Below is an article that was published in a Japanese magazine called Young Tree Press (Issue 9, Secrets, 2008). I have decided to publish it here because it describes my first experience of Cambodia as an adult and relates to my current project in Big Hole village. All reports and updates of the Big Hole project will be published here. It was supposed to be a quasi travel piece that turned more personal. Its semi-autobiographical.
The place: Koky Pagoda, approximately 20km Southeast of Angkor Wat, Cambodia.
The rest of the night was crap. After two hours of waiting my brother never showed up, I caught a taxi into town where I got chased by a mongrel of a dog down some crazy alley way or drive way or come to think of it, it may have been a road, I still don’t know. The dog left me after I threw some pringles at it. I finally found a hotel that in the morning I would discover had overcharged me. Advice to everyone coming to Cambodia, If you are foreign the locals will try to overcharge you for everything. Finally had fried rice for dinner in a small restaurant watching in wonder all the geckos running along the walls and wondering why no-one else was watching this was most fascinating sight.
Siem Reap is a flourishing city. Tourists flock here while exploring Angkor Wat and it’s surrounding temples. New hotels and guesthouses open on a weekly basis and many more are under construction. Dirt roads are being replaced by tarmac. The current rate of construction virtually renders it unrecognizable every six months. Markets and restaurants targeting the tourist dollar line the main roads. It’s easier to find an internet café here than in Tokyo and at 75US cents an hour it’s a lot cheaper too. The city operates on a dual currency system accepting US dollars or the local currency of Riel. But if you don’t have the right kind of money then the many family owned foreign exchange outlets littering the city will be more than happy to help you. Property that sold for $5000US ten years ago now sell for over $200,000US. People struggling to survive of the land from surrounding villages swarm the city’s tourist district and try their luck as beggars. Teachers and police officers make $30US a month. Almost every household has crocodile farms, once lucrative but now tighter laws mean the mainly Chinese buyers have dried up. The city’s growth is definitely chaotic and it’s reflected on it’s roads. Petrol stations on corners become quasi highways, the only thing a tourist needs to drive, is some courage. It’s not uncommon to see families precariously balanced on mopeds. Mums breastfeeding, father’s driving, toddlers hanging on the back and a bag of vegetables on their heads. Whatever you do don’t try to enter a roundabout unless you are prepared to scream your head off. Seemingly, tuc tucs are the most common mode of transport, well for tourists anyway. They loiter around the markets, hotels and clubs fighting for business. Dust and sand fly everywhere. Walking down the street is like spending the day at the beach, because no matter how careful you are, you come home with sand in your underwear. And as I sat on my bag on Sivatha road removing sand from my eyes and face, under the harshest noon sun I’ve experienced, staring at what Cambodia called a road, my brother shows up in an ugly ute, one wheel half flat and wheezing air and a muffler or something dragging underneath.
Some families love nothing more than to sit around the dinner table and recount special events. Relive such and such’s wedding, or bring out photos and reminisce about so and so’s first word. Not my family. We relive nothing. Oh maybe I am exaggerating a little. We do talk about Christmas, we particularly like to focus on the next generation of Saly’s. I would argue my nieces and nephews are more photographed than the queen. But our past is hidden behind closed doors, sealed by a wall of elders reluctant to talk. I had hoped that in Cambodia things would be different to Australia, that just maybe geography had held the door slightly ajar for me, but I discovered some things are no different, no matter where you are.
My trip to Cambodia wasn’t as I had expected. Nothing ever is. I have many more trips to Cambodia to make and many more schools to build. One day, I hope family history won’t be such a mystery. It mustn’t be easy for my parents to talk about their life before and during the war. What they must have seen and endured I can only imagine. It maybe a little selfish on my part, but whether they like it or not I will keep on pestering them for answers. The more I find out the more I want to know. There is a sister I had but never knew about. Their firstborn child who died aged 13. Who is she and how can they erase all evidence of her so cleanly that their other children had no idea?
I’m definitely no longer that boy who wants to be a bee and maybe I have ended up with more questions than answers but even so I can now lie down under the sky and when I speak to my higher being friend I will be a little closer to understanding because even though I hate to admit this, I have secrets of my own.
Mel December 15, 2009 at 4:19 AM
Below is an article that was published in a Japanese magazine called Young Tree Press (Issue 9, Secrets, 2008). I have decided to publish it here because it describes my first experience of Cambodia as an adult and relates to my current project in Big Hole village. All reports and updates of the Big Hole project will be published here. It was supposed to be a quasi travel piece that turned more personal. Its semi-autobiographical.
The place: Koky Pagoda, approximately 20km Southeast of Angkor Wat, Cambodia.
The rest of the night was crap. After two hours of waiting my brother never showed up, I caught a taxi into town where I got chased by a mongrel of a dog down some crazy alley way or drive way or come to think of it, it may have been a road, I still don’t know. The dog left me after I threw some pringles at it. I finally found a hotel that in the morning I would discover had overcharged me. Advice to everyone coming to Cambodia, If you are foreign the locals will try to overcharge you for everything. Finally had fried rice for dinner in a small restaurant watching in wonder all the geckos running along the walls and wondering why no-one else was watching this was most fascinating sight.
Siem Reap is a flourishing city. Tourists flock here while exploring Angkor Wat and it’s surrounding temples. New hotels and guesthouses open on a weekly basis and many more are under construction. Dirt roads are being replaced by tarmac. The current rate of construction virtually renders it unrecognizable every six months. Markets and restaurants targeting the tourist dollar line the main roads. It’s easier to find an internet café here than in Tokyo and at 75US cents an hour it’s a lot cheaper too. The city operates on a dual currency system accepting US dollars or the local currency of Riel. But if you don’t have the right kind of money then the many family owned foreign exchange outlets littering the city will be more than happy to help you. Property that sold for $5000US ten years ago now sell for over $200,000US. People struggling to survive of the land from surrounding villages swarm the city’s tourist district and try their luck as beggars. Teachers and police officers make $30US a month. Almost every household has crocodile farms, once lucrative but now tighter laws mean the mainly Chinese buyers have dried up. The city’s growth is definitely chaotic and it’s reflected on it’s roads. Petrol stations on corners become quasi highways, the only thing a tourist needs to drive, is some courage. It’s not uncommon to see families precariously balanced o
n mopeds. Mums breastfeeding, father’s driving, toddlers hanging on the back and a bag of vegetables on their heads. Whatever you do don’t try to enter a roundabout unless you are prepared to scream your head off. Seemingly, tuc tucs are the most common mode of transport, well for tourists anyway. They loiter around the markets, hotels and clubs fighting for business. Dust and sand fly everywhere. Walking down the street is like spending the day at the beach, because no matter how careful you are, you come home with sand in your underwear. And as I sat on my bag on Sivatha road removing sand from my eyes and face, under the harshest noon sun I’ve experienced, staring at what Cambodia called a road, my brother shows up in an ugly ute, one wheel half flat and wheezing air and a muffler or something dragging underneath.
Some families love nothing more than to sit around the dinner table and recount special events. Relive such and such’s wedding, or bring out photos and reminisce about so and so’s first word. Not my family. We relive nothing. Oh maybe I am exaggerating a little. We do talk about Christmas, we particularly like to focus on the next generation of Saly’s. I would argue my nieces and nephews are more photographed than the queen. But our past is hidden behind closed doors, sealed by a wall of elders reluctant to talk. I had hoped that in Cambodia things would be different to Australia, that just maybe geography had held the door slightly ajar for me, but I discovered some things are no different, no matter where you are.
My trip to Cambodia wasn’t as I had expected. Nothing ever is. I have many more trips to Cambodia to make and many more schools to build. One day, I hope family history won’t be such a mystery. It mustn’t be easy for my parents to talk about their life before and during the war. What they must have seen and endured I can only imagine. It maybe a little selfish on my part, but whether they like it or not I will keep on pestering them for answers. The more I find out the more I want to know. There is a sister I had but never knew about. Their firstborn child who died aged 13. Who is she and how can they erase all evidence of her so cleanly that their other children had no idea?
I’m definitely no longer that boy who wants to be a bee and maybe I have ended up with more questions than answers but even so I can now lie down under the sky and when I speak to my higher being friend I will be a little closer to understanding because even though I hate to admit this, I have secrets of my own.
Mel December 15, 2009 at 4:19 AM