The horrors of Cambodia

Tragedy in history always hits the nicest people. Come to Cambodia, and you'll find it hard to disagree. Wherever you walked you'll be accompanied by smiles; gappy, toothless and flawless. But you'll also notice the abuidance of youngsters, and the paucity of people above the age of 40, generations missing. Those familiar with history will know why. For those who aren't, I will use this blogpost to introduce you to the Khmer Rouge and the Cambodian genocide.



Timeframe: the early Seventies. China has just taken the Great Leap Forward, Vietnam is slowly defeating the USA. The Cold War is at its highest; Communism seems like a viable option. In Cambodia, Prince Sihanouk has been deposed and a uber-corrupt republic is in place. In the meanwhile, American bombings in Vietnam have extended beyond the Cambodian border. A group of Cambodian intellectuals, who have spent years studying in Paris some 20 years previusly, have become fascinated by Marx and Engels' writings. Back to Cambodia, they form the Khmer Rouge, a political-military group fighting the Republican Army. They finally succeed, Phnom Penh falls on April 17th, 1975. The horrors begin.

Cities are emptied, money and banks are abolished, families are separated, everybody has to wear black. Religion is abolished, monks are forced to disrobe or killed. Colours cease to exist, alongside any remnants of personal liberty. The goal of the new regime is to create a self-sufficient agrarian society. Everybody is relocated to the countryside, to grow rice. People with skills are considered potential enemies, and are quickly eliminated. Their children are also killed, to prevent the possibility of revenge. Others, children included, are forced to work up to 18 hours a day. However, lack of agricultural knowledge of most relocated people and the impossible goals set up by the party cause famine, disease and death. The rice produced is used to pay debts, especially with China and Korea, leaving people with only a few ounces a day. Because of the party's goals of self-sufficiency, there are no medicines or hospitals. Most doctors and nurses are killed because of their education. In only a few months, Cambodia has reached its darkest time.



After three years, 8 months and 20 days, the regime ended. Between 1.5 and 2 million Cambodians died, either killed by the Khmer Rouge or succumbed to starvation or disease. What is left is a broken country. Phnom Penh still bears the scars of these horrors. Tuol Sleng, a former high school converted into prison, is now a museum to the genocide. Nearly 20,000 people were imprisoned at Tuol Sleng, known as S-21 prison. Only 7 survived. We visited the museum, which still hosts the cells used to confine the captives. We saw the mugshots of prisoners; children and babies could also be identified as 'enemies of the country'. The atmosphere was dark, thick, I felt almost breathless. I could sense the suffering, the screaming and the despair that went on behind these walls. Then we headed to the Killing Fields. Thousands of people were killed, shot in the first part of the war, then clubbed with hoes, sitcks or other implements. Babies were swung on a tree until their skulls smashed. The Khmer Rouge did not even gave these people a quick, painful death by a bullet. Wandering around the mass graves, fragments of bone, cloth and teeth poke through the ground. The tragedy suddenly felt tangible, beyond real.



Now, fast-forward 30 years. Cambodia's economy and cities are still being rebuilt. This is a counrty who has witnessed some of the most atrocious occurrences of the 20th century. Still, the smiles accompany you wherever you go. Please, my dear reader, I beg you, if you visit Cambodia do not hide behind a blanket of ignorance. Don't be marvelled by the Temples of Angkor without visiting Tuol Sleng prison and the Killimg Fields. History cannot be undone, don't pretend it hasn't happened. The fallen deserve to be remebered.

Steak and guinness pie, or the beauty of Cambodia

Siem Reap was our first stop in Cambodia, after a 18 hours odyssey from Laos. By far, Siem Reap is the most heavily touristed place in Cambodia, and for a reason; the temples of Angkor. Almost single-handedly putting Cambodia back on the tourist radar after the atrocities of the Khmer rouge, the temples of Angkor are truly one of the wonders of the world, a spellbinding sight. Unfortunately, as with all tourist centres, the bad and the ugly go alongside the good. Beggars and children hawkers are at every street corner and behind every temple stone. Poor buggers though, trying to make a living in one of the poorest Asian countries where the average salary is $20 a month. A $1 transaction would mean the world to these people. Unfortunately, one of the golden rules of responsible travellers is not giving money to children.



That didn't bother me nearly as much as the 'guesthouse mafia' did. An army of touts and shady characters roams around Siem Reap, trying to make a quick buck from the stupid falang. Every price is hyperinflated, guesthouses, tuk tuk and even water or drinks. One finds that the person negotiating is never the person providing the service; rather, they are just middleme, charging a dollar or two just for 'being there'. I hated it. We did arrange a tuk tuk with the seemingly personable guest house receptionist which claimed to be a driver, only to find a surly teenager waiting for us on the following day. After he did not want to take us back into town for respite from the heat, we sacked him. There was no argument at our refusal to pay him for the day; he probably had another job lined up thanks to Mr Tout.



But the temples more than made up for it. From the eerie early morning quietness of Prea Khan, to the faces of Bayon, the struggle with nature at Ta Prohm and the carvings at Banteay Srei; the Temples of Angkor are perhaps the most spectacular man-made wonders I have ever witnessed. But one beats them all. Angkor Wat. There are no words to describe the sheer majesty of the place, the feeling of seeing it appear beneath a pink sky at sunrise. It is the largest building of the world, and maybe the most spectacular sight ever conceived by the human mind. Surrounded by a moat 190m wide, and a wall 3.6km long, it is not comparable to anything else I have ever seen. It made me want to bow to its majesty, at the same time being as welcoming as a mother. Angkor Wat is a dream.



There's nothing more to Siem Reap than the temples. Actually, for us there was the great Rosy Guesthouse. We arrived tired and cranky after the fight with our tuk tuk driver, and got nice room, a wonderful steak and guinness pie with mash and gravy, accompanied by a lemon slushie. Nice. And plenty of kindness and smiles from the English owners and the lovely Khmer staff. That's what a guesthouse is meant to be.



Talking about Khmer kindness, let's fast forward a couple of days to Battambang. We were drawn there by the desire to spend Khmer New Year somewhere not overrun with tourists. Battambang is a nice little town, but there's nothing much going on. Plus, the real celebrations go on in the countryside, in the myriads of small temples dotted around each village. We were in need of a vehicle, and we found Philay, a 50-something tuk tuk driver who agreed to take us out for the day. He was a great guide, and a great guy.





We spent a day cruising around country temples, taking part in the celebrations and enjoying the friendliness of locals. Nick tried to blow up balloons with darts (not a great success), we watched locals playing games reminiscent of pinata and greasy pole. We even stumbled into a wedding. Then we appreciated the religious side of Khmer New Year, witnessing the washing of Buddha and blessings by monks and nuns. We saw countless water-and-talcum powder fights going on amongst kids, but locals were reluctant to have us join in. Until a little girl came up to me and gently, on tiptoe smeared my neck and chest with talcum. From there started a whirlwind of smiles and giggles accompanied by clouds of talcum powder; all the children wanted to cover us with it. We had to run away from the crowd as we resembled something between snowmen and crazy bakers. We headed for the bamboo train, for a ride into the sunset. That's where I saw it; Angkor Wat may be amazing, but Cambodia's real treasure is its people.

Lao coffee and chicken tikka masala

I just realised I have not written at all about Vientiane. Reason? I wouldn't really know what to say. In a previous blogpost I referred to Luang Prabang as 'the quintessential Laotian town'. After having travelled Laos more extensively, I changed my mind. Vientiane fits the stereotype of Lao town, nevertheless because it is the only place which is sizeable enough to have a 'town' feel to it. And it's the capital of Laos, but it certainly doesn't feel like a capital. Luang Prabang is more of a tourist catch, the Venice or Bruges of Laos. Not entirely representative of the soul of a country, but beautiful nonetheless. Vientiane has all the features that struck me and other visitors to Laos; it is relaxed, it has a slow pace, locals are friendly and welcoming. Stick into this some Communist-style squares, a couple of impressive temples and the mighty Mekong, and you have the capital of Laos. Spend a couple of days, visit the Golden Stupa, Buddha Park and the Arc de Triomphe, some of the smaller temples and have a Beerlao by the river.



A pleasant surprise: Laotian sleeper buses are excellent. We returned to Vientiane after Kong Lo caves, and jumped on a night bus to Pakse, in the south of the country. The bus had two person bunks, enabling us to have a good night sleep and arrive in Pakse fresh and relaxed. The main reason for our trip to Pakse was visiting the Bolaven Plateau, a beautiful highland expanse featuring waterfalls, coffee plantations and forest. We decided to visit the area after following the advice of an American guy we met on the way back from the Buddha Park in Vientiane. Now more than ever, I am starting to become aware of the limitation of guidebooks; in many a town the Lonely Planet ‘our pick’ guesthouse was nothing more than a smelly, overpriced dump. Those ‘hole in the wall’ restaurant promising a great feed for less than $ 0.50 have ridden the falang wave and quickly equipped themselves with a laminated menu of watered down specialties at inflated prices. And I do not mean to blame any guidebook writer, that’s just what happens. Get a spot on the LP and you’re almost assured every single morning masses of backpackers will turn up begging for a room. Would you worry about keeping up your standards? Maybe not.

So, what do I do? I ask people. Most people in South East Asia are on a ‘circuit’, mostly taking in Thai Islands, north to Chiang Mai, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam. The order or direction may vary. Everytime I meet someone who’s been somewhere we’re bound to I ask recommendations on food, accommodation and sights. This American bloke regarded his day spent zipping around the Bolaven Plateau by motorbike as his best in three months of travelling. How could we pass that? And so we were, on the back of a 100cc Honda, never having ridden a motorcycle before. It is really easy, and after a couple of hours we were doing 70-80 km an hour. We rode on a road with a gentle slope, going up past villages and the omnipresent roadside huts selling petrol in plastic bottles. Tad U-Men, the first waterfall we stopped at, was not marked on our map. We stopped anyway, and what a surprise! We descended down a small gorge via a stepladder, to find a towering flow of water 20 meters above us. And to top it all, we were alone, the water glistening in the midday sun.



There are more than 20 waterfalls in the Bolaven Plateau; it was clear we had to narrow our choices. We decided to visit Tad Fane, the ‘twin waterfalls’. We saw this waterfall from a viewpoint, from where one could see the edge of the plateau, and two narrow streams of water plunging into the darkness below. There there is an option to trek to the bottom of the falls; however, it is reserved for the guests of the exclusive resort who runs the treks. We kept going, towards Tad Yeang and the coffee plantations. Tad Yeang was perhaps the most spectacular of all falls. There were a series of pools upstream, where one could bathe. Southern Laos is steaming, with temperatures around 40 this time of year; jumping into the waterfall was extremely refreshing. But the real marvel lies downstream, a waterfall about 50 meters high, with a vertical fall, into a picture-perfect and calm pool below.

Coffee plantations were rather small, resembling urban gardens more than commercial agricultural land. The produce, though, is delicious. We took the road again, bound for Tad Lo, the largest and most famous waterfall which was about 60 km away. That’s where we learnt our first lesson about motorcycling. Although the seats look puffy and padded, after the whole day your bum hurts. Seriously hurts. Tad Lo was spectacular, worth the sore bum. It was more imposing than the other, messier and not as picture-perfect, but it conveyed that element of power associated with waterfalls. The 80 km ride back to Pakse was hell for our backsides. A quck count, and we realised we had done 189km on that day. For first timers, that’s quite good. We finished the day with Beerlao and a chicken tikka masala, comfort food for two former Londoners now in Asia. Bolaven Plateau was spectacular. Our mistake? Doing too much in one day. We were exhausted by the end of it. A much better idea is to explore the plateau over two or three days, stopping in the small villages dotted around. A lesson for you, my dear reader; a reason to go back for me.

Lao Lao and more Lao Lao

It was over a month since we got our first glimpse of the Mekong at Chiang Kong, Thailand. In the morning mist and the clouds of smoke it appeared like a northern Italian river, one of the Po tributaries, lost in the fog. The source of this majestic river lies in the Chinese Yunnan region. And within this region the Mekong passes from childhood to adolescence, from an unruly stream to the mighty river which becomes the backbone of the Indochinese peninsula. Then it enters into Laos, and becomes wider at every bend. It continues growing throughout Laos, where it marks the border with Thailand. When we first saw it, the sight was impressive. It was wider than any river I had ever seen, double the Thames at the Barrier. And yet it was only a young adult. In every city I saw the Mekong grow, to the extent that sometimes I couldn’t even glimpse the opposite bank. But the most impressive sight was Si Phan Don, or Four Thousand Islands. On the far south of Laos, the Mekong widens to host this myriad of sandbanks and islets, some no bigger than a dining table, some large. The Mekong is kilometers wide, its deep emerald colour and slow-flowing water resembling a lake or an inland sea. It is reaching maturity, but it is still hundreds of miles away from its demise in the South China Sea.



Three islands are inhabited; we decided to visit Don Det, the one with the cheapest accommodation. Scores of huts line the edges of the island, offering views on the river.We chose the aptly-named Peace and Love. Life couldn’t be more relaxed on Don Det. Days are spent lying on hammocks or stilted platforms over the river, with a book and a fruit shake, jumping in the Mekong when the heat gets unbearable. Meanwhile, on the roads life goes on as ever. Hens and chicks scurry under the stilted houses, perhaps trying to avoid the chop. Children tease pet monkeys, grannies chew betel nuts and street vendors make their rounds in conical hats. The place where we stayed had a crowd of long-term travellers, drawn in by the peace of the island. We spent some nights with them, celebrating birthdays and departures, dancing with the villagers.The first night we were there, the family prepared a 'western style meal' to celebrate one of the guests' birthday, under the direction of other guests. On the menu were barbecued chicken and beef, coleslaw and potato salad. It was funny to notice how some Laotians refused to eat potato salad, as it was made with unpeeled new potatoes. They were absolutely horrified by the idea of eating potato skin... in a country where deep-fried chicken claws, duck embryos and raw beef heart soaked in blood are a delicacy, one frowns at potato skin? The things you learn travelling.



We were very lucky to take part in a Baci ceremony. A Laotian tradition, these ceremonies originate from animistic tribes, but are also performed by the Buddhist majority. Indeed, Buddhists have incorporated some spiritual beliefs in their tradition. During Baci, spirits are summoned and conveyed onto the participants for good luck. The women of the family built an intricated conical structure made with pleated banana leaves, decorated with flowers. They also made bracelets with white string, and tied them onto sticks which were placed together with the banana leaf cone. The celebrant offered the cone to the spirits, then tied bracelets on our wrists wishing us good luck, good travels and hoping to see us again. Before, during and after, the Lao Lao flowed. For those who don't know, Lao Lao is a sort of local moonshine made with rice. It is absolutely disgusting. Unfortunately, refusing Lao Lao is considered offensive.



We spent our last day in Laos cycling around the island and from there to Don Khon, a quieter island just south of Don Det almost in Cambodian waters. The islands were as quiet as ever. Don Khon was less built up than Don Det, but in my opinion it was less scenic and atmospheric. The draw there was taking a boat trip at sunset, with the possibility of viewing the endangered Irrawaddy dolphins. We were lucky to meet a group we had dinner with in Pakse, and share the boat with them. The small motorized canoe zipped across the island, traversing rapids and narrow waterways. The trip was beautiful, although the water level was extremely low and we bumped the bottom of the boat a couple of times. We reached a wider bay dotted with small islets. With the sun going down and everything taking a pinkish tinge, the scenery was breathtaking. We kept our eyes peeled for dolphins... and there they were. As quick as lightning, a dolphin surfaced; in a split second it was gone again. We were able to spot a few, elusive yet enchanting. Everything happened far too quickly for a picture. We considered ourselves lucky, though; there is less than a dozen dolphins left in these waters.

And with the sight of these elusive creatures, we bade farewell to Laos. the following day we headed for Cambodia, land of horror and beauty.

A Quechua dinner and a colourful party

One here, one there. From our current location in Asia to our months in South America. If you followed our journey through this blog it may have seemed confused, jumbled up. This is only a collection of memories, taken as they come. And today I was thinking of Lake Titicaca. As you may remember we spent two out of the four months we had in South America on an overlanding trip. We visited Lake Titicaca whilst on this trip, with a group of (by then) good friends. It came after the hardships and marvels of the Inca Trail, the dazzling splendour of Arequipa and the charms of Cuzco. It was our last stop in Peru, before entering Bolivia. I was a bit sad, because our friends Jen and Terry were going to leave us in La Paz.




I did not have great expectations for Lake Titicaca. We were going to do a one nighter with a local family, after a tour of the islands on the Peruvian side of the lake. Touristy, I thought. Another way to tick 'homestay' and 'Lake Titicaca' off the list. I have to admit, though, thus far the overland trip had been a massive success for me. All activities organized were not only good; they all had a 'little extra' that made them excellent. And what I hadn't bargained for was the stunning beauty of the lake. At nearly 4000 meters, Lake Titicaca is the highest navigable lake in the world, and the largest lake in South America. The water shone under the morning sun as we made our way through the lake, with a backdrop of snowcapped mountains. Seeing these giants towering behind us, when we were at 4000 already, was making me agree with those who thinks mountains are the seats of gods.




We played cards as we crossed the magnificent dark-blue expanse, broken by small waves here and there. The lake lived up to its size; it took us nearly three hours to reach Taquile, the first island. The islanders of Taquile are amongst the most colourful of all Peru. Their traditional attire is interesting, as it expresses social class as well as cultural belongingness. Men wear knitted hats; the chief has a rainbow-coloured one, married men wear hats who are mainly red and single men's ahave a wide white band. Married men also wear belts which their spouses weave for them, with some of their own hair woven through. Women wear capes with pom-poms which cover their head, reminiscent of Moorish influence through the Spanish colonization. I found this point interesting; much of Peru's traditional clothing bears the influence of the Spanish alongside indigenous heritage. For example, women who inhabit the Colca region wear long dresses with tight bodices, resembling Renaissance courtiers' attire. However, the dresses are tightly embroidered with images of animals, plants and flowers of the region.




We spent the morning around Taquile, visiting the textile cooperative and feasting on a lunch of quinoa soup, grilled trout and salad washed down with the old Inca Kola, with a magnificent view of the lake. Villagers take turns in providing lunch for tourists, everything is cooked and served from their homes. There are no restaurants on the island. We took off after lunch for Amantani, where we were going to spend the night. Amantani was larger than Taquile, and dominated by a hill. I could not climb it, and opted instead for a game of football with the locals. Our host family was lovely, and they were particularly happy I could speak Spanish. There were mother, father and a 23 year old daughter; all the other children lived in Puno, on the shores of the lake, or had their own families on Amantani. The house was very simple, earth floors and an open-wood fire, around which we gathered for a dinner of rice, vegetable stew and soup. Food was simple but delicious in my opinion. We brought some rice, pasta and tinned food for the families, and some chocolate and biscuits as presents. The father absolutely loved the biscuits. We later discovered, talking to them, that by farming they are able to produce most of what they consume. However, they have to go to Puno for supplies such as oil, rice and tinned food; they are very grateful to tourists for bringing these goods, as it saves them an expensive trip. In the meanwhile, we got ready for the after-dinner party. Villagers dress up guests in traditional costumes, then everybody gets together for a dance. It was a great bonding experience, far more involving than a simple dancing show. We danced with our host family who taught us some simple steps, we had a good laugh.






The following day we headed for the floating islands on our way to Puno. These islands are home to the Uros people, a pre-Incan population originating from Polynesia. They speak Aymara, unlike the people on Amantani and Taquile whose language is Quechua. Uros live on floating islands made of woven reeds, which can be of various sizes and up to 2 meters thick. The islands where initially built for defensive purposes, to prevent attack from more aggressive neighbours. The islands gradually sink; they need continuous maintenance and have to be abandoned after one or two decades. Another island is built and the whole group moves. Reeds are very important to Uros' livelihood; besides the island themselves, reeds are used for building boats, houses and they are also eaten. The experience on the floating islands was interesting and colourful, a tad more touristy though.




As we disembarked in Puno, I gave a last look to the shimmering waters of the lake and its crown of mountains. And we left, bound for La Paz. It was a great way to say good-bye to Peru, home not only to the Inca but to many other cultures, the jewel in South America's crown. We will be back.

Say's pizza and the seven kilometers cave

The more I travel, the more desire I have to get off the beaten track. Tourism in South East Asia has certainly done a lot of good for the local economy, but at the same time it has depleted the atmosphere of once-magical places. Amongst the hordes of sweaty Euro teenagers and older dreadlocked hippies I sometimes forget where we really are. The only places where we could find a real, authentic Laotian soul were the villages we visited from Luang Nam Tha. The reast, although beautiful (Luang Prabang), scenic (Vang Vieng) or utterly pleasant (Vientiane) bore the scars of mass tourism. At the same time, staying on the beaten track has its advantages; a wider variety of food (the pizza I had in Vientiane was good enough for Italy), easy transport and guesthouses with good facilities. But atmosphere and soul are what I seek.





So we followed a vague advice and an inspiration and we headed towards the village of Ban Na Hin in central Laos. We had in mind this destination as it is the 'base' for visiting the 7 km long Kong Lo cave, formed by a river going through a limestone karst. With a new road just built linking Ban Na Hin and Kong Lo, the cave will probably reach the backpacker radar quite soon. When we visited though, it was still quiet. But first things first. We missed the direct bus from Vientiane, so we opted for a bus-songthaew combination. We reached our destination after a total of 5 hours on the back of the ubiquitous pick-up trucks. Ban Na Hin was a curious little village. It looked like straight out of a David Lynch film; a town forgotten by time, which was just awaking from a long dream to discover things had changed, and hurried to catch up. For example, guesthouses were mushrooming, but there was no one to attend to them. We were handed our keys by two 6 year old girls, and on our departure there was no one to take our payment, so we had to hurl the key and the 40.000 kip through a hole in the owners' window. Let me tell you, a good percentage of penny-pinchers roaming around these parts would've just left without paying. Same goes for restaurants. A couple of places had no staff, others were closed down altogether. We did find Moonlight though, run by the lovely Say, where we had the honour of being the first customers ever. After a warm Beerlao (courtesy of Ban Na Hin's power cuts) and a mean Makaritana pizza (I'll let you guess what's that supposed to be), we called it a night.





The following day we had another bumpy ride to the cave itself. The cave was amazing, nothing short of spectacular. The boat landing alone sits by the edge of a turquoise pool, from where one can see the river snaking through the emptiness of the cave. Once settled in a narrow wooden canoe, we took off. It was the spookiest experience I have ever had. The cave was ample, with the ceiling about 10 meters high. It was like walking into a fantasy book. In 5 or 10 years time it will probably be lit, with motorboats whizzing to and fro. We were alone, gliding through the blackness, with only the boatman's torches to give us an idea of where we were going. The water was shallow at points, where we had to get out and wade. In some points the rapids formed little waterfalls, with sharp limestone rocks appearing out of the deep blue of the river. We stopped to observe the stupa, a series of stalactites and stalagmites which are the only area in the cave which can be lit up. But the experience, for me, was just sitting on the boat, cruising along the river, only just able to make out where water ends and stone begins.





It took us nearly 3 hours for the return trip. Seeing the end of the cave approach was something out of a dream; we could see the opening reflected in a shallow pool amid rocks, trees and light. In the middle of the cave, where the light is nonexistent, we saw some small plants and prawns. I could not believe there could be life in such a seemingly inhospitable environment. The whole experience felt like something out of this world. It showed how much it pays to get away from the crowds, how can a vague recommendation become an unforgettable experience. Rush to Kong Lo, but not all together. What was amazing indeed was having the place to ourselves.