Frogtails — Update #9

A portion of an E-mail written by Patrick Martino…

Subject: Update #9—Cambodia, Siem Reap, The Countryside, The Temples of Angkor, Angkor Wat, Phnom Penh, Khmer Rouge
From: “Patrick Martino

The Short Update

Well I made it. I cycled all the way from Thailand to Vietnam. It wasn’t far of a distance, just 500 miles, but lets just say the roads in Cambodia aren’t the best in the world in fact hey are some of the worst; although I am told they are remarkably better than they used to be.

I am in the city formerly known as Saigon now officially called Ho Chi Min City. The locals though still prefer to call it Saigon. I plan on taking off tomorrow to continue my cycling. | am headed for Hanoi and from there probably China or Taiwan.

For all the news and stories of my adventures in Cambodia those with the time or patience can read on.

I hope everyone is having a pleasant summer and had a great 4th of July

Sincerely,

Patrick Martino

The Good Stuff the Long Update

From Thailand to Siem Reap

I have a Marin 24 speed highbred (that’s a cross between a mountain bike and a touring bike). It is silver with Shimano gears. I bought it in New Zealand from a German couple whom were finished with their cycling tour. I bought the bike along with all of the saddlebags, bungee cords, and tools I needed. It was an entire touring package for around $350. I thought seriously about selling the bike in New Zealand after I had cycled there. I thought it was going to be too much of a hassle to get it back to Thailand, my return destination on my round trip ticket. I am glad I didn’t sell it. Biking through Cambodia has been a wonderful experience.

Getting my bike to Thailand turned out not to be as tough as I had expected. My airline, Cathay Pacific, didn’t charge me anything to ship it. I got it to Khoa San Road, the cheapest place in Bangkok to stay, and spent a week there getting geared up.

Traffic is a mess in and around Bangkok. I didn’t even want to try biking in it. I thus opted to take a train to the Thai/Cambodian border. It was a quick five-hour trip, which cost me all of 68 Baht about $1.50 plus another $2 to transport my bike. I took the wheels off and stashed above me in the overhead racks. It was June 12th and blazing hot.

The summer heat at midday in South East Asia is like a vice pressing down with even constant pressure. It is indomitable; constant. You sweat without exertion, swim in perspiration. Cool drinks do not stay cool. They are at most refreshing at the very least wet.

Most Cambodians do little work between the hours of 11:00 A.M. to 1:30. P.M. It is too hot. The train having arrived at the border near noon, however, I was too excited not to start immediately.

The border with Cambodia at Poipet is a busy one. There is a crowd of activity, a sea of trucks and motor scoters, touts, and men stacking plastic bags of rice onto push carts until they reach the sky. It is dusty, dirty. Beggar children confront you with outstretch hands poking your arm harassing for a gift of change. Dogs fossick amongst the trash. Women beneath umbrella canopies offer the only protection from the sun. Positioned in front of the concrete and tile casinos the Thais come to gamble at, they scream out “Water, Water. You want Water.”

The sign at the border reads ‘The Kingdom of Cambodia’. Above the gate a model of the three central towers of Angkor Wat, the national symbol of Cambodia, awaits traveler’s passage beneath. They looked like three massive gray bombsicles. Seeing them in the heat I really wished they were the cold treats I used to get as a kid from the ice cream Good Humor man

Across the border at the single story concrete immigration building there was the usual tedious bureaucracy of paper forms, surnames, addresses, port of entry, and passport numbers. It was conducted though with less efficiency, greater confusion than in other countries. There were no clear lines to wait in or booths with tiny pens attached to metal strung beads with which to complete the paper work. It was a guess and ask around at the windows type of border crossing. In all likelihood I probably could have walked across with no one caring to check my passport, such was the confusion of the tide of laborers and trucks.

The immigration officials had saturnian faces, glum looks of boredom. If there was one border I had heard horror stories about, passports being held by corrupt officials till an ample bribe was offered, it was this one. The cadre in the brown uniform and with the thick sweaty hands behind the glass window palmed my passport turning the pages with deliberate slowness. He let me pass, stamping my visa with a thud of his rubber stamp. Perhaps he felt pity for me attempting to bike in the heat. He saw my bike parked outside the station, locked. Perhaps he thought I was crazy. Everyone else did.

Clearing immigration the touts pushed their services. They told me how great it would be to take a share taxi, a bus, a motor scoter to Battambang or Siem Reap. They seemed to ignore the fact I had a bike. ‘Where you go,’ they pestered. ‘I go to Siem Reap’. I told them. ‘You want bus. Very good. Cheap cheap.’

‘No thanks I have my bike.’

‘You bike!’they said. ‘Oh very far. Too hot for you. Bus much better.’ I thanked them for their consideration but left them behind to prey upon the next tourist.

I am not sure that first day why I wanted to ride my bike in such draining heat. I should have lain low the first day. It wasn’t a very good start out of the gate.

You see it was my back wheel again. I had problems with it in New Zealand. It had the annoying tendency to break spokes. Just one hour out of Poipet I heard a sharp snap. Shit. I broke another one.

The sun was sublime in its power. At its zenith it melted the Earth and sought to dry the wet rice fields. The road was as flat as a pancake and an oven with is blacktop. On either side of the road were green rice paddies with only spartan palm trees as shade. Besides the road in the red clayish dust I took apart my bike, disassemble the back wheel and began to change my spoke.

Changing a spoke is not hard. What is hard is getting the wheel back into shape and trued, straight. Breaking a spoke throws the wheel out of whack. The wheel is no longer a wheel but a distorted oval. If you don’t get it back into shape by adjusting the tension on the spokes your brakes rub and the wheel has a tendency to break even more spokes. It is just darn hard to get it perfect and to get the wobble out of the wheel.

Cycling through a third world country is like a one-man parade. You are the center of attention the coming attraction, the latest release. Children come running form their homes to wave hello. Most of the children I encountered didn’t even know how to say hello but instead shouted ‘Bye Bye.’ With bright smiles and waving arms they would come running from their bamboo homes happily shouting ‘Bye Bye.’ ‘Bye bye.’ I was probably the most exciting and interesting news a remote village has had in a year.

Imagine the excitement and fascination then if while you were out mowing your lawn Al Unser junior pulled up to your driveway in a Formula one racer with a blown out tire and stepped out to try to fix it.

This is how I felt. I had an audience of at least twenty staring at me trying to fix my spoke.

They watched admirably. They pinched my tires to test the air pressure. The kids played with the brake levers. They gazed with astonishment that I had a speedometer on my bike, just like on a motorbike. I smiled. They smiled. I let the children hold some of my tools and an old man took the important job of holding onto the black cap to my inner tube. It would have been a great and very fun experience if my bike wasn’t broken and I was sweating like the devil trying to fix it. The constant smiles of the Cambodians and their happy nature though made me feel welcome in their country. Every Cambodian I met throughout my trip gave me the same impression. Everyone always smiled and said hello and if they didn’t know how to say hello at least said ‘Bye bye’

Part of my problem with my spokes was the smooth black beautiful Thai road free from the pox of potholes ended at the border. What followed was a mix of pothole pavement alternating to a dusty track similar to what you might find at a construction sight. There were bumpy rocks and holes to be swerved around. Some of the potholes were so big they looked like bomb craters and could swallow my bike. Hit a pothole or a rock and pop there goes another spoke. Unfortunately, after I had fixed my first broken spoke this is exactly what happened.

I was heading down Cambodian highway number #6 if you could even really call it a highway. It was more like a country lane. I was only making about 8 to 9 mph 4 miles slower than the average speed of 12 mph I averaged in New Zealand. I was making for the town of Sisophon 50 kilometers from the border. It had a few guesthouses and was within striking range of Siem Reap for the next day.

I couldn’t make it. Repairing the two broken spokes took too much time out of the day. A pink sunset spread below the flat horizon behind me. The flat plain of green rice paddies turned dark. The countryside dotted with the vertical stokes of infrequent black palm trees there was little light to continue. I stopped at the first shack I saw and attempted to communicate I needed lodging and a meal.

While traveling I have become extremely adept at charades. You would be amazed how easily I can now communicate I need food and a place to rest with just a few grunts pointing to my belly and then making like I am sleeping. I should win an award because the villagers I met immediately understood and welcomed me into their roadside village, a string on eight to ten bamboo huts on either side of the road.

I once again had a flock of faithful watching my every move. Neighbors came over to see the strange farang (The world for foreigner). Someone fetched the only person in the tiny village who could speak any English, a smooth faced teenager named Lue . He asked me ‘How old,’ ‘What nationality,’ ‘Are you one,’ meaning was I traveling by myself and the one I seem to get the most ‘Are you married.’

It was great fun and quite an experience to just pull up in a village and ask for lodging. It was a bit awkward though having so many people staring at me especially when I tried to bath.

One of the women motioned if I wanted to take a shower by imitating pouring water over her head. She took me to a large clay pot, large enough to hold two bathtubs worth of water. There was a small metal bowl floating in the pot with which to pour the water over my head. I took off my shirt which I think was a shock to some of the children who had followed me to watch. I don’t think they had seen any one so white. A crowd gathered. They indicated I should take off my shorts by wrapping a table cloth sarong around my waist to keep my modesty while I took the shorts off. It was a strange and weird experience, probably the first time I have ever bathed in front of twenty or thirty perfect strangers.

The villagers were wonderfully kind. The family I was staying with paid me a high compliment by killing a chicken for me for dinner. Peasants do not eat much meat. To kill a chicken is a big deal. Dinner was amazing. They gave me a full barbequed chicken breast along with chicken soup, fried vegetables, and rice. The most noticeable aspect of the meal was the use of fresh pepper. Pepper is what I love about Cambodian cuisine. They love to use fresh ground pepper in their dishes. Dishes are not nearly as blazing hot from chilli as Thai food. The Cambodians seem to like pepper more than chilli which I prefer. Fish in a coconut sauce, sour soups, and wonderful fresh crabs in a lime pepper sauce were other highlights of dishes I had in Cambodia. With the influence of the French you could also get great French bread like in Lao. Unfortunately though the local beer, Angkor, is not nearly as good as Beer Lao. Wonderful food.

I slept on the wooden floor of my guest’s house. It was raised a half story above the ground on wooden stilts. It had a bamboo thatched roof and no furniture besides a tiny shelf and a bed. By candle light we listened to the news in Khmer on a battery powered transistor radio. The program was sponsored by voice of America.

The Countryside

Before I came to Cambodia I was expecting thick heavy jungle, similar to the mountainous regions in Laos. What I found was absolutely flat plains of rice fields with hardily a tree in sight.

During the day the sky is Carolina blue with large puffy white clouds. Brown cattle with brown skin the color of coffee mixed with cream laze about the fields. Farmers cart wood in ox carts led by water buffalo. I would pass school children dressed in white shirts and black pants for the boys and black skirts for the girls. They would ride rickety single speed Chinese bikes. One young ambitious boy would always pedal his heart out to chase me. I would let him catch me before shifting gears, smiling and waving good-bye. Occasionally a truck would thunder by or the annoying buzz of a motor scoter’s horn would announce the swift passage of a Honda Dream.

It is the monsoon season. Everyday in the afternoon the sky turns black and lets forth a deluge. The ditches besides the road are filled with puddle brown water. In the fields alien green sprouts of rice spring. Men prepare the fields for planting with ploughs while the women wade into the muddy water to gather the rice sprouts into bundles to be planted.

The muddy fields, patches of green-planted rice, and the distant palms create an enduring picture of rural life. The fields, which are finished planting, are spectacles of green. Infinite hues and shades of the verdant color abound.

The people live in bamboo shacks. Nearly every one bears a gateway flying Cambodian flags and the flags for a political party. Campaigning for the national elections was in full swing when I was in the country.

Passing through an occasional dusty town. I could stop at any number of convenience stores outside of bamboo huts or the facades of concrete buildings. They consisted of a wooden rack filled with clear gasoline stored in plastic 7-up or Fanta bottles along with an orange cooler sitting beneath an umbrella packed with coke cans that were so old the paint was often fading from the aluminum surface. The ice that had been in the cooler in the morning had usually melted into a puddle. If I was lucky though I might find one of the little stores that still had fresh ice and a bottle of water that was cold.

There was no need for me to carry food. There were markets in every town. I could feast on a tiny round watermelon the size of a cantaloupe for 500 riel, 12 cents, or eat Ramatans a strange fruit the size of dates with a red fuzzy shell with white meat that tastes very similar to a grape. There were always hot soups and meat dishes such as chicken cooked with pineapple served with rice that I could get in town for as little as 75 cents.

The towns were similar to others in Asia. They usually had one main road with eight to ten concrete block buildings stacked along side the main drag. The buildings lacked any sense of architecture. I much preferred the countryside but would stop in towns to lay low during the midday heat to sip sugar cane juice, have lunch and eat watermelons.

Siem Reap

I biked 100 kilometers, roughly 60 miles to get to Siem Reap from where I stayed with my host family. Siem Reap is like no other place in Cambodia. Thanks to the heavy influence of tourism it is nearly modern.

Ten miles outside of Siem Reap the scenery didn’t immediately change but the road sure did. The crap road disappeared. Where I had been riding on dirt track completely turned up by steam shovels and bulldozers in the guise of improving the road, (non of the heavy equipment I saw by the way was being used. It was just sitting there.) The road turned sublime. It was a tarmaced silk paradise. When I finally got into Siem Reap there was not a bamboo hut anywhere. Luxury hotels were instead the main structures. There was even a modern convenience store, with modern pumps, an air conditioned interior, with Lenier shelving Husman coolers and prices all in US dollars. There were even stoplights and street signs in English. It was like I had biked into a strange alternate world. Where two miles out of town I bought a bottle of water from a cooler filled with ice and the gas was dispensed from 7up bottles in Siem Reap it felt like I was in Florida.

For all of Siem Reap’s touristy gaudiness the place is quite nice. Thanks to SARS there was a noticeable absence of the hordes of tourists I am told usually inhabit the town. The town has wonderful French colonial buildings along the Siem Reap river. There was a decent market. There were great bars and restaurants. And then of course there was the real reason why everyone comes to Sime Reap. The temples of Angkor are just a few kilometers away from the town.

The Temples of Angkor

The Angkor period dates from 802 AD to 1432 AD. It represent the greatest point in Cambodian history. At its height the kings of Angkor ruled an empire stretching form Vietnam to the East, China to the North and parts of Burma to the West.

The kings originally influenced by Hinduism brought from India, built massive cities, irrigation canals, man made lakes, roads, and of course temples. Stone was the only material fit for the temples of the gods. The cities and palaces built of wood have rotted away but the majesty of the stone remains. Largely consumed by the jungle the temples were .rediscovered by European explorers. The jungle cleared and the temples restored the temples of Angkor now stand in the ranks of the great architectural marvels of the world.

There are close to 100 temples and monuments in the Angkor area encompassing an area of 77 square miles. The most magnificent of these are located very close to one another and are easily reached by bicycle. By far the most famous, largest and stunning of these is Angkor Wat

From my journal 6-14-03

Heading up the road to Angkor Wat one does not feel like they are about to visit ancient temples and the remains of a 1,000 year old city. It feels more like you are going to Disney world. There is a series of toll like booths at which you are forced to relinquish you tourist dollars. The fee is $40 for a three day pass $60 for a week. It is much cheaper than Disney world but a fortune in the third world.

Past the tollgates I cycled down a sealed road lined with jungle bowers. This was a marked departure from the rice field lined road of yesterday devoid of shade. I was actually in the jungle. It was probably what Cambodia once looked like before the land was cleared for farming. Crickets sung. Monkeys ran about the side of the road. In the morning preheat a steady flow of bicycles moved with me to the temple complexes to man the souvenir stalls and drink shops.

Before my first site of Angkor Wat I saw its long stretching moat, 190 meters wide. Turning the South Eastern corner of the moat the temple became visible. A great causeway crossed the moat on the temples western side. Balustrades formed in the likeness of a multi headed serpent lined each side of the causeway. A sandstone wall 5.5 kilometers in length stood behind the moat. It completely enclosed the rectangular shaped temple built on nearly 500 acres

And behind the wall with the causeway stabbing towards its heart stood the famous towers of Angkor Wat. They were bright and beautiful in the sun.

Ankor Wat has five towers. One of the pointed cupolas stands on each of the four corners of the main temple structure rising 31 meters above the ground. There is also a central tower taller and grander than its four neighbors standing 51 meters tall. The central tower represents the mythical Mount Meru, the home of the Hindu gods and the smaller towers Meru’s smaller peaks.

Standing on the central causeway, though only three of the towers can be seen. Like an Olympic medal platform the two towers to the right and left of the grand central tower stand at an even but lower height than the representative form of Mount Meru.

Crossing the moat and entering the enclosure wall in the darkness of the entryway the temple is perfectly framed by the light of the exit. Another great causeway 1,150 feet long and 30 feet wide leads to the architectural wonder.

Each side the inner causeway is flanked by green grass, reflecting pools, and ancient stone libraries. A horse drinks from one of the pools. Children play. It seems more like a park perfect for a picnic then a grand and glorious temple.

The stones of the causeway are flat and smooth. Each one is a different size having been individually fitted and carved to fit its brother neighbor. Tiny round peg holes are still evident in the stones where wood supports held the stones while they were carried to the site via barge and elephant.

The imperfect line of each joint, the lack of perpendicular tiled lines or mortar gives the causeway the effect of a great stone oscillating wave, a sheet of rock blown gently by the wind.

The heat is punishing. It seems like hours before I crossed the inner causeway and reached the guardian stone lions before the temple

What is telling about the temple is its symmetry. Cut in half and folded it would merge upon perfect lines. Its three stacked tiers and the final soaring stupas give it a strong lateral base but also the effect of great height.

Galleries of vaulted stone lay on the first tier where 60 evenly spaced columns on either side provide light to the inner walls. On those inner walls are 1,200 square meters of superb bas-reliefs extending for two meters in height along the entire length of the outside galleries.

Everything on the sandstone surface of the temple is carved. Every cornice, every niche is decorated with nymph like minor deities called asparas or a filigree of geometric or floral patterns. The primary bas-reliefs themselves are stunning. The sheer number of figures is astounding. Armies of men with spears, swords, shields and elephants led by gods march to face hordes of demons. The armies clash on the stonewalls. Chariots are crushed, horses rear. The creation of the Hindu gods elixir of life is depicted in a great scene with gods and demons pulling on a gigantic serpent to turn what is known as the ocean of milk to create the elixir. Even with a guidebook the depictions on the walls are a confusion of an unfamiliar pantheon of gods and mythical tales. I have had to learn Vishnu flies around on a half bird half man creature called a Garuda and that the Garuda is the sworn enemy of the god of the snake s and water a five to seven headed serpent called the Naga. I suppose staring at the murals at Angkor Wat without a guide or guide book would be like walking into a grand cathedral of Europe and staring at the stain glass windows with no knowledge of who Jesus was.

One is thankful these massive and spectacular pieces of art are still here intact. Ripped form the walls and hung by great metal hooks on a banal room in a Paris museum they would lose their grandeur and magnificence.

The full size and vastness of Ankor Wat cannot be appreciated until one climbs to the very top. Entering the dark inner chambers and then climbing the corner towers I looked out on the vast temple complex and was awed. It was huge. It’s walls and causeways stretched for a seeming mile before it hit the moat. I shook my head. My word how those poor men without cranes or bulldozers must have suffered building this thing in the tropical heat.

End of Journal

Ample Wat was only one temple. Each successive temple was cooler than the last. The Bayon in the ancient walled city of Angkor Thom had a multitude of stupas each with a gigantic smiling stone Buddha facing each of the cardinal directions. Many were faded eroded but at any moment I was prepared for one of them to come alive and speak. To ask in a bombing voice ‘Who dare disturbs my slumber.’

At the temple of Ta Prohm the jungle rules. Massive trees have consumed the corbelled vaults and walls. Their roots stretch like pythons constricting and twisting into the crevices between the stone. The trees rest on the roofs and with their tendrils ensnare window mantle and door. Where once the sprouting tree needed the temple for support the walls and crumbled stone now rely on the tree. It is a splendid place where natures trees have merged to form greater art with the stone structures of man.

The temples are pure Indiana Jones straight out of Tomb Raider ( In fact this is where they filmed tomb raider) Stepping on the wrong stone I feel as if a bevy of poison arrows might be released or a crushing chasing boulder. Hidden in the ruble, behind the orante carvings I imagine pits filled with cobras and an ancient tomb laden with gold.

Angkor is an amazing place. Certainly one of the wonders of the world.

Phnom Penh

I spent five days in Siem Reap. Two of those days I was sick. Yet again I threw up and felt miserable. Something I must have eaten. Man I think I have thrown up in every country on this trip except Singapore and Laos. I wasn’t that sick though. Nothing like I was I was in Burma. The stomach problems went away and I was able to finish enjoying the temples.

After Siem Reap I spent 4 days enduring crappy roads and the heat to make it to Phnom Penh. Although the heat and the dust were tough the happy smiling faces of the people and slowly biking through the beautiful countryside made the trip worthwhile. It is more rewarding too after you have worked to get someplace. Unfortunately my back tire kept breaking spokes. I was down to just one last spare before I reached Phnom Penh and was able to pick up some more. I had my wheel professionally trued by a teenager who all day does nothing but true wheels. He did a great job and I haven’t had a problem since.

Phnom Penh is not a great city. It is like a miniature but dirtier Bangkok without any of the really cool temples or modern air-conditioned shopping malls and movie theaters where you can go to cool off. Most of the streets aren’t even paved. They are filled with trash and stray dogs. I was not impressed by the city.

It did have some interesting if not some very horrific and sad sights which although they are difficult to visit I think are very important to see and to be discussed to remind us all of the horrors which man is capable of so we do not let genocide occur again. I am referring to the Tuol Sleng museum and the infamous killing fields.

First though a little history if your interested skip if your not.

Cambodia is a constitutional monarchy with his majesty Preah Bat Samdech Preah Norodom Sihanouk Varman as its head of State. The population is about 10.7 mill of which 70 % is Khmer and Theaveda Buddhist. Some 85% of the population is rural subsistence farmers.

Cambodia was ruled by a series of weak kings constantly giving concessions to their more powerful Thai and Vietnamese neighbors after the Angkor period. That Cambodia survived at all through to the 18th century as a distinct entity is due primarily to the preoccupations of its neighbors.

In 1864 the French arrived and by the 1870’s Cambodia was a virtual colony and part of French Indochina along with Vietnam and Laos. The French controlled the country until WWII when the Japanese swept across South East Asia. But with the defeat of the Axis powers the French returned to Cambodia in 1945 to make the country ‘an autonomous state within the French union.’

In 1953 King Sihanouk dissolved the Cambodian Parliament and took control of the country. Independence was proclaimed in May 1953 and was recognized by the Geneva conference in May 1954 when French control of Indo china effectively ended.

The Rise of the Khmer Rouge

King Sihanouk botched things up badly. He greatly feared the United States after south Vietnamese president Ngo Diem was overthrown in a US backed coup in 1963. He feared the US might attempt something similar against him. He declared Cambodia neutral in international affairs, and refused US aid. He nationalized many industries, which hurt the economy. His fear that the United States was plotting against him grew to such an extent he broke off diplomatic relations with Washington and allowed the Viet Cong to use Cambodia as a base in their war with the Americans.

His economic policies alienated the elite right while the left resented his internal policies. Compounding his poor administration of affairs was ripe corruption in the government. Despite many rural peasants near divine devotion to the king a peasant rebellion broke out in 1967. The king now saw his greatest enemy coming from the left and opened up harsh reprisals against leftist guerillas looking to overthrow the government.

The king’s position continued to deteriorate as more fighting occurred with rebels. The Vietnamese penetrated deeper into Cambodia and the king took on a passion for making films ignoring affairs of state.

In March 1970 while the king was away on a trip to France General Lon Nol and the kings cousin took power supposedly with tacit US approval.

The king set up a government in exile in Beijing nominally in control of an indigenous Cambodian revolutionary movement known as the Khmer Rouge.

Lon Nol took a hard line on the Vietnamese forces. He told them to get out of Cambodia in a week. Cambodia was safe a safe haven for them. The Vietnamese didn’t want to abandon their bases in Cambodia.

On April 30th 1970 the Americans and South Vietnamese forces invaded Cambodia in order to route out the VC and North Vietnamese troops stationed there. The Vietnamese forces drew even further into Cambodia. The tiny Cambodian army resisted the Vietnamese encroachment but were no match for the battle harden Vietnamese their Khmer Rouge allies.

The leadership of the Khmer Rouge including Paris educated Pol Pot consolidated its power. Pol Pot basically killed off his rivals including moderate Khmer Rouge cadres who had joined the movement in the thought they were fighting for their king. These killings were to foretell later purges by Pol Pot.

The Lon Nol government was exceedingly unpopular and corrupt. Lon Nol was ineffective as a leader and obsessed with superstitions.

He never gained the imitative against the Khmer rouge. The Khmer rouge with the help of the backing of the Vietnamese took the countryside cutting off large sections of the country from the capital and on April 17th 1975 Phnom Penh fell to the Khmer Rouge. With it came a reign of terror.

The Khmer Rouge had the sick idea of transforming the country into a peasant dominated agrian cooperative. A perfect socialist utopia where people were devoid of any free thought and loved and worked only for Angkor (kind of like Big Brother) Within two weeks of the Khmer rouge coming to power the entire population of the capital was marched into the countryside to undertake slave labor building dikes and working in the rice fields. Hundreds of thousands died in the harsh conditions where there was little food and rampant disease.

Pol Piot did not see the Khmer rouge as a unified movement but a grouping of different factions. He set about to eliminate and purge the country of intellectuals, and Khmer rouge leaders he saw as enemies. Hundreds of thousands more Cambodians were executed in the Khmer rouge.s sick purges. It is estimated between one and two million Cambodians died during the three years eight months and 21 days the Khmer Rouge were in power.

Ironically it was the Vietnamese who initially backed the Khmer Rouge that ended the madness. Khmer Rouge forces were encroaching into settlements in the Mekong Delta slaughtering villages and taking land they claimed belonged to Cambodia. It is true the Mekong Delta even Saigon used to be Cambodian territory but that was hundreds of years ago. The Vietnamese angry at the Khmer rouge attacking their villages invaded. They overthrew the Pol Pot government in two weeks. Pol Pot and his supporters fled to the West and into the jungles near the border with Thailand. Throughout the 80’s fighting continued between the Vietnamese controlled government and guerilla groups. The Vietnamese facing economic pressure and international isolation for its involvement in Cambodia pulled out of the country in 1989.

What followed was more political squabbles and more fighting with guerillas. The last of the Khmer Rouge forces were not defeated until 1998. Cambodia’s recent history is thus a long sad and bloody one. Pol Pot died before he was captured. Surviving leaders of the Khmer rouge have never been tried for their crimes.

Tuol Sleng and the Killing fields. (Warning. This is some pretty sad and disturbing stuff. Don’t Read if you think it will upset you. I think it is valuable though to let people know about genocide to remind future generations about what sick things man is capable of)

It is as peaceful as a park. Birds sing. Boys play volleyball behind the buildings. The wind gently blows through the courtyard, which was once the home to a high school. There are even pull up bars. Inside the four, three story concrete buildings, though are the most disturbing and horrify set of rooms I have ever been.

Tuol Sleng was a former high school converted by the Khmer Rouge into a prison where 10,4999 people were tortured before they were led to the killing fields 15 kilometers outside of the capital to be executed.

Entering the nearly empty 1st floor rooms of building A one does not, at first, feel remorse pity, sadness, or horror. On initial inspection the first room I saw was a room, nothing more. The windows were barred but let in ample light. The walls were concrete, cream colored, and need of a fresh coat of paint. I could picture a black board and students who once raised their hands. A few flies buzz about the room. The room’s only furnishings were a rickety steel bed with blue-flecked paint on which rested a battered military trench shovel and a metal ammunition case. And a grainy portrait sized black-and-white photograph mounted to the wall. It is the same in every room on the first floor of building A, a bed and a picture. It is not until one views the picture that he is truly horrified. The picture is of a man or what used to be a man. His arms are broken, twisted behind his body. Blood lies splattered on the floor. His skull is smashed in and he lies on a rickety steel bed. There is a military trench shovel lying in the corner of the picture. Everything is the same, only the body and the blood are gone.

The Khmer Rouge took the prisoners after they had tortured them to the killing fields. At the killing fields, just a short distance form the capital between 1975 and 1978 about 17000 men women and children were executed. Most were bludgeoned to death with tire irons or hoes to avoid wasting bullets.

The killing fields of Choeung Ek were not as large as I had expected. It is just a field with trees and the city in the distance. It is the size of perhaps a soccer field. It is a quiet place. The grass is trimmed by a collection of cows. There are crickets and butterflies, which enjoy the sun. Grass grows in a collection of golf course sandbar sized pits. What betrays the infamous location are the innocuous signs beside the pits written in Khmer and English. ‘Mass Grave’ one sign reads ‘Mass grave of more than 100 victims children and women whose majority were naked’ reads another. Perhaps the most mortifying sign is nailed to a tree. ‘Chankiri Tree against which executioners beat children.’

A tall modern stupa stands not far from the now barren pits. Behind a glass fa�ade it holds the remains mostly skulls with vacant eyes of 8,985 victims. It is a mortifying place. Lets hope nothing like it will ever occur again.

To the Coast and Vietnam

I had a great time biking to the costal town of Kampot. I was averaging around 100 kilometers a day about 60 miles a day on my bike and it took me just two days to reach the town. The roads were good, mostly paved. The scenery was spectacular with rice paddies alive in green colors from the monsoon rains.

Biking is the way to go when you travel in a country like Cambodia. You see and experience so much more. You get to interact with the people and see the small towns. A young teenager pulled up to me on his motorbike and wanted to know if I liked ‘cockridile’ It took me awhile to figure out he was saying crocodile.

It turns out his family owns a huge crocodile farm just outside of the capital. I spent an hour with him letting him practice English with me while he showed me his family’s huge crocodile farm where they raise massive crocodiles.

Another great encounter came while as I was biking past yet another rice paddy one of the older female workers motioned to me that I should come and join them in the fields. I got off my bike, took off my shoes and plunged into the muddy field. The brown water reached nearly to my knees and I slugged it out to the middle of the field. The woman had a wide oval happy face. She wore long sleeves and a wide brimmed hat. She was not a skinny woman but not fat. She motioned to me said words I couldn’t understand and did quite a bit of pointing. I didn’t understand what she was trying to say. It was her tan husband who took charge and showed me what to do. He gave me a bundle of rice sprouts. The bundle was heavy perhaps 15 or 20 pounds. The samplings themselves looked like extra long green blades of grass a foot and a half in length with white roots sprouting from their base like chives. The bundle was gathered together with a piece of dry straw. The farmer showed me the simple but backbreaking process. You grab 4 to 5 strands from the bundle to form a small bunch then gently stick them into the mud smooth the mud around the base with your thumb and then repeat over and over and over again the same process. To think every stalk of rice is planted by hand. This isn’t corn or beans where even the most primitive farmer can hoe a row and stand up straight while he sows seeds. This is bend over backwards hard labor. In the heat and in the muddy fields this is how most of the world feeds itself. My arm was sore just holding the heavy bundle for the twenty minutes I helped the farmer. I resigned after I destroyed the farmer’s perfect straight line of rice. The rice is spaced about 6 inches apart. The straight line I had started with began to wander. The farmer came to my assistance and planted a few extra stalks where I had left too much space in-b etween the rice plants. He no doubt thought I was a lazy loaf incapable of anything. Everyone knows how to plant rice he must have thought. It is easier than being a roofer. Just stick the stalks in the mud and repeat a million times. I tried to explain the rice we have in America comes dried and in plastic bags and that the only planting experience I have comes with potatoes. He didn’t understand but smiled anyways. He fixed my rows and I trotted out of the paddy to return to take some pictures. It was a great experience. Next time I eat rice it might have a few grains I actually planted. Being an accountant may have been stressful at times, especially at months close but I would take being an accountant any day over being a rice farmer. Tough work man. My hat goes off to the rice farmers of the world. They get the good guy of the week award.

Kampot was a great town to explore the coast from. I visited the coastal town of Kep where I had fresh crabs for get this $3 a kilo. They were the best crabs I have ever had. Absolutely delicious,. The coast wasn’t as pretty as say Malaysia of Thailand. It lacked the blue azure waters and coral of other places I have been but it was great to get to an area that had some breezes and wasn’t so hot. I spent one day exploring the coast and another day climbing to the top of a mountain plateau where there is a former French hill station called Bokor. It was an awful road and the toughest ride yet on my trip but was a blast coming down. It was very bumpy though without shocks but very fun

After Kampot and the coast I headed for the Cambodian/Vietnam border. It was a little bit sketchy weather or not I could cross there. My guide book said no but a moto driver at my guesthouse said yes. I made it across without a problem.

I am now having a blast in Vietnam. I have to stop writing now and get out of here so I get ready to start biking again tomorrow. I hope you enjoyed the update