Our destination: Cambodia.
This is a travelogue. My name is Wiffle. I am your guide.
Like a long arm, the South East Asian mainland stretches south in a long arc along Thailand, beyond the elbow at the Isthmus of Kra, ending at the Malay peninsula. Cambodia lies just south of the armpit, nestled like a sweat stain between Thailand, Laos and Vietnam. It is our destination.
Being mostly powerless, none of the South East Asian countries can be considered sharks in the global pond, but there are fish that even minnows can fuck the shit out of. And the story of Cambodia in the 20th century is one major fucking after another. Only French meddling in Indochina kept Cambodia from being consumed by its predatory neighbours. And the French colonial years (ruled by proxy through the Cambodian kings) were nothing compared to what lay ahead after the Second World War. First, it was bombed into oblivion after being sucked into the wars fought by the Viet Minh against the French and later the Americans. After the Indo-China wars ended, the Khmer Rouge came. There are not many things that could top the Cambodian people's talent for getting killed by foreigners; unfortunately their talent for killing their own people is one of them.
The Khmer years, which ended abruptly by way of Vietnamese invasion, and a recently-ended civil war between the various Khmer factions left millions dead and Cambodia, like so many of its people, crippled. Once, Cambodia was the seat of the Angkor, a mighty empire, the greatest that ever arose between India and the South China Sea. Today, its legacy lies crumbling in the jungle: ancient temples pillaged by man and ravaged by nature. The ancient Khmer left monuments that dotted the country like stone jewels; their descendants (and their enemies) left vast swathes of landmines that stretch across the country like a pox.
Before I go on, note these points:
1. These are not the best pictures I took. But I thought they were the most telling. I didn't put too many of those typical location shots in here. If you want to see pictures of Bayon, go look it up on Google.
2. These blogs may soon have better pictures and stories: Yasmine, Farah, Soo Hian.
Day One
In the really-really-really early hours of 6 Feb 2007, five intrepid explorers (they being us), carrying nothing more than our bags and fistfuls of US dollars, boarded a Jetstar plane to Siem Reap, a Cambodian town that, we were told, was named such to commemorate a great victory over the Thai. Not just Singaporeans love beating those buggers, obviously. (2-1 baby.)
We had three chief goals on this trip:
1. Don't step on any landmines.
2. Don't get shot.
3. Have fun while retaining all our appendages.
(Left to Right) My glossy-eyed companions: Soo Hian, Farah, Yasmine, Uma. (I was taking the picture.) Why the smiley faces you wonder? The Jetstar flight had a problem with its taps: the toilets were unuseable. The picture was taken outside Siem Reap airport, which was not what I expected in the least. It looked like a beach resort. And the bathrooms were extremely clean. The sweetest smiles are smiles of sweet relief.
As the board says, we were going to Rosy Guesthouse. It is also Western Run. Hooray?
(It is true. The owner was Angmoh. It owned a dog and cat. They were named Pickle and Branston respectively.)
After we bunked down, it was time to do what all tourists do: tour!
This is a travelogue. My name is Wiffle. I am your guide.
Like a long arm, the South East Asian mainland stretches south in a long arc along Thailand, beyond the elbow at the Isthmus of Kra, ending at the Malay peninsula. Cambodia lies just south of the armpit, nestled like a sweat stain between Thailand, Laos and Vietnam. It is our destination.
Being mostly powerless, none of the South East Asian countries can be considered sharks in the global pond, but there are fish that even minnows can fuck the shit out of. And the story of Cambodia in the 20th century is one major fucking after another. Only French meddling in Indochina kept Cambodia from being consumed by its predatory neighbours. And the French colonial years (ruled by proxy through the Cambodian kings) were nothing compared to what lay ahead after the Second World War. First, it was bombed into oblivion after being sucked into the wars fought by the Viet Minh against the French and later the Americans. After the Indo-China wars ended, the Khmer Rouge came. There are not many things that could top the Cambodian people's talent for getting killed by foreigners; unfortunately their talent for killing their own people is one of them.
The Khmer years, which ended abruptly by way of Vietnamese invasion, and a recently-ended civil war between the various Khmer factions left millions dead and Cambodia, like so many of its people, crippled. Once, Cambodia was the seat of the Angkor, a mighty empire, the greatest that ever arose between India and the South China Sea. Today, its legacy lies crumbling in the jungle: ancient temples pillaged by man and ravaged by nature. The ancient Khmer left monuments that dotted the country like stone jewels; their descendants (and their enemies) left vast swathes of landmines that stretch across the country like a pox.
Before I go on, note these points:
1. These are not the best pictures I took. But I thought they were the most telling. I didn't put too many of those typical location shots in here. If you want to see pictures of Bayon, go look it up on Google.
2. These blogs may soon have better pictures and stories: Yasmine, Farah, Soo Hian.
Day One
In the really-really-really early hours of 6 Feb 2007, five intrepid explorers (they being us), carrying nothing more than our bags and fistfuls of US dollars, boarded a Jetstar plane to Siem Reap, a Cambodian town that, we were told, was named such to commemorate a great victory over the Thai. Not just Singaporeans love beating those buggers, obviously. (2-1 baby.)
We had three chief goals on this trip:
1. Don't step on any landmines.
2. Don't get shot.
3. Have fun while retaining all our appendages.
(Left to Right) My glossy-eyed companions: Soo Hian, Farah, Yasmine, Uma. (I was taking the picture.) Why the smiley faces you wonder? The Jetstar flight had a problem with its taps: the toilets were unuseable. The picture was taken outside Siem Reap airport, which was not what I expected in the least. It looked like a beach resort. And the bathrooms were extremely clean. The sweetest smiles are smiles of sweet relief.
As the board says, we were going to Rosy Guesthouse. It is also Western Run. Hooray?
(It is true. The owner was Angmoh. It owned a dog and cat. They were named Pickle and Branston respectively.)
After we bunked down, it was time to do what all tourists do: tour!
Since none of us was Jesus, we required some kind of floating platform (sometimes known as a "boat") to navigate the Tonle Sap, a great big lake that's called in government advertisements the heart of Cambodia. However, it seems to me that for a place filled with water the more apt bodily metaphor would be bladder. Also, it's shaped like a fish, as this picture I copied from Wikipedia shows.
Other than lots and lots and lots of water, it also offers a floating village and a sunken forest. That we were floating around randomly was actually a diversion from our original itinerary. We were planning to do the Angkor temples this day, despite our extreme tiredness, having had no sleep whatever for the last 36 hours, but it didn't work out, because of this horrible thing called the Angkor ticket, and I won't say more because just remembering it brings a dull throbbing pain behind my eyes.
Hilarious miscommunications and misunderstandings prevent us from seeing more of the lake.
Strangely enough, the saddest thing there was that little kitten pictured above. It was pitifully thin. Dying, probably. It was also extremely affectionate. It kept rubbing up against Yasmine and climbing up her thigh. It didn't mew so much as squeak. We saw no other cats. A little Cambodian girl picked it up, flipped it over, and threw it as hard as it could. Yasmine nearly fainted. Later, we saw a landmine victim stroking it. And then we left.
We became part of a tourist horde when we went to Angkor Wat for the sunset. Angkor Wat is extremely awe-inspiring. But the sunset was quite a let-down. We decided to return for sunrise, in the hope we would get something awe-inspiring, in the angel-singing/heaven's trumpets-blaring kinda way.
Then on to Bar Street, Siem Reap's happening nightspot. Had some food, and found a really nice ice cream place. Unfortunately, its menu features a demonic drink that tastes like the unholy child of cough syrup, Chinese herbal medicine and Satan's penis. It is called Morning Glory Fizz. Farah (above) is trying to take a picture of it. The smooth, hairless legs belong to Soo Hian. And no, he is not giving birth. Or pooping.
Day Two
Uma did not come for the sunrise, as she had already seen it. It was her second trip. The remaining four did wake up at four-something to catch the rising sun at 6 am. It was cool, but not super great. However, we managed to get this picture while we were sitting by the one pond with water in the compound. I am the person in green, and yes that is how Yasmine looks whenever I touch her.
We also went to see the other Angkor temples in the area after we had breakfast at a Khmer fast food restaurant, where Uma joined us. This was one of the best days of the trip, so I shall start with what I hated.
1. The many, many children hawking knick-knacks no one could possibly want to buy, all playing on your sympathy with their competent English and big big eyes. "Buy from me... I wait here for you."
1. The many, many children hawking knick-knacks no one could possibly want to buy, all playing on your sympathy with their competent English and big big eyes. "Buy from me... I wait here for you."
2. Being ripped off on a US$8 guidebook.
However, nothing could compare with Farah's purchase of a freakin' erhu for US$10. That's what Soo Hian is holding in the above pic. She can't even play the erhu. The proverbial white elephant, she calls it. Nonsense. When was there ever an elephant as useless as that erhu, or as cumbersome?
The good stuff:
1. The Tuesday Group Aged Assist Team helping a bunch of old ladies.
2. Spreading tooth decay among Cambodian children with the giving of innumerable sweets.
3. A policeman taking us on a tour around Bayon, which made the experience immeasurably more pleasurable. He also hates Koreans for their annoying tour groups, their haughtiness towards local guides and the way they don't share the goodness with local people. He didn't try to arrest us either.
4. The immortal utterance from Soohian: "The Wat is where?"
5. Me turning to an assertive photo director. (This might be under bad stuff for the others.)
The above is just a random picture of two people acting spastic.
Actually, I forgot one thing. The policeman at Bayon was also a budding photog of some sort, and took lots of pictures where we seem to be touching noses with the faces of the temple.
Siem Reap was coming to an end.
Going to the Seeing Hands massage parlour, run by blind people with profits going to charity for the disabled, was me, Yasmine and Uma's reward for a hard day in the sun. The masseuses were superb. They hit all the right spots. I highly recommend it. I had to change to the "massage clothing", a sort of loose shirt and pants, in a room though, and in the room there was a little girl, maybe 2 years old, on the bed! I think it was the daughter of one of the blind dudes. She could see. She didn't seem terrified by my underwear though. She seemed amused.
After the massage, we walked to Bar St for dinner. Yasmine and I had grilled beef. It took forever to arrive. It was not worth the wait. You may as well try to chew through your sneakers. Add some bbq sauce and potato bits that look like uncooked french fries as garnish and you would have much the same experience.
Day 3
That morning we took a long ride in a filthy bus that was in a previous life air-conditioned. The road to our next stop, Battambang, was a long dirt road as smooth as a Klingon's forehead. Unburdened by notions of hygiene, the Cambodian kids on the bus were festering nexuses of refuse and snot, but cute festering nexuses of refuse and snot. The little buggers kissed walls and rolled their food over their seats and themselves before eating it. Everyone's hair was the texture of straw by the end of the ride and everyone's bums were as flat as Anna Nicole Smith's heartbeat. The floor of the bus was indescribably filthy at the end of the 9 hour ride, with wrappers and food bits everywhere. At least no one peed. I think.
Battambang, by the way, is also where the largest number of reported land mine victim in Cambodia come from.
It is a charming, quiet town, with strange cinemas.
The above is a Battambang cinema. What sort of film is that banner for? Going by instinct, I'm guessing sex-change comedy, involving fishing and a midget director. But it may well be more inexplicable.
We later ate at the Smoking Pot, a decent cafe that offers cooking classes too. Delicious meal for under $2 per person! Yasmine terrified the little Cambodian boy serving us, who had to flee on a bicycle. She will put the blame on me. Do not believe her lies.
Here we find out:
Yasmine is terrified of lizards and alien toilets. Farah of phone conversations. Uma of being stared at while sleeping. Me of random t-shirts. Soo Hian of people hearing him shit. Good times.
Later that night, we went to a rather cool bubble tea restaurant (sprouting all over Cambodia, inexplicably) with strange menu names. Farah should have a memorable picture series at some point.
The friendly, laidback charm of Battambang could never prepare us for...
Day Four
Phnom Penh.
Visitors, for god's sake, don't hop on the first tuk-tuk you see and don't let the driver grab your bag! One man advertised Lakeside Guesthouse, a place endorsed by Lonely Planet, and we foolishly followed. We should have sensed something was up when fellow tuk-tuk drivers laughed at the price we paid him. Instead of Lakeside, we were dropped off at another guesthouse - presumably one he expected a commission for depositing hapless tourists at its doorstep. In his favour, it indeed beside a lake. But we didn't stay. (I wasn't about to let him scam me any further). Then the bastard started stalking us as we tried to leave. Bastard.
The people in Phnom Penh feel like a completely different breed from the outlying regions. They are harder, more sarcastic, and less honest. I generalise, of course, but that's what I felt.
Eventually, we made it to the Bodhi Tree guesthouse, which had a very homey decor, though a bit short on amenities considering the price. We slept in the attic, which had no doors. But our good spirits didn't last long, because we visited the nearby Tuol Seng Genocide museum next. I rather not talk about Tuol Seng.
The French cuisine we had afterwards at Comme a la maison made me feel a lot better though. That was a pretty good Lonely Planet recommendation.
(Me and Yasmine had to try walking back alone after because our companions wanted to explore the city further. It was positively scary.)
While everyone was out having fun the two of us sorted out the next day's accomodation and a vehicle to Kirirom, our next stop, and talked to the Cambodian equivalent of our friend Xaisongkham: educated and working hard for a better life. I'm such as weakass in comparison.
Day Five
Oh, Kirirom National Park. Originally we wanted to go to Bokor, which has a cool ghost town, but decided it was too far from Phnom Penh. This was fortunate.
Because Kirirom is amazing (pretty costly though: US$5 tickets, and $12 per person for the ride up).
The road up to Kirirom was filled with animals: Sun bears, deers, birds, even wild tribal men in loincloths hunting the sun bears that were hunting the deer following the birds. Sweeping vistas that abound with fingers of coniferous trees frame waterfalls and rivers and ponds and green grass.
"This is so amazing," said Farah.
"This makes Death Valley look like Al Gore's cleavage," said Yasmine.
"Oh my god, that's a small loincloth," said Soo Hian.
"He's not wearing loincloth," said Uma
I don't think I've gaped so much in my life.
We found a little place by a river that provided mats. Look at how tired we are from our happiness!
However, nothing could compare with Farah's purchase of a freakin' erhu for US$10. That's what Soo Hian is holding in the above pic. She can't even play the erhu. The proverbial white elephant, she calls it. Nonsense. When was there ever an elephant as useless as that erhu, or as cumbersome?
The good stuff:
1. The Tuesday Group Aged Assist Team helping a bunch of old ladies.
2. Spreading tooth decay among Cambodian children with the giving of innumerable sweets.
3. A policeman taking us on a tour around Bayon, which made the experience immeasurably more pleasurable. He also hates Koreans for their annoying tour groups, their haughtiness towards local guides and the way they don't share the goodness with local people. He didn't try to arrest us either.
4. The immortal utterance from Soohian: "The Wat is where?"
5. Me turning to an assertive photo director. (This might be under bad stuff for the others.)
The above is just a random picture of two people acting spastic.
Siem Reap was coming to an end.
Going to the Seeing Hands massage parlour, run by blind people with profits going to charity for the disabled, was me, Yasmine and Uma's reward for a hard day in the sun. The masseuses were superb. They hit all the right spots. I highly recommend it. I had to change to the "massage clothing", a sort of loose shirt and pants, in a room though, and in the room there was a little girl, maybe 2 years old, on the bed! I think it was the daughter of one of the blind dudes. She could see. She didn't seem terrified by my underwear though. She seemed amused.
After the massage, we walked to Bar St for dinner. Yasmine and I had grilled beef. It took forever to arrive. It was not worth the wait. You may as well try to chew through your sneakers. Add some bbq sauce and potato bits that look like uncooked french fries as garnish and you would have much the same experience.
Day 3
That morning we took a long ride in a filthy bus that was in a previous life air-conditioned. The road to our next stop, Battambang, was a long dirt road as smooth as a Klingon's forehead. Unburdened by notions of hygiene, the Cambodian kids on the bus were festering nexuses of refuse and snot, but cute festering nexuses of refuse and snot. The little buggers kissed walls and rolled their food over their seats and themselves before eating it. Everyone's hair was the texture of straw by the end of the ride and everyone's bums were as flat as Anna Nicole Smith's heartbeat. The floor of the bus was indescribably filthy at the end of the 9 hour ride, with wrappers and food bits everywhere. At least no one peed. I think.
Battambang, by the way, is also where the largest number of reported land mine victim in Cambodia come from.
It is a charming, quiet town, with strange cinemas.
We later ate at the Smoking Pot, a decent cafe that offers cooking classes too. Delicious meal for under $2 per person! Yasmine terrified the little Cambodian boy serving us, who had to flee on a bicycle. She will put the blame on me. Do not believe her lies.
Here we find out:
Yasmine is terrified of lizards and alien toilets. Farah of phone conversations. Uma of being stared at while sleeping. Me of random t-shirts. Soo Hian of people hearing him shit. Good times.
Later that night, we went to a rather cool bubble tea restaurant (sprouting all over Cambodia, inexplicably) with strange menu names. Farah should have a memorable picture series at some point.
The friendly, laidback charm of Battambang could never prepare us for...
Day Four
Phnom Penh.
Visitors, for god's sake, don't hop on the first tuk-tuk you see and don't let the driver grab your bag! One man advertised Lakeside Guesthouse, a place endorsed by Lonely Planet, and we foolishly followed. We should have sensed something was up when fellow tuk-tuk drivers laughed at the price we paid him. Instead of Lakeside, we were dropped off at another guesthouse - presumably one he expected a commission for depositing hapless tourists at its doorstep. In his favour, it indeed beside a lake. But we didn't stay. (I wasn't about to let him scam me any further). Then the bastard started stalking us as we tried to leave. Bastard.
The people in Phnom Penh feel like a completely different breed from the outlying regions. They are harder, more sarcastic, and less honest. I generalise, of course, but that's what I felt.
Eventually, we made it to the Bodhi Tree guesthouse, which had a very homey decor, though a bit short on amenities considering the price. We slept in the attic, which had no doors. But our good spirits didn't last long, because we visited the nearby Tuol Seng Genocide museum next. I rather not talk about Tuol Seng.
The French cuisine we had afterwards at Comme a la maison made me feel a lot better though. That was a pretty good Lonely Planet recommendation.
(Me and Yasmine had to try walking back alone after because our companions wanted to explore the city further. It was positively scary.)
While everyone was out having fun the two of us sorted out the next day's accomodation and a vehicle to Kirirom, our next stop, and talked to the Cambodian equivalent of our friend Xaisongkham: educated and working hard for a better life. I'm such as weakass in comparison.
Day Five
Oh, Kirirom National Park. Originally we wanted to go to Bokor, which has a cool ghost town, but decided it was too far from Phnom Penh. This was fortunate.
Because Kirirom is amazing (pretty costly though: US$5 tickets, and $12 per person for the ride up).
The road up to Kirirom was filled with animals: Sun bears, deers, birds, even wild tribal men in loincloths hunting the sun bears that were hunting the deer following the birds. Sweeping vistas that abound with fingers of coniferous trees frame waterfalls and rivers and ponds and green grass.
"This is so amazing," said Farah.
"This makes Death Valley look like Al Gore's cleavage," said Yasmine.
"Oh my god, that's a small loincloth," said Soo Hian.
"He's not wearing loincloth," said Uma
I don't think I've gaped so much in my life.
We found a little place by a river that provided mats. Look at how tired we are from our happiness!
Look at that. The white arrows point to the stairs that we had to take at one waterfall. There were approximately five million steps in all. It nearly killed us. But it was worth EVERY SINGLE FUCKING STEP!
We traveled so deep into the jungle it was frightening.
I have no idea what we did when we returned to Phnom Penh. I am still overcome by the sights and smells of Kirirom, beautiful lovely Kirirom. Read Yasmine for more.
Day Six
This day was supposed to be free and easy, and it was neither free nor easy. Our feet nearly killed us. Soo Hian, Farah and Uma decided to do take the rides offered by Sunday Guesthouse, where we now stayed, to the Killing Fields, the King's Palace and the National Museum. I had no interest at all in the Killing Fields after Tuol Seng. This was my last day in Phnom Penh, since I would fly off the next day, and I did not want to be depressed. I made Yasmine do the walking tour from Lonely Planet with me instead. It's a good journey, and I began to like Phnom Penh because of it.
Highlights:
1. The bats that flew around Wat Phnom, or the temple on a hill. Since the infamous bat colony that used to shit all over the exhibits at Cambodia's national museum is now gone, I am guessing that the winged critters have decided to move their guano over by the Wat.
2. Endless bargaining. I hate bargaining. I hate how you have to bargain over every fucking thing.
3. Tuk Tuk driver got lost trying to drive us back. He did not understand much English.
4. Okay, we have a friggin awesome-looking embassy. The Malaysian one was shitty by comparison. "It looks like the house of a rich Malaysian," said Yasmine. "No matter how rich they get they never develop good taste." Take that! I quote the Economist story called Let's All Bash Singapore, about how our neighbours love to pick fights with us: "But it is hard to avoid the suspicion that the little country's unforgivable offence is being richer and more successful than its neighbours, and not particularly apologetic about it."
I have no idea what we did when we returned to Phnom Penh. I am still overcome by the sights and smells of Kirirom, beautiful lovely Kirirom. Read Yasmine for more.
Day Six
This day was supposed to be free and easy, and it was neither free nor easy. Our feet nearly killed us. Soo Hian, Farah and Uma decided to do take the rides offered by Sunday Guesthouse, where we now stayed, to the Killing Fields, the King's Palace and the National Museum. I had no interest at all in the Killing Fields after Tuol Seng. This was my last day in Phnom Penh, since I would fly off the next day, and I did not want to be depressed. I made Yasmine do the walking tour from Lonely Planet with me instead. It's a good journey, and I began to like Phnom Penh because of it.
Highlights:
1. The bats that flew around Wat Phnom, or the temple on a hill. Since the infamous bat colony that used to shit all over the exhibits at Cambodia's national museum is now gone, I am guessing that the winged critters have decided to move their guano over by the Wat.
2. Endless bargaining. I hate bargaining. I hate how you have to bargain over every fucking thing.
3. Tuk Tuk driver got lost trying to drive us back. He did not understand much English.
4. Okay, we have a friggin awesome-looking embassy. The Malaysian one was shitty by comparison. "It looks like the house of a rich Malaysian," said Yasmine. "No matter how rich they get they never develop good taste." Take that! I quote the Economist story called Let's All Bash Singapore, about how our neighbours love to pick fights with us: "But it is hard to avoid the suspicion that the little country's unforgivable offence is being richer and more successful than its neighbours, and not particularly apologetic about it."
6. I also discover my camera has actual camera functions... like sepia mode. (The Angkor Wat pic that's way above was made to look sepia via post-effects.)
End.
