Indochina Redux…
Went back to Phnom Penh for no real reason, just a bit of random travel. Making a second pass through the Indochinese hot spots seemed good sense, particularly given that I was interested in a young lady in each. There are far worse reasons for returning to a spot than that…
I also enjoy traveling overload across borders – there’s something adventurous in that. This time I took a bus from Saigon straight through to PP. At the border in Moc Bai you need to perform some gymnastics to get across. First, you come to the Viet Immigration facility – we gave our passports to the bus operators, got off, waited till the Viet officer checked all the documents, then got back on the bus for a 100 meter journey across what must have been a ‘no man’s land,’ between the two Immigration buildings. Not sure who owns this stretch of land, but there are random people there, including moto drivers offering insanely overpriced rides to travelers walking across the frontier. I am intrigued by these sorts of places…and imagine this crossing, as with many, was a madhouse when Vietnam invaded Cambodia in late 1978.
Got to the Cambodian facility – much more relaxed. Went through a similar process, then got back on the bus, got our passports back, and rode on. Got to PP in 6 or so hours, quite painless. Got to my hotel, checked in, then went out to do a bunch of annoying errands. First, went to a travel agent to get (another) Vietnamese and also a Burmese visa. Was strongly considering a return trip to Saigon to see Phuong (not her real name – but you might catch the literary reference) again. And was also considering a nip into Burma again, to see how the people were faring after the latest crackdown. Still thinking that one through…
Had to get some passport-sized photos – lots of local photo shops around. The one I went with had an ingenious method for quickly creating these – instead of the usual digi-camera to computer file to printer, they just use an instant camera (must be higher quality than those back in the day) which can somehow print four adjacent images per exposure, then they use a hairdryer to dry ’em, and finally they cut into four photos and that’s it. Took 5 minutes. I swear that necessity is both the father and mother of invention out here…
Filling out Burmese visa paperwork is sheer hell. For one, you need to fill out the same lengthy form twice – no photocopying allowed, and everything has to be just so. I actually had to return to the travel agent the next morning because I signed on the right side of the signature line – had to re-do the form and sign on the left. Talk about justifying embassy jobs…I was cursing the junta and everything it stands for as I sat there filling out the same form for the 3rd and 4th times.
I was happy to be back in Phnom Penh. As I’ve written before, it’s a fun city and nice-looking as well. And I was exhausted from a frantic month of sight-seeing and traveling around Vietnam. I’ve often struggled with the balance of new vs. familiar places…and now think, as with balancing other considerations (mountains vs. beach, luxury hotels vs. budget) that you need to mix them up. I couldn’t take another month of mad travel and tourism…I needed a few days in a place I knew and could enjoy at my leisure. And PP was that place.
I was awaiting a large package from the States with 2 months’ worth of mail. Vietnam Customs is apparently a real bitch, so had my folks send the package to Cambodia instead. Hadn’t yet arrived when I got there, but I knew it would shortly.
Another reason for coming back to PP was the presence of Lea, a lass I’d met my previous visit. I’d invited her to join me in Siem Reap, but she couldn’t. I wanted to come back to see if there was any interest remaining. More on that later.
Was in the mood for some greasy Western food – managed to find a cheesesteak at Sharky’s Bar. The wait staff there remembered me from my last visit, two months before. Wow – they must really be looking for a 1. Husband/ 2. US visa/ 3. Good tip. But they are good fun and we shot the breeze for an hour before I stumbled back to my hotel to take a nap.
Did a bit of bar-hopping that night – played a lot of Connect 4 and managed to boost my skills. I prefer Jenga but sometimes you’ve gotta adapt.
Next morning I went back to the infamous Toul Sleng Genocide Museum – I wanted to watch a movie they screen every morning and afternoon, called Bophana. It’s about a young Cambodian couple who fell in love and were killed by the Khmer Rouge for their ‘crime.’ Tragic yet typical tale of the time. The movie was just OK – the sound quality was awful and it was hard to follow…I preferred when they spoke Khmer and there were English sub-titles on the screen. The storyline wasn’t that compelling – perhaps I’ve become desensitized given my fairly broad exposure to all things genocidal around the globe. The good part came at the end – the cameraman followed a former Toul Sleng guard as he walked from a prison cell (former schoolroom) to an imaginary truck that transported prisoners to the killing fields in Choeung Ek. The film then moved over to Choeung Ek, and the guard talked about how the prisoners were beaten to death at night – and how he killed some himself, at the direction of Duch, the Toul Sleng ‘warden.’ Compelling and ghoulish.
Visited a few more nightspots that evening. One, called Cyrcee, was recommended by a few fellow travelers. As soon as I entered I was surrounded by about 25 girls – the placed turned out to be a cathouse. I had a couple beers there, bantered with the girls, then moved on. Went to Howie’s Bar, next to Heart of Darkness – this place is pretty relaxed. Finally, went to visit Lea at Shanghai Bar – it was like we hadn’t missed a step, and we decided that night to go to the beachside town of Sihanoukville on Sunday.
Took it easy between then and our trip. On the bus down to Sihanoukville, the bus stopped at a roadside shrine while the driver and attendant got out to pray for a safe journey. I stayed on the bus, but silently mouthed my own prayer. My Philippines near-death ride was still in the back of my mind…
Sihanoukville – what a weird name, and a bizarre place. It’s on the south coast, and is spread across a small peninsula. Not the nicest town in the world…the beach is pretty good, and is lined with bar-shacks. Verrrryyyyy mellow – Thailand and Boracay might have resembled this place 25 years ago. It was low season, not many foreigners around. Lots of locals, though – and as Lea and I walked down the beach, we got no end of stares and a few comments which Lea refused to translate for me. I could imagine them, though – she turned bright red and I was pretty sure they weren’t complimenting her, or me. Fuck them. How’s that for cross-cultural sensitivity?
It rained only 93% of our time in Sihanoukville. At times the storms were so impressive they threatened to blow entire beach shacks away. I’m accustomed to monsoon rains – which tend to hang around for an hour or two every afternoon, then clear up. These rains were biblical – the downtime was a steady rain, and when they cranked up it was incredible. Sat in the room watching TV or reading most of the time. And Lea and I got in a fight – she’s very short of money for school and other expenses, and I’ve helped her out a few times…which may not have been a good strategy, because I was getting the feeling that she was viewing me as a walking ATM, and getting a bit ridiculous with her requests. When I invited her to join me on this trip, she said she needed a swimsuit and some sun protection cream. I told her I had loads of the latter – she said she needed ‘special cream’ with skin whitening formula. Ugh…the ‘Asian woman afraid of becoming any darker’ syndrome. I handed her some spare cash and thought that was that. But then I’d get niggling requests for a dollar here, a dollar there for tuk-tuks and the like. I was pretty sure she didn’t spend the entire kitty I’d already given her.
To compound matters, in Sihanoukville she asked me to pay for her semester at school. That was a bit much…I felt bad for her and her predicament, but I hardly knew her and wasn’t prepared to hand over a sizeable sum (even for a Westerner). I said no…she sulked…I thought that was very bad form, given my ongoing generosity…to make a long story short, I sent her back to PP on a bus that very afternoon. And immediately the atmosphere, and my mood, brightened. I just may be a long-term solo flyer, gentle readers…
But I was moved to think on the situation with Lea. I did feel sorry for her and a certain degree of compassion – it couldn’t have been easy or fun for her to ask me for the money. At the same time, I can’t be expected to pay for the sins of Cambodian history and government…we all have to act as our conscience dictates. Does that make any sense?
It was still raining. I said fuck it and rented a motorbike, put on my uber-poncho, and rode around the peninsula for a few hours. The place is quite spread out, and there are a few distinct areas – most of which are pretty seedy. I quickly found out that the town is a haven for foreign druggies – some of whom venture into bars and shacks to push to tourists. Nice. And there are the usual Aussie/American/English/French retirees who sit in the bars and drink piss all day. Fun fun fun. In all I didn’t find Sihanoukville that compelling a place…decent beach, but that was about it. High season might be a better time to visit.
Had a beer and a sandwich in the Angkor Arms bar – a British-sounding place that was actually staffed and attended almost exclusively by Frenchmen. I have to say that the French are the ultimate barmates – everyone talks to everyone else, the sense of conviviality is immense, and it’s a lot of fun. I got to practice my French – they were amazed that an American could speak their tongue. Again, the sense that I’m doing the Lord’s work out here on the periphery.
Noticed that S-ville has a ‘Boston Hotel’ whose logo is lifted 100% from the New England Patriots (football club). That was bizarre…forget to get a photo of this place but I just had to laugh at the wackiness of it all.
Took it easy that night – went for a few beers on the beach, at a nice little place called Eden. The British barkeep, Nick, had just pulled into town the previous day, found work at Eden, and was in good form. The owner wasn’t paying him, but was providing free accommodation and board. Good enough. Nick was planning to hang out for 3 or so months and get under the skin of the place. I liked his plan.
Spent the next morning doing computer stuff, including a few Skype calls to my lady friends in Laos and Vietnam. Had already decided to return to Saigon to see Phuong…my visa would be ready in PP in another day. As for my Burma visa application, we’d see…
Had a ‘happy pizza’ for lunch. I don’t think I need to explain the term. I emerged from the restaurant blinking in the rare sun…and promptly drove the bike back to the hotel, where I climbed into bed for a 4-hour nap. Got up at sundown, walked over to the beach, to a place called Chaimoy’s Frog Shack, and had a few beers at the bar. The bartender was a British expat – talkative fellow. I told him about my lunch consumption and he grinned ear to ear. It started raining again – huge gusts of wind and rain came into the bar and we struggled to put up the tarp. Then the bartender took out a little bag and popped a few pills – didn’t look recreational. I wondered about his ailment(s). I generally dislike seeing people popping pills in front of me – particularly when they’re skinny/emaciated expats. I can’t stop thinking that the guy making my drink (even if he’s just popping the cap on a beer bottle) is afflicted with rampant hepatitis/HIV/you name it, and my chances for following in his footsteps. Yes, I am paranoid – but as a psychologist once said, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean there isn’t someone following you.
Went back to the room. Still raining hard. Lay down again – and woke up the next morning at 5 a.m. Hmmm. Remind me to be judicious in my intake of happy pizzas.
Went back to PP that day. Took a cheapo bus – a mistake, as a passenger brought on board their foodstuffs, in this case cured buffalo meat which stinks almost as badly as raw fish. Someone smoked a cigarette and that helped…but I was glad to get off the bus after the 4-hour ride.
My seatmate was an odd foreigner – wore a Cambodian krama (scarf) on his head in Arab fashion. The locals must have found that puzzling. He was picking at a scab for half the trip…another of my peeves, in line with the popping of strange pills. Where’s a normal foreigner who just sits there and reads/sleeps???
Did a bit more sight-seeing in PP – saw the French Embassy, site of much of the Killing Fields movie. Hundreds of foreigners and locals sought refuge there in April 1975, when the Khmer Rouge took power. I won’t get into the long story here, but it’s a place of historical interest and I wanted to take a peek. Nearby was a backpacker ghetto called Boeung Kak, after a smallish lake situated there. Lots of cheapo guesthouses, web cafes, and bars abound – the lake itself is overgrown with lilies and weeds, and during the rains there’s some minor flooding of the area. I had to dodge condoms and random refuse as I walked around. Didn’t like this place – it was like a trap for tourists. I much preferred my (more expensive) riverside accoms.
There was a little Italian restaurant called La Dolce Vita in this area. I thought that was funny – ‘the sweet life’ in a grotty backpacker ghetto.
Got online and accepted a former colleague’s invitation from the networking site LinkedIn. This site is impressive – you can hook up with tons of former colleagues, college classmates, etc. The technology is impressive while being straightforward. This time, when I logged in the site had a section at the right that suggested a few names of people whom I might know. And it was spot-on – one of the people was a former girlfriend from grad school…another a high school classmate whom I once fought (to an inconclusive draw) in the men’s locker room after gym class…and there were a few other familiar names. You can quite literally get sucked into exploring this site for hours…I just accepted the invite, then hopped off. I spend enough time mucking around on the computer as it is…
Took a bus the next day back to Saigon. Sat next to a young guy who was obviously from South Africa. Chatted for a long time…he hailed from Joburg, where I spent a year. Lots of good SA memories came back. And he didn’t pick at any scabs during the entire ride. Nice to know that not all foreign travelers are compulsive disease-infested freaks.
We talked for a couple hours, and I enjoyed his point of view on SA and other matters. But I had received, in PP, a large package from the US with my magazines, and the package was in the rack above me. I needed to work through the mags so that I wouldn’t have to carry the heavy load around. I wound down the conversation semi-graciously and proceeded to plow through a bunch of mags in the ensuing hours. I felt a bit badly…being anti-social and such…but I don’t like talking forever, I need to temper that with some reading and kicking back. I suppose I’m not so odd in that way, and shouldn’t feel guilty about it…
As I pulled back into Saigon, I was relaxed and happy. I was going to see Phuong, certainly the coolest (and hottest) young lady I’d spent time with on my 1.5-year journey to date. I’d have a relaxed week in Saigon, during which I’d spend time with her, and catch up on my reading. And I needed to get back into my exercise routine – which I immediately cranked up after checking into my hotel. I got out my resistance cord and started doing some upper-body routines…which felt good, until the cord snapped and startled the bejesus out of me. I’ve had the thing for my entire trip, and I suppose it was bound to happen. And at least I wasn’t injured…but now I need a replacement and will check out REI.com for that, and a couple other things. Oh well…plagued by annoying tasks, as always.
But that’s just a small matter, and easily handled. The bigger picture: I feel like I’m playing with the house’s money in this game of life…nothing’s hanging over my head…the many travelers I come across would switch places with me in a heartbeat…I can’t let that go to my head, but at the same time I recognize my good fortune and want to ride this road as long as I can.
Stay tuned. Will the lovely Phuong take down the Gentle Dragon? Will Vietnamese Communist authorities check his emails and uncover incriminating evidence that leads to imprisonment? Or will he escape love and jail in Vietnam, only to confront the brutal junta in Rangoon? All are possibilities – so check in next week to continue the saga. Over and out.
Tags: Travel
mbsloney
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