Give Peace A Chance…

Oi Polloi! Pleased you’re back. Time flies, aeroplanes crash Eh?

Our next port of call was a stomp across town to the War Remnants Museum. Again, it’s perhaps inappropriate to use the word ‘good’ when it comes to any type of museum that is concerned with war and destruction, but it is certainly very educational, and an essential visit should you be in Ho Chi Minh City.

Upon arrival, you are greeted with a view of an array of American military vehicles, tanks, aeroplanes and helicopters, which were salvaged by the Vietnamese after the war. They strike an impressive sight prior to actually entering the museum itself.

Once inside the museum, it rapidly becomes apparent that their ethos is one of a drive for world wide peace, as opposed to a celebration of military conflict. The lower floor contains a selection of photographs and art pieces which were collated from around the world during the Vietnam War, including letters and well wishes to Ho Chi Minh himself, as the war waged on.

These were in an exhibition of posters for World Peace

 

These were anti-war posters from 1960s/70s

However, once upstairs within the museum, the atmosphere changes completely, as the harsh reality of the war itself is brought into focus. A stunned silence ensues as visitors observe the war atrocities room, and I immediately became mindful of the age old oxymoronic adage ‘military intelligence is a contradiction in terms’.

The sheer scale of destruction and loss of life incurred during the war beggars belief, and is difficult to comprehend, in all honesty. Three million Vietnamese were killed (of which two million were civilians), a further two million people were injured, 30,000 people simply went missing, 70,000 children were orphaned, 40,000 cattle were lost, and tens of thousands of hectares of land were utterly destroyed by relentless bombing. One of the biggest difficulties that the Americans encountered was that it was nigh on impossible for them to identify where the Viet Cong were located, and who they actually were amidst the general population.

American anti-war literature

A female Viet Cong soldier. Many of these women became war heroes and are greatly respected, in Vietnam, to this day.

As a consequence of American uncertainty, any one was fair game, and entire villages were sometimes massacred, often based on little more than questionable ‘intelligence’ gathered in the field by the American soldiers, who were airlifted in and out of combat zones by helicopter. The museum is not for the faint hearted; countless images of torture, napalm, and the realities of war stare back at you, as you walk around the exhibits.

Own goal! Ha Phan, 3rd August 1967. U.S. Twin engined transport plane hit by American artillery attempting to land at Special Forces camp, laden with ammunition. All three crewmen died.

I was particularly moved by the account of the actions of former Senator Bob Kerry, on February 25th 1969. Then a Seal Ranger, he led a group of soldiers to Hamlet 5, Thanh Phong Village in Ben Tre Province. Upon arrival, the Seals murdered two pensioners by slitting their throats. Thereafter, they located their three grandchildren who were hiding in a drain, and proceeded to kill them, disemboweling one of them in the process.

Ex-Senator Bob Kerry

Kerry and the soldiers under his command next located the remaining villagers in their hiding places, and shot all 15 of them (including three pregnant women) and for an encore, disemboweled another young girl. One 12 year old was the only survivor. It was not until April, 2001, that Kerry finally confessed his involvement to the international public. These types of crimes against humanity were frequent throughout the war, and it is commonly accepted that the actions of the Americans amounted to genocide.

However, what impressed both Emma and I about the War Remnants Museum, was that it would be easy for the Vietnamese to overlook the other side of the story, and the loss of American lives in the war, but they do not. The truth of the war, however unpleasant, took its toll on both sides, and tribute is paid to all those who died.

For example, the Hellacious eco-cide chemical warfare of Agent Orange contaminated many of the American soldiers who were obliged to spray and handle the chemical, many of whom developed horrific illnesses years later, when they had returned to the States. Their stories are on the walls and lay bare the harsh reality of the use of chemical weapons, and the dreadful cost to human life (never mind the damage to the environment) that the war incurred.

This room consisted of many photos of the effects of Agent Orange

The American soldiers who suffered from the effects of Agent Orange did get compensation. The many Vietnamese it has effected have not…

This was a deformed foetus, its mother had been exposed.

Indeed, in terms of total American loss, 211,454 military personnel were killed, with a further 2489 who went missing in action. A large percentage of the Americans were of course drafted into the war, a war which waged on for years and years, and a war which was arguably impossible for the Americans to ever win.

This photo particularly upset me. This girl is kept in a cage because she eats anything she finds and can be aggressive. Her behavioural problems were due to the fact her mother was exposed to Agent Orange.

There were positive stories as well. This was carved by a man with severe disabilities, caused by Agent Orange. He makes a living from his work.

With the exception of those guilty of war crimes such as Ex Senator Kerry, I personally see little point in blaming individual soldiers in the Vietnam, or indeed any, war. But I do apportion blame to the politicians who compel young men and women to go to war and meet an untimely demise.

As I contemplated the horror of the savage conflict, suddenly John Lennon’s ‘Give Peace A Chance’ chorus didn’t strike me as quite as tacky, as I had perhaps viewed it historically.

The cost of war is an abomination. To cite punk group The Subhumans, “All that money spent on war could be used to feed the poor…”

Nuff said on the subject, at least until our next post.

Trent*/X

A female Viet Cong soldier. Many of these women became war heroes and are greatly respected, in Vietnam, to this day.

Senator Bob Kerry

Anti-war literature

This photo particularly upset me. This girl is kept in a cage because she eats anything she finds and can be aggressive.

This was a deformed foetus, its mother had been exposed.

Own goal! Ha Phan, 3rd August 1967. U.S. Twin engined transport plane hit by American artillery attempting to land at Special Forces camp, laden with ammunition. Al three crewmen died.

This room consisted of many photos of the effects of Agent Orange

There were positive stories as well. This was carved by a man with severe disabilities, caused by Agent Orange and he makes a living from his work.

These were in an exhibition of posters for World Peace

 

Purple Hearts…

Hey! It’s been a while. Apologies for delay. Bear with us, & we will get there in the end…

So, Emma and I took a bus from Chau Doc to Ho Chi Minh city (formerly known as Saigon). The bus was a very comfortable affair, you are obliged to remove your shoes, and lay down on a bed, of which there were upper and lower bunks. It was kinda cool watching the world roll by.

This was a great bus journey

By this point in our travels, Emma was getting concerned that I had made zero preparation for us reaching Japan. We had had the good sense to purchase a bootlegged photocopied Lonely Planet Guide to Japan in Bangkok, so I started having a swift leaf through it on route. The key places I suggested we visit were Tokyo, Osaka and Hiroshima. But we’ll get to Japan in due course.

Lunch, crackers and quails eggs, only 60p!

Upon arrival to Ho Chi Minh city we took a taxi to an area which was suggested in the Lonely Planet to be good for budget guesthouses, and surveyed the landscape. The city is a hustle and bustle of tourists, many westerners, and with the lyrics to Paul Hardcastle’s song ’19’ rattling around in my head (specifically samples such as ‘Purple Hearts – Saigon, Purple Hearts – Saigon, Man, I didn’t really know what was going on….” we bailed the taxi, and were promptly accosted by a woman who ran a guesthouse and was touting for business.

The lady in question spoke exceptionally good English, and led us off through a myriad of alleyways, which we were to discover were characteristic of Ho Chi Minh City overall. We got lucky – and ended up on the third floor of a guesthouse with a clean and comfortable room, complete with curtains of The Sneetches, of Doctor Seuss fame. I always liked the story of The Star Bellied Sneetches. A classic bit of children’s literature with a good anti racist/prejudice message. Had to be a good omen we thought.

The curtains

The pillowcases, do you notice a theme here?

We left the guesthouse to discover that the woman who we had met didn’t run the place, a task assigned to her daughter in law and son, neither of whom really spoke much English. None the less, they were friendly, although they seemed to occupy the reception area 24/7, and largely slept on the floor. Anxious that we were not mugged, they emphasised to us we should wear our rucksacks on our chests, and not carry wallets in our back pockets.

View from our balcony, which you could only fit one person on…

In due course, we bumped once more into Jack. He explained that he had met a woman who was the victim of a bag snatch. Local criminals race around on motor scooters, and grab what they can from tourists. Jack’s friend sounded reasonably savvy, but had refused to surrender her bag. Apparently she was dragged 500 meters up the street before her assailant gave up the mugging as a bad job, and let her go. None the less, the woman in question required a hospital admission.

I don’t know if we were blessed, it was good fortune, or just blind luck, but we did not encounter any muggers. Emma speculated that my height and stomping around in a pair of 14 hole Doctor Martin’s boots may have dissuaded any potential attackers. Good job too, if so, as to be honest I’m a pacifist who’d most likely struggle to fight my way out of a paper crisp bag, although I would lash out if Emma’s welfare was on the line. But we located the main tourist hub between Pham Ngu Lao Street and Bui Vien Street and set about locating watering holes and decent places to eat. Overall, the residents of the city seemed pretty friendly. We again contemplated the film ‘Apocalypse Now’ and the scenes in the movie which are set in Saigon. To say it felt surreal would be an under statement.

Out on Bui Vien St

Bui Vien St

The following day we set out to visit the Revolution Museum. We were encouraged by the honesty of the Vietnamese people when, after not noticing that we had been short changed at the Reception, their security guard tracked us down in the Museum and gave us our refund. We gratefully offered our thanks, as I trawled through a huge box of South Vietnamese army patches on sale in their souvenir shop, and purchased a few. The lady who worked in there also threw me a few freebies, which I would later add to what became known as ‘Traveller Trent’s Jacket’ – a sort of travelogue of patches that I sewed on as we were on the move via planes, trains, and automobiles. Ho Hum…

In any event, The Revolutionary Museum was where I first started to learn about the history of the Vietnam War. Formerly colonised by the French, Communism began to flourish in Vietnam, and ultimately resulted in a revolution against the French in August, 1945. The revolution was a culmination of resentment against the French, which was orchestrated in a number of uprisings in factories across the country, accompanied by bitter and often bloody confrontations in direct action on the streets themselves. By no means an overnight affair, the conflict became known as ‘The First Indochina War’, and was waged by the Viet Minh (I think it roughly translates as Vietnamese Communists) until the battle of Dien Bien Phu, against both the French and the Chinese, in 1954.

Thereafter, the 1954 Geneva Convention, also known as the 17th Parallel, was created. The Convention created a North/South divide in Vietnam. The Viet Minh were given control of the North under the command (for want of a better adjective) of Ho Chi Minh, the south controlled by Emperor Bao Dai. Democratic elections were promised to the Vietnamese people in 1956, but they failed to ever materialise. Instead, the south fell foul to an American puppet regime, led by Prime Minister Ngo Dinh Diem. What happened thereafter is subject to historical interpretation. I will attempt to be as objective as possible, as to what the American’s and the Vietnamese people recount what actually happened;-

On August 2nd, 1964, the American battleship the USS Maddox was alleged to have been torpedoed by three North Vietnamese Torpedo boats, who viewed the USS Maddox as being within their territory at sea. Some historians are of the view that the American’s commenced fire first. What is unquestionably true is that the American’s responded by sending F-8 Crusader fighter jets, who sank one of the Vietnamese Torpedo boats, and heavily damaged a second.

This guy was very cunning, he started chatting with us, then encouraged this photo, then sold us his last two coconuts at an extortionate price

I feel obliged to state that from what I have read about Vietnam at that point in history, the American’s were deliberately playing ‘cat and mouse’, to illicit a military response from the Vietnamese. Indeed, there is little dispute that Captain George Stephen Morrison (bizarrely the father of the late rock star and anti Vietnamese War champion Jim Morrison, of the American band The Doors), who had the command of the flagship USS Bon Homme Richard, had ordered the USS Maddox to go no closer to Hon Me Island than 8 miles. None the less, this order, deliberately or otherwise, was ignored. The USS Maddox was confirmed as sighted within 3 or 4 miles of the coastline. Bear in mind that the Vietnamese considered their territory a 12 mile limit from the island. Draw your own conclusions on this sensitive stage in pre-military conflict.

It wasn’t just Tet the Vietnamese were celebrating while we were there, but also the anniversary of the Communist Party

Article 16 of the Geneva Agreement accord had prior prohibited the intervention of introduction of foreign troops into Vietnam. Article 16 also outlawed reinforcements of foreign troops on Vietnamese soil. Article 19 specifically stated that no foreign states might establish military bases in Vietnam. As a consequence of this, what occurred next by the American navy, air force and military, may be deemed as illegal under international law.

On the 4th August, 1964, it was alleged that two further Vietnamese Torpedo Boats torpedoed the USS Maddox. The Captain of the Maddox submitted his report on the basis of his interpretation of radar receptions. However, he later conceded that freak weather conditions may have contributed to the radar readings being incorrect, in terms of radar distortions. Within thirty minutes, President Johnson none the less ordered retaliatory air attacks.

It is somewhat curious that no damaged Vietnamese Torpedo boats, or indeed dead Vietnamese sailors, were ever located. What is undeniable true is that what became known as the ‘Gulf of Tonkin Incident’ evolved into a catalyst for the escalation of the Vietnam War, at a time that President Johnson took a step closer to seeking re-election by the American public…

More next post!

Trent */X

It wasn’t just Tet the Vietnamese were celebrating while we were there, but also the anniversary of the Communist Party

This guy was very cunning, he started chatting with us, then encouraged this photo, then sold us his last two coconuts at an extortionate price

 

Good Morning Vietnam!

We’d like to say Good Evening (or Good Morning), wherever you are…

Writing of Good Morning, our first morning in Vietnam was very loud; the plethora of scooter horns on the main road outside of our guesthouse was overwhelming, and it all began at around Six AM. Not that we surfaced until a little later in the day (!)

When we did finally venture downstairs, we ordered a hearty breakfast, then made enquiries if it might be possible to hire bicycles or a transport to Ba Chuc? We had read that there had been a mass killing of Vietnamese people by the Khmer Rouge during Pol Pot’s regime, and that there now exists a huge bone pagoda memorial at the site, as a consequence.

Unfortunately, the staff’s command of the English language was reasonably limited (although streets ahead of my command of Vietnamese, I will concede). Moreover, it emerged that there are no traditional motorised Tuk Tuk’s in Chau Doc – they are all bicycle Tuk Tuk’s, meaning that some poor sod has the unenviable job of having to cycle up to two people around the locality.

Emma and I had always actively avoided bicycle Tuk Tuk’s, but we figured ‘When in Rome…’. A young guy was hustling for work just outside of the restaurant area of our hotel, and was certainly offering a cheaper fair than we would have to pay for a motorbike transport. We asked, via reception, if we could be taken to Ba Chuc, and then on to Tuc Dup Hill.

On route…

The latter, Tuc Dup Hill, is famed as it is known as ‘Two Million Dollar Hill’, due to the fact that the Americans spent that figure bombing it. The reception chatted in Vietnamese to our Tuk Tuk cyclist, and we agreed on a price. Then we were off.

Jo our bicycle Tuk Tuk driver. Lovely guy…

It rapidly became apparent that our Tuk Tuk cyclist spoke next to no English. He carried with him a Vietnamese-English phrase book, which the three of us periodically consulted, in an attempt to liase with each other. Progress was slow, but the guy seemed really nice.

Our only means of communication!

Unfortunately, we never got to Ba Chuc. Instead we were taken to a random temple adorned with religious swastika flags. God alone knows the name of the place, but it is aesthetically attractive, and approximately half way down the long road out of town, to what we were reasonably convinced was, in fact, Tuc Dup Hill.

Many tourists take a motorbike up Tuc Dup. Emma and I wanted to conquer it on foot. It was quite an arduous walk in the heat, and we had two, if not three, pauses for a rest, on the way up. The hill boasts a cemetery at its base, and then a variety of religious statues and memorials as you ascend it.

At the base of Tuc Dup.

On route to the top

Towards the summit, there are a number of restaurant bars, all fitted with hammocks, where customers can relax, and view the Mekong Delta. South Vietnam appeared incredibly flat – almost like Holland. On route up, there also exist a variety of old school games, the type you find at country fayres, in which you pay to throw a hoop or ball in a bucket – that type of thing. We also encountered a number of young couples, and we concluded it was somewhat of a young lovers haunt!

View of the cemetery at the base.

The Mekong Delta

One of the many hammock bars…

Public information sign, using bins in South East Asia, it seems, is quite a new thing!

Everyone we met was friendly, despite the fact that the chances of their speaking English, was pretty slim. Once at the top of Tuc Dup we took in the view, enjoyed a hammock and a beer, and then went back down to be re-united with our man with the Tuk Tuk, who cycled us the thirty minutes or so back into town.

We felt sorry for the guy. He was panting and sweating like a trooper, as we sat in the back living the life of Riley. We resisted the temptation of giving the locals slight waves, and saying “Hello, Poor People”, but it did feel a bit like that. Upon arrival back at the hotel, Emma pointed to Vietnamese in the phrase book for ‘Happy New Year’, and we bought the guy a drink. In return, he consulted the book, and gave us best wishes for the remainder of our holiday.

This is a man who truly works for his living! We gave him a tip, as well as buying him a drink of his choice….

Most tourists/travellers spend no more than one night in Chau Doc. But as it was Tet, we elected to spend two nights, which was a wise decision. In the evening we wandered around the streets, and before we knew it, a huge public firework display was in full swing, so as to welcome in the Lunar New Year!

People on the streets were incredibly friendly. We sat down outside of a bar and drank beer with one such family, the husband/father of which was employed in Saigon by a vehicle company, spoke good English, and was keen to ascertain where we were from, and thereafter, what our views on the Americans were? We had to tell the truth, so admitted that we sometimes found them “a bit loud”, which caused him to roar with laughter.

Lovely family!

They gave us both a sweet rice cake in a banana leaf…very tasty!

After we had said our farewells to that family, we made for the town square, where Tet festivities were in full swing. Another group of locals called us over and gave us free ice cream, a local delicacy, prior to us joining the crowds of festival goers, who were rapidly gathering to view the Chinese-esque puppet dragons, which were to become a staple diet of our Vietnamese Tet festivities, over the following week.

Another lovely family, who insisted they buy us some ice cream. This goes totally against the warnings by people that the Vietnamese are hostile towards Westerners, during Tet!!!

Typically, each ‘dragon’ is a costume worn by up to three people, although usually two, and they delight onlookers by dancing and jumping on and off platforms, erected for purpose, by the respective performance troop. Here’s a clip of the dragons in action! With their electric-lit and blinking eyes, the children present are enchanted with the dragons. They do make a great spectacle, I will admit!

 

Moreover, none of the Tet Festivities are complete minus a dancing Buddha! The Buddha periodically comes running out, dishing out sweets and other goodies to the kids!

All of the festivities we attended had a fantastic feel-good factor, and I have to say we were made to feel very welcome, by one and all who were celebrating!

Emma and I had booked a daytime sleeper bus for Saigon, or Ho Chi Minh City as it is now known, for the following day.

I wondered what a major Vietnamese city might be like, as we dozed off to sleep…

More next post…

Trent */X

 

At the base of Tuc Dup.

On route to the top

The Mekong Delta

Public information sign, using bins in South East Asia, it seems, is quite a new thing!

On route…

Jo our bicycle Tuk Tuk driver. Lovely guy…

View of the cemetery at the base.

They gave us both a sweet rice cake in a banana leaf…very tasty!

Our only means of communication!

This is a man who truly works for his living! We gave him a tip as well as bought him a drink of his choice….

One of the many hammock bars…

Lovely family!

Another lovely family, who insisted they buy us some ice cream. This goes totally against the warnings by people that the Vietnamese are hostile towards Westerners during Tet!!!

 

No Water For Sick Buffalo…

Hey! How’s it going? Pleased you’re back with us!!

Emma and I caught a transport back to Phnom Penh, and said our farewells to Kampot. The return journey was the exact route we had prior taken several days earlier, not that either of us complained; the Cambodian countryside is a delight to behold, as it passes you by.

A brief convenience stop included our coach driver venturing into a diner and re-appearing with two live ducks. I stood smoking a cigarette as I watched him carry said birds to the coach, and he then opened up the luggage compartment, on the side of the vehicle. In two swift moves he broke their necks and deposited the deceased ducks, in a bag, inside. No prizes for guessing what he was eating for dinner with his family that night!

As we approached the centre of Phnom Penh, one of the female passengers began exhibiting erratic behaviour. Initially she began standing in the aisle, staring vacantly into space. Next she began to look very uncomfortable and anxious. Thereafter she was unable to resist the compulsion to re-arrange all of the curtains on the coach any longer. It was fairly obvious that she with suffering with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder; each and every curtain had to be tied in exactly the same way, regardless of the wishes of the individual passengers who were seated next to them.

Emma and I felt sorry for the woman. It was apparent that her mental health was poor. Emma re-tied our curtains in the same way that she was adjusting each and every one on the coach, before she returned to where we were seated. The woman paused and stared at them, before proceeding to adjust the curtains behind us. By the time our coach had come to a stand still, she was in a catatonic state, seated at the back. Concerned passengers attempted to aid her by offering her water. She was entirely unresponsive. I wondered quite what was going on in her mind, as I attempted to empathise with her.

A crew member went to her assistance. The woman stood up and attempted to leave the coach, but froze midway down the vehicle. It was a difficult situation, as Emma and I were stood behind her, and she was blocking our exit. We elected to wait patiently until we were finally able  to pass her. Outside the standard Tuk Tuk carnage raged, as drivers sought fares.

The woman was going through a terrible ordeal. It was a timely reminder of how lucky we are to have mental health services in the west. Variously Emma and I witnessed local people exhibiting mental health disorders in South East Asia. There is precious little health care for physical disorders, never mind mental health. The last we saw of her, the woman was sitting at the front of the coach, trembling, and rocking her head. We emerged outside, retrieved our backpacks, and fought through the crowds. It was the last we ever saw of our distressed fellow passenger.

We returned to Street 258, and checked into a mediocre guesthouse, which was cheap and cheerful. A statue of the Buddha was located in the reception. A young male member of staff, with a tongue in cheek sense of humour, explained it was disrespectful to touch the head of the statue. He then added “So I slap him round the face all the time”, and proceeded to do so! He asked us where we were from? Upon stating “England” he laughed and added “I love the way you English say ‘Yes, please'”, with emphasis on the pronunciation of the word please.

Street 258

Moments later we were asked if we were ready to check in? Emma and I replied “Yes please” in synchronisation, without thinking about it. The guy laughed out loud and said “See what I mean?” He was somewhat of a joker. We were taken to our room – yet another room with a view of a brick wall! After resting, we went outside. The local Tuk Tuk Drivers recognised us, and were quite a friendly bunch.

One particular Tuk Tuk Driver was named Mr Lucky. His business card proudly proclaimed ‘Welcome to my Tuk Tuk’, and he often wore a T-shirt that stated ‘No Water For Sick Buffalo’, not that Emma and I had a clue what that was meant to mean?! On other occasions Lucky wore a T-shirt which said ‘Beer Patrol’, and he would stroll up and down the street observing what people were drinking, alcohol wise, and then shout out the name of your respective alcoholic beverage, as he passed by. Lucky is a nice guy. If you should need anything in Phnom Penh, then Mr Lucky is your man…

Mr Lucky

Upon our return, our major objective was to take young Koda out for a drink. We sauntered up to The Lazy Gecko, and spoke to her. I envisaged that we would take her to one of the other bars on the street, so she could escape from her work place. Koda explained that it was the Lunar New Year, Tet, over the following days, and would we like to go to a party hosted by her family?

Unfortunately, we had prior booked our boat trip to Vietnam by that point, so we had to decline. None the less, Koda agreed to have a drink with us once she had finished her shift, and instructed us to return around Ten PM, explaining that provided it was sufficiently quiet, she would be able to have a drink with us. We rocked back up there at around Nine, and ordered a beer.

As Ten approached, and to our surprise, Koda carried plastic chairs and a table across the street, and positioned them next to the parked up Tuk Tuks, whose drivers were largely killing time playing cards. Koda then proceeded to usher Emma and I across the road, asked us to sit down, and then produced a bag full of cans of beer! I explained that it was us who wanted to buy her a drink, but Koda was unperturbed, enquiring whether I wanted whiskey instead?! Her generosity knew no bounds, and I doubt that she was earning a huge amount of money.

Out drinking Cambodian Style..

I was initially a little concerned that sitting on a dark road, drinking on the street with a motley crew of Tuk Tuk drivers, might not be a good idea. On the other hand, Koda seemed too genuine to be lulling us into a false sense of security, so we ran with it. I asked one of Koda’s colleagues if there was any chance of buying beer from inside The Lazy Gecko, despite the fact that the bar had by now long closed? He instead took me up the road to a female street vendor, who agreed to sell me beer. I counted the number of Tuk Tuk drivers who were sitting adjacent to us, and bought them a can of beer each!

On cue, upon my return, I felt a tap on my shoulder, as I was dishing the cans of beer out. Turning round, I laughed as I discovered it was Mr Lucky! ‘Well timed and well named!’ I thought to myself, as I gave him the last can. Unfortunately that meant that I did not have a can left for Emma, who promptly advised Lucky that he had better enjoy it! We sat drinking with Koda and the guys into the early hours. It was a great night, Cambodian style.

Who needs expensive bars when you’re befriended by local people? Koda was lovely. Later Emma and I made a resolve to pay for her to visit us in England, should we ever win the lottery. Fingers crossed we do win Koda, it would be great to meet up with you again, at some point in the future…

The following day we donned our backpacks, said our farewells to the Tuk Tuk Drivers, who shouted their thanks for the prior nights cans of beer, and we next made for the jetty. We had variously heard that a land crossing into Vietnam could be characterised by bribes and corruption, so taking a boat seemed like a sensible idea. Our chartered boat was reasonably small, but modern and efficient. Our fellow passengers were largely white middle class, middle aged, tourists.

Captain Trent on board

Emma and I weren’t sure if we had timed our visit to Vietnam very well, due to Tet. Unlike the Cambodians, the Vietnamese celebrate Tet for an entire week, and we had been warned that many shops and businesses close down for the entire duration. Moreover, we had also been told that the Vietnamese can be quite feisty, and neither of us had any idea if we might encounter any hostility from the locals, as a consequence of the infamous war.

None the less, we rolled with our fortunes as our boat docked for immigration, when we reached the border. You initially check out of Cambodian territory, which was pain free for us. However, another British couple encountered difficulty, as the woman had over stayed her visa. The Cambodian border guards hiked the price of the individual days she had over stayed, yet despite her partner protesting, they were obliged to pay the inflated price.

The Cambodian Border post

 

Thereafter, we were ferried by boat to the Vietnamese Immigration Office, which is a floating affair, where you dock, depart the boat, and surrender your passport as you are processed. We had to wait for almost an hour, but there is a bar, so you can relax, drink a can of beer, and watch the world pass by on the river. The next thing we knew our passports were returned, and we were back on the boat, and heading up the Mekong into Vietnam itself!

The Vietnamese border post

I became quite excited at the prospect of entering Vietnam, so shot outside to snap a photograph. I hadn’t realised quite how fast our boat was moving, so lost my hat to a gust of wind. The last I saw of it was it floating on the water behind us. It’s probably now being worn by a Mekong fisherman. A very stylish fisherman, I might add….

The infamous sunset photo which cost Trent his hat..

Views along the Mekong.

Disappointed at the loss of my hat, I made a resolve not to dwell on it. Emma and I docked at Chau Doc, and strolled out on to the streets. A busy and colourful market place greeted us, but unlike Cambodia, few people were able to speak to us in English.

Chau Doc

The streets were rammed with people, the roads awash with scooters carrying entire families, babies, and literally anything of size or substance that could feasibly be attached to them, by any means necessary.

Child seat, what child seat?

Baby seat, what baby seat?

The local people were in frantic preparation for the following evenings Tet festivities. It occurred to Emma and I that for the first time in our lives we would get to celebrate the New Year twice in one month!

View from our balcony

We checked into a budget guesthouse, and settled in, as we awaited Tet with eager anticipation…

A classic hotel warning sign.

The very stylish ‘Ben 10’ blankets…

More next post…

Trent */X

 

A classic hotel warning sign.

Mr Lucky

The very stylish ‘Ben 10’ blankets…

Baby seat, what baby seat?

Child seat, what child seat?

Street 258

The Cambodian Border post

The Vietnamese border post

Chau Doc

View from our balcony

Captain Trent on board

The infamous sunset photo which cost Trent his hat..

Out drinking Cambodian Style..

Views along the Mekong.

 

Kampot Kicks!

Welcome back!

The journey to Kampot was on a coach that initially had a few engine problems, which required that our driver had to stop to replace the engines belt, on route. Notwithstanding that delay, we were soon on our way.

Emma and I chatted to a middle aged French couple, a bus driver and a nurse, who had elected to holiday in Cambodia as it was cheap. Another passenger who boarded was an alternatively dressed British woman sporting some impressive tattoos, with whom we struck up conversation. It emerged her name was Stella, and she’d been travelling for some considerable time, but on her own, unlike us.

The journey to Kampot was aesthetically impressive, and I speculated in my mind as to whether the fields which sped by us had once been utilised by the Khmer Rouge for forced labour, as we had learned about at S 21, and The Killing Fields. The countryside in Cambodia today is lush and idyllic. Sometimes the tarmac gives way to dirt roads, and the vehicles almost totally vanish in clouds of dust, rendering visibility very poor, but that was a minor irritant overall.

In total, the journey took on or abouts five hours. We arrived after dark, and Emma, Stella and I found ourselves standing outside of the coach, with a Tuk Tuk driver attempting to persuade us to give him a fare. Emma was pretty convinced we could locate a guesthouse within walking distance. Meanwhile, Stella was reprimanding the Tuk Tuk driver for touching her arm, when he spied her tattoos. Next, Stella was bartering the guy down on the cost of a fare to a guesthouse she wanted to stay at, which was across the river, and she bid us farewell.

Emma and I fished out our guide book, and asked for directions to a recommended guesthouse. Possibly pissed off that we weren’t interested in hiring his services, the Tuk Tuk driver sent us off in entirely the wrong direction, before he departed with Stella. The street lighting soon came to an end, and we rapidly realised that we were fast reaching the edge of town.

None the less, as luck would have it, we came across a cheap and cheerful guesthouse named The Cozy Elephant. We were afforded a great room with a balcony, from which we could observe the town, and the staff there spoke excellent English, and were very friendly. Somehow, despite all odds, we had landed on our feet yet again!

The view from our balcony

Some crazy plumbing work!

Over the next few days we variously explored Kampot, largely on foot. The French have left a vast array of colonial architecture across the town, which is complimented by a variety of monuments and statues erected by local people. Possibly my favourite was the Durian Statue, which is located on a roundabout. There are a number of statues on roundabouts, and we later ascertained that this is because many local people cannot read, and thus the statues enable people to describe to friends and family how to get around the area, on the roads.

The Durian statue

The Salt workers statue

The Vietnamese Friendship monument.

A river weaves through the town, upon which are located a variety of bars and restaurants, some of which are run by British Ex-Pats, variously playing rock and early eighties new wave music. Combine that with the sedentary nature of the place overall, the sun, cheesy mash potato dishes and the Black Panther Stout, Kampot was a place I rapidly fell in love with. It is very relaxed. Even a stroll past the local prison had all the prisoners in the gardens saying ‘Hello’, and giving us a cheery waves! Somewhat surreal to say the very least!

Old school ring pulls…

After a couple of days we booked a transport out of town to visit the former French casino, the kings former holiday retreat, and a Church. Most of the colonial buildings were taken over and/or ransacked in the days of the Khmer Rouge. None the less, they remain in existence, and the casino, despite standing empty, is particularly architecturally impressive.

The French Casino

Apparently if people lost too much money they would throw themselves off this cliff at the back of the Casino to commit suicide!!

In a bizarre turn of events, the minibus for the trip had been overbooked, so Emma and I were allocated a private car, which tailed the minibus, for the duration of the day. We shared the car with a lovely retired Canadian couple who spoke like characters in the movie ‘Fargo’, and described Cambodia as being “pretty neat”, in addition to congratulating us on the UK governments decision not to join the Euro!

The King’s Summer retreat

If that wasn’t strange enough, our tour guide for the day mistakenly concluded that Emma and I were Australian, and greeted us with “G’day Mate”, every time we met him. Moreover, the next thing we knew, an English guy named Craig strolled up to us, and said he recognised me from punk gigs in Birmingham. It transpired he was friends with punk groups GBH and Drongos for Europe, and was a professional photographer!

The old Police station.

Just as we thought the day couldn’t get anymore bizarre, we were taken up to the church where a large group of African Christians had gathered, all of whom were engaged in singing their praise for Jesus Christ, offering blessings, and generally rejoicing in the name of God. Not an everyday occurance in Cambodia, so we promptly cracked a beer, so as to make some sense of what was fast evolving into a weird and wonderful day.

Later that afternoon we took a boat trip up river, so as to take in the gorgeous countryside, and generally chill out. Highly recommended. All present thoroughly enjoyed the sunset and sighting the various fishing and other such boats which passed us by, prior to us all returning to the town for a spot of grub.

Captain Trent on board

The following day we again bumped into Stella, who introduced us to her friend Raphael. A lazy days drinking ensued. One bar which became a regular haunt boasted a bar cat and a member of staff named Visith, who spoke excellent English, and afforded us free shots of whiskey on quieter evenings.

Stella and Raphael

This kitten was so cute!!

Visith transpired to be ridiculously over qualified to be engaged in remunerative employment as a barman. He had attained at least two degrees, but explained that like many other young people in Cambodia, there simply weren’t employment opportunities available to reflect his educational qualifications. A lovely guy with a great taste in music. Sorely missed by us too. Bless him.

Visith on the left

Two Americans we met Trevor and Terri, what a great night out!

In total, Emma and I spent four nights in Kampot, and we had a thoroughly good time. The only bad thing I can recall occurring was that one evening Stella and Raphael thought their hired scooter had been stolen, but it later transpired it had been impounded, and it was a scam to obtain a fee for returning said scooter.

Stella speculated that the hire company was actually in on the entire swindle, but reluctantly had to dig deep in her pockets to reclaim the scooter. A seasoned veteran at travelling, she was of the view that it was a pointless waste of time involving the local police, and on a balance of probability, we were inclined to agree with her. Sometimes such annoyances just go with the territory, when you’re on the road.

Kampot was great all in all!

It was time for Emma and I to return to Phnom Penh, in an attempt to catch up with Koda, at The Lazy Gecko.

We planned to return there to stay for two nights, and then take a boat transport into neighbouring Vietnam.

More on what happened next, next post…

Trent */X

 

Kampot was great all in all!

Two Americans we met Trevor and Terri, what good night out!

Visith on the left

The Salt workers statue

Captain Trent on board

The King’s Summer retreat

Some crazy plumbing work!

The old Police station.

Apparently if people lost too much money they would through themselves of this cliff at the back of the Casino!!

This kitten was so cute!!

The Durian statue

Old school ring pulls…

The French Casino

The view from our balcony

Stella and Rafael

The Vietnamese Friendship monument,

 

Angel of Phnom Penh!

Hello Again.

Thanks for staying with us!

After S-21 and The Killing Fields, Emma and I needed some light relief. In all honesty, it took us about 48 hours to properly recover from that experience. So we decided to take it easy, in and around Phnom Penh.

The Lonely Planet had recommended a guesthouse called the Lazy Gecko, but it had been full when we attempted to book in. None the less, it was only just up the road from the guesthouse where we did end up staying. Lazy Gecko’s food was meant to be very good, so we checked it out.

As luck would have it, Lazy Gecko specialises in British grub, and they lay on a few vegetarian options as well, including a vegetarian Sunday Roast. One of the waitresses who works there is a lovely lady named Koda, and we became such regular customers, we got to know her quite well. It transpired that Koda is also a budding artist, and had decorated many of the rooms in the Lazy Gecko herself.

Koda

It was also at the Lazy Gecko that we met Inge from Belgium. Inge was a great laugh, and introduced us to her friend Ilsa. The pair of them suggested that we all head out to a fun fair one evening, and after we had all downed a few drinks, we did. In all honesty the fun fair was a no smoking affair, but we decided that that rule didn’t apply on the big wheel, and it certainly didn’t when we went up on it – Ho Hum.

Ilsa on the left and Inge on the right

We had a great night on the various rides that were on offer. But it certainly wasn’t Alton Towers theme park resort, and judging by the screams from the young people on the Pirate Ship, we concluded that Fair Ground rides and attractions are still in their relative infancy in Cambodia. Still great fun though.

Actually I was quite scared on the Ferris Wheel!

By day, we wandered around on foot, resisting the offers of Tuk Tuk rides, other than in the evenings. Phnom Penh is a pretty chilled out city. The public parks host sound systems where local people engage in synchronised dancing, and despite Pol Pot’s best efforts at exterminating them, Monks are a commonplace sight on the streets of the city these days.

We ate this delicious tapas at Friends restaurant, a training centre for young Cambodians, some of which were street kids. Definitely worth a visit

After the theft of his clippers, Trent had to pop for a haircut..first time he’d been to a hairdressers in 20 years!!

Similarly, in stark contrast to Pot’s views on Cambodia’s neighbours, a large Vietnamese Friendship Monument has been erected, in addition to a Memorial Statue in remembrance of Cambodia’s much loved late King Sihanouk. Nearby also stands the Independence Monument, all of which are worth a punt, if you fancy stretching your legs on a sunny afternoon.

The Vietnamese Friendship Monument

King Sihanouk

Independence Monument

All in walking distance of Street 258, where we stayed. Though the street numbering system is chaotic, and does not make any sense in Phnom Penh!

In the evenings we frequented bars, our favourite of which was the Zeppelin Cafe, situated on Street 51. An old guy DJ’s at the back of the bar, guarding his much loved vinyl collection, although most of the tunes he plays are via his PC, these days. Rock is his speciality, but me being me, I thought I’d try my luck asking for a bit of punk to be played!

To my pleasant surprise he obliged us with The New York Dolls, The Clash, the Sex Pistols, the Dead Boys and the UK Subs! What then really struck a chord with me was that he next cranked up the Subhumans ‘The Day The Country Died’! I love that song, but listening to it in public in Cambodia was just something else!!

Great place, though I would say the bar staff didn’t seem so enamoured with the music…

Bear in mind that when the Khmer Rouge overran Phnom Penh, the entire city was totally deserted within days, when its occupants were marched out by the Khmer Rouge to undertake forced work in the countryside. Suddenly a British punk song, which envisages a western country collapsing under the weight of capitalism, took on an entirely different meaning…

We eventually decided to book a transport to Kampot, famed for its French colonial architecture, and exquisite pepper! We were not to be disappointed!

We planned to return to Phnom Penh to see Koda four or five days later. None the less, on our last evening before departure, Koda was such an angel that she bought me a bottle of whiskey, to take with us!

What an angel…

I’d be very surprised if a member of bar staff in a pub or restaurant would ever make such a generous gift to a foreigner in the U.K, that’s for sure!

More next post…

Trent*/X

Actually I was quite scared on the Ferris Wheel!

Koda

After the theft of the clippers, Trent had to pop for a haircut..first time he’s been to a hairdressers in 20 years!!

Great place, though I would say the bar staff didn’t seem so enamoured in the music…

What an angel…

We ate this delicious tapas at Friends restaurant, a training centre for young Cambodians some of which were street kids. Definitely worth a visit

All in walking distance of Street 258, where we stayed. Though the street numbering system in Phnom Penh is chaotic and makes no sense

Ilsa on the left and Inge on the right

Independence Monument

King Sihanouk

He Vietnamese Friendship Monument

Holiday In Cambodia…

“So you’ve been to school for a year or two

And you know you’ve seen it all

In daddy’s car thinkin’ you’ll go far

Back east your type don’t crawl

Play ethnicky jazz to parade your snazz

On your five grand stereo

Braggin that you know how the niggers feel cold

And the slums got so much soul

It’s time to taste what you most fear

Right Guard will not help you here

Brace yourself, my dear

It’s a holiday in Cambodia

It’s tough kid, but it’s life

It’s a holiday in Cambodia

Don’t forget to pack a wife

You’re a star-belly sneech you suck like a leech

You want everyone to act like you

Kiss ass while you bitch so you can get rich

But your boss gets richer on you

Well you’ll work harder with a gun in your back

For a bowl of rice a day…

Now you can go where people are one

Now you can go where they get things done

What you need my son:

Is a holiday in Cambodia

Where people dress in black

A holiday in Cambodia

Where you’ll kiss ass or crack

Pol Pot, Pol Pot, Pol Pot, Pol Pot……”

Dead Kennedy’s – “Holiday in Cambodia”

(Alternative Tentacles Records – 1980).

I’m sure I’m not the first sentient being to enter Cambodia with the aforesaid lyrics on my mind. Nor will I be the last.

After all, to cite The Kinks, “I’m not like everybody else”, yet anyone who believes that statement has either totally missed our individual insignificance on this planet, or is so wrapped up in vanity, that s/he mistakenly believes that the world revolves around them.

I recall my late father, who upon noticing I was sporting a T-shirt with the words ‘Holiday in Cambodia’ printed on it, was hugely offended, and became enraged. Little did he realise that the Dead Kennedy’s were an American left wing punk group, who sought to reveal to the world the horrors of what had happened in Cambodia.

The truth is, that there are millions of people on the planet just like you, irrespective of your individual gender, race, class, religion, nationality or political affiliations (or lack of them). To believe otherwise might make you feel better, but Hey! We all sit on the toilet exactly the same. Read the small print and weep.

So, let’s put the history of the world, as far as Cambodia is concerned, in context, as if there’s one thing I loathe, it’s historical revisionism. During the Vietnam War, under President Nixon’s orders in 1969, the American airforce illegally dropped more bombs on Cambodia than they did on Germany and Japan combined, in World War Two, and killed more than half a million Cambodian people, as a consequence.

Dependent on your point of view, the Vietnam War concluded in 1973. However, the North and South Vietnamese continued fighting, until the North defeated the South, in 1975. This was partly due to the undisputed fact that the Americans continued funding the South for a further two years, following their withdrawal from Vietnam. After all, the American’s never surrendered in Vietnam, to cite a Vietnamese tour guide we shall return to later in our blog, “The French surrendered, The Chinese surrendered, The American’s just ran away…” – Ho Hum.

S-21

Over the border, in Cambodia, the Lol Non regime had overthrown power, from King Sihanouk, in 1970. A man named Saloth Sar, prior educated in France, who had renamed the Workers Party of Kampuchea the Communist Party of Kampuchea (CPK) in 1966, bided his time, in exile, aspiring an opportunity to seize power.

By 1973, American B-52 planes mass bombed tens of thousands of bombs on CPK positions in Cambodia, inflicting thousands of civilian casualties, forcing many civilians to migrate from rural to urban areas. The U.S.A eventually halted bombing in August, under pressure from the U.S Congress. A power vacuum ensued…

President Lol Non’s regime collapses as the CPK’s Khmer Rouge, largely composed of young cadres, recruited/indoctrinated in rural areas, stormed Phnom Penh, on April 17th, 1975. President Lol Non fled to exile. The U.S Embassy evacuated it’s personnel. Three weeks later, in Vietnam, Saigon fell to the northern Vietnamese Communists.

Saloth Sar returns to Phnom Penh, following twelve years in exile, and proceeded to co-ordinate the most radical exercise in social engineering ever attempted; private property and money was abolished. Banks are blown up. The Cambodians civilians residing in urban areas are marched into the countryside, with a view of their engaging in forced labor in agriculture. Thousands die on route, with express regard to the elderly, the young, and the infirm.

By April 1976, whilst punk was making headlines in the U.K, Saloth Sar reinvents himself as Pol Pot, and announces that he is President of Democratic Kampuchea (DK). King Sihanouk is promptly placed under house arrest in Phnom Penh, where he will remain for the next two and a half years. DK Security Personnel open the S-21 Interrogation and Extermination Facility in Phnom Penh. Thereafter, Pol Pot announces his four year plan, which over optimistically seeks to treble rice production, and to exterminate all intellectuals, monks, and any other citizens who dare to oppose his regime.

Khmer Rouge rule lasted for three years, eight months and twenty days. In that time, an estimated 1.7 million people died at the hands of Pol Pot and his followers, until Phnom Penh was finally liberated by the Vietnamese, on the 7th January, 1979. Why was it that Pol Pot, a man who claimed to adhere to a Marxist-Leninist ideology, killed so many of his fellow country men, women and children?

In an attempt to answer that question, I read David Chandler’s excellent book, “Brother Number One” (Silkworm Books, 1999). Chandler describes the murder of nearly two million people as ‘auto-genocide’, and suggests that upon seizing power, Pol Pot fell foul to the pitfalls associated with power and insecurity; namely, tyranny and paranoia. Convinced his regime was being infiltrated by anyone from the KGB to the CIA, he systematically interrogated, tortured and killed anyone who he or his regime suspected of treason, many of whom were loyal members of his own Communist Party. More still were innocent civilians, targeted in a culture of fear, and insular political outlook.

Whilst at the War Museum in Siem Reap, a volunteer guide, who had himself lost both of his parents to the Khmer Rouge regime, not to mention a leg to a land mine, suggested to me that Pol Pot was short for Political Potential. I could find no truth in that statement, during my own research on the subject. Chandler writes that Pol Pot was chosen as it was a name routinely associated with the common man on the street, a Cambodian Joe Bloggs, if you will. Whatever the case, Pol Pot became a man who worshipped the Devil in the name of God, albeit a fascist, trading under a pretext of communism.

Emma and I approached S-21, Tuol Sleng, which was opened to the public in 1979, and now named the Genocide Museum, with some trepidation. For four years it served as Pol Pot’s most brutal interrogation facility, and claimed the lives of an estimated 20,000 people. For it’s victims, anyone who passed through the gates of S-21, were doomed to death.

The rules you were shown as you entered S-21

The average time of incarceration for inmates was four to seven months. Political prisoners were incarcerated for six to seven months. All, including women and children, were then transported to Choeung Ek, the most (in)famous of the 300 killing fields, where they were killed, or, as the Khmer Rouge recorded in their meticulous documentation, citizens were ‘officially destroyed’.

Perhaps one of the most horrific things about S-21 is that it was formerly a Primary School. Four separate buildings that comprised the school were hastily adapted by Pol Pot’s regime for the purposes of interrogation and torture. The first, building ‘A’, existed for the interrogation of Khmer Rouge cadres who were suspected of treason, the remaining buildings, ‘B’ – ‘D’, for civilian prisoners.

Building ‘A’

Photo of one of the bodies found, when S-21 was liberated

When the Vietnamese finally liberated S-21, fourteen bodies remained in Building ‘A’, but could not be identified due to decomposition, abandoned after the Khmer Rouge had fled. One victim was female. Their bodies were buried on the schoolyard outside, where they remain to this day.

Walking through the site, entering its buildings, and the cells themselves, was one of the most frightening things that either of us had ever experienced. They are oppressive, dank, and one could almost taste the terror that had once stalked their dim and dingy walls.

Within the second building, photographs of thousands of S-21 victims are now displayed on the walls, and they stare back at the viewer, many are clearly terrified; captured images of ghosts from little more than three decades ago, denied life or justice under a totalitarian regime, which should serve as a lesson on the evil potential of humanity itself, to us all.

Such young faces…

Khmer Rouge cadres

This photo truly haunted me…

Building ‘C’ was perhaps the most ominous of them all. Therein are contained bricked cells, thrown together in a crude ramshackle fashion, which served to house prisoners. On the floor above are wooden cells, and open plan rooms, where prisoners were shackled together, whilst they awaited torture, and interrogation. S-21 employed no less than 1684 members of staff in total. Their Chief of Office was Kang Keck Lev, commonly known as Duch, and like Pol Pot, a former teacher.

This building was terrifying even now…

Most of the victims of S-21 had no trial. Chandler states thus “conservative estimates of the number of men, women and children who died between 1975 and 1979 as a result of DK policies run between 800,000 (or 1 in 10) and one million (or 1 in 8) inhabitants of the country. These figures do not include those killed in the fighting with Vietnam” (1999).

Thereafter Emma and I proceeded to Choeung Ek, the most famous of all of The Killing Fields. It was difficult to envisage that such a tranquil and peaceful place could have been the site for the senseless slaying of innocent civilians, many of whom were babies and children.

A Memorial Stupa looms over the site, erected in memory of the victims, most of which were clubbed over the head, and then had their throats cut, prior to being thrown into mass graves. Babies were battered around a tree. Duch reportedly warned Khmer Rouge cadres that if they did not kill the babies, then they would return to afflict revenge upon their parents killers, in later life.

The site today is modest and respectful. Tours are by means of audio guides, which ensure that the area is quiet and reserved. The Memorial Stupa contains thousands of skulls of victims retrieved from mass graves. I will let Emma’s photographs speak for themselves:-

Inside the Stupa

Such tranquil surroundings..

For this story to unfold…

This mass grave had 450 bodies, people leave bracelets as a tribute, I left mine and shead a tear

There were also mass graves of headless Khmer Rouge cadres and another of women, children and babies. Others have not been unearthed.

This tree had loudspeakers attached playing revolutionary songs to hide the sound of the peoples screams….

This box contains rags of clothes that keep surfacing

As you walk around you see the rags popping out of the ground. Apparently in the rainy season, teeth and bone still surface

So what happened to Pol Pot following Cambodia’s liberation by the Vietnamese (who, incidentally, Pot loathed; he was a xenophobe). Pot fled to the Thai border, where he languished until his death of heart failure, in 1998.

As late as 1991, Pot continued to yield a huge amount of political power in Cambodia. It was only after his death, that the Cambodian people were finally assured that he would never again return to govern them.

Pol Pot’s body was paraded in front of journalists and photographers, so as to convince the international community that he had finally died.

Pot was cremated by a roadside, on a crude funeral pyre, constructed from wooden furniture and car tyres.

As we drove back to the hotel I felt emotionally drained. I have upmost respect for the Cambodian people as they have chosen to show this in all its horror as a lesson to us one and all..

The trials of those men and women who remain alive, and were part of Pol Pot’s regime, are ongoing;- visit the Khmer Rouge Tribunal website: http://www.eccc.gov.kh/en.

Remember that those of us who fail to learn from the past, are condemned to repeat its mistakes…

More next post…

Trent*/X

There were also mass graves of headless Khmer Rouge cadres and another of women, children and babies. Others have not been unearthed.

Such tranquil surroundings..

For this story to unfold…

Inside the Stupa

This box contains rags of clothes that keep surfacing

As you walk around you see the rags popping out of the ground. Apparently in the rainy season, teeth and bone still surfaces

Building ‘A’

Photo of one of the bodies found, when S-21 was liberated

This building was terrifying even now…

As we drove back to the hotel I felt emotionally drained. I have upmost respect for the Cambodian people as they have chosen to show this in all its horror as a lesson to us one and all..

The rules you were shown as you entered S-21

This tree had loudspeakers attached playing revolutionary songs to hide the sound of the peoples screams….

This mass grave had 450 bodies, people leave bracelets as a tribute, I left mine and shed a tear

Teaching, Trent Capone and a Tonlé Sap tide..

Hey Amigos!

The following days we spent in Siem Reap variously exploring the town, supping Baroso Whiskey, and indulging in the restaurants.

Crazy traffic in Siem Reap

Emma was keen to engage in some voluntary work, so made contact with a Monk named Mr Ran, whose contact details we had been given by Maya and Svea, the Australians who we had met in Kuching, several months earlier.

We took a Tuk Tuk to meet Mr Ran at his Monastery. I warmed to him straight away. He was in no way judgemental of our appearance, and unlike many Monks, was happy to communicate with us, irrespective of Emma’s gender (some Monks actively avoid contact with women).

The lovely Mr Ran

Indeed, I was quick to enquire of Mr Ran what was the current position with politics in Cambodia? He simply shrugged off the question by stating “Politicians are all corrupt”. I don’t really think you can argue with that statement, when discussing politics, in more or less every country these days. A sad sign of the times…

In any event, Mr Ran explained that the three of us would have to take a Tuk Tuk out of town, to reach his school. It was approximately a forty minute journey each way. Upon arriving at the school, Mr Ran showed us around the grounds, and then we were taken into a classroom.

The school temple grounds

Emma was pretty much thrown in at the deep end. The pupils were all keen to learn to speak English fluently, and most had a reasonable command of the English language already. Emma introduced ourselves and conducted an icebreaking exercise, much to the delight of the class.

Mr Ran then produced some photocopied worksheets, which contained a written script in English of a potential resident telephoning a hotel, speaking to the Reception, and booking a room. Emma and I were asked to read the script aloud several times, in order that the pupils could listen to us speaking English.

If you would like to volunteer to teach these guys, search for ‘Native Cambodia’ on facebook and send Mr Ran a message

Thereafter Emma was on her feet, walking around the classroom and providing clarification of the meaning of words to the pupils, in addition to assisting them with pronounciation. I was a little more reserved, and remained seated, but I entered into dialogue with the pupils who sat behind me.

We stayed at the school for two classes, the second occurring after a brief break between lessons, at which different pupils arrived. One young man told me he cycled ten miles from his village to attend the second class, and would stay the night at a friends, when the lesson was over, as it was too dark to cycle home safely.

What great pupils!

Said pupil also explained that his father had been a farmer, but had passed away, and that he hoped he might be the first person to teach English in his own village one day. His dedication to his educational attainment was awe inspiring, and all the pupils we spoke to were friendly, and anxious to make the most of our attendance at their classes.

Afterward, we returned with Mr Ran to the city, where we bid him a fond farewell. It had been nice to actually give something back to the community, especially in light of the fact that neither of us had been working in the public/voluntary sector for many months, and pursuing our own agendas, whilst travelling SE Asia.

Thereafter we resumed our explorations. A day out to the local War Museum afforded yours truly an opportunity to brandish an AK47, and strike my best gangster pose. Imagine the look on your Managers face if you strolled into work with one of these tucked under your arm, on a Monday morning – Ho Hum.

Trent Capone…

The museum also contains an array of vehicles used in military conflicts in Cambodia over the years, and is worth a visit, although an hour or two at maximum is sufficient to look around. By night we frequented bars and Miss Wong’s, a classy cocktail joint, which is also worth a visit if you’re in the mood to go somewhere upmarket (a change for Emma and I – LoL!)

Sign up in Miss Wong’s. we are not sure what Drungs are?? (No.2)

Evenings also invariably revolved around Baroso Whiskey, Black Panther stout, beers, smokes and chatting to our hotels resident Tuk Tuk drivers. After my early morning booze session with Mr Nori, Emma and I were well and truly welcomed into the Tuk Tuk drivers fold. Indeed, a late night session with Mr Jan outside left us both bleary eyed, when we eventually staggered back to our hotel room. We slept well that night, that’s for sure!

Finally, we began to plot to move onto Phnom Penh. There were a couple of options, namely coach or boat. The latter was more expensive ($35), but an opportunity to take a boat trip should never be passed up, in my humble view. On our morning of departure, we both slept in, then hurriedly scrambled, evacuation style, and managed to get out of our hotel room in twenty minutes. Fortunately as we opened our hotel room door, a member of staff appeared to fetch us, and with that we were off! Upon arrival at the dock, the boat resembled a military boat in some respects, and we were later informed that it was formerly a Russian vessel.

Captain Trent onboard

Once we had set off, the captain and his crew really put the boat through its paces – and it belted through the water leaving a large tidal wave in its wake. Our course took us across an open lake and then past the floating village of Chong Kneas, prior to us charging up the River Tonlé Sap, where we were afforded some fantastic views of the Cambodian rural countryside. In total the boat trip to Phnom Penh took on or abouts five hours.

Chong Kneas

We docked at Phnom Penh, waded through the standard army of awaiting Tuk Tuk drivers whom we had grown accustomed to, and bolted for a local cafe. To do so firstly gives the discerning traveller an escape route from the madding crowd, secondly a coffee, and perhaps most important of all, an opportunity to re-orientate yourself to new surroundings.

We also found that this approach gave us time to speak to catering staff, who would usually provide honest clarification as to how much we could expect to pay, for a transport to our intended hostel/guesthouse destination. Indeed, staff would often obtain a Tuk Tuk driver for us, who was then far more genuine than they might otherwise have been, in terms of the cost of a fare, than when they had been faced with travellers who had quite literally just ‘got off the boat’, half an hour earlier.

Phnom Penh

So, we’re in Cambodia, and up until this point in our blog, there’s a white elephant in the room. His name is, of course, Pol Pot. A friend had sent me an Email in which he enquired “I’ve always wondered why Comrade Pot went barmy?”

Personally, I would never use the word Comrade to describe Pot, or anyone else for that matter. None the less, I was curious to ascertain as much as I could about the man who was responsible for the death of countless Cambodians.

To that end, we were to proceed to the Genocide Museum, and the Killing Fields, in an attempt to find out exactly why so many innocent people had historically been ruthlessly condemned to death?

More next post…

Trent*/X

Sign up in Miss Wong’s. we are not sure what Drungs are?? (No.2)

Inside the speedboat…

Captain Trent onboard

Trent Capone…

The temple grounds

The lovely Mr Ran

What great pupils!

Chong Kneas

Phnom Penh

Crazy traffic in Siem Reap

You Reap What You Sow…

Hey Folks!

The following morning we were picked up from our guesthouse in Kratie, bound for Siem Reap. As we expected, the minibus was rapidly crammed with travellers, four people to three seats, and the rucksacks were stored in and around the vehicle – under chairs and in every conceivable space, which was available.

As per usual, a number of back packers were moaning about the cramped conditions, as if they had not been cautioned as to what the situation would be. Emma and I were well and truly fed up with snooty flash packers by this point in our trip. If you don’t want to be cramped, take an internal flight with Air Asia. Don’t book a budget mini-bus in a poor country, and expect to have a lot of leg room!!

The way that the budget transports operate in Cambodia, is that they book as many western travellers on the mini bus as is possible, and then they pick up as many additional local people on route, that can also be squeezed aboard. Combine the locals, their luggage, all of the travellers and their back packs, and it’s inevitably going to be a cosy ride!

The minibus which amazingly fitted 17 people and luggage

Once the minibus was totally crammed, the driver turned on a TV, and screened a National Geographic documentary “Ancient Megastructures – Ankor Wat”, which inevitably had a tacky narrator, and a variety of interviews with historians and architects, then we were off. I think of all of our journeys whilst travelling, this particular ride was both the most frightening and the most dangerous.

In Cambodia, drivers alert each other to their intentions by flashing their lights, and then doing whatever they want to do, often at extraordinary high speed. Our minibus variously drove at anything up to 90mph, weaving back and forth across the road, narrowly avoiding hitting other vehicles. I can recall at least three occasions where we almost impacted with other cars. In one instance another vehicle slid off of the road, to come to a standstill in a cloud of dust after almost crashing into us, and our driver swerved wildly off of the road to negate a road traffic accident more than once.

Most of the occupants of our minibus appeared to be totally oblivious to what was occurring, hadn’t noticed, or simply didn’t care. I took a deep breath and cracked open a can of Black Panther, to steady my nerves. The roads in Cambodia are totally chaotic. I’m only surprised there are not more accidents there, in all honesty. Certainly we spotted a few wreckages on the side of the highway – on one occasion a coach which had crashed and totally destroyed its front wheel axel – it looked to be a total write off, which had just been abandoned by its owner.

None the less, by some minor miracle, we arrived at our destination unscathed. I had had next to no leg room for a large percentage of the trip, so to finally get out and stretch my legs was a welcome relief, I must admit. We were met at the drop off point by a Tuk Tuk Driver, who we later learned was named Mr Nori. Nori ferried us and a French woman to our accommodation, Siem Reap Temple Villa Hotel, a reasonably lavish affair with an outside swimming pool, for tourists who enjoy pool culture. Emma and I weren’t interested in the pool in the slightest, so we left it to the various poseurs who seemed to enjoy wandering around the hotel lobby, in states of undress, to and from the pool itself. Whether that was culturally appropriate is dubious in the extreme.

Siem Reap is a great place to visit, as far as nightlife is concerned. There are so many bars for tourists, they actually have a road called ‘Pub Street’ – Ho Hum. The town is awash with westerners, live music, and markets. Emma and I ate a meal, and then hunted for an ATM. Once we had located an ATM, we were rapidly accosted by a young girl, she might have been as young as 14 or 15, who carried a baby, and was clearly street homeless.

The girl was begging, but said to Emma “I don’t want money, I want food for my baby”. This approach well and truly pulled at the strings of Emma’s heart, and before I knew it, Emma eloped into a nearby convenience store, and spent $25 on two containers of milk powder for said baby. I have to admit I was unimpressed – $25 was more than we had just spent on dinner. Moreover, a friend of the homeless girl appeared, and also began to demand milk powder.

I found it all a bit incredulous; for one thing I failed to see why the first beggar couldn’t afford her friend one of the milk powder containers, and I wasn’t prepared to spend another $25 on the second beggar either. But the second child was very persistent, and I eventually had to raise my voice to her to make her go away, by which stage I was in somewhat of a funk about the whole situation. Incidentally, we were later informed by another traveller that the whole thing is a scam. What happens is that the street kids wait for you to depart, and then take the milk powder back to the store with the receipt, and get a cash refund.

I suppose it is difficult knowing what is the ethically correct thing to do, in those types of situations. It’s impossible to give cash to every beggar you encounter. None the less, we did give small change to beggars periodically. Cambodia has a lot of street kids, and homeless people. The sex industry is also very visible and somewhat repugnant, especially when you see old western men with very attractive young Asian women on their arms. Doubtless there are some exceptions, but the vast majority are blatantly prostitutes, doubtless dependent on prostitution to survive.

In Laos, it is illegal for Laos people to have sexual relations with foreigners, unless they are married to them. This is quite a clever piece of legislation, insofar as it prohibits the sex industry. Moreover, western men have to demonstrate the seriousness of their intentions, via a marriage proposal. I’m not really one for draconian legislature, but at least it renders the sex industry redundant. In Cambodia the sex industry is rife. One of the advantages of being a couple, is that we were able to bypass it completely. I suspect that had I been single, I would have been frequently offered sex, in addition to the drugs we were often offered anyway.

Following the milk powder debacle, I calmed down, and we found a great place called the ‘X Bar’.  Essentially a rooftop rock bar, there is additionally a skateboard quarter pipe actually on the roof, and you can look down to the illuminations on Pub Street below. The resident band churns out covers of the likes of Nirvana and Rage Against The Machine, and it was by far the best bar we located during our time in the town. We necked a few ales and enjoyed the music before walking home, and calling it a night.

The following day we entered the hotel lobby, to discover the French woman was checking out. She explained that she had been ripped off by Mr Nori, and claimed that he had said he would take her around Ankor Wat on his Tuk Tuk for an entire day, but had fallen short of his promise,  and had declined to take her around the temples beyond early morning. Something didn’t really seem to ring true as to what she was saying, and on cue Mr Nori appeared, and they began to have a huge argument, which culminated in Mr Nori saying “You can check out if you like, but why do you have to treat me like a dog?”

Whatever had occurred, the French woman refused to pay Mr Nori, and by all accounts had walked out on him at Ankor Wat, and made her own way back from the temples. We had prior arranged for Mr Nori to take us to see a sunset at Ankor Wat, so I was suddenly concerned as to what we might be getting ourselves into. None the less, by the time we returned to the hotel from the town, to meet Mr Nori late afternoon, he was nowhere to be seen.

We asked as to his whereabouts at Reception, only to be informed that he was not available, as he was drunk, and was sleeping it off! Fortunately, the hotel rustled up a substitute driver, Mr Jan, who took us instead. To say Mr Jan was an unconventional Tuk Tuk driver would be an understatement. He delighted in taking short cuts, mounting the pavement, and whisking us around at high speed. I like that approach, so we tipped him reasonably handsomely, on each occasion he took us out.

Our first trip with Mr Jan was to see the sunset at Ankor Wat from the hill. Upon arrival, I was disappointed – the sheer volume of tourists was unbelievable. We rapidly realised how spoilt we had been in Myanmar, when it came to visiting the temples in Bagan. At Ankor Wat there are hundreds, possibly thousands, of western tourists milling around. It took the edge off of proceedings for me completely.

Our intimate sunset!

The following morning we had booked to take a Tuk Tuk to Ankor Wat, to see the sunrise. We had stayed up late drinking, and as a consequence, I got next to no sleep, which was a dreadful mistake, as I’m useless in the mornings at the best of times, & with little sleep, even more so. I woke up in a foul mood, least of all because we were obliged to utilise Mr Nori’s services, when I would have preferred Mr Jan. In light of the French womans experience of Mr Nori the morning before, Emma and I were quick to establish with Mr Nori quite what we would get for our money.

Nori explained he would take us to see the sunrise over Ankor Wat itself, and then on a tour of the surrounding temples, and then bring us back to the hotel at around lunchtime. That sounded perfectly reasonable, so we set off. Upon arrival, I could not believe my eyes; there were even more tourists present than there had been the night before. In fact, it was almost as if it was a music festival pre dawn. It really wasn’t my scene, so I bought a coffee, then a bottle of whiskey, so as to make the entire surreal experience a bit more tolerable.

Our intimate sunrise!

Once I had self medicated with alcohol, I began to cheer up a bit. We watched the sunrise and then were driven around the temples, before stopping for a spot of breakfast. Thereafter, Mr Nori took us to see the temples where they had filmed the movie Tomb Raider. Visually impressive I will admit, but the number of tourists distracted from the beauty of the temples, at least as far as I was concerned.

After the Tomb Raider temples, I was totally templed out, so Emma proceeded to further explore, whilst I hung out with Mr Nori. It didn’t take long to strike up a rapport with Mr Nori, once I had produced my bottle of Baroso whiskey. Suffice to say Mr Nori was a keen fan of Baroso, so the pair of us got drunk, whilst he vented spleen over the incident with the French woman, the prior day.

The French woman claimed that she had seen all of the major temples by 09.30AM. We couldn’t believe that this was the case, as we had not seen them all until midday, and Mr Nori had whisked us round them. The French woman had suggested that Mr Nori had asked her for additional money to tour further temples prematurely, but in our experience, that just didn’t ring true.

Can you see the Buddha’s head?

Tomb Raider temple

In all honesty, I think it was a case of a clash of flash-packer with indigenous Tuk Tuk Driver. It might even have been the case that there was a bit of post-colonial prejudice occurring on the part of the French lady. The French and the Cambodians definitely have a history rife of conflict with each other, but Emma and I were never to really get to the bottom of what had happened between them.

In any event, by the time Mr Nori drove us back to our hotel at lunchtime, we were ready to crash and burn. Mr Nori hadn’t ripped us off, and we were more than happy with him, even if Ankor Wat had been tourist central.

I guess in terms of treatment from other people whilst travelling, sometimes you only reap what you sow…

It was a rather tiring day!

More next post!

Trent*/X

Our intimate sunset!

It was rather tiring day!

Tomb Raider temple

Can you see the Buddha’s head?

Our intimate sunrise!

The Rocky Road…

Greetings & Salutations!

In the morning we were collected, via boat taxi, from Mama Mon’s and Papas restaurant. Collection was scheduled for 08.00AM, but once ‘Laos Time’ had been factored into the equation, pick up was closer to 08.45.

Irrespective of that minor delay, we still had ample time to visit the bank on the mainland, to change our leftover Kip before we left the country, and to reach our scheduled transport, which would take us over the border into Cambodia. It was to be a land crossing, and Emma undertook her (now standard) efficient research on Visa on Arrival costs ($20), but ascertained that paying our transport company $25 meant that they would organise all of the paperwork, and eliminate the necessity for us to endure an unwanted headache dealing with immigration/border control staff officials directly ourselves.

We elected to go for the latter option, and once we reached the crossing, we were pleased that we had; some travellers had decided to attempt to save a few dollars by organising things themselves, but several returned complaining that officials had become angry, and had raised their voices at them. There was also a totally ridiculous medical check that everyone had to undergo, which was little more than a measure of our temperature with a bygone piece of technology, and clearly existed solely as a money spinner.

The Laos/Cambodia border

If you let the transport provider organise the paperwork, then the relevant representative assists you with form filling, takes your passport to the authorities, ushers you across the border on foot, then returns later with your documents, containing the visa stamp. For the sake of risking an argument with a potentially corrupt border guard, we would advise this option.

It won’t, however, prevent you from having to stand around waiting for a connecting transport once in Cambodia, but the sun was high in the sky, so we sought the sanctuary of some shade, and killed time.

Eventually our connection arrived after nigh on two hours. We had optimistically hoped for a VIP bus, but that had been overbooked, so we were afforded a clapped out coach that had blatantly seen better days; the chairs needing renovating, the curtains were dilapidated and there was no air conditioning. But at least we were on the move. As we drove down the road into Cambodia itself, we sped past the Argentinian couple who had been our neighbours. They were walking into Cambodia proper minus any transportation, and declined a lift. It was the last we ever saw of them.

This was one of the more Hilarious journeys we took in Cambodia

Leaving the Thousand Islands for Cambodia gave us a couple of options; we could take a transport all the way to Siem Reap, which would have meant a comparable 8.00AM departure, but with an ETA of 11.00PM, or we could break up the journey half way, and stay overnight in Kratie.

Welcome to Cambodia

We had variously read on the internet that the road into Cambodia has more pot holes than the moon has craters, and that it was not uncommon for the Siem Reap arrival to be closer to 03.00AM than 11.00PM, so we decided to break the journey into two, and stop in Kratie. Once on the road, we were soon pleased we had made that decision; the road into Cambodia can barely be described as such – all the passengers were quite literally thrown in and out of their seats, as the coach lurched violently from one side of the road to another, more or less the entire way, as this clip shows…

The roads were either little more than dust tracks, or works in progress a long way off of completed renovation. There were plenty of occasions when I wondered if we were going to slide off of the highway, or veer into roadside excavation sites. I was also hugely relieved that my bad back was in good shape, for had it not been, I would have been in excruciating agony. This certainly wasn’t a road trip for the light hearted, and there was no way we would have wanted to travel all the way to Siem Reap in one go!

Convenience break

We were scheduled to arrive at Kratie at Two PM, but following the arduous roads and a convenience stop, we finally arrived four hours late at Six PM. It wasn’t difficult to locate a reasonably priced guesthouse which, after living in a basic bungalow for a week, seemingly had all mod cons, such as a television, hot shower and mediocre Wi-Fi access. There exists a variety of restaurants serving western and local food in Kratie, and it’s a quaint enough town to justify an overnight stop or two.

On a relatively superficial level, Emma and I enjoyed indulging in some western basic foodstuffs such as beans/cheese on toast, and I discovered a national stout named Black Panther, which at 8.5% packed quite a punch, and would become part of my staple Cambodian diet over the following week or so. There exists a reasonably early curfew in Kratie, 11.00PM, so stock up on cans if you fancy drinking into the early hours In your guesthouse/hotel.

First baked beans in months….

Kratie itself can be exhausted (exploration wise) fairly quickly as it isn’t that large. However, the Mekong runs next to the town, and a boat taxi can be chartered over to the island of Koh Trong. The taxi ride is brief, ten minutes or so, and the boats chartered are crude but effective; they have ancient diesel engines inside them, which are started by hand, and mounted on what appeared to be whatever had come to hand, on their day of installation. None the less, they ferry passengers, bicycles and scooters back and forth from the mainland to the island all day, and it is well worth taking the time to cross the river.

Captain Trent on board

The steadfast engine

Koh Trong beach, looking over to Kratie

Once on the island, you enter another world; rural, peaceful and a step back in time to a bygone age. Had we the time, a home-stay, which were available, would have been a fantastic experience. Transport on the island is by scooter, bicycle, horse cart or foot. Farming appeared to be at a small scale, if not subsistence, level. Wooden buildings are all erected on stilts, and random roosters, chickens and idyl dogs mill around the countryside.

There is no electricity and, in fact, we came across a generator shed which was seemingly recharging leisure batteries for every dwelling on the island. The locals were particularly friendly, some mistaking us for French people, and affording us a cheery “Bonjour”, as we went for an afternoon stroll, before we returned to the river bank, to take the boat back to Kratie itself.

With hindsight, it would have been nice to stay overnight on Koh Trong, but by the time we had discovered the island, we had already booked our transport to Siem Reap for the following morning.

& what an experience that would transpire to be!

More next post…

Trent*/X

Koh Trong beach, looking over to Kratie

First baked beans in months….

The steadfast engine

Welcome to Cambodia

Captain Trent on board

Convenience break