Cambodia
Surprisingly, even to Vanya and I, we have already entered and left Cambodia. It was a very good week, but it was only a week. Cambodia treated us kindly.
We entered Cambodia from Chau Doc, Vietnam, a city that owes its existence largely to the fact that it is one of few border crossings into Cambodia. The attraction of this particular border crossing is that it is along the Mekong river, and there are daily 6 hour boat trips up the Mekong to Phnom Penh, Cambodia. It was a pleasant boat ride, and Cambodia looked green.
Phnom Penh appeared to Vanya and I to be the quietest capital city either of us had ever visited (it lost this title a week later to Ventiane, Laos, but at the time it owned the superlative). We were very appreciative of the lack of motor-scooters and cars, as well as the generally lackadaisical attempts by Cambodian entrepreneurs to reign in our business. This laid-back attitude seems to pervade the entire city, and Phnom Penh is a mecca of drugs and prostitution. There is a lot to the city -- we both really enjoyed it -- but the seedier aspects are all around. The only time I have ever been offered more drugs, I think, was in Jamaica, and all hotels in Phnom Penh prominently display signs stating the illegality of child-prostitution. There were a lot of bleary-eyed foreigners in this city. I am sure the embassies in Phnom Penh have heard it all, and these embassies probably make for interesting posts.
If there was anything that disappointed me about the city, it was the fact that I left it without ever having shot a grenade launcher. According to the guidebook, up to five years ago it was possible to book a tour to a shooting range and shoot any weapon available. This includes grenade launchers. While these institutions have largely been banned, I was determined to keep an open ear and eye to find one. I never did. I challenge you to find a man on this planet who, if given the opportunity, would opt not to blow something up with a grenade launcher. We all do. Had I actually shot a grenade launcher I would have put it on my resume under the heading "other experience."
Our first full day in Phnom Penh we did a walking tour of the city and saw the things that made it feel like every other city I have ever been in: we visited the National Museum, the Royal Palace, ate local food, and so on. The second and third days, we visited the Tuol Slong prison and Choeng Uk fields, where approximately 17,000 Khmers were tortured and killed, respectively. I have never been to Auschwitz, but I would there to be a universal human reaction to societal graveyards. I knew little about the Khmer Rouge -- I had not even seen The Killing Fields -- prior to arriving in Cambodia. I still know little. What astounds me is that as opposed to, say, visiting Germany, in Cambodia the generations that survived these years are still alive, still wandering around. You survived a four year genocide, I think, and there they are, sitting there, sipping iced coffee. Nobody really talks about it.
From Phnom Penh we took the bus to Siem Reap, gateway to the Temples of Angkor. Part of me is tempted to skip over this part, due to the fact that to try to describe them would be like trying to describe the Egyptian Pyramids or Machu Pichu or a Roman ruin. "I'm telling you... THEY'RE JUST AMAZING!" Of course they're amazing, they're ancient ruins. The reason I bring up Angkor, however, is because, unlike the pyramids of Egypt, few people I talk to seems to know about them. Did you? I certainly never learned about them. Somehow these temples do not make into history textbooks, do not make two-page glossy spreads once a year in National Geographic, do not fit in between the Discovery Channel's Shark Week and Myth-Busters.
The difference, though, is that these temples are still (mis)managed in a way that is indicative of a developing economy. You cannot physically climb on the outside of the Egyptian pyramids, whereas I could physically climb (and did physically climb) on the outside of these temples. You cannot pick up pieces of a Roman ruin and take them home, whereas I could have done exactly that had I been so inclined at Angkor (theft is a major problem); the pieces are laying all over the place. Nor could you find an intricately carved piece of 9th century sandstone and use it as a sitting stool, as everyone does at Angkor. The point is hardly anything there is roped off -- when in the future it surely will be roped off, it has to be -- so it is incredible to explore. This is not to say that there aren't a lot of tourists, as Japanese, Chinese, and Korean tourist-buses abound. Angkor is too big to make it feel like it is busy, though.
Siem Reap, as I alluded to before, is the rapidly-growing gateway town to these temples. I bring up this city because inside this wonderful town is a street called "Pub Street." The reason I bring up this street is because it serves well to explain how I felt about Cambodia at large; it is my microcosm. Pub Street is universally liked (as a side note, it is here that I had a cocktail called the "Seattle Sunset." I have never heard of this drink. It had rum, pineapple, lime, and sugar, which leads me to believe that the creator has never visited Seattle. If there is a "Seattle" drink, I have no doubt in my mind that the base liquor is vodka. It has to be vodka.) Anyway, Pub Street is filled with pubs, has cheap drinks, delicious/international fare, good lighting, decent international music, and is closed off to all but pedestrian foot-traffic. It is also (de facto) closed off to Cambodians. You will see virtually no one but foreigners on this street, and Cambodian police make sure that it stays this way. You are in, or you are out -- you are on Pub Street or you are outside of Pub Street. Cambodians, of course, are on the outside. Most of this is economic -- even a .50 cent beer is outrageously expensive for Cambodians -- but the police presence also ensures this.
Everyone knows that corruption is rife in Cambodia, and Vanya and I knew this going in. An example would be that, of the $40 Vanya and I each paid to go to the temples of Angkor -- and they were well worth $40, in fact they were worth more than this -- $10 went toward the restoration of the temples and $30 went to the ministry of finance; said otherwise, $30 dollars makes it into somebody's pocket. Apparently it used to be all $40 that used to make it into somebody's pocket, and it used to be one man receiving all of it, so I guess things are gradually moving in the right direction. On top of this, we paid $22 to enter the country and $25 to leave, all in one sweet week.
This is not a lot of money, but it hits backpackers especially hard. Put most simply, the Cambodian government takes my money, gives none of it back to its citizens, leaves me feeling as if I have been bled dry, and then I am confronted with the aftermath: humiliating poverty. It was upsetting. Vanya and I actually had fights about what to do in this situation, and I cannot say that I ever held a reasonably sound position. It was either I cannot help all of you or I can help one of you, but mostly it was I cannot help all of you. It feels miserable.
Inside Angkor Wat, the mother of all Angkor temples and the largest religious building in the world, Vanya and I had about a 1 1/2 hour conversation with a 20 year old orphan named Saapon. Saapon's head was recently shaved and looked strong, as he had just finished his Buddhist education, a rite of passage for most Cambodian males. He wants to attend university so that he can become a tour guide, which he cannot reasonably afford -- there is no such thing as a student loan in Cambodia. He hopes for a good job in order to save up for university but cannot pay the bribes to get a good job. "Do you know anyone that could maybe help me in Siem Reap?" he asked more than once, and explained that he currently makes $30 per month at a restaurant. It is a trait particular to asian cultures that asians have a tendency to smile when they are upset. As I understand it, it is meant to save face, to not reveal that one is actually upset. Saapon did this a lot. There were a few times that, in explaining the depths of government corruption -- "They do not build anything, they have not built a single road!" -- his hands began to shake and his eyes began to tear up slightly, yet he continued smiling. More than anything else in the world, he wants to live in the US. "Maybe I will go there, but it is just a dream," again, teary-eyed. "You never know," we replied, maintaining the fiction. But all three knew. Vanya had a nearly identical conversation five days earlier in Phnom Penh with another Cambodian of about the same age.
I might continue, to try to end this on a lighter note, but I am about to be locked out of my hotel.
We entered Cambodia from Chau Doc, Vietnam, a city that owes its existence largely to the fact that it is one of few border crossings into Cambodia. The attraction of this particular border crossing is that it is along the Mekong river, and there are daily 6 hour boat trips up the Mekong to Phnom Penh, Cambodia. It was a pleasant boat ride, and Cambodia looked green.
Phnom Penh appeared to Vanya and I to be the quietest capital city either of us had ever visited (it lost this title a week later to Ventiane, Laos, but at the time it owned the superlative). We were very appreciative of the lack of motor-scooters and cars, as well as the generally lackadaisical attempts by Cambodian entrepreneurs to reign in our business. This laid-back attitude seems to pervade the entire city, and Phnom Penh is a mecca of drugs and prostitution. There is a lot to the city -- we both really enjoyed it -- but the seedier aspects are all around. The only time I have ever been offered more drugs, I think, was in Jamaica, and all hotels in Phnom Penh prominently display signs stating the illegality of child-prostitution. There were a lot of bleary-eyed foreigners in this city. I am sure the embassies in Phnom Penh have heard it all, and these embassies probably make for interesting posts.
If there was anything that disappointed me about the city, it was the fact that I left it without ever having shot a grenade launcher. According to the guidebook, up to five years ago it was possible to book a tour to a shooting range and shoot any weapon available. This includes grenade launchers. While these institutions have largely been banned, I was determined to keep an open ear and eye to find one. I never did. I challenge you to find a man on this planet who, if given the opportunity, would opt not to blow something up with a grenade launcher. We all do. Had I actually shot a grenade launcher I would have put it on my resume under the heading "other experience."
Our first full day in Phnom Penh we did a walking tour of the city and saw the things that made it feel like every other city I have ever been in: we visited the National Museum, the Royal Palace, ate local food, and so on. The second and third days, we visited the Tuol Slong prison and Choeng Uk fields, where approximately 17,000 Khmers were tortured and killed, respectively. I have never been to Auschwitz, but I would there to be a universal human reaction to societal graveyards. I knew little about the Khmer Rouge -- I had not even seen The Killing Fields -- prior to arriving in Cambodia. I still know little. What astounds me is that as opposed to, say, visiting Germany, in Cambodia the generations that survived these years are still alive, still wandering around. You survived a four year genocide, I think, and there they are, sitting there, sipping iced coffee. Nobody really talks about it.
From Phnom Penh we took the bus to Siem Reap, gateway to the Temples of Angkor. Part of me is tempted to skip over this part, due to the fact that to try to describe them would be like trying to describe the Egyptian Pyramids or Machu Pichu or a Roman ruin. "I'm telling you... THEY'RE JUST AMAZING!" Of course they're amazing, they're ancient ruins. The reason I bring up Angkor, however, is because, unlike the pyramids of Egypt, few people I talk to seems to know about them. Did you? I certainly never learned about them. Somehow these temples do not make into history textbooks, do not make two-page glossy spreads once a year in National Geographic, do not fit in between the Discovery Channel's Shark Week and Myth-Busters.
The difference, though, is that these temples are still (mis)managed in a way that is indicative of a developing economy. You cannot physically climb on the outside of the Egyptian pyramids, whereas I could physically climb (and did physically climb) on the outside of these temples. You cannot pick up pieces of a Roman ruin and take them home, whereas I could have done exactly that had I been so inclined at Angkor (theft is a major problem); the pieces are laying all over the place. Nor could you find an intricately carved piece of 9th century sandstone and use it as a sitting stool, as everyone does at Angkor. The point is hardly anything there is roped off -- when in the future it surely will be roped off, it has to be -- so it is incredible to explore. This is not to say that there aren't a lot of tourists, as Japanese, Chinese, and Korean tourist-buses abound. Angkor is too big to make it feel like it is busy, though.
Siem Reap, as I alluded to before, is the rapidly-growing gateway town to these temples. I bring up this city because inside this wonderful town is a street called "Pub Street." The reason I bring up this street is because it serves well to explain how I felt about Cambodia at large; it is my microcosm. Pub Street is universally liked (as a side note, it is here that I had a cocktail called the "Seattle Sunset." I have never heard of this drink. It had rum, pineapple, lime, and sugar, which leads me to believe that the creator has never visited Seattle. If there is a "Seattle" drink, I have no doubt in my mind that the base liquor is vodka. It has to be vodka.) Anyway, Pub Street is filled with pubs, has cheap drinks, delicious/international fare, good lighting, decent international music, and is closed off to all but pedestrian foot-traffic. It is also (de facto) closed off to Cambodians. You will see virtually no one but foreigners on this street, and Cambodian police make sure that it stays this way. You are in, or you are out -- you are on Pub Street or you are outside of Pub Street. Cambodians, of course, are on the outside. Most of this is economic -- even a .50 cent beer is outrageously expensive for Cambodians -- but the police presence also ensures this.
Everyone knows that corruption is rife in Cambodia, and Vanya and I knew this going in. An example would be that, of the $40 Vanya and I each paid to go to the temples of Angkor -- and they were well worth $40, in fact they were worth more than this -- $10 went toward the restoration of the temples and $30 went to the ministry of finance; said otherwise, $30 dollars makes it into somebody's pocket. Apparently it used to be all $40 that used to make it into somebody's pocket, and it used to be one man receiving all of it, so I guess things are gradually moving in the right direction. On top of this, we paid $22 to enter the country and $25 to leave, all in one sweet week.
This is not a lot of money, but it hits backpackers especially hard. Put most simply, the Cambodian government takes my money, gives none of it back to its citizens, leaves me feeling as if I have been bled dry, and then I am confronted with the aftermath: humiliating poverty. It was upsetting. Vanya and I actually had fights about what to do in this situation, and I cannot say that I ever held a reasonably sound position. It was either I cannot help all of you or I can help one of you, but mostly it was I cannot help all of you. It feels miserable.
Inside Angkor Wat, the mother of all Angkor temples and the largest religious building in the world, Vanya and I had about a 1 1/2 hour conversation with a 20 year old orphan named Saapon. Saapon's head was recently shaved and looked strong, as he had just finished his Buddhist education, a rite of passage for most Cambodian males. He wants to attend university so that he can become a tour guide, which he cannot reasonably afford -- there is no such thing as a student loan in Cambodia. He hopes for a good job in order to save up for university but cannot pay the bribes to get a good job. "Do you know anyone that could maybe help me in Siem Reap?" he asked more than once, and explained that he currently makes $30 per month at a restaurant. It is a trait particular to asian cultures that asians have a tendency to smile when they are upset. As I understand it, it is meant to save face, to not reveal that one is actually upset. Saapon did this a lot. There were a few times that, in explaining the depths of government corruption -- "They do not build anything, they have not built a single road!" -- his hands began to shake and his eyes began to tear up slightly, yet he continued smiling. More than anything else in the world, he wants to live in the US. "Maybe I will go there, but it is just a dream," again, teary-eyed. "You never know," we replied, maintaining the fiction. But all three knew. Vanya had a nearly identical conversation five days earlier in Phnom Penh with another Cambodian of about the same age.
I might continue, to try to end this on a lighter note, but I am about to be locked out of my hotel.
posted by conor | 3:13 AM
1 Comments:
Let me describe a situation for you, which may not come through in writing. Theres a young man sitting in the 7th row, right in the middle, right down the barrel of the gun of Professor Charles Abernathy, the iron-fisted king of stone-cold Civil Procedure world. I'm in class, about 10am on friday, reading "chucky." I slump down, bit by bit, attempting to control my laughter and keep the corners of my mouth from betraying the fact that I am not in fact pouring over my notes on personal jurisdiction, but rather reading "Chucky."
Phew. Nobody noticed. Its friday. Nobody cares. But the story, it came through, and got me through what would have been a relatively miserable hour and a half.
i'm very jealous. but happy that my beef is not polychromatic. keep up the writing...
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