Siem Reap Update

27/09/08
Today is the first wedding anniversary of my good friends Steven and Mary Browne. It is also the one year anniversary of the end of a six year relationship I had been in. That day, one year ago, marked a change for all three of us. Steven and Mary began a new life as husband and wife; I moved home to my parents’ house, again. For nine months Mary carried their first child who would become known, on arrival, as Daniel. I spent those nine months running through the gamut of emotions; relief, guilt, anger, disappointment, fear, self recrimination, confusion; most of them concurrently. The last three months would have to be spent doing something radically different. Since Cameron Diaz wasn’t open to the idea of spending a quarter of a year hanging around Ballybrack with me I decided to travel. Most of what I have experienced in these past three months has been recorded on this blog. Not everything, but most of it. It certainly has been an incredible few months and it isn’t over yet.

It is Saturday afternoon as I write. I have been neglecting my blogging duties so today I intend to make up for it. I began writing today while having a hotdog in Lucky Burger. I have now arrived in the Blue Pumpkin coffee shop. I have ordered a coconut and wild berries sorbet. As I wait for my cool afternoon delight I have been given an icy cold wet towel to wipe my face and neck with. Oh, such excellent service. As I walked the few blocks from burger joint to coffee shop a large rat appeared on the pavement beside me. It was the largest rat I have seen in my life. A Cambodian mother and child sitting outside a shop front saw it too. It was obvious from their apathetic stares that it was nothing new to them. This rat didn’t scurry along close to the wall. It walked nonchalantly in the middle of the pavement , in broad daylight, sniffing about the place just like a dog. I walked on.

Chaan Sras called up to Siem Reap to see me. She stayed six nights in the guest house next door to my lodgings. She would happily have stayed for longer but as it was I who was paying for her accommodation I gently insisted she go back home with the promise from me that I would call back down to Sihanoukville to see her before I go home. The night before she arrived I sat alone at a bar in Pub Street. A voice beside me said, ‘Hello handsome, where you from?’ Turning to my left I beheld a lady boy smiling at me and enquiring if it was okay to sit beside me. I said nothing; he sat down beside me. More questions, ‘What your name? Have you girlfriend? Will you buy me drink?’. I had half a beer to go yet. I attracted the barmaid’s attention and indicated that a drink should be served to the ‘lady’. I could see the staff snickering behind their hands. We are all God’s children, as the saying goes, and I have no problem buying a drink for a bloke who is a bit mixed up. It was the not so gentle poking in the ribs to punctuate each question that made me finish my beer quicker than I had intended. As I got down from the barstool and paid my bill, the lady boy asked me if I was sleeping alone that night. I said I was and that I was quite happy about the fact. ‘Good bye’, I said, ‘Good luck for you’. The staff looked disappointed that the barang had read the situation correctly and was not going to be faced with a ‘Crying Game’ moment later on. The lady boy was left to finish his whiskey and coke alone.
When Chaan Sras arrived the next day and I related the story to her she shrugged her shoulders and said it was up to me what I wanted to do. If that was the kind of thing I liked then that was okay, could I just let her know. I know how these things work over here, if I spend a lot of time and energy insisting that the idea of me with a lady boy is terrible, she will take it that I am declaring undying love for her, Chann Sras, that is. So I simply said, ‘Yeh, fair enough, I’ll let you know’.
During the week, as we walked down Pub Street hand in hand, I spied the same lady boy walking from the opposite direction. I discreetly pointed him out to Chaan Sras. Next thing I know, the lady boy is shouting directly at Chaan Sras; a barrage of Cambodian insults aimed right at her. Chaan Sras squeezed my hand and made straight for the nearest tuk-tuk. The driver immediately fired up his engine and without looking back drove us away from the irate cross dresser. ‘How strange’, I thought. Chaan Sras wouldn’t talk about it in the tuk-tuk. It was dark as we arrived back at the guesthouse. I had to run back to my digs for something. Coming back I realised I had the key for Chaan Sras’s room; she couldn’t get in until my return. Outside my place two lady boys walked by. ‘Hello sir, you want massage?’ Jesus man, they’re everywhere. ‘Otey, or’kun’, I said as I disappeared down the alleyway that leads to the Golden Village Guesthouse. Chaan Sras stood waiting in the alleyway. Just as we kissed the two lady boys appeared. Seeing me with a woman they did an about turn and vanished back around the corner. Chaan Sras explained to me then that the lady boys in Siem Reap are ‘powerful’. They appear to have some sort of mafia thing going on. Even the police are afraid of them. If you make a lady boy in Siem Reap angry you could end up dead. The lady boy had obviously remembered me and took out his anger on Chaan Sras.

In Siem Reap there are numerous pizza restaurants. They have names such as Happy Herb Pizza and Happy Smile Special Pizza. Not being a great fan of Asian food these establishments are a life line for me. The pizzas are good. Served with the toppings of your choice, they are also sprinkled with marijuana. For about an hour after eating a pizza I usually feel happy, I usually feel special and I tend to smile a lot. If you want to feel happier still they are more than willing to sell you a bag of ‘seasoning’ for ten dollars. I have not been tempted as I don’t fancy having to deal with the police around here. From all accounts the police are incredibly corrupt. There is respect for the army but the police are loathed by everyone. I have been told that it costs a lot of money to become a police man and then you have to pay for your ‘patch’. When you have your patch it is up to you how many bribes you can accumulate. The patches that get more bribes cost more initially to buy but if it is a good patch you could make your money back quickly.

For years I have had a thing for Japanese women. To me they were simply stunning. Here in Siem Reap, being a mainly tourist town, all nationalities are walking the streets. Americans, Europeans, Aussies, Chinese and Japanese carry large cameras from restaurant to temple, taking photos of the Apsara dancers, the amputee band playing traditional Khmer music on the roadside, and the quaint French colonial style buildings. I am amazed to admit that the Japanese women I have seen pale in comparison to the Cambodian women. The local girls have beautiful, smooth, dark skin. Practically all of them are slim with excellent posture, long jet-black silky hair and beautiful brown eyes a man could lose himself in. Sadly some of them try to bleach their skin in an attempt to look more western. Some Cambodian women can look very serious, aloof, or indeed very proud looking. Just like the Thais though, when they smile their whole face lights up and radiates pure joy and warmth. Seeing a Cambodian woman drive by on a scooter gets my heart racing. Her hair blowing in the wind, her tee-shirt clinging to her lithe body, her shorts clinging even tighter... I had better stop this train of thought, I’m still in the Blue Pumpkin and I’m afraid to stand up now. Therefore, I have ordered a pot of green tea as I swat flies away from the mosquito bites on my shins and feet. The American girl at the other table with her back to me has an arse the size of a small country and the g-string that is riding up her lower back is helping to cool my ardour somewhat.

Relations with the other volunteers have improved as some have left and new ones have arrived. Suzy, who was to work with Rhonda and me transferred to the New Hope project as she wants to work with teenagers. Erica, a brummie, arrived at the start of the week just past. She is working with me and Rhonda in Sala Tessa. On her first night in town we sat up on the rooftop talking until sunrise. We have a lot in common.

You will see that I have posted a few pictures of Sala Tessa. The children, (they are my children now, as I might take a few home with me), are just adorable. I love being in the class with them. I have spent four days trying to get them to pronounce the word ‘fish’ correctly but still to no avail. They can pronounce ‘F’ and ‘Sh’ but when said together it comes out as ‘Fwiss’. I can’t really put into words my experiences with these children. It has made me realise how vulnerable children really are in the world and has strengthened my resolve never to have any of my own. For surely if I had a child I would never sleep again for fear of something happening to them. As well as trying to teach them English we encourage them to play games and get involved with arts and crafts. I made a large snakes and ladders board one evening, Chaan Sras helped me, and brought it into class the next day. With the board stuck up firmly on the wall I divided the class into two teams. Each team member got a chance to role the dice. The whoops of delight and squeals of anguish as they moved up ladders and down snakes were a joy to behold. We carefully counted together, in English, as team A got nearer to the final square only to be usurped by team B who were lucky enough to land on a ladder and make it to the end first.

As I am typing this blog I am back at the Globalteers headquarters. I’m up on the roof and a strong wind is getting up. My cigarette packet has already been blown off the table and the writing pad I used while in the Blue Pumpkin has been trying valiantly to go the same way. I shall sign off for now because it is going to lash rain soon and I am meeting Erica in town for a few pints. Cheers to my good friend Niall for ringing me the other night. It was good to hear your voice, yah crazy bastard.

Love to all and Happy Birthday Mam x.

'Teacher, teacher'

It is Sunday night as I write; I have been in Siem Reap since Wednesday. I like the town, it is geared towards tourists but, in contrast to other places I have been, it is very laid back. It is a relatively small town with a multitude of bars and restaurants wrestling for space with genuine massage boutiques and souvenir shops. I’ve been to both day markets and the night market; ‘same, same’ as they say around Asia. There are basically about four or five stalls repeated over and over throughout the markets and it gets repetitive and boring after a short time.

Over the past few nights I have been out for meals and drinks with some of the other volunteers here. Since I have taken up lodgings here two others have arrived and I am no longer the new kid on the block. Socially speaking it is probably the coldest place I have been to so far. It strikes me as being a bit cliquish in ways. Tonight I wasn’t asked if I would like to join some of the others for dinner. Myself and one of the new girls, Charlie from Arizona, were left to our own devices regarding dining. We got a tuk-tuk down to where we knew the others were eating. Just as we arrived they were leaving. When I asked what bar they were going to for a drink I was told that they didn’t know; they left Charlie and me in the restaurant. Sod them.

More importantly though is that I have spent two days at the project I am working with. It is a place called Sala Tesa and is basically a large shed out in the countryside. I was working with Rhonda who hails from Australia and Sam (one of the guys from the restaurant incident) who is English and just fresh out of University. Sam and I are due to help with building the new classroom this Tuesday. Sam is finished then and Suzanna, who just arrived last night from London, is taking over from him. I had a few drinks with Suzanna last night and we spent time together today walking around town. She can’t wait to get started and her enthusiasm is infectious.

As I set out on my first day to the project I felt apprehensive and concerned that I would not make any connection with the children. Those of you who know me well will know that I am in fact not too comfortable around children. My fears proved to have no foundation. As soon as I arrived I was met with about fifteen smiling faces and a multitude of small hands looking for a ‘high five’. From all sides I was asked, ‘Teacher, teacher, what is your name?’ I look positively gigantic next to most of them. One of the small boys kept placing his skinny little arm next to mine and marvelling at the size of my big hairy forearm. One of the girls, Leah, who is aged around 10 years took me around the land for a brief tour. The land and the ‘classroom’ are owned by her father Khan. Leah lives in a thrown together two storey shed (access to upstairs via a ladder) with her father, mother and about ten other adopted brothers and sisters. The cooking is done on a large outdoor stove built by Khan, the washing, both dishes and clothes, is done by her mother at a water pump beside the classroom. I was shown the wooden pallet that all the boys sleep together on. At one stage on the tour I saw some children handling and washing what looked to me like snot. When I asked what it was they explained by showing me, it was dried sap from the trees around us. They washed it, added sugar and ate it.

Classes are from 1.00pm to 5.00pm, so no early starts which is fine by me. There are four classes, each an hour long. The very youngest are in the first class and they are aged around 5 to 6 years, the second and third classes have some basic English and ages range from 6 to 10 years. The final class contains only six pupils with much better English and all aged from 10 years to 14 years. A lot of the young students have head lice and their clothes are filthy. Rhonda, who has been here several times over the past few years, told me that she has seen children come to class and fall asleep because they have been working in the fields since daybreak. I have sat with some of the children on a one to one basis and complimented them on their drawings and worked with them on their pronunciation of certain words. They are absolutely chuffed to have someone spend some time with them personally.

We make sure we are fed, watered and toileted before we go to the project. If you need the toilet while there you will have to discreetly find a tree to hide behind. As is the custom I leave my sandals on the step outside the classroom. I noticed that whenever I stepped outside again my sandals had moved. Sam explained to me that the kids waiting outside to go into the next class would be wearing my sandals for fun and marvelling at the size of them. At the end of each class there are more high fives and touchingly many hugs from the children (both boys and girls) before they leave the classroom.

I was disappointed to be told that the classroom would be closed this Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Khan had decreed these days to be holidays; he doesn’t have to explain to us why, it’s his land and his classroom. As I have already said, I’ll be there on Tuesday to help with the building of the new classroom. Hopefully then from next Thursday we will get a good run at giving classes for the next three weeks.

The guesthouse has furnished me with a bike so I can get about the town at my leisure. My brilliant plan is to get up early each morning and cycle for an hour or so before going to the project. It hasn’t actually worked out that way yet but I’ll let you know if it does.

Goodbye to Phnom Penh

10/09/08

When I first arrived in Phnom Penh I didn’t think I would stay there for more than 3 or 4 days. As it turned out I stayed for three weeks. The first few nights were spent in a hotel at 55 dollars a night, the rest of the time was spent in a guesthouse at 15 dollars a night. I had a plane ticket booked for Siem Reap but when I met Tony and he suggested we go to Sihanoukville I wrote the ticket off and stayed on in the capital.
Tony left the day before me and so my last night was spent with the girls and Watana. It is always a problem for me getting Thai or Cambodian names right. I need to see it written down before I am confident of correct pronunciation. You will remember the trouble I had with Chaan Sras’s name. I thought she shared her name with some redneck up in them thar hills. When I am introduced to someone I try to repeat the name, even if I don’t say it correctly they nod politely and accept that is how I am going to address them. Chaan Sras’s friend is another example. I have been writing her name as Ansi or Anis; it is in fact Asy (Ah – see).
Have we cleared that up now? Good. So my last night was spent with the people pictured above. Watana, the tuk-tuk driver, Chaan Sras, Asy and Chaan Sras’s friend Marent. Asy is the girl in red; Marent the girl in black. Watana is the guy in brown and other tuk-tuk driver in white wouldn’t last a day in Phnom Penh as a taxi-driver.
We all called out to Asy’s restaurant for something to eat. I had the foresight to go and get a pizza first so that I wouldn’t starve to death while all those around me gorged themselves on squid, prawns and god knows what else. Watana came to eat with us too. The beer flowed freely and most of the conversation was in Cambodian, funnily enough. A plate garnished with lettuce, peppers and a thick sauce was brought out. Some form of meat sat on top of this dressing. It was offered to me first. When I asked about the nature of the meat I was told it was chicken and that it was very good. Using my chopsticks I picked up a bit and put it in my mouth. It was a bit crunchy but some of it felt a bit like gristle too. I glanced again at the plate and to my horror saw a chicken’s foot. My throat closed tight immediately. Peals of laughter around the table. I was handed a serviette to remove the claw from my mouth; I ordered more beer. They all ate the claws with relish.
I made sure this time to bring my camera with me and get photos of everyone. One or two of the small girls working there were intrigued with the camera so I made sure to get a photo of them. One of Asy’s brothers also got into the frame. As usual, you can see the rest of the pictures on the photo website. At one stage Asy’s small son Adee came out to say hello to me. He can’t be any more than three years of age. He sat on my knee and counted to ten in English and also recited the English alphabet. After quite a lot of beer it was time for ‘pee-pee’ as they say around these here parts. The men’s toilet is located in one of the corners of the restaurant away from the road. It is basically a trough against the wall. The wall itself is 5.5 ft in height and everyone in the restaurant could see my head and make eye contact with me as I urinated. That is they could make eye contact with me if I chose to look up. I didn’t look up; I was distracted by the three cockroaches running up and down the wall directly in front of me as I held my wedding tackle.
When the meal was over we decided to hit Martini’s night club. (The meal and many beers cost me nothing by the way). We all piled into the tuk-tuk and headed off. It is perhaps a little known fact but Cambodians get very pissed, very quickly on very small amounts of beer. As we drove through the streets of Phnom Penh the three girls laughed raucously and grabbed at each other, pinching and tickling one another. Watana laughed too as his tuk-tuk swerved from side to side on the road. I sat up straight with poise and dignity; for we Irish are known the world over for our reserve and sobriety.
At the bar, more beers. The girls danced as Watana and I leaned against the bar trying to make conversation while the speakers roared out some Cambodian equivalent of techno house music. Although five cans of beer are ordered at once, we are each given a small glass with ice. The first can is poured into the first two glasses and the second can is used to fill the next and so on. It is considered bad manners to simply pick up your glass and drink your beer; you must toast and clink your glass against everyone else’s. If you raise a nearly empty glass it won’t be ‘clinked’ until it is filled again. That is no one else will drink until your glass is filled again. We carried on like this for some time. I offered Watana a cigarette, he accepted. After about an hour and four cigarettes each I asked Watana if he was in fact a regular smoker. He admitted he wasn’t, he thought it impolite to refuse them when I offered them. Too bloody polite at times if you ask me. Chaan Sras and I had our first tiff that night too. We were all aware that Asi was interested in me and Chaan Sras claimed to have no problem with this. At one stage Asi was sitting in the corner looking glum. Watana asked if I would be good enough to ask her to dance. Not wishing to appear impolite I got up on the dance floor with Asi for a quick shuffle. Chaan Sras wasn’t impressed; a cross cultural, bilingual, Cambodian/Irish infraction ensued. The Irish decided to make a stand off and retreated to the bar outside the night club. Wishing to repair international relations Watana soon after followed me and explained he had straightened out the misunderstanding, admitting that it was his fault in the first instance, having not been aware of the magnitude of the political situation at that moment in time. Bridges were mended and cross cultural relations resumed. At the bar, more beers.
Eventually Watana dropped everyone home and agreed to pick me up in the morning to take me to the airport. At this stage it was late and the ‘Liquid Bar’ was closed so I never got to say goodbye to Nowch. Such is life. In the morning we checked out. Chaan Sras and I said our goodbyes, promising to keep in touch and meet up again if I came back to Phnom Penh. She suggested she call up to see me in Siem Reap, I said I would have to get back to her on it. I don’t know what is in store for me here.
As I write I am on the rooftop of the hotel I am staying in. It is a common room of sorts with a TV and DVD player. In the corner is a fridge with some beer and soft drinks. An honour system is in place, help yourself to the drink, record it on the sheet and make payment every Friday. Nobody else is here at the moment. I sit alone. The sun has set and all around me is the frog chorus. The mosquitoes are starting to organise a feast on my neck and feet so I shall finish this narrative soon. It reminds me of where I first stayed when I arrived in Thailand. Since my arrival today Watana has rang me to see if I’m okay and got here safely, Chaan Sras has phoned me twice to tell me she misses me and wants to see me soon. Asi (who has no English at all) got her brother to send me a text saying she will love me forever.
Tomorrow morning I will meet the guy who is running the show here and I will be given my placement details. As far as I’m aware I will be working as an assistant to a woman called Rhonda who is a fully qualified teacher.
So tomorrow a new adventure begins and may God have mercy on us all.

Weak at the knees

08/09/08

Nowch is back! I went into the bar the other night with Tony and she was there. It was almost like a civic reception for me. All the staff stood around her and smiled at me as I approached the bar. Nowch’s smile radiated stronger than everyone else’s, the only exception being my stupid and excited teenage-like grin. We bowed to each other and then our eyes locked together for an eternity that sang of sensuality, yearning, and the unquenchable fire of desire. ‘The usual Cah-win?’, she enquired. Her eyes danced as my heart swelled. She remembered my name, oh sweet joy! I asked after her health. She was much better now, thank you for asking. Then she said she had heard I have a girlfriend, the other staff had seen me walk by with her many times. I told her I had waited so long to see her again. ‘It’s no problem’, said Nowch. ‘If you stay in Phnom Penh we will get to talk’. The rest of the night was spent swapping secret glances and smiles.
Never before in my life have I been attracted to the back of a woman’s knees. Each time Nowch went to the till I couldn’t take my eyes off her knees and calves. Whenever she turned and looked at me, I melted. Tony told me stop looking at her face with such devotion and show some respect for the hard working whores that were around the place trying to conduct business. Near the end of the night as Nowch and I stood across the bar from each other, both of us watching me drowning in her eyes, I uttered the words, ‘Some day’. Her expression changed instantly, something was wrong. Tony immediately burst out laughing. He explained to her what I had meant and then proceeded to enlighten me about what was so funny. When I said ‘Some day’, Nowch would have heard the Cambodian words ‘som tei’. These two words have different meanings depending on the context. The meaning can differ from ‘hand’ to ‘jug’ to ‘sleep with you’. Thankfully we got it cleared up and all was well. Unfortunately I have not gotten around to taking any photos for the past week; I will try to get one of Nowch before I leave here.
At this time Jethro was back at the guesthouse in bed because she was tired. I have since seen her identity card and her name is actually Chaan Sras (the last s is silent). I am so relieved now not to be sharing a bed with someone called Jethro. Chaan Sras and I have been together for just over a week and it has been good. She is a bright and cheerful woman with a glowing smile and an infectious laugh. She is thoughtful, very polite and gentle. She is quite tall for a Cambodian and her physique would put you in mind of Naomi Campbell. We shall be saying goodbye on Wednesday, as I have to move on to Siem Reap for the work I signed up for. Maybe we shall meet up again.
Last night Chaan Sras and I went for a few drinks in a local bar. A friend of hers lives close by and we decided to make a social call. A lot of the people in Phnom Penh live in what can only be described as slums. Think of Angela’s Ashes only a hell of a lot warmer. We turned down an alleyway as dark clouds gathered above. Just as the lightning flashed a dog ran out from a door towards me, barking and snarling. I froze. I turned to Chaan Sras; she was even more frightened than me. A child appeared shouting at the dog. After one swift kick from the young girl the dog scurried back in through the doorway. We moved onwards deeper into the dark alleyway. From all sides Cambodians both young and old stared at the tall balding barang with the tall beautiful Cambodian girl. After many twists and turns and several peals of thunder from above we came to an even narrower alleyway. Chaan Sras told me to wait there as she disappeared into the darkness. A wizened old woman sat on a raised wooden platform fixed to the wall. I bowed and raised my hands together in the traditional greeting. She smiled and mirrored my action. She then proceeded to hold a conversation with me in Khymer. At one stage she pointed between her legs and then at her breasts. Suddenly I wished I was back facing the dog. She carried on talking and gesticulating, pausing periodically to see if I had anything to add to the conversation. Taking a cue from her actions I mimed cradling a baby. Her crumpled old face lit up with a big smile; now she believed I understood what she was talking about.
As the first heavy drops of rain began to fall Chann Sras reappeared. Her friend wasn’t in. So then, back to the bar. We made it in time just before the torrential downpour. The streets outside flooded as prostitutes played pool and stared suggestively at me. Chaan Sras tried to tell me some story or other in her broken English while the sound system pumped out Robbie Williams. I turned my back to the pool table and ordered another drink. Incredibly there was no tuk-tuk to be found when we left the bar. In the pouring rain we both sat on the back of a motorbike as the driver ploughed through the river that was once a road. As I held onto Chaan Sras’s slender waist I had one of those moments of being totally in the present. I, Colin Cannon, at that moment was sitting on the back of a bike with a beautiful woman in the pouring rain in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. I didn’t have to get up for work the next morning and drive the M50 to Clondalkin, half asleep and totally bored. Soaking wet from the knees down we stopped at the side of the road to get some food to take home. A ‘take away’ if you will. God only knows what it was but no matter how hard she tried to get me to taste the food she had ordered I would not. It was basically some form of offal. In reference to my meal, I thought I had pointed at some beef with noodle but it turned out to be kidneys. The weight is starting to fall off me.
Money shall soon be running low and if I want to extend my South East Asia experience I shall be forced to seek employment. Apparently it is easier for a westerner to get a job in Cambodia than in Thailand. Maybe I will go with my original plan and actually try to get some work teaching English. I have enjoyed my two weeks in Phnom Penh and my diversion in Sirhanoukville. I have met some good people such as Tony the Aussie, Chaan Sras, Hen, Watana my trustee tuk-tuk driver, Ansi in the restaurant and of course the delectable Nowch. When I first arrived in Phnom Penh it was a strange and at times daunting place. Now I am used to the crazy traffic, the rotten rubbish strewn about the pavements, the exotic smells of cooking on street corners and the really lousy attempts at western food. I have learned to negotiate a fare with a tuk-tuk driver, combining riel and dollars. I have in some small way come to terms with the poverty I see around me. I am now looking forward to Siem Reap and the four week challenge I face.

Never drink and bong

04/09/08

Hi folks, it’s been a while. I have been busy with wine, women and song. Well to be honest I have just been busy with experiencing Cambodia. After I did all the tourist stuff like the Royal Palace, the Killing Fields and S-21 (the jail Pol Pot kept prisoners in before the extermination camp) it was time to get drunk and see a bit of the local scene or at least the scene with the ex-pats.
I had a few drinks one night in a bar called ‘Liquid’, I got talking to a bar girl called Nowouch, I fell instantly in love with her. She was very funny with a killer smile and a great sense of humour. She finished work early and played pool with me for about two hours. As the bar was closing I waited for the inevitable question you hear around these here parts; ‘I go home with you?’. The question never came, as the bar was closing she said goodnight to me and that she hoped she would see me again tomorrow night. Deeper and deeper I fell into the hopeless abyss called love.
That was nearly two weeks ago. To this day I have not laid eyes on Nowouch since then. She has been out sick from work. I called the next day and the staff told me she was sick. I called the next night; still no sign. I didn’t bother the next night. The following night I called determined not to seem interested. I never asked about her but a barman told me that she was still out sick. Oh well, such is life.
During the day I frequented a bar/restaurant called The Herb Cafe. Customers have free WiFi internet access. I would frequent this bar to read my emails from friends and family while I hoped and prayed for a decent hamburger or taco (no joy). One day, an intellectual looking guy sitting at the next table asked if my Lonely Planet was the up to date one. From there we got talking and had a few beers. Tony is Australian and is lined up to do 18 month’s work in a northern province of Cambodia as an NGO. Tony has been travelling for years now and as far as I can see has basically been all over the world. He has regaled me with stories of been stuck in a bus for three days on a road that was cut off at both ends in the Himalayas, stories of being mugged in Vietnam, Cambodia etc. Tony spent four weeks learning to speak Khymer. For his last week he had to put up with me keeping him up late drinking beer instead of studying.
Tony is a really interesting bloke, to me, at times he reminds me of Rolf Harris. I hope he doesn’t mind me saying that. It is meant in the best possible way. He wears glasses and has a small goatee beard. Also his laugh really reminds me of Mr. Harris.
I thought that maybe I had seen enough of Phnom Penh and that I would move on to Siem Reap. Tony said that he was going to the beach resort of Siranhoukville for the weekend. I jumped at the chance to go somewhere else. On the Friday morning we met up and got the bus to the south west of the country. Just travelling on the bus alone was an experience. Looking out at the changing landscape from crazy city to country rice fields was a pleasure I can’t describe in words. We drove through two provinces’ before we got to the town of Siranhoukville. Think of all the Vietnam war movies you have seen or the film called the Killing Fields. Basically any of them, if you can picture them then you have an idea of what I was looking at but in glorious reality vision. For all its poverty and dirty streets and open sewerage it is truly a beautiful country.
When we got there we were accosted by the usual tuk-tuk and moto drivers. No problem to Tony, he answered them in Khymer and they left us alone. We walked down the road to a place he had stayed in before. He was welcomed with open arms; obviously they remembered him.
The landlord is Swedish and a bit of chef. The night we called was buffet night. All you could eat for three dollars. A huge spread was laid on and at the appointed time (just as Tony predicted) a large swath of ex-pats arrived and attacked the food like a plague of locusts. Once the food was finished they cleared and the beer garden was empty again save for one Paddy and one Aussie.
We did a pub crawl around the town, deciding to leave the beach resort until the following night. I noticed that there is a disproportionate amount of Aussie bars around the town. I did find one Irish bar called the ‘Darby O’Gill’. The pub was not as bad as the name. We got talking to three Irish girls who were travelling around pretty much like myself but a bit more planned out with a proper itinerary. One of the girls is from Sandymount and used to go with a fellow from Coolevin in Ballybrack. Small world. The bar man is from Mayo and recommended that before I go home I should buy $180 worth of Viagra. I could make up to 2000 euro at home on the black market with them. I said I would think about it.
The second day there we decided to walk down the beach for a few miles and then settle into a bar with a few drinks and quietly read our books. Wow, such intellectuals! After a few gin and tonics and three chapters of Douglas Adams’s biography for me we decided it was best to walk back to the main part of the beach before it got dark. As we strolled purposefully back I noticed the sand was pockmarked with thousands of small holes. Soon I realised the reason for the holes. As the sun was setting hundreds of small crabs ran frantically back and forth around the shore, actively avoiding our bare feet. Just before darkness came I tried to take a photo of the horizon with a boat in the middle ground. It was one of the few times I wished I had a better camera. My poor attempt at capturing the sunset can be seen in the photo above.
Back at the main enclave of bars we could relax again and sip on a few cold beers. We went to one bar where there was just two western girls sitting together at the bar. No one else was there. We sat at the bar too. They promptly left. Lesbians, everywhere you go. As we sipped our drinks and talked about the classics of British comedy I noticed that every now again one of the two Cambodian bar men would disappear below the bar for a minute. This continued for perhaps five minutes before curiosity got the better of me and I stretched over the bar to have a look. I was met with a cheeky smile and the barman smoking a bong. I smiled back and was promptly offered a smoke. I gratefully accepted. After inhaling I asked what the name of the exotic tobacco was. ‘Skunk’, I was informed. Quite nice to be honest. We moved to another bar and the night wore on as we drank more and more. I got talking to the bar man and ended up getting the job of DJ. It was my responsibility to keep the songs coming on the PC.
Eventually Tony decided to go back to the guest house. I, on the other hand, being a total hedonist decided to stay; as they were still serving plus I had an important DJ job to perform. At some stage the barman rolled a joint and passed it around the few remaining customers. It has been over twenty years since I have felt so sick as I did that night. I could not move from the bar, my legs were immobile. I prayed that no one would try to move me for fear that I would throw up all over the place. I managed to get to the loo at some stage and puke all my internal organs out onto the floor beside the squat down toilet.
Eventually I was moved to a chair and left to sleep it off. I would like to say a big thank you very much to one of the customers, his name is Steve and he made sure to look after me at this stage. His picture is on the website, he is the guy with the red tee-shirt that reads ‘Same Same’. When I awoke in the chair on the beach staring at the sea, Steve was there and brought me back to his digs. I slept on his extra bed for the rest of the day and then had to work out where I was staying. As I got into the tuk-tuk to take me back to my digs I was offered a bag of grass for purchase. I declined and did my best to stop from vomiting all over again.
On what was to be our last night in town, Tony and I went back down to the beach. We went back to the bar where I had made a fool of myself and was promptly greeted with smiles and ‘no problem, no problem, happens all the time’. No sign of Steve but the barman was friendly and showed no signs of being angry at me. As the night wore on Tony and I crawled through other bars, speaking to ladies, Tony practising his Khymer and I watching all that was going on around us. At one stage we got separated as Tony spoke to one lady and I spoke to another. I met Steve on his way home; he was totally wasted and all heart-broken over some girl. I got him to the bar and bought him a bottle of water; I was glad to do some little thing as a form of thank you.
The Cambodian lady I got talking to ended up driving me home at seven o’clock the next morning. She stayed in the hotel with me and then drove me around Sihanoukville on her motorbike. She found it extremely funny that she had met a man that couldn’t drive a motorbike. She took fits of giggles driving me around; I of course played up to this, working the old farang charm. After this she brought me to a temple because, as she explained, she had to speak to Buddha. Before entering the temple she went to a stall and bought some candles, tinned fruit, sweets and flowers. This was all wrapped up with an elastic band with 1000 riels added to boot. We then entered the temple and sat with five other Cambodians in front of a monk. The goods she had bought were placed on a plate and both herself and I had to hand the plate to the monk. This monk sat before us basking in the light of sheer reverence from my Cambodian counterparts. I for one couldn’t believe he had the audacity to sit there taking a deep pull from his cigarette. He spoke to my friend first and then turned to me. He asked me if I was her father or uncle. Cheeky bastard! She is twenty seven, I’m thirty eight. I think it was monastery humour and that he obviously doesn’t get out much. He asked me about where I came from and then explained what he was about to do.
As the Cambodians (including my friend) waited in anticipation he blessed the water he had before him in a bowl and then proceeded to shower us with the water. Obviously I was an old hand at this by now. I held my head low and sat through the soaking. Afterwards the others took the bowl from him and proceeded to wash their heads with the water. I sat with my friend and watched him light another cigarette, he offered me a fag and I accepted. My friend was thrilled with this even though she had spent the previous night trying to talk me into stopping smoking.
By this stage my bus back to Phnom Penh had long since departed, Tony along with it. I stayed another night and jokingly suggested to my friend that she come back to Phnom Penh with me. She readily accepted. We have been living together in Cambodia’s capital ever since.
I haven’t mentioned her name yet because it took me nearly three days to get it right. You can see a picture of her above with my hat on. I spent three days mispronouncing it until I finally got it right. I asked her to write it down but unfortunately she can neither read nor write as she left school at a very early stage. At first is sounded like Jack Straw, then Jen Shaw and then a multitude of other variations. Eventually I discovered that she had her name written on her mobile phone. It is Jethro! I never thought I would see the day when I could say I shared a bed with someone called Jethro. To be fair I’m not sure that that is the correct spelling of her name as it seems to be pronounced more like JenStraw.
Anyhoo, now that Jethro was back in the big city I was sure that she would know people and show me around the place. She did indeed have a friend who ran a restaurant. We decided to visit her friend that evening and have a good feed. I was looking forward to a good juicy steak. When we arrived I was a bit unsettled to find that the restaurant was one of the open markets that all the Cambodians eat at. No problem, I said to myself, I am going to see the real Cambodia. I was introduced to her friend Anis and we sat at one of the plastic garden tables and chairs. A small cooking pan replete with gas cylinder was put on the table. It was fired up and a large lump of margarine was placed on the plate to melt.
All about me Cambodians chatted together and got stuck into their dinner, showing incredible dexterity with their chopsticks. All around the floor was rubbish, empty beer cans, used tissues and the odd cockroach. Drinks were served in warm cans with a bucket of ice to place in your glass. The beers served to our table were called ABC beer and were basically a bad imitation of Guinness. My stomach started to turn in on itself. Next came the food. The plate was by now roasting hot and upon it was placed some pork that had been sitting on a plate all day in the hot Cambodian weather. Along with the pork were prawns and small fully-formed squid. Now I know that a lot you guys like seafood; I on the other hand would rather be disembowelled than have to actually eat seafood. I had read somewhere that it was extremely bad manners to refuse food in Cambodia that has been put on your plate. Two squid and four prawns where put on my plate.
I sat there staring at them. The blood had obviously left my face because Jethro asked me if I was okay. Using the incredible power of mime, (at which I have become quite adept) I explained that I was allergic to seafood (a lie). I was therefore content to get away with eating the cooked pork. Things improved somewhat when I asked if I could have some Anchor beer and was promptly handed four warm cans with a bucket of ice.
The whole experience was very strange for me. As I said it was like an open market plan and as we ate and chatted, both small children and very old people came and stood in front of me begging for money. Whatever about giving a few quid to an old person I won’t give a child some money as that encourages them to continue begging rather than doing something more productive to get by in life. If you ignore them long enough they go away. But it is so hard to ignore them. The old people lived through the Red Khymer regime and I wondered if they had any direct experience of it. The kids are just so beautiful and I automatically think of my nieces and nephew. I just can’t picture them walking around the streets, hungry and begging. It chills my blood to be honest.
After some time I noticed that the place had started to empty as everyone went home. It was then I saw the kids eating the scraps left on the plates on the tables. The adults who were begging didn’t do the same. They directly asked people for the scraps of food leftover. An old woman came to our table with a small plastic bag. Jethro emptied the remains of our meal into the old woman’s bag. The old woman bent low and raised her hands in prayer towards us. This is the traditional Cambodian gesture of thanks. At that stage I felt like weeping to be perfectly honest with you folks. We don’t know how fucking lucky we are at home, we truly don’t.
I really enjoyed Thailand but Cambodia has been a real eye opener. I have sat in bars and been approached by women looking to sleep with me for a few dollars. When you have a few beers on you it is both exciting and flattering to have some beautiful woman shower you with affection as if you are the centre of the universe. Thankfully I can manage to sit back and look at the situation from a different angle, even when drunk. Some of these girls who are looking to play pool with me and have a good time seriously can’t be more than fourteen years of age. I know that Cambodians are naturally small in stature but if you sit back and look, some of them are definitely too young to be doing what they have been pushed into doing. It’s a sad state of affairs and all the beautiful paddy fields and scenery is not going to make any fucking difference.
Cambodia has come through a very black time in its recent history and is slowly on its way up. I for one hope to see it get stronger and better because when I see the beautiful smiles on the faces of these people all I want for them is to have the same standard of living that I have been lucky enough to have experienced.
Won’t leave it so long for the next blog folks.