters that we are, myself & Charlie left the ladies minding the bags and went to check the place out and negotiate. The vibe was terrific. An open plan restaurant/chill out area with movies playing, very happy & contented looking travelers, great rooms and terrific staff.  Kha Vi, who showed us around the hotel and looked after us for the next few days, provided the best, most amiable and charming service I may have had in my life. We booked in.

After a few beers with Lauren & Charlie and watching some good movies we elected to spend the next day sightseeing around Phnom Penh and the following day taking the tour of S-21 Kmer Rouge Torture Centre and the infamous Killing Fields.

Illegally copied books are available everywhere for a few dollars

Along the Tonle Sap

Walking around the city was a real surprise. Far from being a backward capital it is quite busy and industrious. It may not be rich, but it has rich treasures in its river promenade (alongside the Tonle Sap which empties into the Mekong), the glorious old french buildings, the King’s Grand Palace and the beautiful National Museum. These are set around green parks too numerous to mention, with sculptures, fountains and seating. Beyond the parks again are the markets with all kinds of meats, veg & fruit, as you would expect and also the crafts and tourist tat. It is quite an enchanting walk. We loved it. The whole city has taken its foot off the accelerator and has set cruise control to a nice relaxing  fuel efficient speed.

An Elephant I believe

Cambodia is a coinless society. Riel, the official currency operates as the coinage and for almost anything over 4000 Riel, the US Dollar is used. This means 2 things. 1; it is very easy to know what you are spending and 2; almost everything costs at least a dollar. This is reflected in the price of smaller items such as water and beer, leaving one of the poorest countries in the world more expensive than others we have visited. Normally that is cause for a good rant about rip-off societies and scam merchants but the Cambodians are just so damn nice about it. There are smiles everywhere, no offence is taken if you don’t want their product, the hard sell is distinctly softer here and it makes the world of difference. I do not know if it is by nature or design but these guys really know what side their dollar is buttered.

Tiring after our city walk in the intense heat Elaine spotted Rory’s Bar, with a happy hour and Anghor Daft for $1. Purely in the interests of research we popped in for one. Or two. That’s how it goes in an Irish bar……

The first thing we enquired about was a TV, Ireland were to play South Africa that evening in rugby and as you will have realised, that is fairly high on my list of priorities. They didn’t have one, but as a well sozzled Englishman by the name of Derek pointed out that his bar “The Winking Frog” would be showing it. “Come on South Africa” was his cry. You really can’t trust the brits, can you? A group of Irish blokes having more than a few drew our attention and insisted we join them. They were 3 lads from Ballincollig in Cork, on a trip not so dissimilar from our own, pouring down the good stuff at 4 in the afternoon. Rory, an accountant in clown proportioned flip-flops, and self appointed leader drunkenly meandered his way through the the next hour in a not totally un-entertaining way and we agreed to meet the boys later that night for the game. It was time for the jersey to come out again.

I may never watch another game in the Oak (Dame St, Dublin) with my brother, such is Ireland’s fortune when I watch from distant lands. Murray from South Africa joined us and was as engaged in the game as I. It was much better than watching with the teasing Aussies in Nha Trang, as Murray knew a thing or two about rugby, which is always nice and of course we won. We beat the world champions and Ronan O’Gara has at last got some real competition for the number 10. Well played Johnny Sexton.  I might note at this time that Charlie and Lauren had the biggest feed of bangers & mash I have ever seen, at the Winking Frog.

Phnom Penh at night

We tuk-tuked it up to Zepplin, a rock bar from the past still spinning LP’s. Unfortunately after 11 they turn the music down as it’s a residential area. I for one prefer to hear Black Dog at top volume so we tuk-tuked it away again to Memphis Blues club. Behind an innocently quiet front (equipped with sound proof doors) is a happening music bar. The standard of house bands in SE Asia never ceases to amaze me and this band topped the pile. The singer was Vietnamese, living in Phnom Penh 11 years and earning his living from throwing his voice around enthusiastically. At 43 years of age he looked a decade less and sounded younger still. Nearly 2 hours of rock & blues classics later they finished up and the singer advised us to finish the night at “The Heart of Darkness”. Guides claims that all good nights in this city start or end there so I was glad to get to see it, in all its dingy glory. They sweep you with a metal detector and search you as you go in, but not the locals…. Word is that only local rich kids and gangsters can afford the beer here and any altercation with a local will not bode well for a foreigner as many of them carry guns. Still we didn’t come to any harm and could even look beyond the “professional ladies”and enjoy the last hour on the dance floor.

By the way, Anghor Draft is lovely.

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