Same same, but diffferent

Here's a column I wrote for the paper after we got back from Cambodia

--Brad

People in Southeast Asia have a pidgin English saying that tourists have clung to.

Same same, but different.

It's practically a national slogan in Cambodia, where I've just come from. It's on billboards. It's screen printed on T-shirts and every product imaginable in street markets, where you can buy barbecued tarantulas, fresh produce, or a pirated copy of the new "Simpsons" movie for $3. One guest house one-upped the slogan, claiming "Same same, but better."

Which reminds me, I found myself looking a lot at girls' legs while spending two weeks in the country.

See, my wife and I were trying to figure out if it was OK for her to wear short pants around in a land that still holds extremely conservative values with regard to women.

It's a country where public displays of affection are frowned upon. Men and women aren't supposed to openly even give each other a peck on the cheek. We saw an entire family of five riding together on a 125-cc motorbike -- seriously, everyone drives motorbikes in Cambodia -- and the two women were riding side-saddle, which is considered more tasteful.

Things are changing there. Young girls are starting to wear shorts, and I even saw a couple holding hands on the streets of Phnom Penh. But these people belong to a new generation, and the folks we were interacting with probably didn't like them any more than they like Americans tromping all over their ancient temples.

We were definitely going to walk the temples, but my wife decided, for the most part, to forgo the shorts.

We spent a few days in the country's beach town of Sihanoukville, where the usually emerald waters of the Gulf of Thailand were a silty blue-gray from the heavy rains of the wet season.

For the better part of three days, my traveling friends and I would sit in a beachfront bar, eating a dish called fish amok and drinking Mekong buckets of Red Bull, Coca-Cola and what probably passes for whiskey. Then we would plunge into the crashing sea.

The water was particularly rough one afternoon, with the waves crashing onto Occheuteal Beach irregularly, but frequently, from two directions. You could duck under one wave and come up just in time to get plastered
by another.

It was great fun.

My friend Phil and I were bodysurfing. My legs ached from trying to fight the strong current pulling me sideways. I was out of breath from diving under and over waves in order to get deep enough for a good ride.

I caught a good wave and coasted in to knee-deep water only to find that two others had ventured into the water with us.

One was a naked Cambodian boy who looked about 6 but was probably 10. The other was a grown Cambodian woman, who was wearing a full dress.

All of us were taking ragged, open-mouthed breaths and waiting for the next onslaught from the gulf.

This was carpe diem moment for all of us. Our differences had been washed away. Our skin color didn't matter. Our skin covering didn't matter.

We were different. But we were same same.

Cambodia, Day 13 (Aug. 10, 2007)

Took the bus from Sihanoukville to Phnom Penh. Once again, seven people and ten backpacks made it to the station in a Camry.* The poor driver is going to need new shocks after toting us around.

Speaking of shocks, our bus could've used some. I don't know what cow/pig/motorbike we ran over, but after hitting a huge bump in the road, we bounced our way back to Phnom Penh, forward and backward like a see-saw. Strangely enjoyable experience despite the lunatic, horn-blowing driver with a death wish.** Okay Guesthouse sent tuk-tuks for us ("Mr. Brad!"), so our second trip to Phnom Penh was much more pleasant than the first.

After getting settled in our rooms, we went to the Russian Market to replace Brad's backpack, in which we had just discovered a large tear that couldn't be repaired. On the way back, Map asked if we wanted to make a donation of food to an orphanage. Of course we said yes, so we stopped at a market and bought a 50 kilo bag of rice as well as a bag of soap. We drove to the CamboKids orphanage (http://www.cambokids.org/) and found 147 orphans living in abject poverty, but they were all sweet, bright and outgoing. A tiny, 10-year-old boy shyly followed me around the whole time, and I spoke to him in my broken Khmer. When it was time to leave, he stared at the floor and waved goodbye without looking at me. I opened my arms and he flung himself onto me, giving me an enormous bear hug. I've never had maternal instincts, but leaving that child behind was one of the toughest things I've ever done.***

For dinner, we ate at Friends (http://www.mithsamlanh.org/), a restaurant dedicated to saving and educating street children. The six of us sat around the table sharing tapas -- everything from fresh fish to pumpkin soup -- and we washed it all down with mint citrus coolers. It was the perfect ending to our trip.**** We head home tomorrow while Meg, Eric, Phil, and Maya travel to Kratie and then to Laos. I'm sad to leave, but hopefully we'll be back one day. Chum riep leah, Cambo.

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Brad's footnotes:
* We've since bought a Corolla. I can't help but thinking the surprising versatility of this Toyota somehow contributed, psychologically, to this decision.
** It might've been one of those water buffaloes. Whatever we hit was big. The bus's engine light came on afterward, and I swear to god the driver nudged his buddy sitting beside him, pointed to the light and laughed.
*** We'd first stopped at a market next to the orphanage to buy some rice and toilet paper to give to the place. I stayed with the tuktuks to make sure our bags weren't stolen. The little orphan kids started climbing all over the cart like it was a set of monkey bars. It's at this point that a creepy old man comes up to me, smiling, and asks, "Do you like leetle children?" Not sure if he was trying to sell me a child or sell me an experience with one. Ick.
**** This unfortunately named place will have you singing "I'll Be There for You" for days. But the food is so darned good. Totally worth it. (Stupid Rembrandts.)

Cambodia, Day 12 (Aug. 9, 2007)

Another glorious rainstorm pounded our metal and thatched roof all night long. We've eaten breakfast, made bus arrangements to Phnom Penh, and the rain is still falling hard. The yard of our hotel is covered in about three inches of water. I'm sitting in our open doorway in a wicker chair, completely content. I'm glad to have a little down time to reflect on the trip.

Here are the things I will miss about Cambo: dragonfruit, banana shakes, the Gulf of Thailand, driving past Angkor Wat in the morning, tuk-tuks, Mr. Vanna and Su, well-mannered stray dogs and cats, the second-floor balcony of the HSH Guesthouse, bullfrogs, water buffalo, incense, amok, and waking up to the crowing of roosters.*

Here are the things I will NOT miss about Cambo: beggars, the smell of rotting garbage, land mine signs, brushing your teeth with day-old bottled water, raw sewage in the Gulf of Thailand, aggressive tuk-tuk drivers, and creepy ex-pats.**

I'd give anything if we could stay with the kids and travel through Laos and Thailand. I'm not ready to leave yet.

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Brad's footnotes
* To this list, I would add only the ability to order Pastis by the glass and bodysurfing. And I would've put amok higher on the list.
** This about covers it for me, too. Though, to be fair, I discovered the Pastis thanks to a creepy ex-pat.

Cambodia, Day 11 (Aug. 8, 2007)

Today was our tour of Preah Sihanouk Ream National Park. We took a boat ride upriver for about an hour in a covered catamaran. We spotted a red-headed kingfisher and a family of fish-eagles. The ride was particularly enjoyable because we sat next to a French family, and I was able to practice my French. It's as terrible as I remember it, but they were friendly and kind.

We docked the boat -- sort of -- and waded the remaining 50 feet to shore.* Then we hiked for 40 minutes through lush, humid jungle to a secluded beach** where we swam in the churning Gulf of Thailand for 45 minutes. Then back to the dock where we ate lunch of BBQ fish and warm Coke. The boat ride back was just as beautiful except for the torrential downpour that soaked us and our gear completely.

After dropping off our things at the hotel, I ran across the street to Dara's for a cold banana shake. It was the most delicious thing I've ever had; nothing beats a good brain freeze on a hot, Cambodian summer day.

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Brad's footnotes
* This wasn't too big of a deal. Many of the fishers in the communities we boated past didn't bother to use boats to check their traps. They simply waded out to them -- often a hundred of feet from shore.
** We were told they sometimes see elephants here. We didn't, though we saw a huge water buffalo. Not quite the same, since it seemed to be a domesticated beast belonging to one of the families in the scattered huts we passed.

Cambodia, Day 10 (Aug. 7, 2007)

Ate breakfast at our Guesthouse -- lemon honey crepes for me; potato puff, bacon, eggs, toast, juice and coffee (aka "The American") for Brad. Then Brad and the gang walked to Serendipity Beach* and back while I sat in a papasan chair at Dara's. The fever has finally broken, but I'm still feeling weak, and Dara's was just what the doctor ordered. I sat in that chair for seven straight hours with only a short swim in the Gulf to break up the day. I took a magazine with me, but every time I opened it, I thought, "I could be staring at the Gulf of Thailand." So I did. Despite the steady stream of beggars, children, pedicure hawkers, and musicians, it really was quite relaxing.

The guys all wanted to go to the Snake House for dinner, even though we knew it was a tourist trap with crummy food. We should have known something was amiss when the tuktuk driver gave lots of excuses why it would cost $5. After some discussion, we decided to pay $10 round trip, but only if he waited for us. That's when the fun began.

First stop: the base of a dark hill with a LONG flight of stairs up. Meg says, "Snake House at top?" TukTukMan says "Yes." Meg, Eric, and Phil ran ahead to make sure it was open before we began the climb. They returned with the news that we were at Chez Claude's, not the Snake House. TukTukMan laughed and laughed. "Oh, you want SnakeHouse. That sound like Chez Claude." No, that sounds like Dump-Dumb-Tourists-at-Pricey-Restaurant-Where-I-Get-Kickback-And-I'll-Go-Away-Before-They-Come-Back-Downstairs. We hopped back into the tuk-tuk just as TukTukMan says "It cost more for Snake House." Wrong. We made our sentiments fairly clear, for which we were rewarded with a bumpy, unpleasant, circuitous drive past a shanty town with abandoned buildings where homeless people were hovering over burning barrels. For free, he threw in an awkward stop at a traffic circle where we thought we might possibly be tossed or mugged.** We did finally reach the Snake House only to discover it catered to a more, um, masculine, Russian clientele. Brand new humvees were parked out front, and loud dance music poured out of the bar area called The Snake Pit where Phil discovered you could actually buy your own dancing girl. Brad ordered the Chicken Kiev, and I ate vareniki, a potato ravioli. When in Rome...

The room was filled with large tanks full of venomous snakes, and many of the tables had cranky-looking snakes under the tabletop glass; there was also a crocodile on a leash.*** The overhead television blared Fashion Week coverage from Sao Paolo in Russian. Pretty sure we were the only non-Russian (and probably non-mafia) customers there. As we left, we passed the saddest birds I've ever seen in captivity. Two scarlet macaws in one cage looked as if they desperately wanted out. In summary, we ate Russian food in the Cambodian jungle surrounded by snakes with a waitstaff:patron ratio of 8:1 (all gorgeous Cambodian women who seemed puzzled by our presence.****)

Just to reaffirm that TukTukMan had been screwing with us earlier, we zipped home in no time using only three major roads. The trip home was uneventful except for the parade of 30 sweet rally cars that forced us off the road. I really do love this place.

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Brad's footnotes

* In keeping with the spirit of irony, I walked barefoot -- a mistake -- on the beach where drains from businesses ran right down the beach and into the Gulf. I remember a paralyzing fear when I stepped down and felt something puncture the skin of my heel. So, for future reference, bring your flip-flops.

** She's not exaggerating. There were no streetlights, traffic or commercial development at this
traffic circle. Nevertheless, our driver stopped here for a few minutes. I thought, either he's lost or he's waiting for his friends, the muggers.

*** You'll note there are no pictures from the Snake House. None of us had the guts to take any in front of Bruno-witz and Left-ovsky. You can find some here, though.

**** So, not a bad place, really.

Cambodia, Day Nine (Aug. 6, 2007)

While walking to the pharmacy, we noticed the streets were packed with school children and adults alike waving Cambodian flags and pictures of the king. The pharmacist told us the king was due in town this morning.

At 12:30, we caught the bus to Sihanoukville. Meg wins the "Fastest Woman in Cambodia" award for jumping over a cooler, a small child, and three Cambodian men when someone walked off with her backpack.* Particularly impressive, since she had just taken a sleeping pill for the trip. Thankfully, it was only a bus employee moving it to another cargo area.

The bus ride was beautiful, much more so than the ride to Phnom Penh. Misty mountains snaked** across the landscape, towering over rice fields and thatched-roofed homes.***

Having had beautiful weather for the last week and a half, the heavens opened up just as we pulled into town. We were soaked, and there wasn't a tuktuk in sight -- only motos. I cornered a gentleman with a TAXI sign and asked if he could take six people. He, of course, said yes. We envisioned a Toyota Land Cruiser; we did not, however, envision a Toyota Camry. In case you're wondering, a Camry can, in fact, hold 7 people and 10 backpacks. After checking out a couple of hotels, we settled on the Markara, a decent place for $10/night, right across from Occheutal Beach.****

By the time we all got settled (and dry), it was late afternoon, so we walked across the street to Dara's for dinner. Brad and I split an order of fish and chips, which turned out to be barracuda. I'm very excited to have eaten barracuda. We spent the rest of the evening there, sprawled out on papasan chairs, listening to the sounds of the Gulf of Thailand.

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Brad and Jenn's footnotes

* Tony Hawk would've been proud. I'm not a skater, but I'm pretty sure I witnessed her perform an ollie-to-kickflip-half-nelson-organ-grinder. Or something like that.

** Fitting choice of verbs, considering what lie in store for us in a day or so. Stay tuned.

*** Also, we weren't so close to the toilets.

**** Suggested slogan: "Come here to evade your country's legal prosecution and never be found!"

Killing Fields, Day Eight (Aug. 5, 2007)

Jenn was out of commission with her "sinus infection" (a.k.a "Cambodian Death Flu" or possibly "Hemorrhagic Dengue Fever"*) when the rest of us bused about 45 minutes down the little two-lane highway to Choeung Ek, probably the most famous of the killing fields.

The killing fields were basically places with lots of pits for the poorly buried bodies of the victims of the Khmer Rouge genocide. To oversimplify, they killed everyone in the upper class, everyone in the middle class, and anyone with any education. Those were the threats. And just like that, poof! went the bright stars of an entire culture.

If Tuol Sleng, the day before, was the kidney punch then Choeung Ek was the knockout blow. A tall stuppa held stories and stories of skulls of reclaimed victims. But nearby was a lake, under which there were many more bodies that they're just going to leave in their water graves. Underfoot, on dirt paths, you'll find bits of tooth and bone slowly weathering to powder.

We hired a tour guide, mostly to throw some money at a kid. Writing this two years later, the only thing I can remember that he told us was that when money started tightening up for the Khmer Rouge, they started saving bullets by executing victims with the serrated edges of a sort of palm tree that grew on site.

Despite all this, it somehow feels like a peaceful place now. There's a sort of sorrowful, emotional blanket covering the place, thicker than air. I debated not taking photos at all. But I took boatloads of them. I threw a couple up on Wikimedia Commons and on the Wikipedia page on the fields, free for folks to use. I don't know why. I think I just want people to acknowledge the horror. If we don't learn from the past, we're doomed to repeat it, and all that.

Anyway, here's the saddest video slide show I've ever made. (That's The Decemberists singing "Shankill Butchers" in the background. The song is about some maniacs in Ireland, but it's shocking to me how fitting the lyrics are to the Rouge's actions.)



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Jenn's footnote:
* There were actually signs all over Siem Reap warning of an outbreak of this delightful sounding disease.

Cambodia, Day Eight (Aug. 5, 2007)

Miserable Cambodian Death Fever has set in. Stayed in bed. Hate hate hate Phnom Penh. Can't wait to leave for the beach tomorrow.*

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Brad's footnote
* I'll save you any photographs. You're welcome.

Cambodia, Day Seven (Aug. 4, 2007)

Feeling a little better about the world today. We were all packed and ready to leave by 8:00 this morning, and we walked a mile through Phnom Penh until we found a suitable hotel. Now staying at the Okay Guesthouse for $10/night. The food at the restaurant is great, ridiculously cheap, and we can charge it to our room. We've hired a tuk-tuk driver named Map (pronounced Mahwp)* who is going to take us to the Killing Fields tomorrow. Assuming I get over this terrible sinus infection.

We saw the Royal Palace and the National Museum today; even though they were beautiful, I wasn't terribly excited about them. The whole morning felt like we were just marking items off a tourist's checklist.

Phnom Penh isn't a scary place, but it's big and dirty, and I don't like being here.

After lunch at the Guesthouse, we went to the Genocide Museum at Tuol Sleng.** S-21, as it was known during the rule of the Khmer Rouge, was a high school that was converted to interrogation and torture chambers. I didn't know what to expect; I didn't know if I would cry, pass out, or vomit. Turns out it's none of the above. I felt empty, as if I had checked my soul at the entrance. I stood at the doorway to the first room for a long time before entering. The tiles were still covered in brownish-red blood stains. There was a metal bed frame and several simple torture devices. Funny how, as technologically advanced as we've become, only the most basic tools are needed to destroy a human being.***

In every room was an enlarged photo of the last victim found there -- in the condition they were found. I stared intently at each photo but couldn't really process them. The more I walked through the complex, the emptier and more alone I felt.

The first floor chambers were spacious compared to those on the upper floors. People were confined like cattle in wooden enclosures that measured maybe 2' x 5'. And just to make sure no one committed suicide -- lest the Khmer Rouge be denied the pleasure of killing -- barbed wire nets ran along the front of the building.

In another section of the complex, enormous displays were covered in photos of victims. The Khmer Rouge were meticulous about documenting every stage of torture. I was shocked to see how many of them were extremely young children who couldn't possibly have been enemies of the state. I say that, but it was often children who were the executioners. Maybe one day I'll understand how a group of people could turn so cannibalistically against itself. But not today.

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Brad's footnotes

* "Mop." She's being kind. It was just like mop.

** Yay!??

*** Remember this. It's important later.

Cambodia, Day Six (Aug. 3, 2007)

The day began nicely enough. Checked e-mail and had breakfast of fruit salad with yogurt and muesli, eggs, baguette, tea, and mango juice. Then we walked around the market one last time before catching the bus to Phnom Penh.

I had been looking forward to the bus ride, but that quickly changed. It was monotonous and nauseating. Hut, hut, hut, rice field, water buffalo. Repeat continuously for five long hours.

When we arrived, the Royal Guesthouse van picked us up, which was merciful; otherwise, we'd have fought through the screaming, mad sea of tuk-tuk drivers.* At the Guesthouse, we were unexpectedly told that there were no rooms for us, despite our reservation. But "conveniently," the hotel owner's nephew had rooms for us a few blocks away. It was dark and beginning to rain, so we took the awful rooms. An old, American man and a hooker were getting acquainted in the lobby as we checked in.** We quickly discovered our toilet was leaking from underneath into an open drain, so there was a lovely river of toilet water in the middle of our floor.*** I'm not sure which is worse -- our nasty bathroom or Meg and Eric's bedroom window that's pouring water down the wall next to their bed.

We've decided to split up into two teams in the morning -- one to find a better hotel and one to stay behind, guarding our stuff. I hate Phnom Penh. It is a cesspool. The only bright spot of the night was our comical exit from a tuk-tuk in the torrential rain, like six clowns from a miniature car. We're going to see the National Museum, the Silver Pagoda, and the Killing Fields. Then we're getting on the first bus out of this hellhole.****

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Brad's footnotes

* It was kind of like the selling floor at the NYSE, actually.

** They were, at this moment, only playing pool. No, not a euphemism.

*** I pointed out that, technically, this was clean water.

**** Spoiler alert: We learned, the next day, when symptoms became clearer, that Jenn had actually become ill at this point, which possibly explains the bad attitude. I mean, Phnom Penh is a cesspool and all. But such anger....

Cambodia, Day Five (Aug. 2, 2007)

Woke up early and sat on our balcony writing, listening to the roosters crow. Had breakfast of hot tea, potato omelette and a baguette.

We made arrangements for Mr. Vanna and Su to drive us to the Tonle Sap Lake. We thought we would be going through the Prek Toal Bird Sanctuary, but it turns out we only chartered a boat to the floating village of Chong Kneas. The village was scenic, when you weren't overwhelmed by the smell of fish and rotting garbage,* but it wasn't quite what we expected. Oh well, no point in being a spoiled, whining tourist. They truly need the $15, and we learned about fishing and about life in the rural village from our young captain who spoke excellent English. The village has a primary and secondary school,** but the older students take a bus into Siem Reap every morning to attend high school. The children were adorable, and one 5-year-old girl stole my heart when she blew a kiss to us as our boat pulled away from the dock.

We had another great meal at an ex-pat restaurant called The Red Piano. (I can't believe how much weight I've put on in less than a week.***) I had Mekong fish in lime-cream sauce, and Brad had a chicken amok sandwich on a toasted baguette.

We had no plans after lunch, so I asked Mr. Vanna to drive us to Artisans d'Angkor and Chantiers-Ecoles silk farm. The school works with teachers all over the country to bring poor, rural students with artistic ability to Siem Reap for a one-year training program. The deaf-mute students learn to paint silk, and other students learn stone and wood working and silk weaving. The school is self-sufficient, running off profits from the store.****

After visiting the school in town, we drove 30 minutes out in the country to the silk farm. We saw the cultivation of mulberry trees, silkworm feeding (they eat for three days and rest for one), spinning of the cocoons (you can tell a worm is ready to spin when it turns yellow), separating of the thread, and dyeing and weaving of the silk. The outer silk on the cocoon makes coarser, raw silk, and the soft thread the worm weaves while it's inside the cocoon for two weeks makes fine silk.*****

Back at the hotel, we said goodbye to Mr. Vanna and Su, thanking them for their good advice.****** We learned a great deal from Mr. Vanna -- especially sitting in the courtyard at Artisans d'Angkor. He's a father of six who used to be a farmer, but he had to give up farming when he could no longer support his family. He knew no English when he began driving tuktuks three years ago, but he started reading English workbooks. He talked of how frightening it used to be, approaching foreigners when he couldn't communicate. He's been seriously studying English with a friend every night for the last four months, and it's incredible how much he's learned. I know very few people in the U.S. who would work so hard for so little money.

I'm constantly reminded of how spoiled and lucky I am, and if I don't take full advantage of the opportunities I've been given -- which I've certainly done nothing to deserve -- then I'm not worth a damn.*******

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Brad's footnotes
* Not in that order.
** And a floating basketball court!
*** Not as much as you might believe from reading these journal entries, bookended with lush descriptions of meals.
**** If you visit, save room in the suitcase to bring something back. It's not cheap, but the cause is wonderful. That said, you won't believe the cost to ship stuff directly home, and buying online from home, the prices are much higher.
***** She's trying to spare you the story about how the locals convinced me to eat a boiled silkworm by saying they taste like coconut. They don't. They taste like gooey worm.
****** Actually we bought them a couple of beers and hung out with them. It was Phil's idea. They seemed to really enjoy it.
******* Hear, hear.

Cambodia, Day Four (Aug. 1, 2007)

It's 4 a.m., and I'm wide awake. Silly me, I didn't think Melatonin was necessary last night; now I'm up listening to a symphony of bullfrogs, birds and insects. The frogs sound like a single note on a cello played over and over again for hours.

Had breakfast at Star Rise again, but this time I had banana pancakes and a pineapple shake. Then our tuktuk drivers* took us to Banteay Srei, a gorgeous pink temple that has the most intricate carvings at Angkor. It was beautiful but claustrophobic. It's an unusual small-scale structure with tiny doorways, and most of it has been roped off to protect the carvings; so we were trapped on the exterior path with what felt like thousands of Japanese tourists.** Big score of the trip -- huge temple rubbing for $8.***

On the way back to town, we stopped at the Land Mine Museum. There were still active land mines on site, and it was a frightening reminder of what the Cambodians live with every day. Aki Ra, who started the museum, has deactivated over 50,000 mines and is responsible for disabling more than half of the mines in the Siem Reap area. He's done this with a plumber's wrench, a vice, and a steam pot.**** The museum takes in land-mine victims -- mostly children -- and gives them an education. They're trying to break the beggar culture; until now, it was the only option for the maimed and disfigured.

We ate lunch at a shack across the street from East Mebon. I had fried noodles with eggs and veggies. Afterward, we walked to the temple, on the corners of which stood giant elephant statues. This place used to be a reservoir for the city, and the temple itself was an island. The setting was beautiful, overlooking the jungle and rice fields, and the design of the steps allowed us to climb all over the structure. I enjoyed visiting one of the lesser-known, distant temples because we practically had the place to ourselves.

Our last temple in Angkor was Neak Pean. It was made up of one large square pond surrounded by four smaller square ponds (one on each side). Each side pond represented one of the elements -- earth, air, fire and water -- which appeared as a stone fountain in an interior altar. The fountains took the form of man (earth), lion (fire), elephant (water),***** and horse (air). We ended the day with a fabulous meal of massaman curry at the Khmer Kitchen.

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Brad's footnotes
* That's right. We got back in the tuktuks after the events of the day before.
** She's not being figurative. There were at least a thousand Japanese tourists, and the place was so small that we did feel many of them.
*** Temple rubbing. Not some weird frottage fantasy. It's a big sheet of rice paper with a charcoal imprint of one of the carvings. It's awesome.
**** Full disclosure: Aki Ra was forced as a child to join the Khmer Rouge and plant many, many land mines. That's why he's made it his mission to remove as many as he can now and to help their victims.
***** Yeah, I don't get elephant=water either. Not when there's, you know, fish around.

Cambodian salesmanship

The beggar children get all passive aggressive when they realize you're not going to buy their water, postcards, photocopied "books," or bracelets. After lunch on Day Three, a girl approaches Phil and says, "You buy bracelet for your girlfriend." Not a question, mind you. And keep in mind Phil's a big fella. (He's the one holding the dragonfruit two posts down.) When he didn't buy one for Maya, the girl wanders off, but not before saying, "You buy bracelet for your boyfriend."

Next day, I told a girl I wouldn't buy her pack of 10 postcards.

"Why?" she says.

"I don't need one."

"You don't need one, you need 10," she says.

I laughed. "I don't need 10 either."

"You don't need 10. You need 20," she says. Cute kid.

...

Later that day, at a public bathroom, a boy asks Jenn to buy a Chinese lover's lock toy. "No thank you," she says. But he thinks she said, "Nothing."

"Nothing!" he shouts. "I sell you nothing! Nothing is $1."

Death by tuktuk

About almost dying in the tuktuk: Yeah, that sucked. Su, our driver, was struggling to keep his motorbike running. Kept pulling half off the paved road to try and restart it.

It's pouring rain, and muddy as hell where we are, partially on the shoulder. Meg and Eric are facing forward, and I'm facing back, watching other tuktuks and cars fly past. Then I see a bus coming, and the bus isn't veering too far away from us.

Meg and Eric are oblivious, until I say, "This is going to be unpleasant." Eric looks back long enough to see the bus, grimaces and looks forward intently. Meg judges from our expressions not to look back. At the same moment, Su gets our tuktuk kick-started and swings out into the road without looking back. The bus, which is practically upon us, honks and Su swerves back off the road, overcorrects back, and send our carriage teetering back and forth.

The bus, by the way, missed us by about 8 inches.

Like I said, no fun.

Cambodia, Day Three (July 31, 2007)

I had a wonderful breakfast of baguette and fruit salad (apple, banana, dragonfruit, papaya and pineapple). I am enamored with dragonfruit and will be sad when I can't eat it every day. It's oblong, pinkish-purple on the outside, and white with black seeds on the inside.* It has the consistency of kiwi but is slightly less sweet. It's refreshing on a hot morning.

Only had a few minutes to check for my daily e-mail about Dad before catching our tuktuk to the temples. First stop of the day -- Phnom Bakheng. We hiked a shaded trail through the woods for about a quarter mile before reaching the top of the mountain. The temple had five small towers along each side of the stairway. We hiked the elephant trail back down, but alas, no elephant sightings. Unless the giant poo counts as a sighting.

Then we hit Baksei Chamkrong. It's a relatively small, pinkish pyramid, and we only spent a few minutes there before heading back to Angkor Wat to ascend the uppermost level of the temple. The climb is 33 feet high up stairs that are tall, narrow, rounded and slant downward - you're meant to feel as if you're climbing Mt. Meru. Having panicked the first two times I tried to climb, I grew more and more disgusted with myself because I did not fly 4,000 miles to chicken out at the most important spot in all of Asian archaeology. So I finally raced up the side at breakneck speed and never looked back.** I'm so glad I did. The view from the windows was astounding, and the walls were covered with a hundred beautiful, dancing apsaras. However, getting down those stairs was, uh, interesting. Glad I did it. Never doing it again. Ever.***

We took one final look at the galley with the monkey soldiers -- for some reason,**** we all love the pictures of monkeys biting off the faces of their human counterparts -- before going to lunch. I had fried shrimp with cashews and a (pine)apple shake, and Brad had a sweet-and-sour shrimp and squid.

We spent the rest of the afternoon at Ta Prohm. Even with all the tourists here, you're struck by a feeling of peace and solitude. The jungle has run rampant through the temple, and the huge root buttresses are interwoven with the structure. There are places where the roof has completely caved in and you have to step over rubble.*****

The first rain of the week fell as we were driving back to the hotel. Mr. Vanna tried to pull over to tie down the rain tarp, but we said, "Bah. We don't need them." Mr. Vanna laughed at the foolish, foolish tourists. The rain was hard, fast and cold and I instantly went from hot and sweaty to wet and shivering. (I discovered later that Brad, Meg and Eric were nearly killed by a bus when their tuktuk stalled. They decided Meg's gravestone would have read, "She tumped over.")******

That reminds me -- I should describe our weird little bathroom. It's the nicest Third World bathroom I've ever had, but it's odd nonetheless. The walls and floors are marble with a drain off the back corner. There's nothing in there but a marble sink and a toilet; the shower is a wall attachment -- it's as if the entire bathroom is one large shower stall. Trying to use a soaking wet toilet is not one of the more pleasant experiences of my life.

Dinner was at a Thai restaurant. I had fried rice with pineapple and tofu. Brad had pork with coconut milk curry in a coconut. We crawled back to our room at 9:00 to go to sleep to the sound of hundreds of bullfrogs outside our window (thanks to the afternoon rain, no doubt). I don't think it's ever quiet in Cambodia; there are always frogs croaking, birds chirping, or monks playing prayer music. It's quite peaceful actually.

I will say, though, as much as I love the temples, I'm glad tomorrow is the last day.******* My knees are falling apart, I've got two mangled blisters on my feet, and I've lost half a toenail. (The other half is still toying with me.) A few days at the beach is sounding pretty good. As Eric put it, we've hit the TSP -- Temple Saturation Point.

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Brad's footnotes
* Best of all, they have almost obscene, curvy little leaves all over them that make them look like props from the original "Star Trek" series.
** After initially encouraging her to climb, I'm ashamed to admit I gave up on her and went to explore the carvings, enjoy the view and chase a real, live monkey around. I did climb down with her, though.
*** Down did suck. It involved holding onto a wobbly safety bar and climbing down steps that were slightly less steep, but just as slanty and barely wide enough for two feet.
**** The reason is pretty clear in the very definition of what we were seeing. Monkey soldiers. Biting people. On the head.
***** Gah! I can't believe she didn't mention that this is where part of "Tomb Raider" was filmed.
****** More about this in the next post. Meg's a good Southern girl and has a fascination with some of the colloquialisms of her people. For a while, the verb "tump" was paramount to this fascination.
******* This proved to be a horrible miscalculation. See the forthcoming entries on Phnom Penh.

Cambodia, Day Two (July 30, 2007)

Had an awesome breakfast for $2 apiece at the Star Rise Restaurant. I had a fresh baguette with jam, butter and two boiled eggs. Brad had crepes filled with strawberry jam.*

We hired two tuktuk drivers (not three, to their consternation) to take us to Angkor. First stop: the city of Angkor Thom and its driveway lined with larger-than-life statues. Once inside Angkor Thom, we headed straight for Le Bayon** which is known for eerie, enormous heads staring out from the tops of 37 towers. We were awed by the intricate carvings that you could run your hands over, feeling the gritty sandstone. Part of the temple had collapsed, and it was necessary to climb over fallen piles of rock -- although I felt strangely disrespectful doing so.***

We moved on to the Elephant Terrace which was lined with seven-foot stone elephants whose trunks curved out of the rock and touched the ground. The Leper King Terrace had a hidden passageway covered with images of multi-headed nagas (snakes). I was told the hidden wall represented the underworld.

Next was the Bapuon, an enormous mountain-temple that could only be reached by walking across a causeway on top of round pillars. The bas-reliefs at this temple were different from the others because they're arranged in blocks, like comic books. Brad decided to climb the steep,**** crumbling stairs to the top. He made it all the way up, as did Meg and Eric, but he admitted the views were not spectacular enough to risk that climb again.

On the way back to the tuktuk, we stopped at North Khleang, which was probably used as a warehouse. Each window was filled with small, narrow columns -- it looks as if there were originally eight in each window. Across the road, you could see the lonely prasats, towers that felt like deserted, haunted houses.*****

We stopped for lunch in the marketplace; I had a bowl of curried vegetables with rice, and Brad had fried chicken and veggie stir-fry with rice and a pineapple shake. We didn't realize how tired and dehydrated we all were until we sat down. It was unreal eating lunch while staring at Le Bayon -- or rather, while Le Bayon stared at me.

After lunch, it was on to Angkor Wat. I could hardly contain my joy as we passed through the outer enclosure to a spot where we could see the temple unobstructed for the first time. We decided to visit Angkor Wat over two days because there's just too much to absorb in one visit. We crossed the bridge over the moat; it was dotted with lions and nagas every few feet. Once inside the temple, we turned right and followed the bas-relief gallery all the way around the building. We saw The Churning of the Sea of Milk, lots of battles scenes from the Battle of Kurukshetra, monkey soldiers, elephants, turtles, the scene of the death of Valin (monkey soldier who dies in his wife's arms), the procession of Suryavarman II, the torturing of sinners in 32 hells, and the battle of Lanka.******

By 3:30, we could barely walk, so our tuktuk drivers Su (pronounced SUE-ee) and Mr. Vanna drove us back to the hotel, where all six of us passed out until dinner.

The ballet performance was at the Angkor Mondial, and the concierge at the Grand Hotel hooked us up with front row seats and what seemed like our own personal waiter. On the buffet: fried coconut meat, crepes, Thai noodles, sauteed greens with beef and ginger, papaya, dragonfruit, lychees*******, and so much more.

The ballet costumes were bright, silky and colorful, and the dancers had total control of their bodies. Brad and I cringed every time they knelt down while standing on one leg, and they could bend individual fingers back to their wrists. After the ballet, we all sat on the hotel balcony and talked until bedtime.
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Brad's footnotes
* I won.
**Which means, literally, "the Bayon"
*** Meh.
**** Steep as in, "don't look down whilst climbing or you'll puke or become-disoriented-and-fall-and-die."
***** These were among the very favorite things I saw. So forlorn.
****** The Churning of the Sea of Milk is a beautiful creation story, and we bought a rubbing of this to take home and frame. But, I ask you, what could top monkeys dressed up in battle gear?
******* I don't know what they are either. Yet I think I ate some.

Cambodia, Day One (July 29, 2007)

Julie* dropped us off at Groome** at 3:00 Friday afternoon. I think it's now 12:48 a.m. Cambodia time - on Sunday, that is. But I can't say for sure; sitting on a plane for 17 hours has taken away all sense of time. My knees hurt. My feet hurt. And, oh dear God, my butt hurts. I can't wait to get off this flying bus in Bangkok.

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Best sign we've seen all day, compliments of the LA airport:

LAX EXPECTATIONS

Finally, truth in advertising.

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I can't believe our good fortune. We booked cheap tickets from Bangkok to Siem Reap on Bangkok Airways, and I assumed it would be a low-rent operation. I couldn't have been more wrong. Checking in was a breeze, and we were sent to a beautiful lounge with free food, drinks, and Internet to pass the two hours until the flight. I'm addicted to the orange-flavored, cold Thai tea.

NOTE: Brad just discovered our Thai Air toothpaste lists myrrh as an ingredient. Awesome.***

There's a platter of finger-sized desserts in the lounge; my favorite has a strange consistency, somewhere between sticky rice and custard. It's fruity -- maybe papaya -- and shaped like a tiny ice cream cone. Each one is wrapped in a banana leaf.

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A driver from Home Sweet Home Guesthouse picked us up at the airport in Siem Reap in a tuktuk -- a motorbike with a covered cart attached from behind. The fresh air felt wonderful after being cooped up in the airplane.

The countryside is beautiful, but it's disheartening to see so many new luxury hotels and souvenir shops. A "Royal Shopping Village" is under construction, and everywhere you turn, there are T-shirts and trinkets. I fear their culture will be sold to the highest bidder if no one intervenes. At the same time, it's hard to fault them for pulling themselves out of the rubble of the Khmer Rouge by any means necessary. If my children were hungry, I'd sell T-shirts at the temple too.

We all showered**** and cleaned up before walking down to the Psar Chaa Marketplace. We were trying to stay awake and acclimate to Cambodian time, so we spent the afternoon at an open-air restaurant chatting and watching the world pass by.

Having decided to see the Cambodian ballet this week, we caught a tuktuk to the Grand Hotel D'Angkor to make reservations for Monday night. We then strolled through the Royal Gardens and visited a temple during prayer hour. More fascinating than the beautiful music and chanting were the giant bats overhead. I saw one spread its wings and thought, "What a pretty hawk." Then it landed on a branch and swung upside down. Once my eyes focused, I realized the trees were swarming with bats.

For dinner, we each had a traditional three-course Cambodian meal. We started with fresh spring rolls that were both hot and cool because of the mixture of hot spices and mint. The main course of amok***** was great -- it was served in a hollowed-out green coconut shell. It's like a coconut-milk soup with fish, onions, peppers, and basil. Dessert was grilled bananas, and they were delicious.

Even though it was barely 8:00, we crawled back to our hotel and into bed. We had hoped to stay awake to greet Maya and Phil, but there was no way. The exhaustion was too great.
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Brad's footnotes
* That's Jenn's sister. She travels with us sometimes, including to Peru in aught-four.
** The ground shuttle service from our little city with its pathetic (read: nearly non-existent) airport to the Big City.
*** Now if they'd only figure out what to do with frankincense to go with my Goldschlager & Toothpaste cocktail...
**** Showered because traveling for 20+ hours produces smells that even myrrh can't cure. By "all" she means the two of us and our good friends Meg and Eric, or, collectively, "Egg." Eric blogged the trip live, actually, starting here. Anyway, those are their silhouettes in the photo up top. Phil and Maya would join us soon.
***** Yes, it means "crazy" in English. In Cambodian, it means "crazy good."