We had a few days to kill in Phnom Penh before Lise was set to go back home to France. The city itself is not immediately striking, but there are things underneath that are charming, interesting, and at times downright depressing. There is a lot of opportunity feel something or be touched by this city.
One of the most notable, and definitely emotional, things to see in the city is the Tuol Sleng museum. This is a museum at the infamous “S-21” prison set up at a former high school by Khmer Rouge security forces during the genocide in the mid-1970’s. It was the main center of torture of the regime, and the place that more than 17,000 people were held before being executed at the infamous killing fields. It was not a huge complex, but it showed that most prisoners did not linger there for long. Several of the classrooms that were converted into holding cells were still intact, showing more or less what it looked like 35 years ago. Some rooms even had large photos on display of prisoners that had died in the same room that you were standing in. Whether it was real or not, it felt that there was a stale and faintly rancid stench to the room that added a bit of horror to the scene. Further on, there were large classrooms that had been crudely converted into individual holding cells by dividing it up with dozens of brick partitions. People were starved and tortured in these rooms, and now we were up close and personal with their horrendous living conditions. Some of the rooms were filled with portraits of the detainees. The Khmer Rouge was meticulous about its record keeping and every one of the prisoners had had a photo taken of them upon checking in. It was horrific to come face to face with those that had been starved and tortured for suspicion of being spies or having some sort of connection to the previous government. From women to children to the elderly and foreigners, nobody was spared the paranoid wrath of the Khmer Rouge. There was an exhibit to illustrate and explain the various types of torture that many of the prisoners endured that was almost too much to even read about. There was an artist who had survived the ordeal and had painted pictures that depicted the conditions inside S-21. He was one of the infamous seven that survived in the prison. Although there were a few others that made it out alive, he, like the other six, had been spared due to some skill that was deemed valuable to the regime. He had been asked, like several artists before him, to paint a picture of Pol Pot. Unlike the previous artists, his life was spared because the quality of the portrait was deemed to be of a high enough standard. He remained a prisoner, but had the benefit of stability with his new profession of resident artist. The photographer that had taken all the portraits of prisoners was also among the lucky seven.
Witnessing the museum was sickening and it seemed to be relief to see the exit. As we walked out, there were horrifically maimed victims of war (one can only assume) standing outside of the museum, begging for money from museum visitors. Most were missing limbs, but one man had such serious burns on his head that there was nothing distinguishable as a face. Looking back on it, I feel remorse for not being generous to them with my money. In reality, I am extremely sensitive to people preying on emotion for monetary gain, and, regardless of the situation, I was urged to just avert my eyes and scoot past them quickly. It was not easy, but it was my gut reaction.
The rest of our time in Phnom Penh was spent doing some general exploring. Yes, there are a few sights, but it is not the kind of city with dramatic must-see monuments or attractions that you check off a list. It is something to take in slowly, and discover without expectation. We visited a couple markets, some unique and interesting, others filled with trinket stalls. One of our meals was a unique soup that Lise said tasted like crab’s brain and featured half a pig snout. We usually got around with a motodup or moto-taxi. tourists seemed to take tuk-tuks, but they were usually more expensive. I loved taking the motodups, but with three of us on the bike, I have to admit, it was a little bit nerve-wracking and not as comfortable. On the occasion that we would take a tuk-tuk, it was a slower, but more relaxing ride.
It is not the most overwhelming city in the world, but it is not too relaxed either. There were the occasional parks and open spaces, and one of the more enjoyable was the “quay” next to the river. Although this is the neighborhood where most tourists monopolize their time, it still had a regular locals feel. There were kids playing soccer, families coming to enjoy the river view and street performers that were pandering more to Khmers than tourists. It was sitting down for a meal in this neighborhood where I realized where Cambodia got its strong reputation for depressing and desperate children. If the scrappy, disheveled prebubescents weren’t coming simply to ask for money, they had books or postcards to sell. They were usually extremely charming, but I had to stick to my guns to not give them anything. It would be interesting to see what would happen to these children if this neighborhood did not attract droves of tourists. Perhaps some of them would be worse off, but among the people in the know, it seems understood that the children are robbed of better opportunities when they can eek out a living on the streets. Every time a kid comes home with a few dollars from hustling on the street, it creates less incentive for them to be in school. I know it is a little more complex than this, but it is a lot harder to feel good about giving to them when you know it probably isn’t really for the best.
After a few days in Phnom Penh, it was time for Lise to leave. We had been traveling together for two months, but she needed to get back to real life at home in France. I, on the other hand, would stay behind, unsure of my future plans. I would have stayed in France for the summer, but I had already used my three month European Union visa, and couldn’t return for another three months. Even if I waited a month, I was so short on cash that the only place I could go after this was back home.
It was a difficult goodbye. We had been through so much in the two months. We had met in Singapore, hitchhiked across Borneo, repeatedly destroyed our voices doing karaoke, taken about a thousand boats, traveled the length of the Philippines, “escaped” a highway robbery at gunpoint, camped on beaches and climbed ancient temples. It was a damn good trip and I couldn’t have had a better partner for it. For the first time in a long while, I was facing being alone and making my own decisions about traveling and life itself. Although it was something to look forward to, it also made me nervous to be solo for the first time in a year.
Because Lise had a bag, although modest in size, we took a tuk-tuk to the airport to make things a bit easier and more comfortable. Traffic was bad and it took a while. When we got there, the line was long, although there wasn’t an incredible amount of urgency. Then, when we got to the ticket counter, they claimed that she did not have a ticket. You see, her dad works for Air France, and she can fly at epic discounts as long as she has reserved her standby ticket in advance. Now they were telling us that they had no record of her ticket and we would have to do something online to get it figured out. Unlike most people at the airport, we did not have the luxury of smart phones, nor did we even have cell phones at all. Lise ended up borrowing a phone from a (generous) guy in line to call her dad in France. It was a tense hour at the ticket counter as we waited to find out whether she would be able to get on the plane. Her dad was trying to figure it out online, but it was not working. Somehow, though, at the last minute, after everyone else had checked their bags and the airport was empty, something happened and she was allowed to go through. It was stressful for a while, but really, the worst thing that would happen is that she stayed in Cambodia for a few extra days, which I don’t think we were about to complain about. We said a last goodbye and she ran up the stairs to the terminal.
I walked out of the empty airport, feeling a little lost and a little lonely. I walked out to find some transportation back to town. It took a little bit of haggling, fake walking away (as if I was going to walk to town?) but eventually I got my original asking price. In fact the $2 fare (cheaper than what the going price supposedly was three years ago) that I got was so good for the 40 minute ride, that I felt bad and gave the kind and friendly drive a generous tip. That is a RARE thing for me to do in countries that don’t expect tips.
Then, I got a nom pang (Cambodian version of what we know as a Vietnamese sandwich) and went to bed, wondering what the hell I was going to do tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment