Farewells...
Cambodia was a revelation. Poor, blighted by corruption, landmines and sad history, it nevertheless had the friendliest people and a welcoming manner.
For the record, Cambodian men are much better looking than Thai boys.
Tuk tuk drivers had a sense of humour, boys at reception would talk for hours just for the pleasure of it, people waved at buses and boats.
I took a moto on Wednesday evening to find some food. The driver was friendly, chatty and we sang 'Hit the Road Jack' the whole way around Battambang as he tried to find me the take out food I wanted.
Eventually we hit a cheap food stall that looked the part. It was not. I took it back to the hotel and asked the receptionists if I could borrow a bowl and spoon. They were only too obliging and within minutes a group of moto drivers and recptionists had gathered for a chat and a laugh.
I spent ages practicing my Khmer with them - they teaching me phrases such as "I love you" and asking me to take them to Europe so they could earn decent money.
After a while I went to settle down infront of School of Rock on TV and eat my stirfried beef. I don't know if it was actually beef, if it was rancid or not cooked properly but it was the most horrid thing I have ever tasted. Looking closely at it, it looked decidedly dodgy. Dinner became a huge portion of rice, tinted with a hint of the icky sauce.
The next morning, I took a moto tour. My driver was a friendly Battambanger who had many stories to tell about Pol Pot's regime and about the area.
He had been living south of Phnom Penh when the Khmer Rouge took power in 1975. Aged 15, he was split up from his parents, brother and sister and sent to a childrens camp to work. He believes his mother died of malaria and that his father was killed by the soldiers for some small mistake. They were a farming family and not the educated elite.
When the Vietnamese invaded Cambodia in 1979, he fled with hundreds of other people through the jungle to Thailand. He stayed in a refuge camp and worked with the Red Cross until the early 1990s. He returned too Battambang with a woman he had met in the camp and they married and had three children.
His search for his brother and sister proved fruitless and he now believes they died of starvation during the Khmer Rouge regime.
He said he was emotional when visiting spots like the killing caves near Battambang. Up on a hill near a temple, the caves were found filled with skeletons - many people had hidden in the caves from the soldiers, prefering to die ther rather than at the hands of soldiers.
In one cave, an opening in the ceiling had been used by soldiers for killing people. They were thrown into the cave, often being cut by soldiers bayonets before landing on the hard floor.
After walking up to the newly built temple, we went back down the steep hillside to the restaurant where we had left his bike.
We then drove alone a dirt road through rice fields to an old temple on a hill. Pre-dating Angkor Wat, it was a bit of a disappointment after that mighty temple but still very interesting, if another steep climb.
In the central stupa, infront of a Buddha shrine, there was an old woman giving out incense for offerings. She chatted to me in Khmer and I nodded and shook my head to indicate that I didn't understand. She pointed to my skin as if to say it was beautiful and then pointed at her own deep brown wrinkles - as if to say, my skin was once like yours. I wondered what this woman had suffered in her life.
An elderly gent joined us. He could count in English, just about, and he also tried to communicate. He drew his age in the dirt and we practiced saying 76 in Khmer and English. He chatted away to me for some time not really caring that I couldn't understand any of it.
My moto driver and I then drove to the bamboo train. We passed children fishing in streams, buffalo pulling wooden carts, villagers squatted at the side of the road eating from numerous bowls, dozens of children yelling 'hello!' and 'bye bye!', a little boy who high-fived me as I went past, concrete villas and palm leaf huts on stilts, wooden shacks and bumpy paths.
Eventually we arrived at the bamboo train. Not so much a train though - actually a bamboo platform on top of wheels which perch on rails. Villagers use it to get into Battambang.
I shared the 'train' with another tourist, my moto driver and his bike and her driver and bike. Because of our heavy load, any trains we would meet coming in the opposite direction would have to 'make tracks' and get off the single line.
We set off at a fair whack - it is now powered by motor but in Khmer Rouge times was operated by sticking a pole into the dirt - Venice style.
We met people walking the line with food packs strapped onto their backs, a frightened dog with a death wish who could only run straight and refused to veer off the track as he ran for his life, and tourists coming in the opposite direction who had to dismantle their train and get out of our way. It was a bit costly - $5 for the train (which the girl and I shared) but an experience. The track is supposed to be straight but it wiggles and every less than perfect join (most of them) jars your body.
I decided to leave for Bangkok the following day and left at midday on a rickety and overcrowded bus. But I was looked after by a Cambodian lady on her way to Bangkok for business with her sister and niece. She spoke good English and shared her fruits with me and gave me her contact details in case I was ever in Phnom Pehn again.
At the Thai border we switched to a plusher bus - thsi time with mostly backpackers whereas the previous bus had been Cambodians and one other tourist.
In the space of a few miles the bumpy dirt road to Poipet and the border became a smoothly tarmaced highway. Billboard lined the road. 4x4s, sedans and motobikes cruised through the countryside and through small towns which were more technologically advanced and modern than the biggest in Cambodia. It suddenly felt very odd to be in a country so similar to Cambodia yet with so much more.
I wonder how I will adjust to Sydney.
Bangkok is the same as ever. Noisy, busy, bustling, alive. I ventured back to Four Sons Village - overpriced but nice save for the $70 missing from my room. Have mostly been Christmas shopping and buying 'essentials' such as cheap trainers and sparkly shoes, a suit for interviews and so on. Spent way too much but had great fun doing it. Actually spent over 10 hours shopping yesterday...
Also managed to go the Grand Palace and Wat Pra Kaw and Wat Pho too - the big sights in Bangkok.
But today I leave. Time for a foot massage and manicure methinks before my bus. I think I could get back into a materialistic world of nice clothes and manicures quite easily (if I had money). But the sights of Whittard, FCUK, Benetton, Zara, Mango, Molton Brown, Mac, Chanel and so on made me think of home - the oddest thing is that despite the fact it is 35C here and getting warmer day by day, all the fashions in big stores is winter based. The models are cald in scarves and gorgeous sweaters, thick wool suits and berets. It is truly bizarre that sales items are summer wear.
And who'd have thought I'd be lusting after winter woolies after vowing to escape England's cold for as long as possible???
For the record, Cambodian men are much better looking than Thai boys.
Tuk tuk drivers had a sense of humour, boys at reception would talk for hours just for the pleasure of it, people waved at buses and boats.
I took a moto on Wednesday evening to find some food. The driver was friendly, chatty and we sang 'Hit the Road Jack' the whole way around Battambang as he tried to find me the take out food I wanted.
Eventually we hit a cheap food stall that looked the part. It was not. I took it back to the hotel and asked the receptionists if I could borrow a bowl and spoon. They were only too obliging and within minutes a group of moto drivers and recptionists had gathered for a chat and a laugh.
I spent ages practicing my Khmer with them - they teaching me phrases such as "I love you" and asking me to take them to Europe so they could earn decent money.
After a while I went to settle down infront of School of Rock on TV and eat my stirfried beef. I don't know if it was actually beef, if it was rancid or not cooked properly but it was the most horrid thing I have ever tasted. Looking closely at it, it looked decidedly dodgy. Dinner became a huge portion of rice, tinted with a hint of the icky sauce.
The next morning, I took a moto tour. My driver was a friendly Battambanger who had many stories to tell about Pol Pot's regime and about the area.
He had been living south of Phnom Penh when the Khmer Rouge took power in 1975. Aged 15, he was split up from his parents, brother and sister and sent to a childrens camp to work. He believes his mother died of malaria and that his father was killed by the soldiers for some small mistake. They were a farming family and not the educated elite.
When the Vietnamese invaded Cambodia in 1979, he fled with hundreds of other people through the jungle to Thailand. He stayed in a refuge camp and worked with the Red Cross until the early 1990s. He returned too Battambang with a woman he had met in the camp and they married and had three children.
His search for his brother and sister proved fruitless and he now believes they died of starvation during the Khmer Rouge regime.
He said he was emotional when visiting spots like the killing caves near Battambang. Up on a hill near a temple, the caves were found filled with skeletons - many people had hidden in the caves from the soldiers, prefering to die ther rather than at the hands of soldiers.
In one cave, an opening in the ceiling had been used by soldiers for killing people. They were thrown into the cave, often being cut by soldiers bayonets before landing on the hard floor.
After walking up to the newly built temple, we went back down the steep hillside to the restaurant where we had left his bike.
We then drove alone a dirt road through rice fields to an old temple on a hill. Pre-dating Angkor Wat, it was a bit of a disappointment after that mighty temple but still very interesting, if another steep climb.
In the central stupa, infront of a Buddha shrine, there was an old woman giving out incense for offerings. She chatted to me in Khmer and I nodded and shook my head to indicate that I didn't understand. She pointed to my skin as if to say it was beautiful and then pointed at her own deep brown wrinkles - as if to say, my skin was once like yours. I wondered what this woman had suffered in her life.
An elderly gent joined us. He could count in English, just about, and he also tried to communicate. He drew his age in the dirt and we practiced saying 76 in Khmer and English. He chatted away to me for some time not really caring that I couldn't understand any of it.
My moto driver and I then drove to the bamboo train. We passed children fishing in streams, buffalo pulling wooden carts, villagers squatted at the side of the road eating from numerous bowls, dozens of children yelling 'hello!' and 'bye bye!', a little boy who high-fived me as I went past, concrete villas and palm leaf huts on stilts, wooden shacks and bumpy paths.
Eventually we arrived at the bamboo train. Not so much a train though - actually a bamboo platform on top of wheels which perch on rails. Villagers use it to get into Battambang.
I shared the 'train' with another tourist, my moto driver and his bike and her driver and bike. Because of our heavy load, any trains we would meet coming in the opposite direction would have to 'make tracks' and get off the single line.
We set off at a fair whack - it is now powered by motor but in Khmer Rouge times was operated by sticking a pole into the dirt - Venice style.
We met people walking the line with food packs strapped onto their backs, a frightened dog with a death wish who could only run straight and refused to veer off the track as he ran for his life, and tourists coming in the opposite direction who had to dismantle their train and get out of our way. It was a bit costly - $5 for the train (which the girl and I shared) but an experience. The track is supposed to be straight but it wiggles and every less than perfect join (most of them) jars your body.
I decided to leave for Bangkok the following day and left at midday on a rickety and overcrowded bus. But I was looked after by a Cambodian lady on her way to Bangkok for business with her sister and niece. She spoke good English and shared her fruits with me and gave me her contact details in case I was ever in Phnom Pehn again.
At the Thai border we switched to a plusher bus - thsi time with mostly backpackers whereas the previous bus had been Cambodians and one other tourist.
In the space of a few miles the bumpy dirt road to Poipet and the border became a smoothly tarmaced highway. Billboard lined the road. 4x4s, sedans and motobikes cruised through the countryside and through small towns which were more technologically advanced and modern than the biggest in Cambodia. It suddenly felt very odd to be in a country so similar to Cambodia yet with so much more.
I wonder how I will adjust to Sydney.
Bangkok is the same as ever. Noisy, busy, bustling, alive. I ventured back to Four Sons Village - overpriced but nice save for the $70 missing from my room. Have mostly been Christmas shopping and buying 'essentials' such as cheap trainers and sparkly shoes, a suit for interviews and so on. Spent way too much but had great fun doing it. Actually spent over 10 hours shopping yesterday...
Also managed to go the Grand Palace and Wat Pra Kaw and Wat Pho too - the big sights in Bangkok.
But today I leave. Time for a foot massage and manicure methinks before my bus. I think I could get back into a materialistic world of nice clothes and manicures quite easily (if I had money). But the sights of Whittard, FCUK, Benetton, Zara, Mango, Molton Brown, Mac, Chanel and so on made me think of home - the oddest thing is that despite the fact it is 35C here and getting warmer day by day, all the fashions in big stores is winter based. The models are cald in scarves and gorgeous sweaters, thick wool suits and berets. It is truly bizarre that sales items are summer wear.
And who'd have thought I'd be lusting after winter woolies after vowing to escape England's cold for as long as possible???
posted by charlie at 1:18 pm
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