Cambodians know what’s happening to their country: the illegal logging, selling land to line the pockets of key officials, corruption and suppression of free speech. Yet there’s a feeling of resignation, certainly from those people with all-too-clear memories of the Khmer Rouge. But remember the Arab Spring? A wonder if a similar explosion will happen in Cambodia. Whilst the elders remain subdued, the younger generation seem very clued up on their country in comparison to the rest of the world. Western culture gets through via movies and music, and it’s their dream. We are living their dream. And surely the bubble will burst, maybe not now or next year, but at some point I wouldn’t be surprised if the people take back control of their country and their destiny.
Dol, my (very good) moto driver knew the deal. He showed me rubber, coffee and fruit crops grown on land sold, and the trees cut and sold to Vietnam (ultimately destined for that global juggernaut, China). Mahogany is (was?) abundant here – dusty street cafes with incongruous mahogany dinner tables and chairs.
Cambodia’s border is moving, gradually being stolen by Thailand and Vietnam, like a small sapling suffocated by the taller, stronger trees around it.
“Bou Sra” is a large double waterfall about one hour from Sen Monorom. Being a bit of a water-baby I was keen to see it. Shoulda guessed that it would be touristified – stalls led down to the waterfront, as well as a busker:
It’s pretty here… and the land has just a been sold to a rich Cambodian who has plans for world domination:
A posh hotel and a zip line is all that’s there at the moment. Why someone would want to take such a picturesque place and ruin it with a zip line is beyond me. But they follow the tourists, because tourists mean cash. I’m sure you’re getting the picture… and it’s not pretty, not good for the majority of Cambodians and not sustainable.
“No tourists,” Dol pointed out. We were sat in a river propped up against a small waterfall for a massage. “You know why? No road, no signs.” Good point – he’d dived off in a dirt track and stripped off.
Much smaller than Bou Sra but just as picturesque and people weren’t trying to sell me t-shirts. We stayed quite a while, just talking. Dol is 45, is married with four children and has never been out of Cambodia. He used to be a trucker, but earns more as a moto driver (like Cuba, the best-paid jobs are those dealing with tourists). He works whenever a tourist wants to go out and doesn’t go on holiday (because he can’t afford the trip nor the time off).
At the coffee plantation where we stopped for lunch, Dol ordered an iced coffee and offered me a sip. I’m not much of a coffee drinker, but it was the strongest I’ve ever tasted – like neat coffee, bitter but not overly so.
Dol suggested the Ban Chav for lunch. “Do you know how to eat it?” asked the waitress and proceeded to demonstrate how to collect some of the leaves and herbs, tear off some of the omelette-like stuff (actually made with rye (or did he say “rice”?) flour) and then a pinch of the omelette “filling”. Wrap it up, dip it in the sauce (I bypassed the hot chili) and down it goes. Delicious. Kinda reminded me of fajitas in the way you construct it yourself.
The “minority village” on the tour was actually one house… and they admitted they’d had another built, so how much this one was used I’m not sure, but it was like stepping back in time. A fire burned in the middle of a shack made of wooden posts and weaved walls, with a raised platform with bamboo slats covered with a rug:
“Do you have houses like this?” the old woman asked. Hmmm, how to answer, I thought. “In the C16”, probably wasn’t too diplomatic even if it was truthful. They know Europe is very different but I’m not sure what good would come of them knowing just how much more advanced we are. So I resolved it by explaining we used to, but as England is much colder our houses are made of brick. And left it at that. But then her son-in-law appeared… with a really flashy mobile phone. And then my phone started beeping as text messages came in. I stepped outside to see their back “yard”, and there was a massive telephone mast in their back garden. All over Cambodia I’ve witnessed the same thing: poverty with technology slicing through it. But they’ve jumped in at mobile phones, skipping the “research and development” phase. Very incongruous, but only to a naive western mind, I guess.
People marry young here: 17/18 for girls; a few years older for boys. And children are important: with no state healthcare, children are your insurance policy. Dol explained that even women who don’t want to marry have children. Unfortunately some (and some of those whose marriages break down) end up in prostitution. I didn’t ask how he knew, but Dol advised that the going rate was $10, with the girl keeping $5 and her pimp getting the other half. He provides food and shelter… and almost certainly makes a handsome profit, too. But again, things are changing – when people go to school/college they now have boyfriends and girlfriends, something so far not part of their culture. Apparently, they sneak out to “have a good time” but use contraception. Just another inkling that things might change round here within our lifetime.
Cambodia is in the middle of a 15-day festival, finishing on 11 Oct. Temples start the loud music from 5am (aargh!), with a break between midday and 3pm (very like a siesta and for the same reason – it’s baking hot here). Their society is a lot more religious, so the majority of people will partake in the ritual of attending 7 or so pagodas within this time, bringing food for the monks (and for a corker of a party afterwards). It’s amazing to see, but makes me feel even more like an intruder, so I haven’t ventured into many. The temple on the hilltop near Sen Monorom was the same, but the view was great:
And this view is called the “Forest Sea” because the shades of green (not visible in this photo because I’m a rubbish photographer) look like waves. I just hope that they can hold on to it amid the government mass sell-off.
“Uh-oh”, said Dol with a sharp intake of breath, and he brought the moto to an abrupt halt. He tensed, and shut off the engine.
“What?”
“Snake,” he whispered. Sure enough, a pale leaf-green snake with a pinky-red tail was making its way, in its own time (as snakes have the prerogative to do), across the road.
“Cool! Is it poisonous?”
He nodded. I think he also thought I was mad. I got off the moto, but obviously didn’t go any closer.
It was going to be difficult to beat today’s wildlife encounter. I’ve seen snakes, but this is my first poisonous one (that I know – I didn’t stop to talk to the one in California).
Sen Monorom waterfall still kept its sparkle, though. It struck me that, apart from the types of trees, it could well be somewhere within England.
And then home, via the dusty track:
… with a bruised derriere (it’s not as padded as I thought) after a fantastic, educational day. Thanks, Dol 🙂