Election Day 2008!

A Sobering Reminder....Tuol Sleng (S-21)

It's an unfortunate fact that Cambodian civilization appears to have reached its peak nearly 800 years ago and has been in a steady decline ever since. History has not been kind to the Cambodian people and the savage brutality of the Khmer Rouge that tore this country apart only 30 years ago is fresh in everyone's memory. Trying to sort out the tangled events that led to the deaths of 2 million Cambodians (an educated guess, at best) over three years and eight months is nearly impossible - I can't begin to fathom the depravity of Pol Pot and his followers.

On the surface, Cambodia appears to be just another developing country where daily life is a struggle for most. Just below the surface, however, lies a terrible history affecting almost every single Cambodian. Anyone over the age of 30 lived, and suffered, directly under the Khmer Rouge. Everyone has lost immediate and/or extended family members and the stories are heartwrenching. It seems as though every generation suffers from genocides - the Holocaust, Cambodia, Rwanda, Darfur. The thing that makes Cambodia somehow unique is that there was no rhyme or reason to the killing. Cambodians killed Cambodians. The educated city-dwellers were sent to their deaths by Khmer Rouge leaders who had gone to school in France. Initially, whole families, and even villages, were exterminated based entirely on their connections (real or imagined) to the previous government - which included simply living under that regime. And in the end, the Khmer Rouge, in fits of paranoia, turned on itself and - possibly in a twisted form of ironic justice - began torturing and killing its own.

Tuol Sleng was a notorious detention and torture center that the Khmer Rouge set up at a suburban Phnom Penh high school. Perceived enemies of the regime were sent there - along with their families - to be horribly tortured into giving "confessions" before being taken to the killing fields located on the outskirts of the city. There they were often forced to kneel on the edge of a pit before being beaten on the back of the head with an axe handle or heavy stick. As they lay among other bodies, their throats were slit. Occasionally, with hands bound behind their backs, plastic bags were simply tied over a person's head. The beatings and suffocations were used to save Khmer Rouge bullets. Between 1975 and 1978, 17,000 people of all ages and backgrounds entered Tuol Sleng. Only 7 survived.

Almost immediately after the Khmer Rouge's overthrow in 1979, Tuol Sleng was converted into a memorial and museum. Things remain much the same today as they were in 1980. The rusty barbed wire still surrounds the compound, the cells are still in place, and most disturbingly of all (for me) the tiled floors remain. As none of the former torture rooms or prison cells are cordoned off, I found myself walking on literally the same ground that prisoners were forced to sleep on, or were ultimately tortured and killed on. In addition, the Khmer Rouge were meticulous record keepers. When each prisoner arrived at S-21, their photos were were taken and biographies recorded (including several Americans, Canadians, Australians, and French). Today, the former holding cells contain hundreds, possibly thousands, of these black and white photographs. I've included just a few. Knowing that these people were terrified and facing torture and certain death as their photos were taken was hard to deal with. I won't lie, the visit affected me deeply and I spent the rest of the day in a minor state of depression. I assume it must be the same for visitors to the Nazi concentration camps - it was, after all the same thing.

I left with one question rolling around in my head: Why?

Phnom Penh...piece of cake

As usual, any apprehension I may have had about crossing a remote and little-used border staffed by reportedly corrupt officials bent on separating me from my money was COMPLETELY unwarranted. The trip from Chau Doc to Phnom Penh, although a little longer than anticipated (fighting an unusually swift Mekong current and, of couse, minor boat engine malfuntions), turned out to be a relative piece of cake. After motoring up the Mekong for a few hours, we made it to the Cambodian border by mid-day and turned over our passports and fees for processing. By the time the regular gaggle of food vendors had cleaned my pockets of soon to be worthless Dong, the passports had been signed, stamped, and returned. Good to go! Back on the boat for a few more hours before reaching the first town of any size, along with its paved road. Transfer to a waiting mini-van, and by 8:00pm we were rolling into Phnom Penh.

If there's one thing I hate when traveling, it's pulling into a strange city after dark - and by 6:00 southeast Asia is pitch black. Knowing full well that I was about to be another scammed schmuck, I grabbed a room at the guesthouse where I just "happened" to be dropped off. After a long day of travel, I was in no condition to go looking up and down dark alley ways for an alternative - especially since I had absolutely no idea where I was. I mean, the van driver just told us we were in Phnom Penh. We really could have been anywhere - I wouldn't have known any better. All I knew was that the locals weren't speaking Vietnamese anymore. After dropping my bags, filling my stomach with a plate of vegetable and rice, washed down with a cold beer, I was out.

As I stumbled down the stairs from my room the next morning, I looked out across the city and was happy to find that, instead of being sequestered in a random far-off corner of the Phnom Penh, I was smack dab in the middle of what passes for downtown. The spires and stupas of the Royal Palace looked as though they were a couple doors down and a quick glance at my ratty map showed that I was at least within walking distance of the river front. Both good signs. Phenom Penh isn't a big city, but it's nice to be in the middle of things, especially when your primary mode of transport are your Chacos.

After a morning of wandering (and getting lost) it was plain to see that I had crossed some sort of cultural divide when I entered Cambodia the day before. The Chinese-influenced Vietnam has given way to the Indian-influenced Khmer culture. Phnom Pehn feels much more like Thailand with it's colorful wats (temples), stupas (pagodas), and safron-robe wearing monks. Looking back on it, I don't recall seeing a single robed monk in Vietnam. But suddenly they are everywhere - even sitting next to me in the internet cafe as I type this. At first glance, Cambodia looks and feels poorer than Vietnam, which isn't surprising given its history. But I've just gotten here and before I start making any comparisons, I've got to get out and about. It'll take a few days to get my visa for Laos processed so I've got some time to explore. As for now, I'm just happy to be in Cambodia....wallet intact.

Welcome to CAMBODIA

Street crime is prevalent in urban areas. Armed robbery and other crime (including sexual offenses) have occurred during daylight hours (even in hotel rooms) in Phnom Penh and Sihanoukville, and in Siem Reap after dark. Foreigners have been robbed, some at gunpoint, and seriously injured. Travelers should not resist armed robbery; any perceived resistance may be met with physical violence, including lethal force. Bag theft has also increased in these areas, including during daylight hours, and Westerners appear to be the main targets. Pickpockets and bag snatchers often target those using local transport. Thieves on motorcycles frequently grab bags and other valuables from tourists riding on the back of motorcycles taxis. Local police rarely investigate reports of crime against tourists and travelers should not expect to recover stolen items.

There are high levels of firearm ownership in Cambodia and guns are sometimes used to resolve disputes. Military weapons and explosives remain readily available to criminals despite efforts by authorities to collect and destroy such weapons. Foreign tourists have been threatened, including with handguns, for perceived slights to local patrons in popular Phnom Penh nightclubs and elsewhere. There are reports of Western deaths resulting from illicit drug use in Cambodia.

Banditry continues in some rural areas - particularly at night in areas between Snoul, Kratie, and Stung Treng in the northeastern provinces. Foreigners have been targeted by ill-disciplined police or military personnel.

Attacks against ship in the South China Sea and surrounding seas have occurred.

There have been a small number of grenade/bomb attacks, although most have been linked to business or personal disputes. There is no evidence to suggest that Western interests have been the targets of these attacks. However, there is a danger that foreigners might get caught up in any further attacks.

(Excerpted from US State Department's Cambodia Country Report)

Great.........

End of the Road in Chau Doc

It's hard to believe that I've come to the end of my Vietnam adventure already. The last six weeks have taken me - via motorbike, train, boat, and bus - from Lai Chau and Sapa near the Chinese border in the north to Chau Doc, a small Mekong Delta town just a few river miles from the Cambodian border in the south. Although I doubt the differences between Vietnam and Cambodia will be overwhelming (the Delta was Cambodia for hundreds of years, after all) I'm trying particularly hard to enjoy my last full day in the country. Chau Doc has turned out to be yet another wonderfully mellow riverside town filled with more of the friendly southerners I've grown accustomed to since leaving Saigon. Although it's seen a fair share of misery over the years (mostly due to the Khmer Rouge), you'd never know it after a casual look around. I've spent the better part of two days wandering the streets and surrounding countryside and meeting a handful of locals - including Thuan, the 15 year old wonderkid from Cambodia who dragged me all over nearby Sam Mountain this morning. Although it's an out of the way sort of place, Chau Doc serves as a jumping off spot for river traffic into Cambodia. Word on the street is that crossing the border is fairly straight forward, if you don't mind paying a bribe or two to the corrupt Cambodian officials wielding the visa stamps. If all goes well, I'll be lining their pockets a bit by 10am tomorrow before heading into Phnom Penh to begin the next leg of the journey.

Traveling the length of Vietnam has been an amazing experience, and one, I'm sure, that won't entirely sink in until I'm back among friends and family in Utah.

While I'm sure that I had some preconceived notions about what I'd find in Vietnam, it has completely exceeded all of my expectations. The fantastically varied landscape and scenery combined with the absolute friendliness of the locals are what have touched me the most. Vietnam may not have the abundance of "Asian exoticism" that other nearby countries do - mostly due to the ravages of war, communism, and capitalism - but it more than makes up for it with a fascinating history and interesting people....who have survived more than their fair share of hardship and, yet, continue to make an American traveler feel welcome.

Floating the Mekong in Can Tho

After an uneventfully straight forward bus and motorbike ride from Vihn Long I arrived at another riverside town in the Delta called Can Tho. The guidebook says it's the largest city in the Mekong Delta with a population of just over 330,000 - which still makes it a relaxing breath of fresh air after Saigon. Sitting smack dab in the middle of the watery labyrinth of rivers, canals, and channels that make up the Mekong, Can Tho is unique due to its proximity to so many floating markets. Picture your regular fruit/vegetable/and everything else you can imagine market on dry land. Now put all the goods, vendors, and buyers on boats and add a river. That's a floating market. Almost immediately after arriving I was appraoched by a guy who said he could introduce me to a guy who would take me out on his small boat for some sightseeing, for a price, of course. After a little haggling, we had a deal. He said his friend would meet me at my guesthouse the following morning at 5:30am. After a short walk to the pier, he said we could be on the water in time for the sunrise.

I'll admit, to my surprise, his buddy showed up right on time. After waking the front desk clerk who was passed out cold on the lobby floor, I got him to unlock the main gate and off we went. I hate to say it, but I never figured out "the buddy's" name because he didn't speak a word of English. Well ok, he spoke three words that I know of: "fish," "frog," and "banana." Throughout the trip, he enthusiastically pointed out these three things over and over. He was one cool dude. I'll call him Buddy.

So, I spent the better part of a day crusing the Mekong and its meandering side channels with Buddy on his small wooden boat (sort of a longtail design ala Thailand). We managed to visit a the Cai Rang and Phong Dien floating markets while they were in full swing. Buddy just pushed our small boat right into the thick of it. I sipped coffee (provided by an enterprising guy in a floating drink stand) and snapped photos while my skipper bullshitted with all of his friends - he seemed to know alot of people. At one point, we tied off to a big barge that his friend was running and he motioned for me to climb up on top of the wheelhouse to get a better view of the activity around us. Like any good guide, safety be damned for a good photo op! By the early afternoon, I was getting a little saddle sore from the low wooden bench I was sitting on and near bursting with all the tropical fruit Buddy had me sample along the way. But instead of returning via the main river channel, Buddy took me home the back way - along small canals that run like back alleys behind homes and shops for a real behind the curtains tour. I cringed a bit whenever I saw someone swimming in the canals (not the cleanest water around) but had a blast watching surprised looks turn to smiles whenever we passed people just doing their thing. A great morning. Thanks Buddy!

Mekong Delta Days

After a slightly chaotic and confusion filled morning (including one last kick to the ass and wallet by an unscrupulous ticket salesman...or was he?....to be honest, I don't actually know who the guy was) I managed to break free of Saigon City using the only mode of transport available to my next destination - the city bus. After finding my way to one of several large bus stations scattered around the city - this one in Cholon, the China Town neighborhood - I was alternately laughed at and obviously pitied by the group of guys loitering around the bus station until one of them gesticulated madly at a bus that was pulling out of the gate. Thinking that anywhere would be better than hanging out at the bus station, I clambered aboard and found one of the last open seats. All appeared to be going well as we wove through the city sprawl in roughly the right direction - since the Vietnamese street signs were worthless to me, and no one on board spoke a word of English, I resorted to using the position of the sun (no kidding) to plot my course. To make a long story short, I was on the wrong bus, but eventually got on the right bus using the expensive services of the "mystery dude" mentioned above. Smarting from the loss of Dong but glad to know I could relax for the next several hours, I settled in and had a great time my fellow passengers - some of whom actually knew a few phrases in English.One woman assured me that the man who had helped me onto the bus was a "bad man" who "makes war" with everyone. Not sure what that means, but it didn't sound good at all and I was glad to have left him behind. Other than another woman dry heaving in the seat behind me, the drive to Vinh Long passed pleasantly.

Before too long we had left the outskirts of Saigon behind and had truely entered the Mekong Delta. With one eye on the periodic road signs to make sure I didn't miss my stop, I took in the pancake flat scenery. Greener than almost anything I've ever seen before, the Delta is crisscrossed by rivers and canals. Although the rivers all have their own individual names, they are really all part of the braided Mekong that spreads like an outstretched hand across the southern quarter of Vietnam. And it is a HUGE, MUDDY river, when you actually see one of the main channels. Amazing....but that's coming from a river geek.

I wasn't too impressed with the town of Vihn Long when I eventually arrived - of course, that was after yet another motorbike taxi drivers tried to overcharge me for the lift from the bus station. Independant travel is great, but all the middle men nickeling and diming you gets old quickly - the price you pay for being an illiterate mute in their county, I suppose. After a false start or two, I got oriented, found my way to a guesthouse and settled in. One short walk around town and a swing by the water front was all I needed to adjust my attitude. Vinh Long turned out to be a great place and I thoroughly enjoyed my two short days there. There's a different vibe in the Delta - very relaxed (lazy?) and friendly. Although I've never been, I assume it's the same sort of feeling you might find in America's deep south (KKK and bible thumpers notwithstanding). I spent most of my time walking the streets, exploring a ferry-accessible island in the middle of the channel, and giving myself a crash course in Cambodian history over coffee at a river side cafe. Yeah, the thumping karaoke from the disco down the road sucked at night, but all in all, a great place. Next, a hop over the Can Tho, a city on the other main channel of the Mekong.

Cao Dai Temple

While Vietnam is a predominantly Buddhist (first) and Catholic (second - thank the French) country, it is also home to the Cao Dai religion. It was founded in the Mekong Delta region by a mystic named Ngo Mihn Chieu in 1926 and, to put it simplistically, is a blend of "Buddhism, Confucianism, Taoism, native Vietnamese spiritualism, Christianity, and Islam." Among the more interesting aspects of the religion is belief that the spirits of Joan of Arc, Shakespeare, Lenin, and Victor Hugo can be contacted via seances in order to guide the living. Followers wear all white, are vegetarians, practice daily meditation, and attend prayers at the Cao Dai temple four times a day.

As part of our day tour out to Cu Chi we stopped to observe one of the prayer sessions from the upper balcony of the temple. I had mixed feelings about the visit - only because by the time the last tourist bus arrived, there were way more gawkers than actual Cao Dai members at the temple. While I was glad that we were all kept in the rafters in order to keep the disruptions to a minimum, it still felt a little awkard and I can't imagine why they would allow the tourist circus into town to watch the daily prayers. A Vietnamese guy from California told me later that the Communists have always had it out for the Cao Dai stemming from their refusal to support the VC during the war (I guess the Cao Dai had a standing army of about 25,000 men at one time). Anyway, the rumor is that the Cao

Dai are only allowed to practice their religion as long as it is made available to the public. Whatever the case, it felt pretty intrusive. But it was a great chance to experience, however briefly, another unique religion.

Cu Chi Tunnels...or fun with AK-47s

Well, I did it again. With a little apprehension I signed up for another organized day tour, as much for a break from the city as anything. Cu Chi is (today) a good size town located at the furthest reaches of the Saigon megopolis. Forty years ago, it was the site of the famous Cu Chi tunnels - an elaborate system of underground tunnels, dug several stories deep and stretching out for 250km. The tunnels were first built by the Viet Minh to fight the French and then upgraded by the Viet Cong to fight the Americans. The tunnels essentially allowed the VC to control an entire district within a stone's throw of the Saigon. When the Americans moved in to suppress the enemy activity, they ended up building a base right on top of the tunnel system without knowing it. In the end, the Americans destroyed most of the tunnels with massive B-52 bombing raids. Out of 16,000 VC fighters who used the tunnels during the war only abourt 6,000 survived. Today, the tunnels, in addition to attracting the regular contingent of foreign day trippers from Saigon, also serve as sort of a Gettysburg for regular Vietnamese. Lots of local tourists, especially school kids.

As it turns out, I got lucky and was assigned a great tour guide. "Slim Jim," a joke-cracking, thin as a rail, Saigonese guy picked our crew up in the city and spent the day with us. He had spent a couple of years in the South Vietnamese army and just sort of fell through the cracks of the purges that took place after the war. After a three-month stint in a "reeducation camp" where he was forced to learn the finer points of communist theory, the government turned him loose and he returned to his pre-war job as an English teacher. Now he spends his days dragging tourists through the tunnels and brushing up on his English slang. "FUBAR" (Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition) was his word of the day, in addition to "wakey, wakey" and "shake a leg."

The tunnels, although definitely upgraded for tourists (enlarged considerably), were actually pretty cool and worth the long drive out. The Vietnamese government has done a good job building an interpretative center and the place doesn't have the usual circus atmosphere that you find at many other Vietnamese historic sites. It really is fascinating to see the War from the perspective of the other side...and just to be reminded that there are always two sides. That being said, I can't imagine what it would have been like to have been an American soldier out here. Not good.

The tunnels complex today is situated in a forest - 40 years ago the whole area was a wasteland. One of the strangest sensations was walking quietly through the trees and listening to rounds being fired from rifles and machine guns over at the nearby shooting range. Oh yeah, there's a shooting range. At the end of the tour, we were all given the chance to take a few shots with our weapon of choice, for a fee, of course. I passed - but the Europeans in the group loved it. I suppose if you've never had any real exposure to guns, this would be a pretty far out experience. One of the Dutch girls in the group decided that a couple of shots were enough for her - too loud - so she gave me the rest of the magazine to pop off. I won't lie, it was pretty fun.