Travel Journal

From Siem Reap, I went by bus to Cambodia’s second city, Battambang. The roads were quite bad during most of the long trip, and we stopped for lunch in a town with the intruiging sounding name of Sisophon, where young kids sold the most delicious mangos I’ve ever tasted.

Battambang means “disappearing stick", named after a powerful stick used by legendary Khmer king Ta Dambong Kranhoung, to achieve and maintain power in the Battambang area. You wouldn’t say it’s Cambodia’s second city, it has more of a small town feel about it, with the central market and small shops and cafes located near the Sanker river. In the evenings, the streets are deserted, the dark sky filled with stars.

I went for a tour around the countryside on a motorbike with a nice guide called Thon, a little over thirty years old. We drove over extremely dusty roads to Phnom Sampeou, or Boat Hill, named for its shape. As we were walking up the hill, Thon started telling me about his childhood here. How he was seperated from his parents at the age of 5, during the reign of the Khmer Rouge, and put in a large camp with 500 other children, not far from Phnom Sampeou. He told me about the famine, how they received a littlebit of rice once a day if they were lucky. His sister, age 10, was so hungry that she stole a banana. For this, she was killed by the Khmer Rouge. Less than half of the 500 children in the camp survived.

We reached the top of the hill, offering a spectacular view of the surrounding plains and the small hills in the distance. Thon explained that there are still many landmines in this area, even though a large clearing effort has been underway for quite some time now. I thought of the groups of men and women I had seen near the temples of Angkor, who had lost limbs because of those landmines, and were now performing traditional Cambodian music, asking for a small donation.

Standing at the top of Phnom Sampeou, we walked to the horrible sites of the “Killing Caves". Thon explained how, back then, he had seen groups of 20 to 30 people, men, women and children, being marched up the hill every day, never to return. They were thrown from great height into the caves, or beaten to death. There are now small shrines, with the skeletal remains of the victims, inside the caves.

During a surge in fighting, Thon, still a young child, fled the camp, aided by a couple who took him as one of their own children, as they ran through the jungle for several days, to the relative safety near the Thai border. Miraculously, he met his mother underway, and although he didn’t recognise her, she recognised her son, and took him into her arms. Although the couple wanted to take Thon into the refugee camps, and eventually to the United States, his mother wouldn’t hear of it. Now, Thon still sees the couple, who aided his escape, as his second parents, and they regularly visit him from the US.

Back in his home village, he was conscripted into the army when he was 16, to fight the remaining Khmer Rouge elements, alongside the Vietnamese army with their Russian tanks and heavy artillery. Thon imitated the sounds of bullets whizzing by and mortar shells exploding, as he told about his comrades dying around him, about how he prayed to Buddha to give him strength, how he wore his krama (traditional scarf) for protection.

Thon narrated everything with half a smile, as to indicate I shouldn’t be put off by this, as if that was then and now we live in a different age. Sometimes, he would go quiet and his smile disappeared. Then he would point some beautiful flowers out to me, growing near one of the caves. Thon still lives in his home village, and plants and harvests rice for most of the year, on several hectares of farmland in and around his village. In the dry season, he shows tourists like me around on the back of his motorbike, going through the beautiful countryside that is his home.

In the end of the afternoon, we drove on, through small villages, where people would stop what they’re doing and look at the foreigner. Children came running out of their houses and yell “hello!” or “bye bye!” to me. Most houses were simple huts, made from bamboo or wood, sometimes with small reservoirs of muddy brown water nearby. Occasionally, we would drive through herds of cows or buffaloes, being herded by a young kid. We drove alongside the wide Sangker river for a while, where people were bathing, washing clothes, or allowing their buffaloes to drink. Even then, people would look up at the sound of the motorbike, and wave.

Towards the end of our journey, we reached a small train track, now only used by a tiny bamboo train, assembled in front of your eyes within five minutes. It is used by locals to haul all kinds of goods from village to village, and for tourists who wish to experience a ride. Although the engine is tiny, the ‘train’ reaches speeds up to 80 kph, as you sit out in the open on mats on the small bamboo surface. As the landscape was whizzing by, I watched the sun set over the brown acres, and soon dusk changed everything into a dark blue colour.

Dusty, tired, but grateful, I eventually arrived at my hotel, and thanked Thon. After a shower and dinner, I spent some time on the rooftop of the hotel, where, laying in a hammock, I watched the skies filled with stars, and counted the many bright shooting stars. I thought about my experiences of this day, but inevitably thought about Thon’s personal history. It seems that every Cambodian I meet, of my age or above, has a story to tell of their own horrible experiences, of the deaths in their family or circle of friends, during Cambodia’s dark times. But going through the rebuilt villages and cities, meeting the very friendly people, seeing how babies and young children are now brought up in a country at peace, is a testament to the resiliance of the Cambodian people, and gives hope for the future.

During the long busride from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap, I gazed at the scenery of stretched out plains with sparse palmtrees as far as the eye could see. Underway, during the several stops we made, I enjoyed the milky white seeds of the lotus plant, which were sold as snacks.

Siem Reap is extremely touristy, and it’s probably Cambodia’s most expensive town, but it’s a base from which to explore the temples of Angkor.

“Angkor” literally means “Capital City” or “Holy City", and was indeed the capital of the Khmer empire between the 9th and 12th centuries, before Phnom Penh was established as a capital in 1432. During the Angkor era, many kings ordered the construction of temples, villages and many hospitals, as well as large water reservoirs, or barays. Most notably, king Suryavarman II ordered the construction of the famed Angkor Wat, as well as a number of surrounding temples. Several decades later, Jayavarman II launched a building campaign, during which hundreds of monuments and temples were constructed in less than a 40-year period.

The art and architecture of the temples are strongly influenced by the religion of the time. For over 350 years, Hinduism was dominant, until Mahayana Buddhism was made the state religion by Jayavarman II, followed by a Hindu resurgence, during which many Buddhist monuments, statues and carvings were vandalized.

At the entrance of the park, I purchased a three-day pass, and I spent two days going from temple to temple on the back of a motorbike with a local guide. On the last day, I rented a bicycle, and cycled through the incredible heat, revisiting some temples, and visiting some unseen ones.

Angkor Wat, the most famous temple of them all, is indeed very impressive. It’s surrounded by a moat and a large exterior wall. After going through the gate, approaching the temple along the long walkway, the five beehive-like towers seem to rise out of the structure. When you finally stand in the inner courtyard, you feel tiny indeed. The steps leading up to the towers are very, very steep, but you are rewarded with a spectacular view of the surrounding jungle once you stand at the top. The long walls of the temple complex are covered with bas-reliefs and nearly 2000 Apsara carvings, of mythological celestial nymphs. There are incredibly detailed reliefs depicting stories and characters from Hindu mythology, and historical wars.

Even more stunning than Angkor Wat was, in my opinion, Bayon. It is a massive temple, with hundreds of large smiling faces, more than 2 meters tall, carved out of big slabs of stone. Inside, there is a maze of corridors and small plazas, and bas-reliefs on the exterior walls, depicting battle scenes including the historical sea battle between the Khmer and the Cham, from a neighbouring state in the south of Vietnam. There are also extensive and intruiging carvings depicting scenes of everyday life, including market scenes, cockfighting, chess games and even childbirth.

The monastic complex of Ta Phrom is fascinating in the way how it has slowly been overtaken by the surrounding jungle. Massive fig and silk-cotton trees grow from the towers and corridors, and have knocked down walls, leaving much of the complex in ruins. Its dark corridors are quiet, standing in the open plazas you hear the sounds of the jungle, as you look at the giant trees, their roots thicker than a man’s waist.

There are too many temples to see, each with their own distinct style, religious influence and historical significance. Although three days only allowed me to see a fraction of the number of temples, it was an amazing experience. As you walk around in this old city, you cannot help but wish to be transported back in time, to see Angkor in its full glory, to experience daily life in this advanced, thriving culture.

In the center of Phnom Penh, Tuol Sleng is located, a former highschool consisting of four large buildings. In May of 1976, the Khmer Rouge established S-21 here, or Security Office 21. Although it was the most secret of offices of the Khmer Rouge, people living in close proximity to the former highschool soon knew what its function was, from the screams and the stench of death.

Then the Khmer Rouge’s premier prison and interrogation facility, it is now a genocide museum and monument for the victims. Around 18,000 people, who were deemed enemies of Democratic Kampuchea, the new name the Khmer Rouge had given to the country, were imprisoned, tortured and executed here. Of the eighteen thousand, only seven people survived.

The classrooms were converted into torture chambers or into rows of tiny holding cells, where the prisoners were shackled with chains fixed to the walls or the concrete floors. There were also mass holding cells, where the prisoners had one or both their legs shackled to the now infamous iron bars, that are also on display in the museum.

Not unlike the Nazi regime during World War II, the leadership of S-21 documented and photographed every prisoner that was brought in. The photographs are now on display, thousands of them, and are a testament to the madness and the indiscriminate killings of the Khmer Rouge. Men, boys, women, girls, babies. Their faces expressionless, as if they had resigned to their horrible fate, or frozen in fear. Women tightly holding their newborns, before their babies were taken away from them, and the women raped.

The leadership of S-21 had indoctrinated children to work as exceptionally cruel guards in the facility. After months of torture, where one would confess to basically anything the guards would accuse them of, the victims were taken away. If they hadn’t already succumbed during torture, they were executed at one of the many Killing Fields, scattered around the country.

The most infamous of these Killing Fields is the large area near the village of Choeng Ek, located just outside of Phnom Penh. A memorial stupa has been built here, containing the skulls, bones and clothing of the thousands of victims, their bodies dug up from the 88 mass graves in this area. Now large empty pits, there are signs indicating how many bodies had been found, and descriptions of the utterly horrible way they died.

If it were not for the sepia colour, it seems that the photographs of the victims at Tuol Sleng could have been taken a week ago. Indeed, it is chilling to realise that this all took place under 30 years ago, exactly 30 years after the world promised at the sight of Nazi destruction camps, never to let this happen again. In fact, the Khmer Rouge received western support and even recognition through a seat in the UN General Assembly.

Pol Pot, the leader of the Khmer Rouge, died in April of 1998, forever robbing Cambodians of some form of justice. Only one month ago, the green light was given by the UN to set up a special tribunal to try former leaders of the Khmer Rouge, who now live a quiet life in the small town of Pailin, close to the Thai border.

Visiting Tuol Sleng and Choeng Ek is, however horrible and depressing, a necessity to get a true impression of the events that took place here not that long ago. But I was glad to soon be able to see the other side of Cambodia’s history: it’s unequalled achievements in arts and architecture at Angkor, near the town of Siem Reap.

The Kingdom of Cambodia became independent in 1953 after nearly a century of French rule. Like Laos and Vietnam, Cambodia endured extensive carpet-bombing by the American Forces from 1969, with the aim of disrupting the arms supply to communist forces in Vietnam via the Ho Chi Minh Trail, and to destroy suspected communist base camps in Cambodia. Shortly after, a coup d’etat forced King Norodom Sihanouk to flee to China, after which American and South Vietnamese troops invaded the country to root out Vietnamese communist forces. This attempt failed, and Cambodia’s indigenous rebels, the Khmer Rouge, captured Cambodia’s capital Phnom Penh on 17 April 1975.

What followed were four years of the most brutal and genocidal rule by the Khmer Rouge under leader Pol Pot, also known as Brother Number One. French-educated Pol Pot aimed to transform Cambodia into a Maoist, peasant-dominated, agrarian cooperative. To achieve this goal, hundreds of thousands of Cambodians, including the vast majority of the country’s educated people, were relocated into the countryside, tortured to death or executed. In the chaos that followed, many more people died as a result of famine or diseases, as the country went through the darkest moments in its history. It is estimated that between one and two and a half million people died during these four years.

As the Khmer Rouge carried out frequent incursions into Vietnam, killing Vietnamese and destroying villages, the Vietnamese army invaded Cambodia at the end of 1978 and managed to overthrow the Khmer Rouge. In 1991, a peace accord was signed in Paris, the Vietnamese army withdrew one year later, and in 1993, UN-administered elections were held.

Today, Cambodian politics are relatively stable, but deep scars remain from decades of war. In October of 2004, King Norodom Sihanouk abdicated, and his son, King Norodom Sihamoni became the new king of Cambodia.

From the uninteresting town of Stung Treng, located at around 50 kilometers from the border with Laos, I took a bus to the capital of Cambodia, Phnom Penh. During the first half of the 10-hour journey, we drove on the worst roads that I have come across during my 7 months of travelling. They actually don’t deserve the designation ‘roads’, just dirt tracks with lots and lots of potholes. Fortunately, after the town of Kratie, the roads improved, as we drove through small villages with wooden houses that had tiled roofs. A lot of Non-Governmental Organisations still provide relief aid and healthcare to villages in the countryside, as Cambodia, like Laos, is very poor. There were also many signs for local offices of the nation’s political parties, like the Cambodian People’s Party (CPP), the United Front for an Independent, Neutral and Free Cambodia (Funcinpec, a French acronym), and the only opposition party of note, the Sam Rainsy Party.

Underway, there were many new Buddhist temples, built in the past two decades. A lot of the older ones had been destroyed by the Khmer Rouge, with many monks killed. Nowadays, the monks, dressed in their bright orange robes, walk on the streets again, sometimes carrying orange umbrellas to provide some relief from the sun.

In the city of Kampong Cham, we stopped for a short toilet break, and women approached the bus, carrying large plates with the famous local specialty of this province: fried spider. They were the large, Tarantula kind, black, and dipped in soy sauce. They proved hugely popular, as all the Cambodians on our bus, including their children, ate them. Eager as I am to explore everything that the cuisine of a country I’m visiting has on offer, I thought that I’d better give this a miss. However, a Cambodian man who had just bought a whole bag with eight-legged snacks, offered me one, and as I thought it impolite to refuse (and as all the Cambodians were watching me), I accepted the snack. I ignored my inner voice that screamed I was completely mad, and ate the spider. You eat the whole thing, it’s crunchy, with a rather sweet taste from the soy sauce, not bad actually. But eating the legs and the fangs is just weird, and cracking its body open with your teeth, revealing a little bit of meaty flesh inside, requires quite some preseverance.

But we soon were on our way again, driving alongside the wide Mekhong river, and after a couple of hours reached the busy city of Phnom Penh. Mainly due to tourism, it has changed radically in the past two decades, and it’s now a modern city with traffic that makes your blood pressure rise beyond acceptable levels.

I would spend the next couple of days exploring the city, and see the evidence of the madness of the brutal Khmer Rouge regime.