A mission to the south (update)

I know I've written about my 2-week trip already but I've realised that, upon reflection, there's so much more to be shared so here it is again in its entirety!

Two weeks break has enabled me to take in some of the other gems that Cambodia has to offer. From Phnom Penh I journeyed south to the seaside town of Kep, trekking around the national park which I had virtually all to myself. The mountainside provides amazing views of the surrounding coastline and distant bonfires from local villages.

I stayed a night in a bamboo hut on Koh Tonsay (Rabbit Island) which has no motor vehicles and electricity for only a few hours a day. It was good to be able to inform people of the plight of the Vietnamese and the work being done by the CMA in Siemreap.

From there, I took the bus to Kampot which is about 26km along the coast. There was a German guy on the bus who was a little too keen to join me to find a guesthouse in order to share a room to lower costs. Whilst it’s good to help people on the road, I had a gut feeling that this would not be a wise decision and despite repeatedly telling him I was a confirmed lone-traveller, he seemed to get increasingly agitated. I told him that if he had a problem, he knew where to find me but that he’d have to find a room elsewhere. Thankfully, he went on his way and I went off to find a pub with wi-fi so that I could follow the Cherries, which I managed to do.

The next day, I took a 100km bus ride to Sihanoukville which is a coastal town in southern Cambodia that sees many contrasts – from the opulence of the Russians who own significant portions of the area to the long-time Euro ex-pats who, by the look of them, perhaps really should think about going home. And then of course there’s the Khmers whose faces light up when attempts are made to communicate with them in their own language and when you smile and show them respect – that’s what their culture is all about..goodness knows what they must think of ours.

I hooked up with a French girl so we split tuk-tuk fares whilst trying to find accommodation. The middle beaches are over-crowded and the surrounding area is a tourist ghetto so we headed for Otres beach, with white sand and swaying palms. We found mushroom-shaped bamboo-thatched beach bungalows which even had a dormitory which was her preferred choice of accommodation. I had my own simple bungalow with just a thin mattress, pillow, towel and a hanging wickerwork light.

We chatted on the beach and it was obvious that she lived a hedonistic lifestyle but then that’s what many backpackers are all about: they travel to distant places to party and to be devoid of the cares and responsibilities of back home. She’d been talking about a book she was reading about people who have everything but still have something missing. So I gave her my testimony through which it was revealed to her what that missing something is. She listened intently to the story of how I came to Christ and although her response was one of respectful apathy, I prayed that my words would linger long in her memory and that those seeds, having been initially sown, would then be watered by the continued chain of divine appointment.

Anyway, as I spent the next day or so vomiting for England, I decided to move to another part of Sihanoukville where I could recuperate in the relative luxury of a room with air-conditioning.

I stumbled across a street in town full of bars and westerners who obviously aren’t in Cambodia to visit temples. I heard some of them discussing their previous night’s behaviour and it saddened me: these guys were British, probably retirees, and I thought to myself how sad it is that they don’t know any other way or if they do, choose to not adhere to it. It’s nice to be different from those who come here merely to corrupt and exploit the innocence of the local people.

I heard another Brit in an internet café the other day, shouting in English to try to make himself understood and quite frankly it was utterly embarrassing, everything I hate about Brits abroad; he then upped and left without paying.

At my accommodation, it was a shame though as I went down to reception to discover the normally-playful guesthouse dog lying in a pool of blood. I tried to find out what happened:

Me: “What’s happened to the dog?”
Receptionist: “Someone try to kill him”
Me: “Why ever would anyone want to do that??”
Receptionist: “So they can eat him.”

Well, I did ask.

The next morning I discovered that the dog had since died. I didn’t, however, ask how he was disposed of so I stuck to beans on toast at the guesthouse restaurant just in case.

So anyway, I spent time on the beach this week and Asia is a place where you can get hassled relentlessly on beaches but at Victory beach the Cambodians aren’t as full-on as other places I’ve experienced.

Before long though, I was approached by two young local women, one of whom wanted to deliver the services of manicure and pedicure and the other was selling fried lobster from a large basket carried above her head. Now let’s get this straight, I am not a regular at receiving such pampering but before long I was having my nails clipped and filed (although at times it felt like she was using an angle grinder).

I was being asked the usual questions: “Where your wife?” and “Why you no married?” whilst at the same time refusing the continued sales patter of the lady lobster seller, who couldn’t understand how I’d succumbed to the lure of a manicure whilst not desiring one of her once-fresh fried lobsters.

“Your skin velly bad - my lobster good for your skin” she said. “If you have lobster, your skin get velly good and you find velly nice wife when you go home!”

Even with such a high level of commitment to marketing creativity, I continued to resist and her lobsters remained at the mercy of the mid-day sun and on she went to find some custom.

Still having my nails done (sounds really weird saying that) I was talking to the girl in English and bits of broken Khmer about being a Christian and working with the Vietnamese. She said she was a Buddhist and when I asked her why, she said it was because her parents were. Amazingly, she then asked me why I was a Christian so I was able to tell her about Jesus and why He died, about grace, forgiveness and heaven. As she carried on clipping my nails I went on to share my testimony in part, in a way that I sensed would be relevant to her.

As I told her that Jesus loved her, her response was interesting. She asked how Jesus could love her whilst she didn’t love Him so I told her that He loved her anyway and that He had a plan for her life.

Unfortunately, I didn’t know her name but God does and my prayer is that it is a name that is written in the Book of Life. You know, it is a whole lot easier sharing Jesus when you realize that God is already at work in that person’s life.. and this encounter was God using me the way I’m wired and it is for reasons like this day that I am out here doing what I’m doing.

So, with a tinge of sadness, I left Sihanoukville for Phnom Penh and then back home to Siemreap. It wasn't without incident as the bus had another puncture and we had to stop off at a tyre-fitter's to have the spare put on. The spare, however, was bald and even had a split in it! Thankfully, we made it back OK :0)

Until next time
Dan

A Post from Phnom Penh

I’d been so looking forward to getting away from Siemreap for a couple of weeks but it didn’t start well as firstly my pick-up didn’t arrive to take me to the bus station. When I got on the bus, I discovered that my seat had been double-booked so I ended up sitting up the front with the driver, putting my feet on the dashboard as there was no leg room.

Then en-route, we had a tyre blow-out which went with a huge bang but one of the locals on board was soon clambering under the bus, jacking it up (with people still on board!) and then changing the wheel at the roadside. The tyre that blew out had a huge hole ripped out of it so I guess we were quite lucky.

Six hours later, I arrived at the guest house to be told that they’d forgotten to book me in(!) so I stayed in another one just across the road which on the whole turned out OK. Funny really, as frustrating as things can be out here, you just become accustomed to expect the unexpected and you just smile and deal with it. You should never kick up a fuss out here (a cultural no-no) and besides, things usually work out. Sadly though, some do still forget to leave their western ways at home.

Anyway, think of a city - terrorist attacks, muggings, knife-crime.. I’d heard stuff about Phnom Penh being lawless but actually these things only come to mind when I think of London. As I wandered the streets of Phnom Penh I felt less threatened than in London. Actually, there is a real friendliness from the locals as you greet them in their language as you wander the wide tree-lined boulevards admiring the French colonial architecture.

Phnom Penh was smaller than I’d anticipated and I’d say that you can walk most of it in a day. The waterfront is particularly nice as you take in the refreshing breeze from the river which you can feel as you approach it from the city. The first notable landmark I came across was Diamond Bridge (below), where over 350 people lost their lives in a stampede during a Buddhist water festival in November last year. It was eerie standing on the same spot where so many had perished but it was an opportunity to pause for thought and pray for those who were lost and for those still in hospital.

I continued on my way along the waterfront and chose to sit down at Sisowath Quay, facing the water for a while and to take the opportunity to pray quietly. As I sat, I was approached by a young woman, unkempt and speaking very broken English. She sat down beside me and for the first time on the trip, I was physically offered drugs; she took out a plastic packet and discreetly showed it to me. I guess I should’ve known that this was going to happen at some point and so after my obvious declination, we then had a very interesting conversation albeit in my very broken Khmer and her smattering of English.

I just felt such pity for her; her face was drawn and she seemed to have an underlying unhappiness. I told her that she didn’t need to do what she was doing and that Jesus loved her and that He had a better plan for her life. But at this point (and for my own safety) I wasn’t hanging around. It was wise to move on so I stopped briefly to chat with a security guard and then made my way back into town, praying for the girl as I went.

However, my main purpose for visiting Phnom Penh was to understand more about how the people suffered under the Khmer Rouge’s regime of extreme communism. During this time in the seventies, the people of Phnom Penh and other large towns and cities were evacuated to the countryside to carry out forced labour. The educated of society were imprisoned and executed; you didn’t have to be particularly well-educated but if you, for example, were a local government officer or even merely wore spectacles then you were on the Khmer Rouge’s hit list.

Many people were held in the S21 prison in Phnom Penh (pictured above, which was ironically a high school formerly) where they were tortured. It is now a museum but much of it is exactly as it was left. As you walk into each cell, all they contain are a single metal bed and the implements of torture that are still there after all these years. There are photos on some of the walls showing some of the victims just after they had been tortured in the very room in which you are standing. They were beaten, water-boarded and electrocuted for ‘confessions’ of crimes against the state.

Many died there but many were blindfolded and then transported by truck the 15km to the Killing Fields of Cheung Ek where they were mercilessly beaten to death and buried in shallow graves. No-one was exempt; men, women and children were all killed. Excavation in recent years has enabled some of the people to be given more dignified burials but many of the human remains are now on display inside tiered glass cabinets (pictured above)in a stupa built as a memorial to all who lost their lives. As the years and subsequent monsoon rains pass, the site gives up more and more of its grisly past as more remains and pieces of clothing are brought to the surface.

As I walked the grounds, I remembered that a friend had previously visited the site and had mentioned the prominence of Ezekiel 37 5:6: 4 Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones and say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the LORD! 5 This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. 6 I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the LORD.’” Indeed, there are many sites such as this all over Cambodia, some still being discovered today. Millions died due to Pol Pot's extreme idealism - they innocently followed their dictator's order to be lead into the countryside to become 'New People' but instead were to be slaughtered or to die of malnutrition, disease and from utter despair. Sometimes lessons from history are never learned from but hopefully this will be something never to be repeated.

So in conclusion, I valued my time in Phnom Penh; I loved walking around in the heat of the day taking in the atmosphere, witnessing the grandeur of the Royal Palace, the spiritual significance of Wat Phnom and the crazy markets where you can buy pretty much anything.

It was hard to imagine the streets being so empty after the initial evacuation by the Khmer rouge 30-odd years ago but now, as this city aims to retain something of its glorious past in the days prior to its troubles, it is now building upwards to accommodate those entrusted with the economic growth of its future.