Fez - Mysterious ways

 Fes (Morocco)

Casablanca had already taught me the Moroccan way of the Magi, I'm referring to that mysterious period of time between when you first meet a local and then that point where they are parting with money that mentally you had intended to go elsewhere, for the greater good of you. That chasm, that space is where the irrational is made rational and as a foreigner, well, you are sold on the idea of the irrational actually being the truth, and whilst in your heart of hearts you know it isn't the case, it's the damn element of doubt that catches you every time! I considered Hussein and his three drink card trick as I journeyed east from Casablanca to the old imperial city of Fez.

Moroccan flag - Fes - Morocco

Another Moroccan town and alas, another opportunity for 'the scam' to be put on you. I often wonder, as a tourist in a new land, how the hell are you suppose to beat the conspiracy of the entry port taxi cab rank ? They inevitably overcharge and the realisation of this fact only comes from either taking another trip within the same city or speaking to a local who often laughs and says, 'my friend, you got ripped off' - 'Oh really Chachi ? Thanks for the newsflash !' . In the circumstances that were my arrival in Fez I jumped a cab with an English couple in a petit taxi. Our bags were quickly stacked precariously on the roof of the vehicle, nothing tied down and in turn we were simply left to the  deft touch and dexterity of our driver  on his home turf , hoping of course that hi actions and the concept of gravity would work in our favour. We took off from the station with both the couple and I looking behind us every 30 seconds to make sure that we wouldn't have to be collecting our underwear from the road behind any time soon.


Mohammad, our gruff and surly driver inevitably overcharged me. A 15 dirham run turned into a 25 dirham fee but again, where and how do you beat a local when you don't have the home ground advantage ? His real present however, and the one that left me with that special 'Moroccan brotherly feel' , were his directions to my riad after my bag had been lovingly thrown to the kerb. Two grunts and a point down a street. I questioned Mohammad, 'Riad Sara ?', 'Oui' was his response as he pointed again. Well fuck Mohammad, aren't you tops ! Thanks 'my brother', love your work. It was only after my first turn down an alleyway and  the realisation that I had no idea where the riad was that it sunk in that Mohammad had given me the traditional Moroccan bum steer and now, well, I had to door knock my way to a cool room and a bed. Thankfully one of the staff at a neighbouring riad assisted me as I flaying my arms around trying to attract attention ,and as I was soon to quickly find out, I would have had Buckley's in locating the riad without a detailed map. Perhaps the assistance of a taxi driver that knew their way would have been much more helpful, but of course that's not how the way my brothers roll!

Riad Sara - Fes - Morocco

Riad Sara - Fes - Morocco

One thing that you come to realise in a place like Fez or Marrakech for that matter is that looks are always deceiving. The streets and alleyways can be dark, the walls bland and sometimes shabby but once you get through those doors, well, there exists another world. So too was the case in the current circumstance, Riad Sara was gorgeous, a traditional Moroccan design and form of architecture, which essentially meant that I had a great room which opened out onto a terrace from which I could look down into the central courtyard and sip on my mint tea anytime I wanted. OK, so now I could start getting my Moroccan groove on ! To the the medina my fine fellow !!!

One of the entrance gates to Fes el-Bali and the medina - Fes - Morocco

Inside the medina - Fes - Morocco

Spices in the market - Fes - Morocco

Overlooking one of several tanneries in Fes

Now, I pride myself on my orientation skills but I have to say that Fez has got to be the Everest of the orienteering scene....hmmm, and that brings me to a question, is there an 'orienteering scene' , I mean I've never seen anyone with a compass running around the pubs of Sydney but hey, maybe just because I haven't seen it, it doesn't mean that it doesn't exist ! In any case, cracking those entrance gates to Fez just threw me into the midst of a new world, one where there apparently existed over 9300 streets and alleyways within a space of 15 kms squared. It's simply 'impressively insane'. Whilst walking down one of the main routes to the centre of the medina I came across a young boy that was happy to show me the way to one of the three tanneries that existed in the medina. Now, I'm not one for over exaggerated statements such as , 'I laughed my ass off', I mean really, if that were to be true then I'd say the entire female population would be in a state of perpetual hysterics, but I say this, the twists and turns that this kid took me through in a matter of two mins literally made my head spin by the time we made the front door. It was bedazzling, incredible and a challenge for me to try and remember the way out, which I obviously didn't. I knew at that moment Fez was going to be a lot of fun!

Fes - Morocco

Casablanca - Moroccan ´mateship´ - Welcome my brothet

Casablanca (Morocco)

I was really enjoying the fact that I had a relatively huge family in Morocco, many brothers apparently, no sisters, but that was ok. Coming from a family where I was the only child, I didn´t care one way or the other. After leaving my pal Ahmed on the streets of the old medina I walked into the heart of Casablanca so as to catch the semi finals of the Euro´s. Now this was a tough one, the perennial under achievers Spain were up against the 20 to 1 shots Russia. Now for some reason dad had put a couple of dollars on Russia before the tournament commenced, he´s just got the gift for being able to pick the under dog that will actually become the high achiever. He´s been riding that five dollar bet like a cheap pony and was eager to see Spain go down like bag. I on the other hand didn´t mind, and really, the Moroccan crowd would have punished me if I breathed a word other than Hola Amigo, vamos Espana!

After the game I sort of wondered the streets a little and came upon a mall of sorts that was half retail, half cafes, and this is where I also met ´my man´ Hussein. Hussein I discovered was from the coastal town of Essaouira, an older man, perhaps mid 50's, he told me that he´d sailed the seas and had been to many a place, including the fine land of the kangaroo. That I assumed meant that he had been to Australia. He asked if I wanted a drink, of course I replied, ...´I know a place, my friend owns it, it´s just around the corner´...´óh fuck´ was my internal response, this was going to be scam time, again! Never the less, despite my own better judgment, I gave Hussein the benefit of the doubt and followed him to the fabled Canada bar.

The Canada bar was an absolute dive. On arrival there was some Moroccan Brian Mannix rip off artist doing his best version of Berber hits of the 70's, massive feedback from the mikes occupying much of the audio space and really, the purple and orange spotlights were not doing anyone any favours. Hussein however was in his element, moving his head, humming to the mike buzz and prompting me to drink by saying 'lets have a beer´. It wasn't really a prompt but rather a direction, and I knew, I knew as well as I knew my date of birth that I'd be paying for all drinks, no matter how many we were to have. What else are you suppose to do for your brother?

The beer turned out to be good, the entertainment however was so pathetic that it literally made me laugh. There was a table of 40 something Moroccan ladies sitting in front of me and Hussein was either bull shitting me or by some strange internal 'disconnect from reality' he was getting into the total garbage that Brian was passing off as music. For the sake of posterity I made the decision to capture the violence that was accosting my eardrums on my digital - BIG MISTAKE. For some reason the 40 something group took offence immediately and the bouncers  acted with stealth like precision and raced from their posts at the front door in order to get in my face and tell me that videoing was not on. On Hussein´s part he jumped to my defence and told the bouncers to cool down, and really, I saw no issue in getting the total shit that was on offer in order to have a laugh about it later. Never the less, I was told quite sternly that my ´recording´could not continue, ´ok Adib, settle,I get your point´. This as they say in the classics is where the night took a turn for the worse.

I already knew that Hussein was backing me to pick up the tab and I was cool with that, sort of. He started chatting with a portly but pleasant lady sitting next to us and explained that I was from Australia. Their conversation continued and for some reason she decided to offer me some of the fried fish she was having, ummm, ok, sure, I was a little hungry and after turning her down a few times I finally relented. Hussein looks at me and says, ´See the nice lady, hear the lovely music, this is Morocco welcoming you´, ´Yes Hussein, this is Morocco ´Rocking the Kasbah´for me´. Hussein then suggests it would be nice that ´we´, *ahem*, make that ´I´, buy the lady a whiskey. Ok, he interprets and she shakes her head, please note, she has said ´NO´. This is where Husseins´ scam kicks in.

We finish three beers each and I know Hussein is waiting for me to pay. I kindly tell Hussein that I´m ready to leave and that I´d like to settle the bill. He points to the three beer glasses on the portly lady's table and says, 'We must pay for her drinks also'. Hussein, ´What the f**k are you talking about ?´, she didn´t have the whiskey that ´WE´were meant to purchase...Hussein says, 'Ýes, but she had three beers just like us´ ? Ahhh no Hussein, those glasses were already on the table. This is when Hussein starts causing a commotion, the bouncers again walk in and now I´m thinking, alright Hussein, I´m flying solo, have no idea what anyone is saying and cannot take on three beefy bouncers. I pay, nine beers in total, it ends up being $40AUD. Hussein then has the gaul to ask me for another 50 dirham, something like $7 AUD. I laugh and say ´what the hell for ?´. Hussein responds, 'We´re brothers, give me 50 ! You have my address in Essaouira, you will come and visit me and my family, you will sleep and we will make couscous'. His voice rises again, automatically I know that if I don´t give it to him those Moroccan bouncers are going to be playing the bongo´s on my cranium for a few minutes. I relent, I give Hussein his cash and wish to God that I had a few days extra in my travel plans because I´d make it down to his hole in Essaouira and take him and his family for the ride that he just took me for.

Once again, my brother has just put one on me. Tune in again for my next installment of,´My brother, my country, your money´!!!!!

Casablanca - Moroccan tea party - I scam you, 'my brother'

Casablanca (Morocco)

My mother has a saying, 'It's not to whom it is said or written, but rather, to whom it is destined'. It's actually a Serbian saying (although I doubt it's uniquely Serbian because they're not particularly creative people), but that issue aside, the saying serves a purpose in this particular situation. It is for this reason, in all likelihood, that I found myself on a 16 hour flight out of Sydney bound for Dubai sitting next to a large, Arabic looking man whom I mentally called Faruk. Just between you and me, he had some nice body order going on which made the economy class seats feel 37% smaller than they actually were. I don't get it, for the longer haul flights, Emirates use their 777-400's (I think, I'll get back to you on accuracy of that statement) but either way, seating is mapped out in a 3*4*3 cabin specification which = friendly in Winter but cruel as all hell in Summer. Their shorter flights, i.e., Dubai to Casablanca, are in taken in their Airbus options, more humane, generally roomier, and nothing like being in a haman, being stroked and saturated in the glorious body sweat of your Arabic brother.

So in any case I land in Casablanca at some time in the future, which was made available to me by the ports of Bangkok and Dubai, some 23 hours after leaving our fabled land of kangaroos and 'Aussie oi, oi'....can you believe that our later war cry is what we're known for around the world, right after kangaroos and before koala's, it's tres embarrassing! In any case, I burst out of that Airbus like a man possessed, ready to claim a piece of Morocco and as Jase would let me know unequivocally, to get that damned stamp in my passport. I admit, I'm a stamp whore ! It's part of the deal that I make with myself when I travel, 'take the stamp, see the sights'.

At this stage I consider myself to be relatively well prepared - Lonely Planet (the wisdom and truth in relation to all things travel related) has warned me of the propensity for Moroccans to instigate a scam, which strangely, seems to be the Lonely Planet voice of reason in any country other than the US or Canada! I walk to the awaiting cabs at the stand outside the terminal, chose a driver that appears to be moderately alert and point out the hotel that I'll be staying at inclusive of the address. The cab driver stops for a split second and then tells me that the place doesn't exist.....ALERT, ALERT, bullshit merchant # 1, 20 mins after hitting Moroccan soil. I tell him kindly that it does and please, could he take me to that address. He says again, 'It doesn't exist but he 'knows' of another hotel' - 'oh really senor Ali', that is a scam my friend, you are the instigator and I'm busting your ass for trying it out on me. So I say again, take me to the address or I'll get out of your fine piece of machinery and I'll be catching the next train into Casablanca. Ok, so I'm bluffing Ali (...btw, Ali just sounds like the name I should use),then my brain kicks into gear, I have the hotel phone number, I dial and ask them to speak to the cab driver and 20 seconds later we're all 'Kool &the Gang', we're getting our freak on down the Casablanca Highway.

An hour or so later I'm in downtown Casablanca, checking out a town which appears to be a little shabby, a little French and a little Moroccan. Whitewash walls, some French style boulevards, traditionally busy in its position as the heart of Moroccan trade and commerce. By all accounts not the most inspirational town in Morocco and by my own account, pretty run of the mill from initial perceptions.

Hitting the streets and walking is my usual style in most cities when I arrive I'm and this was to be no exception. Come heatstroke or pinacolada hoboken crunch I'm usually out taking it to the streets, sometimes in high 30 degree temperatures, such as the current scenario. My intention in terms of immediate sight seeing requirements was  to make it to Hassan II mosque which is built out into the Atlantic. I try to zero in on this architectural marvel for several reasons, one, because of it's sheer size, it's the third largest mosque in the world, two because it's on the Atlantic, and three because it's the only building of real significance in Casablanca. Walking the streets, giving my Lonely Planet map a real beating, I mentally prepare myself to walk for hours and guess my way by that internal guidance system that quite often serves me well in the domain of orientatio. From nowhere my to be new pal  for the next few hours, Ahmed, comes up beside me and offers to sell me a lute. Sure Ahmed, let me break out some power chords for you and we can busk this town stupid whilst you give me your best rendition of Highway to Hell in Arabic or whatever language you believe would suit our purposes. I politely tell Ahmed that at this point in time I'm not in the market for a lute but I'd be more than happy for him to tell me where the hell Hassan II fits onto the Casablanca landscape, he tells me that he will. It went something like, 'Yes, my brother, I will show you'. My brain triggers, I know there's a bounty here and I know it's on my head. I think for a brief moment and say 'Alright Ahmed, lets sort out a democratic price'.

This is Ahmed - at times he had 'the crazy eyes' - Casablanca - Morocco

'Up yours too' - I think Ahmed got this sign of 'friendship' a little wrong - Casablanca - Morocco

Ahmed and I kick it in a cafe for a little while, we bust out some classic cola and talk business. I try my best French, c'est combien? I think it's close to the mark. Ahmed, inspired by the cola puts his own moves down and hits me with a 300 dirham amount that he believes would be valid compensation for his services. Now, at this juncture let me just tell you a little bit about exchange rates, 1 Australian dollar = approx 7 Moroccan dirhams. At this point, 'My Brother' is asking me for just over $40 to walk me a couple of kms - I know this ....and I also know his game...but by knowing that, I know that I could also turn this into a little bit of fun also. Ahmed looks at me, he has that look that screams  'I seriously can't believe I pulled that shit on him' - it's obviously a poker bluff that he has going but his eyes are almost laughing, seriously, his eyes were kind of crazy! I consider it for a moment, I bring our my poker play skills and I slow play Ahmed, I bluff right back , I check my wallet for a moment, making it look like that I was happy to seal the deal, look at him once more and then laugh hard. 'Ahmed'  I say, 'my taxi ride from the airport cost less than that!'. He bursts out laughing, 'Ahhh', slaps my hand, and says 'You offer me price'. I say 50 dirhams', he says '100', I say '50', he says '90', I say '50 and I pay for your coke', he says 'ok'.

Hassan II mosque - Casablanca - Morocco

Hassan II mosque - Casablanca - Morocco

We walk, we talk and all in all, Ahmed is good company. We see the Hassan II mosque and it's enormous. I'm not sure how many people it can accommodate, he says to me 200,000 but I think the interpretation is more like 20,000, impressive all the same, and during the day I was there, the spray coming off the Atlantic, the waves crashing against the stone walls, it felt almost spiritual.

Hmmm, I'm writing this from a cafe in Fes and I've got another Ahmed waiting for me at the moment, waiting to take me out for some sheesha action, will get back to the rest of the Casablanca story shortly.

Siem Reap - Angkor Wat - Dreamland

Siem Reap - Angkor Wat (Cambodia)

This blog is starting to become a bit of a travel diary which in itself isn't a bad thing but for the last year it's felt as though I've been catching up on writing about overseas escapades. I'm thankful that my most recent adventure  is just about rounding off in the writing sense as my next one is getting ready to kicks-off! As of the 25th of June I'll be on my way again to such places as Morocco, Spain, France and Serbia - can't wait to be back on the road.

So, now for the dream state. There's few times in your life when you end up in certain places either by fortune or design that you've thought or dreamt about for years, Angkor Wat for me was one of those places.

On my first morning in Siem Reap I woke up at just before 5am, jumped onto my rented bike and rode the 10kms into the Angkor Wat reserve. Without describing it, because I wouldn't do it any justice, the below is what I encountered.

Angkor Wat - Cambodia

I'm thankful that my first glimpse of Angkor was that time of morning. The light slowly illuminating the site as the sun decided to wake from its slumber, a gentle mist settled above the water. Even with the hoards of people that would enter later that morning and during the day , those first moments were still filled with a degree of mystery and anticipation which had made those years of expectation worthwhile.

Again, adequately describing Angkor is not within my means. So I've just added a few pictures below, enjoy.

Angkor Wat - Siem Reap - Cambodia

Angkor Wat - Siem Reap - Cambodia

Angkor Wat - Siem Reap - Cambodia

Angkor Wat - Siem Reap - Cambodia

Bayon temple - Siem Reap - Cambodia

Bayon temple - Siem Reap - Cambodia

Ta Prohm - Siem Reap - Cambodia

Angkor Wat - Siem Reap - Cambodia

Siem Reap - Offboarding, Cambodian style

Siem Reap (Cambodia)

This is how they do it . It starts with the ferry slowing down and making it's way past boats on the lake, houseboats, other random floating craft. Every few seconds the sound of the ferry's horn blares so as to warn one and all that the 'big dog' is making it's way into port. Now this is where the trick is played on the unsuspecting traveller. Departure from Phnom Penh (PP) was civil, if a little uncoordinated but this my friends was Cambodian chaos at its best and I must say, it was a hell of a lot of fun to experience. The first thing you notice is the number of Tuk Tuk drivers on the bank, all jostling for position, holding up makeshift placards with names they've probably purchased for a couple of riels from their buds and partner in business in PP. The situation makes the arrivals hall at any modern day terminal look like a morgue, the competition for our hard earned USD was on in style ! Next thing is, you ask yourself, 'where exactly is this ferry going to dock' whilst it gently does its dance through a myriad of floating vessels and it gently slides up onto the muddy banks of the river, no pier in sight. Then it all dawns on you, damn, the front of the ferry is on the bank, my bag and every other passengers bag is at the back of the boat,the half metre wide walkway around the ferry (with only a handrail to assist the prevention of dropping into the muddy waters) is 'just' sufficient for one person to walk around carrying 20kgs on their back, how the hell are we going to leapfrog 20 other people hanging off the side of the boat wanting to get their luggage at the same time? Funny thing is, everyone else runs the logistics in their head right at the same moment and realises the mess that will be everyone's quest to disembark at the same moment, LOL, it was damn hilarious.

On the boat - Tonle Sap river - Cambodia

Boat traffic - Tonle Sap river - Cambodia

'Hi there, Welcome to Siem Reap, we were expecting you!'

You're going to find a ride into town, no problems! - Siem Reap - Cambodia

So now there's young Cambodians running up the very steep gangplank at the front of the boat, getting around all these Westerners doggedly holding onto the ferry and wandering how the hell they're actually going to get their bags, let alone get around the other people hanging to the outside of the ferry. Minutes of madness ensue, Cambodians doing deals to grab your bag and jump into their tuk tuk, people with huge backpacks hanging on for dear life in preference to diving in for a swim within the murky depths of the Tonle Sap. As for me, I managed to get by reasonably well in the end. I was lucky/smart enough to organise myself a tuk tuk driver in advance whilst in PP and my backpack was fairly easy to pick up from the hundreds that were all over the place at the back of the ferry. With a touch of skill and dexterity I maneuvered around about 10 other people and managed to make my way to the front of the ferry. My waiting tuk tuk driver was on the bank and successfully caught my backpack as I threw it to him. As I negated the 60 degree pitch on the gangplank (I really don't know how everyone successfully survived it), I shook my tuk tuk drivers hand and laughed out loud at how funny the whole episode was. Frankly, I hope it always remains the same, it's worth the hassle and the reflection later on in the day when you think, 'What the f*** happened there'.

Lunchtime special - Siem Reap - Cambodia

In the markets - Siem Reap - Cambodia

In the back of the tuk tuk and being thrown about due to the average state of the dirt track we were on, I looked around and started to fully comprehend the abject poverty that these people were accustomed to. Regardless of the smell and the rubbish that was stacked up beside the road / track, these people were living in makeshift shacks, mostly open and from what I saw, families of 4-6 living in one pathetic room. It's not like these people have somewhere else to go or something else to do, they don't clock off for the day, this is their life. A pissy shack, 15kms from the nearest town and their only method of survival, I assume, is to get out onto the lake and fish, make the most of the land around them or trade what little they can make. Again, as much as this was an eye opener, I was just the pathetic transient Westerner riding through their backyard, recording images on my handy cam for review some time in the future, make sense of that strange dichotomy ! Cambodian Disney World at its finest!  It's funny, I didn't realise it then but on reflection a part of me feels a little guilty for simply passing by and recording the 'authentic' Cambodia for my personal amusement. This aspect of travelling is bullshit, not thinking or not being able to assist in any way and at the same time thinking, 'Wow, how 'real' is is this experience!? And yes, it's real alright, real poverty in the Third World, enjoy !

Angkor Wat - Siem Reap - Cambodia

My tuk tuk driver got me into Siem Reap for the grand sum of $1USD. As I hadn't booked a hotel in advance he drove me around to a couple of joints and I picked up a nice place, a few mins walk from the main area of town, for the measly sum of $30USD per night. Again, great value for one person, even better if you're travelling with a mate. So, this was it. Finally in Siem Reap and just one short tuk tuk ride away from checking out Angkor Wat, I couldn't wait. It's been a place that I've wanted to see for many, many years and now I was well and truly on my way ....

Phnom Penh - The Heart of Darkness...with a cloudy mind

The Killing Fields

Through the haze and mental distortion that 20 or so drinks can make, the journey out onto the streets of Phnom Penh was one that I wanted to enjoy more than I did at that point. It was too bright, I was feeling extremely pasty and none too inspired but that was by my own doing, who was I to complain ?

Tuk Tuk access is pretty damn easy anywhere in Vietnam and Cambodia, take 10 steps and inevitably you'll have someone asking whether you need a tuk tuk, a joint, 'boom boom', a 'gun' (literally) and really, anything else you can imagine. My request was fairly simple, 'to the killing fields my fine fellow' - well, it wasn't all that chirpy, more of a solemn request. As a side point, one thing you'll notice in Cambodia, right off the bat is that there aren't too many 'older' people around. I'm talking people older than 40-50, and with that, when I say 'not too many', I really mean that you don't notice them at all. I've read a few books where the demographic specifics have quotes that somewhere near 50% of the Cambodian population is under 15yrs of age ! Along with that, estimates places the number of people that died during Pol Pot's torturous reign at anywhere between 1.5-2 million (bloody hell !)

The high school that became the notorious Tuol Sleng (S-21) prison - Phnom Penh - Cambodia

Some of the poor victims of the Khmer Rouge, taken during their four year reign of terror (1975-79).

Tuol Sleng (S-21) prison - Phnom Penh - Cambodia

 
So, armed with these facts I travelled the 15kms out of Phnom Penh, and tried to imagine what it may have been like for the 20,000 people that travelled the same route from Tuol Seng prison to their final, albeit extremely unforunate, resting place. Of course, the concept of feeling or really imagining the scenario is pointless. I can only put it down in words in order to paint some type of picture of the horror that these people experienced. So, more often than not, early in the morning, prisoners were taken from their holding cells, blindfolded, perhaps chained and placed into the back of a truck for the journey. Many had already been tortured extensively, some for days. At the end of that road however, each and everyone met their death. Mostly clubbed to death, the occasional person shot and all the while on the loudspeakers, music blaring so as to cover the noise made by those in their final moments of anguish. To imagine something so horrific is beyond my comprehension and I guess in some strange way, that's the aspect that fascinates me. Due to the fact that it doesn't make sense, that I can't understand what type of collective hysteria triggers people to act in such a dark and sinister way, is the reason why I need to find out more and is the reason why, this place has always been something I had wanted to see and experience.

The morbid 'Security regulations' of Tuol Sleng

Tuol Sleng (S-21) prison - Phnom Penh - Cambodia

There's a tower memorial that stands in the middle of the Killing Fields, filled with the skulls of the poor unfortunate souls that were taken maliciously and annoymously in this corner of the world. It stands starkly against the quite unextraordinary landscape of the area. Some people may think that it's quite heinous and disrespectful to display the skulls of the deceased in such a manner but I thought the memorial to be quite appropriate. Standing almost defiantly as a sign to all those that see it of what must never ever happen again not just in this place but anywhere else on the globe. It's almost as if the people that died here have voices and they're screaming their message in the only way that they'e able.

Tower memorial - Killing Fields - Phnom Penh - Cambodia

Killing Fields - Phnom Penh - Cambodia

Killing Fields - Phnom Penh - Cambodia

Killing Fields - Phnom Penh - Cambodia

It's tough to comprehend the abhorrant recklessnes and the total disregard that the Khmer Rouge had for the pain and suffering they inflicted. It also makes you wonder as to how random it was that these people,  being born in this country and out of this extrordinary circumstances should meet their final fate in this fashion, in this hell of a place. As I said, completely random and completely fucked!

Killing Fields - Phnom Penh - Cambodia

Killing Fields - Phnom Penh - Cambodia

Looking around this area it's hard to put your headspace into a zone of imagination that could give you an understanding of what may have been, or what may have happened in this space. Maybe that's a good thing. It's not a large area, maybe 100 metres wide, and these days people of all nations pass through it transiently, stopping, taking photos and wondering, just like I was doing on this day. I don't know, part of me expected to feel something specific or perhaps peculiar when I was here but that wasn't the case. I didn't feel anything and to tell you the truth, a very large part of me feels sorry for that.

Phnom Penh - Onto Angkor

Phnom Penh (Cambodia) to Siem Reap (Cambodia)

So this morning I left Jase at the Hotel Indochine on the banks of the Tonle Sap and  took myself a tuk tuk down the street in order to get myself onto a ferry in anticipation of 5hr+ journey down the river and across Tonle Sap lake (the largest freshwater lake in South East Asia). So, there I was at just before 7:00am, buying myself a baguette, some cheese and bottle of water in preparation for what I anticipated might actually be a boring journey. Amazingly enough though it was far from that.

Just after 7am we headed out from Phnom Penh, the ferry managing to pick up a fair bit of speed, with both  entry doors remaining open, and surprisingly, that's the way they stayed. So eyeing off the obvious opportunity that was presented, out we all got, and when I say 'all' I mean the westerners on this ride, and headed down the sides of the ferry for a better vantage point. Now the amusing thing with moving around this ferry was that the approach to doing so meant walking around the periphery of the vessel on perhaps a half metre walkway with only the smallest of hand rails to act as your saviour between staying on board the ferry (travelling at a rate of knots mind you)  and an inglorious fall into the Tonle Sap. I can only imagine as to how many times that event has actually occurred.

The further ground we put between us and Phnom Penh however, the more interesting and diverse the landscape became, and perhaps, the more 'typical' the scenery became. This is what I imagined Cambodia to be, flat green plains used for farming, small basic housing with thatched roofs, families by the river either fishing, doing their washing or conducting their day to day business. The surreal thing about blasting down the river and virtually through someones backyard is that you still feel strangely detached. Almost like you're in a zoo, observing people from behind a 'protective barrier'. That perhaps sounds strange but considering the ferry was filled with tourists it really felt like a ride in a theme park. I guess sometimes you find that the real problem of travelling without allowing yourself  the necessary time to immerse yourself in a culture is placing yourself by default into what I've termed the 'Disney syndrome'. Having the experience but not understanding it for what the actual reality that it holds.

In any case, I don't have enough time to finish this now, will come back to it in a jiffy.