Written by Stephanie Whitfield
When most people think of holiday, their mind doesn't immediately jump to Cambodia; a place generally recalled in the West for it's bloody history and third world status. However, when planning our planning our vacation to Thailand, my friend and travel companion Catherine thought it would be easy to nip across and have a look for a couple of days while still staying on our tight student budget.
Once we arrived at the international airport that largely resembled a school prefab, it rapidly became clear that Phnom Penh isn't set up for tourists at all. We hopped into our prebooked transport to the hotel and spent the next half hour or so praying for our lives as our driver negotiated the traffic that was about seven lanes of jumbled SUVs and scooters with entire families packed on the back. I think the record number of people we saw on a scooter at once was Mum, Dad, two kids, a baby and a dog. It's also one of those countries where traffic lights are more of a guide than a rule, and there are no turning rules, except if you need to turn, just do it and hopefully people will stop for you.
Once we'd settled into the hotel we decided to check out what was on offer tourist-wise. The big attractions (if you can call them that) were the Royal Palace, Central Market, Wat Phnom and the Genocide museum and Killing Fields. We decided to take to the market first off, as it was within walking distance of our hotel. Walking turned out to be an interesting decision as we didn't factor in the sweltering heat, or the fact that no one in Phnom Penh walks. Possibly because of this, and possibly because we were two conspicuous Westerners, one of us a blond, the whole way we had to undergo the stares of passing traffic. More than once a truck full of teenage boys heads would turn in unison watching us walk along. Feeling very conspicuous and sweaty, we finally arrived at the markets that were set in what was obviously once a marvel of French-Cambodian architecture in bright yellow, but was now a hollowed out husk filled with tiny stalls of merchandise that only tourists could afford, and surrounded by tents with more pedlar's crammed in tightly. The stalls were mostly selling jewellery, bags and knocked-off sunglasses and software much like all of the tourist markets in Thailand. We did however stumble at one point into the food isle, where large slabs of meat had been sitting in the forty degree heat all day and were letting off a stench that my poor vegetarian stomach was handling badly.
We spent the rest of the day wandering around the streets pretty aimlessly. We were both struck by how lovely the people were, and how much pride they had in their children who all ran around in their immaculate school uniforms. It was soon explained to us that the children were being educated well, and were even learning English, a helpful fact as they often helped translate for their parents who's only other language was French. It was striking to think of what the older generation had endured through colonialism, genocide and now the efforts of trying to rebuild their country with no infrastructure or even sanitation. I say the older generation, but the oldest people we saw were around forty, and once noticed, the lack of old people is a constant reminder of the horror that the city has seen. It was interesting and almost sad to think what's going to happen to all these educated children where there is no place for any kind of knowledge workers. Are they going to immigrate, or continue like their parents and try to build up the city once again?
On the second day, we decided to take a look at the Killing Fields and The Genocide Museum. We went outside to our tuktuk driver who was faithfully waiting for us, after we had apparently grossly overpaid him the day before with US $5. The Killing Fields are set just outside of the main city, and getting to them was very interesting as the "road" which was just a dirt track was being moved for some reason, resulting in traffic trying to get through both ways and a large tractor moving a small mountain of dirt across the road and ignoring everyone else. Thankfully it only took about five minutes of feeling like we were going to die to get through, due to our fearless driver.
Once we got to The Killing fields, it was eerily quiet, and actually quite lovely in what was a very hot park like surrounding, with one big tower in the middle. The tower turned out to contain the skulls and bones of people that had been dug up from mass graves in the immediate area. The area had been used by Pol Pot to dispose of people discreetly as it was just out of town so not immediately visible. The plaques described how buses of people would arrive at night and loud music would be playing to mask the screaming of those to be slaughtered. It was definitely a harrowing experience walking the path that was riddled with pot holes that are all that remain of mass graves, and seeing the Killing Tree where babies were killed by being bashed against it's trunk.
Straight after The Killing Fields, we journeyed to The Genocide Museum; once a school it had been turned into a prison and torture chamber for (largely innocent) rebels during Pol Pot's occupation, and now a museum lest we forget. If possible the museum was even worse than The Killing Fields, it comprises three buildings, which were all at one time used as cells or worse. The first building was cells that housed beds that were nothing more than rusty frames, sometimes some shackles or torture equipment and pictures of those that had died there. The second building was similar but the cells had been divided by brick walls until they were small enough to barely fit a person. Finally the last building contains the photos of many (but not all) of those who died in the makeshift camp. It's a vastly disturbing display of hundreds upon hundreds of photos, many of them showing people badly beaten, or shot, including children. There are also stories from survivors lining the walls, that tell of the deaths of their whole family and how they survived. Many of the victims were simply learned people like teachers that Pol Pot thought a threat to his regime, and many of the museum visitors were reduced to tears at some point.
Then it was all of a sudden time to leave. Phnom Penh had been an enlightening if not always enjoyable city to visit. We left feeling immense respect for the people that live there in such adverse circumstances, who nonetheless are determined to make the best of it, and provide a better future for their children. I would love to return in ten or twenty years to see how it has changed, and how the next generation will impact on it.
Once we arrived at the international airport that largely resembled a school prefab, it rapidly became clear that Phnom Penh isn't set up for tourists at all. We hopped into our prebooked transport to the hotel and spent the next half hour or so praying for our lives as our driver negotiated the traffic that was about seven lanes of jumbled SUVs and scooters with entire families packed on the back. I think the record number of people we saw on a scooter at once was Mum, Dad, two kids, a baby and a dog. It's also one of those countries where traffic lights are more of a guide than a rule, and there are no turning rules, except if you need to turn, just do it and hopefully people will stop for you.
Once we'd settled into the hotel we decided to check out what was on offer tourist-wise. The big attractions (if you can call them that) were the Royal Palace, Central Market, Wat Phnom and the Genocide museum and Killing Fields. We decided to take to the market first off, as it was within walking distance of our hotel. Walking turned out to be an interesting decision as we didn't factor in the sweltering heat, or the fact that no one in Phnom Penh walks. Possibly because of this, and possibly because we were two conspicuous Westerners, one of us a blond, the whole way we had to undergo the stares of passing traffic. More than once a truck full of teenage boys heads would turn in unison watching us walk along. Feeling very conspicuous and sweaty, we finally arrived at the markets that were set in what was obviously once a marvel of French-Cambodian architecture in bright yellow, but was now a hollowed out husk filled with tiny stalls of merchandise that only tourists could afford, and surrounded by tents with more pedlar's crammed in tightly. The stalls were mostly selling jewellery, bags and knocked-off sunglasses and software much like all of the tourist markets in Thailand. We did however stumble at one point into the food isle, where large slabs of meat had been sitting in the forty degree heat all day and were letting off a stench that my poor vegetarian stomach was handling badly.
We spent the rest of the day wandering around the streets pretty aimlessly. We were both struck by how lovely the people were, and how much pride they had in their children who all ran around in their immaculate school uniforms. It was soon explained to us that the children were being educated well, and were even learning English, a helpful fact as they often helped translate for their parents who's only other language was French. It was striking to think of what the older generation had endured through colonialism, genocide and now the efforts of trying to rebuild their country with no infrastructure or even sanitation. I say the older generation, but the oldest people we saw were around forty, and once noticed, the lack of old people is a constant reminder of the horror that the city has seen. It was interesting and almost sad to think what's going to happen to all these educated children where there is no place for any kind of knowledge workers. Are they going to immigrate, or continue like their parents and try to build up the city once again?
On the second day, we decided to take a look at the Killing Fields and The Genocide Museum. We went outside to our tuktuk driver who was faithfully waiting for us, after we had apparently grossly overpaid him the day before with US $5. The Killing Fields are set just outside of the main city, and getting to them was very interesting as the "road" which was just a dirt track was being moved for some reason, resulting in traffic trying to get through both ways and a large tractor moving a small mountain of dirt across the road and ignoring everyone else. Thankfully it only took about five minutes of feeling like we were going to die to get through, due to our fearless driver.
Once we got to The Killing fields, it was eerily quiet, and actually quite lovely in what was a very hot park like surrounding, with one big tower in the middle. The tower turned out to contain the skulls and bones of people that had been dug up from mass graves in the immediate area. The area had been used by Pol Pot to dispose of people discreetly as it was just out of town so not immediately visible. The plaques described how buses of people would arrive at night and loud music would be playing to mask the screaming of those to be slaughtered. It was definitely a harrowing experience walking the path that was riddled with pot holes that are all that remain of mass graves, and seeing the Killing Tree where babies were killed by being bashed against it's trunk.
Straight after The Killing Fields, we journeyed to The Genocide Museum; once a school it had been turned into a prison and torture chamber for (largely innocent) rebels during Pol Pot's occupation, and now a museum lest we forget. If possible the museum was even worse than The Killing Fields, it comprises three buildings, which were all at one time used as cells or worse. The first building was cells that housed beds that were nothing more than rusty frames, sometimes some shackles or torture equipment and pictures of those that had died there. The second building was similar but the cells had been divided by brick walls until they were small enough to barely fit a person. Finally the last building contains the photos of many (but not all) of those who died in the makeshift camp. It's a vastly disturbing display of hundreds upon hundreds of photos, many of them showing people badly beaten, or shot, including children. There are also stories from survivors lining the walls, that tell of the deaths of their whole family and how they survived. Many of the victims were simply learned people like teachers that Pol Pot thought a threat to his regime, and many of the museum visitors were reduced to tears at some point.
Then it was all of a sudden time to leave. Phnom Penh had been an enlightening if not always enjoyable city to visit. We left feeling immense respect for the people that live there in such adverse circumstances, who nonetheless are determined to make the best of it, and provide a better future for their children. I would love to return in ten or twenty years to see how it has changed, and how the next generation will impact on it.
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