Tuesday, 16 Sep 2008
Nick finds both wonder and despair in Cambodia
Nick Claxton has never ventured outside of Europe before but a combination of too many years in London, a lack of proper responsibilities and an unhealthy admiration for Michael Palin now means he is spending a year travelling the globe. A terminally-disorganised 24-year-old taking on the world - solo. Here is his 18th blog entry:
The beaten track in Thailand is so wide that forging a path off it takes a lot of effort - and I'm not sure it's worth it in the south. If you're looking for The Beach here, as far as I'm concerned it doesn't exist. I'd say forget the beaches and head up north.
For me though, Thailand's seemingly endless tourist trail in the south had left me yearning for something completely new. So after two nights in the 'diving Mecca' of Ko Tao, I was simply beached-out. Then it was only a brief stopover back in Bangkok and a night's break from the bus in Chanthaburi before Charlie and I were walking up to the border guards at Ban Pakard - a dusty, under-used entry point to Cambodia.
We'd chosen this crossing as it avoids the well-trodden trip further north to Poipet - where tales of double-payment visa scams had reached me even down in Malaysia.
But moreover, crossing at Ban Pakard gave us a straight run to Battambang - a well-preserved French colonial town in its own right, but also the starting point for a stunning boat ride up to Siem Reap and the Angkor Wat temples.
I could feel my excitement for entering Cambodia rising as we drove in our sawngthaew (covered pick-up truck) up through the hills to the border. Rolling green spread out all around, beneath which lay the explosive relics of a terrible past. But entering this scarred country proved slightly more complicated than our carefully-laid plans had envisaged.
After nine months backpacking round Australia, Charlie's passport was slightly the worse for wear and one empty page had a small tear off one corner. We hadn't even noticed, but for the Cambodian border guards this was a 'big problem'.
Unfortunately, our Cambodian is not really up to scratch and 'big problem' was almost all the English they could speak. Arguing our case became a circular dialogue where we'd plead, show them Charlie's flight details from Phnom Penh and look stubborn, then they'd nod their heads, point at the ripped passport and say it was still a 'big problem'.
Half an hour later, one guard apparently changed his mind and stepped out to make a phone call. There was just time to share some of the guards' bananas before he was back smiling and handing Charlie her month-long visa ($30).
I'm sure the relief was clear on both our faces as we joyfully jumped on the back of two motorbikes and took off through landmine-strewn hills to the nearby town of Pailin ($5). There, we oversaw taxi drivers fighting over who could grab our backpacks first before heading straight off for a bouncy four-hour ride ($10 each) along to Battambang - gazing out at flat fields stretching as far as the horizon.
We arrived at the Hotel Chacha (twin room for $8/night) as darkness fell, but walking around town I still could see the French influence - especially by the river where wide bridges span the water and a broad path runs alongside, which is filled each night by locals eating in the host of mini-restaurants.
Our exploration of Battambang was only brief that night, however, as drivers outside the hotel had sold me on taking a tour of the area the next day ($20 each for full day tour). Moony proved a great guide around the Angkor-era temples, Buddhist sites, local farms and our bone-rattling ride on the ramshackle bamboo railway. But more absorbing and certainly horrifying for me was the trip to the Killing Caves.
Here, Khmer Rouge followers had destroyed resistance in the area by killing off anyone seen as intellectual - notoriously including anyone with glasses - by blind-folding them and having them walk towards the holes that drop precipitously some 65 feet to the rock caves below.
Moony told us that some died straight away, while others survived the fall only to starve to death in the caves. At other times the sharp edge of a palm leaf was used to cut the throats of victims before hurling them into the pit - both to save time and bullets.
Just gazing up at the sunlight through the hole in the rock ceiling spurs the imagination into picturing the pain and despair of the victims, while a Buddhist shrine filled with hundreds of skulls gives a starker testimony. I swallowed hard and made my way up into the shrine perched on top of the hill, trying to come to terms with the horror underground in the peace of the open air.
After all I'd read about the Khmer Rouge, this was my first face to face contact with their poisonous influence that ravaged Cambodia. And with ex-members still in all parts of society, the legal cases rumbling on unresolved and an obvious legacy of extreme poverty, I found it hard to put the country's dark past out of my mind.
Luckily, we spent that evening at the Battambang circus ($6/person). Here, French ex-pats had started teaching local children to draw but ended up creating a spectacular touring circus featuring dare-devil acrobatics set to traditional Buddhist tales.
Seeing the kids get a chance to enjoy themselves, learn something new and break out of their poor surroundings was a perfect antithesis to the morning's darker pall. It helped that the acrobats were amazingly talented, despite being mainly amateurs - plus all the money paid by tourists gets pumped back into the charity to help even more local kids.
Buoyed by our night at the circus, we boarded the slow-boat up to Siem Reap feeling better able to comprehend Cambodia's shadowy side while enjoying its charm and incredibly friendly people. Even as we lay back among fellow tourists on the roof of the boat, the Cambodians could still make us feel welcome - most of the next eight hours was spent waving to the laughing children running to the banks to watch us pass by!
Nicolas Claxton
Nick finds both wonder and despair in Cambodia
Nick Claxton has never ventured outside of Europe before but a combination of too many years in London, a lack of proper responsibilities and an unhealthy admiration for Michael Palin now means he is spending a year travelling the globe. A terminally-disorganised 24-year-old taking on the world - solo. Here is his 18th blog entry:
The beaten track in Thailand is so wide that forging a path off it takes a lot of effort - and I'm not sure it's worth it in the south. If you're looking for The Beach here, as far as I'm concerned it doesn't exist. I'd say forget the beaches and head up north.
For me though, Thailand's seemingly endless tourist trail in the south had left me yearning for something completely new. So after two nights in the 'diving Mecca' of Ko Tao, I was simply beached-out. Then it was only a brief stopover back in Bangkok and a night's break from the bus in Chanthaburi before Charlie and I were walking up to the border guards at Ban Pakard - a dusty, under-used entry point to Cambodia.
We'd chosen this crossing as it avoids the well-trodden trip further north to Poipet - where tales of double-payment visa scams had reached me even down in Malaysia.
But moreover, crossing at Ban Pakard gave us a straight run to Battambang - a well-preserved French colonial town in its own right, but also the starting point for a stunning boat ride up to Siem Reap and the Angkor Wat temples.
I could feel my excitement for entering Cambodia rising as we drove in our sawngthaew (covered pick-up truck) up through the hills to the border. Rolling green spread out all around, beneath which lay the explosive relics of a terrible past. But entering this scarred country proved slightly more complicated than our carefully-laid plans had envisaged.
After nine months backpacking round Australia, Charlie's passport was slightly the worse for wear and one empty page had a small tear off one corner. We hadn't even noticed, but for the Cambodian border guards this was a 'big problem'.
Unfortunately, our Cambodian is not really up to scratch and 'big problem' was almost all the English they could speak. Arguing our case became a circular dialogue where we'd plead, show them Charlie's flight details from Phnom Penh and look stubborn, then they'd nod their heads, point at the ripped passport and say it was still a 'big problem'.
Half an hour later, one guard apparently changed his mind and stepped out to make a phone call. There was just time to share some of the guards' bananas before he was back smiling and handing Charlie her month-long visa ($30).
I'm sure the relief was clear on both our faces as we joyfully jumped on the back of two motorbikes and took off through landmine-strewn hills to the nearby town of Pailin ($5). There, we oversaw taxi drivers fighting over who could grab our backpacks first before heading straight off for a bouncy four-hour ride ($10 each) along to Battambang - gazing out at flat fields stretching as far as the horizon.
We arrived at the Hotel Chacha (twin room for $8/night) as darkness fell, but walking around town I still could see the French influence - especially by the river where wide bridges span the water and a broad path runs alongside, which is filled each night by locals eating in the host of mini-restaurants.
Our exploration of Battambang was only brief that night, however, as drivers outside the hotel had sold me on taking a tour of the area the next day ($20 each for full day tour). Moony proved a great guide around the Angkor-era temples, Buddhist sites, local farms and our bone-rattling ride on the ramshackle bamboo railway. But more absorbing and certainly horrifying for me was the trip to the Killing Caves.
Here, Khmer Rouge followers had destroyed resistance in the area by killing off anyone seen as intellectual - notoriously including anyone with glasses - by blind-folding them and having them walk towards the holes that drop precipitously some 65 feet to the rock caves below.
Moony told us that some died straight away, while others survived the fall only to starve to death in the caves. At other times the sharp edge of a palm leaf was used to cut the throats of victims before hurling them into the pit - both to save time and bullets.
Just gazing up at the sunlight through the hole in the rock ceiling spurs the imagination into picturing the pain and despair of the victims, while a Buddhist shrine filled with hundreds of skulls gives a starker testimony. I swallowed hard and made my way up into the shrine perched on top of the hill, trying to come to terms with the horror underground in the peace of the open air.
After all I'd read about the Khmer Rouge, this was my first face to face contact with their poisonous influence that ravaged Cambodia. And with ex-members still in all parts of society, the legal cases rumbling on unresolved and an obvious legacy of extreme poverty, I found it hard to put the country's dark past out of my mind.
Luckily, we spent that evening at the Battambang circus ($6/person). Here, French ex-pats had started teaching local children to draw but ended up creating a spectacular touring circus featuring dare-devil acrobatics set to traditional Buddhist tales.
Seeing the kids get a chance to enjoy themselves, learn something new and break out of their poor surroundings was a perfect antithesis to the morning's darker pall. It helped that the acrobats were amazingly talented, despite being mainly amateurs - plus all the money paid by tourists gets pumped back into the charity to help even more local kids.
Buoyed by our night at the circus, we boarded the slow-boat up to Siem Reap feeling better able to comprehend Cambodia's shadowy side while enjoying its charm and incredibly friendly people. Even as we lay back among fellow tourists on the roof of the boat, the Cambodians could still make us feel welcome - most of the next eight hours was spent waving to the laughing children running to the banks to watch us pass by!
Nicolas Claxton
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