Cambodia

My first impression of Siem Reap was that it must be a traveller's dream; its airport has no jet-ways, conveyor belts and hardly a terminal to speak of. Its only fault is the government-imposed USD20 for visa application. Everyone was supposed to bring photographs for the visa application and I was foolish enough to pack mine into my check-in suitcase. I brazenly tried to clear customs without first securing a visa and was reprimanded with a harsh "Why you no tell me?" Second impression: Not a very friendly bunch, are they, these Cambodians.

We made our way to the Angkor Princess Hotel and since it was the off-peak season, we had the luxury of the young hotel manager personally showing us the different types of rooms available. Speaking perfect English, he had the demeanor of one trained in Swiss Hospitality Schools. Every morning, we would see him having breakfast alone in the Hotel Café and thereafter, strolling around the hotel premises aimlessly. We wondered if his daily routine was the same during peak seasons and if he ever had yearnings to run hotels in big cities.

Arun, the tour guide whom we hired to bring us around in Siem Reap met us at the hotel and brought us to Angkor Wat immediately upon our arrival. Arun spoke English with a French accent and took his job very seriously. Perhaps it was due to our Singaporean habit of asking for numbers as a mean to size up the country; we had asked about the population of Cambodia, income per capita and received all of that information in precise numbers from Arun, he flooded us with the exact distances from the hotel to Angkor Wat, from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap, the size of Siem Reap, so on and so forth.

Arun gathered us for a briefing before we were allowed to cross the moat that surrounds Angkor Wat. He spoke with pride of the Angkorian Kings who built Angkor Wat, the most powerful in Southeast Asia of that time, whose powers surpassed those in Vietnam and Thailand. Finally, with the end of his "Overview of Angkorian History" lesson, we were allowed to begin our expedition into Angkor Wat.

The view from outside deceives one on what awaits within the gates of Angkor Wat. As we ascend into the citadel, layer by layer, the complexities unfolds like a lengthy, powerful novel that's hidden in a puny paperback.

The enormity of Angkor Wat's beauty descended upon us while we rested after our tedious climb up the top of the central and tallest tower in the heart of Angkor Wat. Even with the buzz of tourists surrounding us, the solemnity of the temple meditated me. Its beauty is not of those found in the churches of Europe, it seeps into your skin as you breathe its sacred air. It hums of the centuries it has endured and exudes an ambience reciting that nothing really matters very much.

As we left Angkor Wat, all of us turned our heads back at almost every step, for a view into the world that was so surreal. And with each turn of our heads, its enchantment peeped out at us, promising it will remain and continue its endurance.

We proceeded to Angkor Thom and while admiring the 2 nagas (snakes) flanking the causeway outside of the Angkor Thom entrance; many small children who were trying to persuade us to buy something, anything, approached us. We told them we would be back later and their replies were, "okay, we will remember you."

Inside Angkor Thom, we went into the Bayon, the other legendary temple, with huge Buddha's facing all 4 directions on every tower. Their expressions varied from reproachful to almost humorous. As we walked around, we felt that we were not judged on what we had done wrong, but on why we took the world so seriously.

Departing from Angkor Thom, we were met by the shouts of the same group of children who had approached us, "Madame, I remember you!"

Jeanie, one of my companions took a particular interest in the scarves that a little girl was touting. After much bargaining, she decided to not to buy it at the price of 4 dollars that the little girl insisted on. We had already gotten back into our mini-van at this point and just as we slammed the door shut, the little girl, so angered, squeezed in her resentment with, "It's ok, madame, that you don't buy, because I bought it at 3 dollars."

We drove for a short distance with her look of spite fresh on our minds. Suddenly, Jeanie called for the driver to turn back and hunted down the little girl who was sitting with her mother, away from the rest of the children approaching our returning mini-van. Jeanie forced the money into her hands and she returned a look of resentful surprise, not quite over her bitterness yet. As we were about to drive off finally, she smiled and waved, with a look of reluctant forgiveness and gratitude.

We invited Arun to have dinner with us that night. This time, he treated us to his knowledge of modern Cambodian history, that of the Khmer Rogue and their atrocities. His Father was killed by the Khmer Rogue too, the same story that can be told of each Cambodian family that has survived. He told us of the members of the Khmer Rogue who are representing Cambodian interest in the United Nations and how that is unknown if any of them were behind the crimes that were committed in the 3 years, 8 months and 22 days that the Khmer Rogue was in power. And, he reduced it all to Karma, the convenient solution for the Cambodian authorities to prevent any bitterness and vengefulness from surfacing. Not that he sounded very convinced, but that he accepted it as a belief that would keep the peace that had been so difficult to procure.

Arun brought us to Bang Melea, Banteay Srei and East Mebon the next day. Outside East Mebon, a little girl about five or six, caught up with my step and smiled at me shyly. After a few steps, she asked, "Madame, where you from?" "Singapore," I told her.

"This one for you, madame," she said as she handed me a drawing on a piece of note-paper. It was of a mountain with a river flowing down and birds flying in the sky.

"Did you draw it yourself? I asked her. She nodded modestly.

"You have coins, madame?" I was somewhat caught off-guard by her question. Soon her little brother joined us and he told me that his name was Hine. He wrote it down on another piece of note-paper with the exact same drawing that his sister had just given to me. I realised that they had a stack of the same drawings in their pockets that they would give to tourists like me before asking for coins. Still I was impressed by their little effort in differentiating themselves from other street children. I hurried to our mini-van to ask the rest if they'd have any coins to give to the little girl. None of them had any coins. So I gave Hine and his sister 500 riel each before getting onto the mini-van.

They waited for me to get on and then came round to my window to wave at me frantically like I was their new-found best friend. There were plenty of fresh tourists around but they remained facing our mini-van, waving till we drove off. Jeanie shot a picture of them and showed it to me on her digital camera screen. Hine and his sister looked like the 2 happiest people in the world, or at least the happiest I had ever seen.

Having seen too many temples in too short a period of time, we went to the floating village the next day. The boat we rented brought us past the floating shops and homes amidst the pungent smells of the polluted waters. Away from the village, we cruised to a point where the sky and the waters merged. It was simply a refuge with no distinction between heaven and earth. All of us, not wanting to break the almost solemn silence, became lost in our own thoughts. The starting of the boat's motor broke our silence and brought us back to the smells of the waters.

***

The Toul Sleng Genocide museum was my sole reason of journeying onto Phnom Penh after Siem Reap. I have watched various documentaries on the Khmer Rogue Regime and how executions and torturings were carefully documented in that period. Most of such documentaries usually used Toul Sleng as a starting point and I was glad to have a chance to visit Toul Sleng and see its horrors for myself. However, nothing prepared me for the grip it would have on me.

I happened to be reading "The Gate" by Francois Bizot at that time and Bizot's interrogator who fought for his release was a man named Douch who was Duch, chief executioner at Toul Sleng. The man who gave the commands to kill and the man who made sure none who went into Toul Sleng would emerge alive. Bizot painted the human side of Duch and forced me to see more than the shocking deeds he committed. Duch truly believed that he was doing Cambodia a service. He subscribed to the Khmer Rogue doctrine of class cleansing, hook, line and sinker. And he was no lackey, being educated and fluent in French, it was his fervour beliefs that scared me the most. Even when the human mind is strong and sharp, what does it take to transform and control it? And what about minds that were not as sharp, wills that were not as strong? I couldn't imagine the mental tortures that they must have suffered. Everyone, even those in the high ranks of the Khmer Rogue must have been overcome by dilemmas, fear, guilt and paranoia that's enough to make anyone go crazy.

As all the blank faces on the photographs on Toul Sleng's walls stared at us, we were overcome by an odd sense of guilt. By virtue of not having gone through what they had, we were guilty of being the luckier ones. As we carried on, we saw the exhibit of the surviving Khmer Rogue soldiers and read their testaments of how they did not know what they were doing because they were so young at that time. And they simply followed orders they dared not defy. So who's guilty anyway? Was it only the crime of Brother No. 1, a convenient scapegoat, since he's already lying in his grave, or was the blood on the hands on each and every one of these ex-Khmer Rogue soldiers?

We left Toul Sleng, pensive and alone in our thoughts.

At the Russian Market, which we visited after Toul Sleng, I encountered a group of street urchins. I was deep in the maze of the market when I chanced upon them. We had prepared a bag of fruits and bread from breakfast, to give away to children who came begging. I had left the bag in the car that we had rented for the day. I signaled to the children to follow me and I went out of the market towards where the car was parked. The little street urchins followed me obediently, forming a line of 5 little boys and girls behind me.

When I reached the car, I unwrapped a bundle of cut papaya and showed it to them. They started giggling. It must have been the first time that a tourist presented them with fancily cut papaya. They took one each dutifully, even though there were enough to go a second round. I pushed the pile of cut papayas toward them again and they then took a second piece each shyly. I dug out some of the bread rolls we had packed, together with butter and jam. The little street urchins seemed to think that they had had enough and called out to 2 teenage girls standing nearby. The 2 girls just smiled shyly and didn't dare to come near. I walked over to them and showed them the bread, butter and jam. Slowly, they grabbed 1 pack of butter each. I stuffed the jam and bread rolls in their hands and they smiled at me, their appreciation shining through their eyes.

At lunch with the driver whose car we had hired, we were told that anything can be bought in Cambodia. How much for a gun? Pistol - USD30, more for a rifle. Bullets would be the most expensive. How much as a life worth? Not much, murders happen all the time and investigations are never carried out.

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I had gone to Cambodia with no real knowledge of the country, its people, or its culture. I was only looking for serenity - a much-needed respite or perhaps a temporary escape, to see Angkor Wat, hoping to recharge my soul with its legendary beauty. I did not expect to be affected the way Cambodia had affected me. I found the peace I was looking for in Angkor Wat. And more than that, I had also found it in a people so resilient and forgiving; so humble and proud; so gracious and terrifying. I have learnt in a way I couldn't learn from books or documentaries that sometimes, peace has to be bought, and sometimes it cost 3 million dead souls, and sometimes, it has to be bought from those who may have robbed it from you in the first place. And peace is, after all, a relative term.

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Published on 4/27/04