Saturday the 19th
Chris’s Wedding Reception
The invite was for 16:00 thankfully. Khmer wedding ceremonies start at 06:00 and are performed in stages right the way through the day until midnight?!?!
Suspect that Chris knew most of his ex-pat friends would not be getting up at 05:00 so he just invited them to evening do.
The car that I had booked for 16:00 informed me that it would be there at 16:30, at 17:00 I am phoning up to complain, when he finally turned up at 17:20 the first thing that he said was that he had no petrol, so, via the petrol station – and me parting with US$5 for petrol – I finally end up arriving at the reception. As I cross the road the driver then decides that he will reverse back out the road, rather than drive the whole 10 yards to the next turning, and almost runs me over.
Now, as you enter a Khmer wedding, you are first greeted by the bridge and groom, then the three best men and bridesmaids and the parents, somewhere in the middle of all this, you will be handed a small silver or gold gift as a thank you for coming - (I currently have a small collection consisting of a gold bell, a silver elephant and a silver turtle)
Once inside, the seating is pretty much a free for all. In fact, no matter what time you arrive, there will be half a dozens tables full and in various stages of eating – finished, on deserts, just getting starters, this goes on all day.
With people drifting in and out all day long. It is all a very casual affair !
The highlight of the evening occurred about 19:00, when a woman sat at my table informed a friend of mine, that she had replaced him at work with a new teacher while he was on his sabbatical, being somewhat irked about being sacked in public, at his best mates wedding, after having had her approve the sabbatical, proved to be more than his self restraint allowed. The full glass of beer in his hand was duly poured over her head!
Unfortunately, the 22 stone Maori friend of beer bath girl took slight exception to this, picked up my friend and tossed him through the air and over a table as if her were no more than a rag doll.
Fortunately for all concerned, at this point all of the Khmer men in the vicinity leapt up and surrounded everyone so that no more brawling would take place.
Not bad cabaret for early evening on a Saturday !?!
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
There was an old woman who swallowed a fly
There was an old woman who swallowed a fly
If you are searching for something more than potato chips, peanuts and pretzels; satisfy your epicuriosity at a Cambodian market or drive to Skoun for some unique fried snacks. The array of delicious morsels this country has to offer are not preserved in strange numbers, packed with nutritional information or shelved.
Try some six-legged snacks, or a few winged-snacks. How about a kilo of jumping snacks? Cambodia is teeming with fried crickets, deep-fried a-ping (tarantulas—which some believe stop breathlessness), fried kantes-long (a black beetle), deep-fried kantea-touk (a menthol tasting beetle) fried mea phleang (winged termites), fried pupas, dried clams, lie (freshwater clams), kchorng and kchav (types of snails). How do they taste? And why on earth do Cambodian people like to eat them?
For Cambodians, who know their flavors well, they are mouth-watering. For foreigners, and judging by the grimaces, it is a whole different story.
Sok Tiek Savy is a deep-fried insect vendor at Phnom Penh’s Central Market and she says foreigners do not buy these sorts of delicacies, but they do watch her selling them and rather than sample, take photographs. Sok says she makes up to 100,000 riel ($15-$25) a day.
Plunging a brown, shiny kantea-touk into spitting cooking oil Sok turns and says, “I have my suppliers who bring kantea-touk, kantes-long, crickets, a-ping and pupas from various provinces according to the seasons.” During the dry season vendors sell dried clams tossed in salt and most people buy them to marinate with ripe tamarind and dip in fish sauce.
Some of the insects are transported alive while others are cooked so they won’t spoil on the journey to the city. When they arrive, Sok re-cooks them with her special spices and oils. In Phnom Penh there are three wholesalers who buy insects in large quantities from the provinces for export overseas, particularly to Thailand.
A young girl selecting kantea-touk says every time she comes to the Central Market and it is cricket season, she will buy fried crickets, if it is a-ping season, she will buy deep-fried a-ping and if it is kantes-long season, she will buy fried kantes-long.
“They are not at all disgusting. In fact, they taste very nice. If you don’t believe me, close your eyes and try, and then you will know how these things taste,” she says.
Sam At is a vendor at Hun Sen Park in the capital and she says that every weekend during the evenings she sells about 7kg of snails. She sells by the plate—one plate weighs half a kilogram and costs 2,000 riel (50 cents). While down the road north of the Japanese Friendship Bridge, Bun Chantha sells 50kg of frogs a day to huge crowds of salivating students. “Ninety percent of my customers are pupils from the local schools,” Bun says. Deep-fried frogs, or kon sngoen, are also very popular amongst Cambodian men who like to chew the legs with a glass of sour palm wine.
North of Phnom Penh, stop anywhere in the town of Skoun and savor a bag of their famed arachnids. The locals have long used tarantulas not only in traditional medicine—they are thought to be good for the heart, throat and lungs—but as a source of food. According to some enthusiasts, the anatomy tastes a little like crab meat. It’s the taste of the abdomen that’s sounds worrying.
Eating has never been such an adventure!
If you are searching for something more than potato chips, peanuts and pretzels; satisfy your epicuriosity at a Cambodian market or drive to Skoun for some unique fried snacks. The array of delicious morsels this country has to offer are not preserved in strange numbers, packed with nutritional information or shelved.
Try some six-legged snacks, or a few winged-snacks. How about a kilo of jumping snacks? Cambodia is teeming with fried crickets, deep-fried a-ping (tarantulas—which some believe stop breathlessness), fried kantes-long (a black beetle), deep-fried kantea-touk (a menthol tasting beetle) fried mea phleang (winged termites), fried pupas, dried clams, lie (freshwater clams), kchorng and kchav (types of snails). How do they taste? And why on earth do Cambodian people like to eat them?
For Cambodians, who know their flavors well, they are mouth-watering. For foreigners, and judging by the grimaces, it is a whole different story.
Sok Tiek Savy is a deep-fried insect vendor at Phnom Penh’s Central Market and she says foreigners do not buy these sorts of delicacies, but they do watch her selling them and rather than sample, take photographs. Sok says she makes up to 100,000 riel ($15-$25) a day.
Plunging a brown, shiny kantea-touk into spitting cooking oil Sok turns and says, “I have my suppliers who bring kantea-touk, kantes-long, crickets, a-ping and pupas from various provinces according to the seasons.” During the dry season vendors sell dried clams tossed in salt and most people buy them to marinate with ripe tamarind and dip in fish sauce.
Some of the insects are transported alive while others are cooked so they won’t spoil on the journey to the city. When they arrive, Sok re-cooks them with her special spices and oils. In Phnom Penh there are three wholesalers who buy insects in large quantities from the provinces for export overseas, particularly to Thailand.
A young girl selecting kantea-touk says every time she comes to the Central Market and it is cricket season, she will buy fried crickets, if it is a-ping season, she will buy deep-fried a-ping and if it is kantes-long season, she will buy fried kantes-long.
“They are not at all disgusting. In fact, they taste very nice. If you don’t believe me, close your eyes and try, and then you will know how these things taste,” she says.
Sam At is a vendor at Hun Sen Park in the capital and she says that every weekend during the evenings she sells about 7kg of snails. She sells by the plate—one plate weighs half a kilogram and costs 2,000 riel (50 cents). While down the road north of the Japanese Friendship Bridge, Bun Chantha sells 50kg of frogs a day to huge crowds of salivating students. “Ninety percent of my customers are pupils from the local schools,” Bun says. Deep-fried frogs, or kon sngoen, are also very popular amongst Cambodian men who like to chew the legs with a glass of sour palm wine.
North of Phnom Penh, stop anywhere in the town of Skoun and savor a bag of their famed arachnids. The locals have long used tarantulas not only in traditional medicine—they are thought to be good for the heart, throat and lungs—but as a source of food. According to some enthusiasts, the anatomy tastes a little like crab meat. It’s the taste of the abdomen that’s sounds worrying.
Eating has never been such an adventure!
Friday, March 18, 2005
The Tiger, the Cat, and the Rats
Khmer Folk Tales
The Tiger, the Cat, and the Rats
Once upon a time, there was a cave where a tiger who was king of the forest lived. Unfortunately, in the cave also lived a pair of rats. With time the rats multiplied and began to disturb the tiger. The king could not sleep due to the noise the rats made. Worse yet, one night after the tiger fell asleep, the rats cut off his beautiful fur. This made the tiger very angry.
He had the power to control all the animals in the forest and yet could not defeat the rats that ruined his fur and damaged his honour.
One day, the tiger went to find the cat. He sought to strengthen their family ties and officially recognized the cat as his cousin due their physical similarity.
The cat was very happy to have the king of the forest as a cousin and moved in with him. Since then, the tiger lived happily in his cave.
The Tiger, the Cat, and the Rats
Once upon a time, there was a cave where a tiger who was king of the forest lived. Unfortunately, in the cave also lived a pair of rats. With time the rats multiplied and began to disturb the tiger. The king could not sleep due to the noise the rats made. Worse yet, one night after the tiger fell asleep, the rats cut off his beautiful fur. This made the tiger very angry.
He had the power to control all the animals in the forest and yet could not defeat the rats that ruined his fur and damaged his honour.
One day, the tiger went to find the cat. He sought to strengthen their family ties and officially recognized the cat as his cousin due their physical similarity.
The cat was very happy to have the king of the forest as a cousin and moved in with him. Since then, the tiger lived happily in his cave.
Monday, March 14, 2005
Cambodia; Shoes, Thieves and Explosive Diarrhoea
Shoes, Thieves and Explosive Diarrhoea
The beginning
So it is a pleasant Saturday morning. I am having a lie in, recuperating from the late Friday evening.
For once, the source of my Saturday laziness was not my Friday night intemperance, but was rather due to a series of events including; a power cut at work on Friday afternoon, which in turn led me to Psar Toul Thom Poung, which in turn led me to several DVD stalls and several purchases.
Friday night was just a few beers early evening in one of the grimier French owned bars near Psar Chas, with a pizza – well, Calzone – being delivered in by one of the most expensive pizzerias in Phnom Penh (remember that fact for later on…)
After which, I was feeling somewhat tired, Friday is a long day, so it was home to lounge around on the sofa and watch several hours worth of new DVD’s, in fact, I was up until around 02:30 watching them.
So anyway, there I was dozing on a quiet Saturday morning, through the bedroom window I can hear the soft swish, swish, of a Khmer broom and the general noises of cleaning coming from outside, peering through the internal bedroom widow I see Heng doing the cleaning. Fair enough I think, back to the dozing and general lazing around.
‘ah, ah, ah, Jowl, jowl, jowl, other blah, blah, blah in Khmer at a high volume, jowl, jowl, jowl !!!!’
… came the cry’s and the shouts from my front balcony. Pulling on a robe and a frown I headed out to see what all the fuss was about.
It seems that somewhere between; me dozing off at around 03:00 and Strai H turning up to dust and clean the flat at around 08:00, some thieving gypsy b'stard had scaled the gate and razor-wire, tiptoed along the tin-roof of the flat below and had made off with all of my shoes from the balcony outside.
What kind of f'ked up country spawns the kind of thief that would steal all of a man’s shoes from outside his own front door?
- oh, wait a moment, do not bother to answer that question, we all know…
And this is not a front-door on the ground floor, but on a spacious balcony outside an exclusive penthouse several floors up. Grr.
So, taking stock of my losses, I realise that I am missing; a pair of almost new black leather oxfords that I had arranged for a friend to recently bring out from the UK, a pair of brown suede Timberlands (also from the UK) and a dirty old pair of black trainers (Psar Thmey US$3)
Out of all this I was most upset about the oxfords – my ‘work shoes’ – others in the past have accused me of being exceptionally fussy when it comes to shoes, but this is not true, actually it is the complete opposite of the truth, I am completely unfussy, I want no silly designs, no square-cut toes, no protruding soles, no silly metal bits anywhere – just a basic, simple, pair of black leather oxfords, that is all. No Fuss, No Muss.
While I was coming to the conclusion that I was going to have to go to the market barefoot, to buy replacements, Heng was running around like a headless chicken gossiping – sorry, chatting – with the neighbours as to whether they had suffered a similar loss or not.
Upon her return, she informed me that they had not had any shoes stolen. But they had only left cheap plastic flip-flops outside – which I guess is a polite Khmer way of telling me that I am an idiot…
She then asked if I would be going to the market to buy them back?
Whoa, what, wait a minute? Did you just say that I should go to the market to buy my own shoes back ?
Just then, a red hot knife was thrust into my stomach, or so it felt like. I doubled over in pain, then swiftly dashed for the ‘smallest room in the house’
As I sat there pondering what was going I remember thinking that the Calzone last night had a raw egg – or at least a half raw egg – in the middle of it. But this was from one of the most expensive, if not the most expensive, pizza restaurants in town… mmm?
Later, upon my returning to the balcony, I asked Heng what she had been talking about. She then informed me that it would be best for me if I went to ‘‘the thief’s market’’ and repurchased my shoes from there, it would be cheaper than buying new ones.
“What?!? Who?!?! What?!?!” Was, I think, my erudite reply.
She then further explained that there was a second-hand street market in Phnom Penh that was notorious for selling all the stolen merchandise from around the city.
So, swiftly dashing to my moto, only stopping to visit the bathroom twice more, we set off, with her giving directions, for this Aladdin’s Cave of Phnom Penh, with all its hooky goods and moody gold.
The Thieves Market
So we arrive at a crossroads of two rough dirt tracks, a couple of blocks South of Psar Orasey. The houses have small wooden market stalls outside, the street corners have low wooden tables laid out, old women sit on the pavement or in the road with their wares displayed on tatty old blankets.
Parking the bike at one end we slowly start to walk along the stalls (keeping a very weary eye on the bike). The first one that we come to is an old woman squatting on the pavement with a blanket in front of her. On the blanket are nine shoes; six of them are three pairs, the other three are odd ones.
Next to her a dirty young girl is also squatting down and is furiously scrubbing at a grungy looking pair of white Addis trainers, next to her is a bag of dirty shoes, I reach over and look inside the bag, three or four pairs of filthy trainers (last nights acquisitions???) but none of them are mine.
Strolling on we check out half a dozen more second-hand shoes stalls, none of them have my shoes.
I also look at stalls selling second-hand mobile phones, second-hand crash helmets, second-hand wristwatches, second-hand jewellery, et cetera.
Crossing over the road to work my way back along the other side of the road I see another old woman squatting on the ground, a toothless old crone with a face made of what looks like fire-damaged leather, she eyes me suspiciously with her one good eye as I draw closer. On her blanket in the street I can see; three tee-shirts, a pair of jeans and what looks like an antique pair of Y-fronts; or in other words, a washing line full of somebody’s laundry…
All in all there are probably 40 or 50 vendors on and around the crossroads, the vast majority of them selling what I suspect is stolen property, in fact Strai H has pretty much confirmed that.
The stalls that we pass react in one of two ways; they are either openly suspicious of me – what is a barang doing here, do we have anything that was stolen from him? The second was the usual Khmer market stall approach of trying to sell you anything and everything at an inflated priced, while trusting objects under your nose.
Just as we were heading back to the bike to leave, I spot a couple of girls that I half recognised, slowing the walking pace slightly as I walked behind them I realised that these two girls used to work in one of the more upmarket bars of Phnom Penh. As I cross behind them at my snails pace, I could see that they were selling two mobile phones and a gent’s wristwatch… mmm…
Heading west and turning north at the end of the road I was surprised to see half a dozen used moto shops in a row, each with dozens and dozens of bikes for sale outside, in fact the end shop probably had 40 or 50 Honda Chaly’s neatly parked in a series of rows. A voice from the pillion seat informed me that this was where the thief’s brought all the stolen motos to sell. Slowing the bike to a crawling place I ran my eyes over the stock of all the shops; daelim’s, dream’s, viva’s, the previously mentioned Chaly’s. As I reached the penultimate shop I saw four or five dirt-bikes; degrees and baja’s by the look of it, oh and an AX1. The owner of the shop sees me outside staring intensely at his stock and he started shuffling around quite a lot, he moves so that he is stood in-between my line of sight and the bikes he had for sale – strange behaviour for a man who is trying to sell a product …
So off to our next stop.
Psar Olympic
All along one road outside Psar Olympic are a row of shoe shops, around 25 or 30 of them, all next to each other, all selling new and second-hand goods.
As we slowly traipse from one battered shoe selling old crone to the next I start to get a bit impatient, a bit feed up with looking at the abortive fashion attempts that they call shoes here, fed up on people waving horrible shows in my face, fed up of old dears cackling when I ask if the have anything in a large (size 10). Plus it is getting very hot, the roofs are low, the shops small and crowded.
Yes, after another hour of this I was officially irritated. Upon reaching the last stall – and still having no joy with tracking down either my shoes or a suitable replacement for me – I had had enough, I barked at Strai H to get on the bike, that that was it for the day and that I was going home.
A welcome respite
Leaving the multitude of shoe shoes behind I cut along Monireth Boulevard towards Mao Tse Toung Boulevard to head back towards Boeng keng kang.
The midmorning sun is beating down relentlessly still on this cloudless Cambodia day, along with my bad mood I am also starting to feel hot, irritable and generally grumpy.
Again, the red hot knife plunges into my bowels. Spotting a tea and coffee bar a pull over, somewhat suddenly and possibly dangerously for Phnom Penh traffic, park the bike at a rather jaunty angle and flee into the bathroom shouting garbled instructions in Khmer to Heng about strong iced coffee.
Ahhhhhh
The bathroom was spotless (upon my arrival anyway) gleaming clean surfaces, western toilet, soap, clean towels, large mirror, bright lights, soft fluffy toilet paper. I could have been in any city in Western Europe.
Ahhhhhh
Upon my return to the pavement seating outside the bakery~café I could no longer see Heng. looking around in a slightly puzzled and bewildered manner a young Khmer lad in his school uniform (the waiter) comes over and directs me to a small staircase at the side of the bakery. Up I go, slightly in trepidation, when I turn the corner at the top I find myself in a lovely little airy café, with powerful air-conditioning, soft background music, a few customers and a relaxing blend of Mediterranean colours decorating everything.
What a blissful oasis after my morning of hot, sweaty, crowded, oppressive, claustrophobic, Khmer markets and vendors.
Realising that my bad mood was probably not just; shoe theft, heat and diarrhoea, but possibly low blood sugar as well (diabetic-hypoglycaemia) Further, exasperated by the lack of breakfast, lunch and frequent and rapid bathroom visits, I decide that I should probably eat something. And that I should probably make it something solid and substantial.
I opted for a cheese-burger and fries; Heng had bacon and eggs with wholemeal toast. She also has a very large ice cream with biscuits and things to follow!
The drinks turn up first. My iced coffee was wonderful, it was as strong as a proper Italian espresso, it was ice cold and it was about half a pint in size! Heng had a bottle of coke.
After we had finished eating we left the air-con restaurant to go and sit back downstairs at one of the pavement tables, where I further ordered a strawberry tea iced blend and Heng ordered a Grape Bubble tea.
After half an hour of just watching the world go by, and the near fatal near misses of Phnom Penh’s traffic, I ask for the bill. The total cost of all this around US$6:50 – two main courses, one dessert and four drinks.
What and where was this little haven of peace and tranquillity during my punishing day?
The Rasmey Sorya Bakery café, 148 Mao Tse Toung Boulivard, Phnom Penh, 023 224 217
Returning home from the oppressive heat and annoying necessity of the day I sort refugee in the house, Heng went to Psar Boeng keng kang to purchase my weekly groceries et cetera.
As I was laying down in a darkened room with a wet flannel on my head the phone rang, it was Heng, could I rush around to Psar Boeng keng kang, she thought that she had found my shoes.
Now, opposite Psar Boeng keng kang, on the West side of street 63 is a series of little wooden stalls and trestle tables selling all manner of things. At one of these was Heng waving franticly as I rode past.
Yes, she had found a stall selling a second-hand pair of black leather oxfords in a classic cut, unfortunately, this pair was about a size 6 ?!?!
Ho hum, guess I have no choice but to try again in a day or two, when hopefully the thief gets around to selling them.
However, for the time being I was more than occupied, having taken up near permanent residence on Sunday in the little boys room…
Sunday evening post script
Having had an odd weekend, I decide to call it a weekend, curl up early to bed with a good book (well, a book) an hour after I settle in with the latest tales of Jack Ryan (see, I said a book, not a good book) I hear a series of loud bangs from the front of the house.
In about three seconds flat, I was out on the front balcony, clad only in a krama, brandishing a large stick, shouting loud profanities in English and Khmer.
I succeeded very well in terrifying my downstairs neighbour’s children who were throwing things up into the mango tree in the front yard in an attempt to collect some of the fruit…
The beginning
So it is a pleasant Saturday morning. I am having a lie in, recuperating from the late Friday evening.
For once, the source of my Saturday laziness was not my Friday night intemperance, but was rather due to a series of events including; a power cut at work on Friday afternoon, which in turn led me to Psar Toul Thom Poung, which in turn led me to several DVD stalls and several purchases.
Friday night was just a few beers early evening in one of the grimier French owned bars near Psar Chas, with a pizza – well, Calzone – being delivered in by one of the most expensive pizzerias in Phnom Penh (remember that fact for later on…)
After which, I was feeling somewhat tired, Friday is a long day, so it was home to lounge around on the sofa and watch several hours worth of new DVD’s, in fact, I was up until around 02:30 watching them.
So anyway, there I was dozing on a quiet Saturday morning, through the bedroom window I can hear the soft swish, swish, of a Khmer broom and the general noises of cleaning coming from outside, peering through the internal bedroom widow I see Heng doing the cleaning. Fair enough I think, back to the dozing and general lazing around.
‘ah, ah, ah, Jowl, jowl, jowl, other blah, blah, blah in Khmer at a high volume, jowl, jowl, jowl !!!!’
… came the cry’s and the shouts from my front balcony. Pulling on a robe and a frown I headed out to see what all the fuss was about.
It seems that somewhere between; me dozing off at around 03:00 and Strai H turning up to dust and clean the flat at around 08:00, some thieving gypsy b'stard had scaled the gate and razor-wire, tiptoed along the tin-roof of the flat below and had made off with all of my shoes from the balcony outside.
What kind of f'ked up country spawns the kind of thief that would steal all of a man’s shoes from outside his own front door?
- oh, wait a moment, do not bother to answer that question, we all know…
And this is not a front-door on the ground floor, but on a spacious balcony outside an exclusive penthouse several floors up. Grr.
So, taking stock of my losses, I realise that I am missing; a pair of almost new black leather oxfords that I had arranged for a friend to recently bring out from the UK, a pair of brown suede Timberlands (also from the UK) and a dirty old pair of black trainers (Psar Thmey US$3)
Out of all this I was most upset about the oxfords – my ‘work shoes’ – others in the past have accused me of being exceptionally fussy when it comes to shoes, but this is not true, actually it is the complete opposite of the truth, I am completely unfussy, I want no silly designs, no square-cut toes, no protruding soles, no silly metal bits anywhere – just a basic, simple, pair of black leather oxfords, that is all. No Fuss, No Muss.
While I was coming to the conclusion that I was going to have to go to the market barefoot, to buy replacements, Heng was running around like a headless chicken gossiping – sorry, chatting – with the neighbours as to whether they had suffered a similar loss or not.
Upon her return, she informed me that they had not had any shoes stolen. But they had only left cheap plastic flip-flops outside – which I guess is a polite Khmer way of telling me that I am an idiot…
She then asked if I would be going to the market to buy them back?
Whoa, what, wait a minute? Did you just say that I should go to the market to buy my own shoes back ?
Just then, a red hot knife was thrust into my stomach, or so it felt like. I doubled over in pain, then swiftly dashed for the ‘smallest room in the house’
As I sat there pondering what was going I remember thinking that the Calzone last night had a raw egg – or at least a half raw egg – in the middle of it. But this was from one of the most expensive, if not the most expensive, pizza restaurants in town… mmm?
Later, upon my returning to the balcony, I asked Heng what she had been talking about. She then informed me that it would be best for me if I went to ‘‘the thief’s market’’ and repurchased my shoes from there, it would be cheaper than buying new ones.
“What?!? Who?!?! What?!?!” Was, I think, my erudite reply.
She then further explained that there was a second-hand street market in Phnom Penh that was notorious for selling all the stolen merchandise from around the city.
So, swiftly dashing to my moto, only stopping to visit the bathroom twice more, we set off, with her giving directions, for this Aladdin’s Cave of Phnom Penh, with all its hooky goods and moody gold.
The Thieves Market
So we arrive at a crossroads of two rough dirt tracks, a couple of blocks South of Psar Orasey. The houses have small wooden market stalls outside, the street corners have low wooden tables laid out, old women sit on the pavement or in the road with their wares displayed on tatty old blankets.
Parking the bike at one end we slowly start to walk along the stalls (keeping a very weary eye on the bike). The first one that we come to is an old woman squatting on the pavement with a blanket in front of her. On the blanket are nine shoes; six of them are three pairs, the other three are odd ones.
Next to her a dirty young girl is also squatting down and is furiously scrubbing at a grungy looking pair of white Addis trainers, next to her is a bag of dirty shoes, I reach over and look inside the bag, three or four pairs of filthy trainers (last nights acquisitions???) but none of them are mine.
Strolling on we check out half a dozen more second-hand shoes stalls, none of them have my shoes.
I also look at stalls selling second-hand mobile phones, second-hand crash helmets, second-hand wristwatches, second-hand jewellery, et cetera.
Crossing over the road to work my way back along the other side of the road I see another old woman squatting on the ground, a toothless old crone with a face made of what looks like fire-damaged leather, she eyes me suspiciously with her one good eye as I draw closer. On her blanket in the street I can see; three tee-shirts, a pair of jeans and what looks like an antique pair of Y-fronts; or in other words, a washing line full of somebody’s laundry…
All in all there are probably 40 or 50 vendors on and around the crossroads, the vast majority of them selling what I suspect is stolen property, in fact Strai H has pretty much confirmed that.
The stalls that we pass react in one of two ways; they are either openly suspicious of me – what is a barang doing here, do we have anything that was stolen from him? The second was the usual Khmer market stall approach of trying to sell you anything and everything at an inflated priced, while trusting objects under your nose.
Just as we were heading back to the bike to leave, I spot a couple of girls that I half recognised, slowing the walking pace slightly as I walked behind them I realised that these two girls used to work in one of the more upmarket bars of Phnom Penh. As I cross behind them at my snails pace, I could see that they were selling two mobile phones and a gent’s wristwatch… mmm…
Heading west and turning north at the end of the road I was surprised to see half a dozen used moto shops in a row, each with dozens and dozens of bikes for sale outside, in fact the end shop probably had 40 or 50 Honda Chaly’s neatly parked in a series of rows. A voice from the pillion seat informed me that this was where the thief’s brought all the stolen motos to sell. Slowing the bike to a crawling place I ran my eyes over the stock of all the shops; daelim’s, dream’s, viva’s, the previously mentioned Chaly’s. As I reached the penultimate shop I saw four or five dirt-bikes; degrees and baja’s by the look of it, oh and an AX1. The owner of the shop sees me outside staring intensely at his stock and he started shuffling around quite a lot, he moves so that he is stood in-between my line of sight and the bikes he had for sale – strange behaviour for a man who is trying to sell a product …
So off to our next stop.
Psar Olympic
All along one road outside Psar Olympic are a row of shoe shops, around 25 or 30 of them, all next to each other, all selling new and second-hand goods.
As we slowly traipse from one battered shoe selling old crone to the next I start to get a bit impatient, a bit feed up with looking at the abortive fashion attempts that they call shoes here, fed up on people waving horrible shows in my face, fed up of old dears cackling when I ask if the have anything in a large (size 10). Plus it is getting very hot, the roofs are low, the shops small and crowded.
Yes, after another hour of this I was officially irritated. Upon reaching the last stall – and still having no joy with tracking down either my shoes or a suitable replacement for me – I had had enough, I barked at Strai H to get on the bike, that that was it for the day and that I was going home.
A welcome respite
Leaving the multitude of shoe shoes behind I cut along Monireth Boulevard towards Mao Tse Toung Boulevard to head back towards Boeng keng kang.
The midmorning sun is beating down relentlessly still on this cloudless Cambodia day, along with my bad mood I am also starting to feel hot, irritable and generally grumpy.
Again, the red hot knife plunges into my bowels. Spotting a tea and coffee bar a pull over, somewhat suddenly and possibly dangerously for Phnom Penh traffic, park the bike at a rather jaunty angle and flee into the bathroom shouting garbled instructions in Khmer to Heng about strong iced coffee.
Ahhhhhh
The bathroom was spotless (upon my arrival anyway) gleaming clean surfaces, western toilet, soap, clean towels, large mirror, bright lights, soft fluffy toilet paper. I could have been in any city in Western Europe.
Ahhhhhh
Upon my return to the pavement seating outside the bakery~café I could no longer see Heng. looking around in a slightly puzzled and bewildered manner a young Khmer lad in his school uniform (the waiter) comes over and directs me to a small staircase at the side of the bakery. Up I go, slightly in trepidation, when I turn the corner at the top I find myself in a lovely little airy café, with powerful air-conditioning, soft background music, a few customers and a relaxing blend of Mediterranean colours decorating everything.
What a blissful oasis after my morning of hot, sweaty, crowded, oppressive, claustrophobic, Khmer markets and vendors.
Realising that my bad mood was probably not just; shoe theft, heat and diarrhoea, but possibly low blood sugar as well (diabetic-hypoglycaemia) Further, exasperated by the lack of breakfast, lunch and frequent and rapid bathroom visits, I decide that I should probably eat something. And that I should probably make it something solid and substantial.
I opted for a cheese-burger and fries; Heng had bacon and eggs with wholemeal toast. She also has a very large ice cream with biscuits and things to follow!
The drinks turn up first. My iced coffee was wonderful, it was as strong as a proper Italian espresso, it was ice cold and it was about half a pint in size! Heng had a bottle of coke.
After we had finished eating we left the air-con restaurant to go and sit back downstairs at one of the pavement tables, where I further ordered a strawberry tea iced blend and Heng ordered a Grape Bubble tea.
After half an hour of just watching the world go by, and the near fatal near misses of Phnom Penh’s traffic, I ask for the bill. The total cost of all this around US$6:50 – two main courses, one dessert and four drinks.
What and where was this little haven of peace and tranquillity during my punishing day?
The Rasmey Sorya Bakery café, 148 Mao Tse Toung Boulivard, Phnom Penh, 023 224 217
Returning home from the oppressive heat and annoying necessity of the day I sort refugee in the house, Heng went to Psar Boeng keng kang to purchase my weekly groceries et cetera.
As I was laying down in a darkened room with a wet flannel on my head the phone rang, it was Heng, could I rush around to Psar Boeng keng kang, she thought that she had found my shoes.
Now, opposite Psar Boeng keng kang, on the West side of street 63 is a series of little wooden stalls and trestle tables selling all manner of things. At one of these was Heng waving franticly as I rode past.
Yes, she had found a stall selling a second-hand pair of black leather oxfords in a classic cut, unfortunately, this pair was about a size 6 ?!?!
Ho hum, guess I have no choice but to try again in a day or two, when hopefully the thief gets around to selling them.
However, for the time being I was more than occupied, having taken up near permanent residence on Sunday in the little boys room…
Sunday evening post script
Having had an odd weekend, I decide to call it a weekend, curl up early to bed with a good book (well, a book) an hour after I settle in with the latest tales of Jack Ryan (see, I said a book, not a good book) I hear a series of loud bangs from the front of the house.
In about three seconds flat, I was out on the front balcony, clad only in a krama, brandishing a large stick, shouting loud profanities in English and Khmer.
I succeeded very well in terrifying my downstairs neighbour’s children who were throwing things up into the mango tree in the front yard in an attempt to collect some of the fruit…
Friday, March 11, 2005
McKhmer
McKhmer
Woo Hoo!!!! They're coming!!!!
Cambodia is well and truly on the development map, McDonald's is poking around and looking to move in. At least according to the Cambodia Daily... – large pinch of salt with those fries sir?
Apparently a franchising representative has had a look and answered the Daily via e-mail that, "McDonald's intends to develop restaurants in Cambodia; however no final date has been established for this development."
What does it take to franchise a McDonald's?
According to the report: High integrity, business experience, knowledge of culture and customs, willingness to devote themselves full-time to the venture, willingness to train for nine months in a foreign country, knowledge of real estate management and ability to work well with the franchise organisation.
Strange, all that I thought it took was a large wedge of cash and some silly paper hats.
Anyway, I am sure that McDonald's can sort this one out themselves but once again the mere mention of a McDonald's in Cambodia will inevitably set off the more cultured than thou, lentil-eating, sandal wearing, groups off on some anti-globalisation, anti-western, anti-development, anti-progress kick. oh oh oh let us maintain the quaint little villages; never mind the fact that they suffer a 10% infant mortality rate and life expectancy shorter than that of a McApple Pie.
McDonald's does not enter a country to cater to the whims of residing or visiting westerners, but enters a market when there is sufficient local interest and ability to purchase the product. I have been in many McDonald's; in Thailand, in Poland, in Paris, in Milan, in Budapest, in London (not too mention New York) and almost all the customers are locals and not westerners-on-tour
Soap box time again. I have a real problem with people who start ripping out their hair over the presence of McDonald's – or any franchised Western chain - in a given foreign country. The restaurant is very popular around the world and that someone thinks McDonald's should not be in Cambodia because they do not like the food or, more likely, feel that McDonald's somehow symbolises the evils of western culture and how dare they invade poor little Cambodia with their cultural pollution wrecking the social fabric of these poor little impressionable Cambodians is quite a patronising attitude.
If Cambodians want to enjoy McDonald's then they have every right to enjoy it and do not need some westerner telling them what is and is not right for them. Cambodia is for the Cambodians and they can decide for themselves whether or not they want a McDonald's.
If the presence of a McDonald's somehow disturbs some westerner's idea of what Cambodia should look like, well, that is a personal problem to work out. If you do not like it, you're welcome to go to any of the numerous privately owned bars or restaurants in Cambodia, order a beer and complain to whoever will listen, never mind said bar or restaurant is probably going to be western-owned and themed. If a McDonald's should appear in Cambodia I suggest you complain not to McDonald's or your local bartender but to the local Cambodian government that issued them the business license. However, do not be too surprised if the person on the other side laughs at you and tells you to get lost as he takes a bite out of his McCheese burger.
Bring on the Big Macs baby, supersize me !
Woo Hoo!!!! They're coming!!!!
Cambodia is well and truly on the development map, McDonald's is poking around and looking to move in. At least according to the Cambodia Daily... – large pinch of salt with those fries sir?
Apparently a franchising representative has had a look and answered the Daily via e-mail that, "McDonald's intends to develop restaurants in Cambodia; however no final date has been established for this development."
What does it take to franchise a McDonald's?
According to the report: High integrity, business experience, knowledge of culture and customs, willingness to devote themselves full-time to the venture, willingness to train for nine months in a foreign country, knowledge of real estate management and ability to work well with the franchise organisation.
Strange, all that I thought it took was a large wedge of cash and some silly paper hats.
Anyway, I am sure that McDonald's can sort this one out themselves but once again the mere mention of a McDonald's in Cambodia will inevitably set off the more cultured than thou, lentil-eating, sandal wearing, groups off on some anti-globalisation, anti-western, anti-development, anti-progress kick. oh oh oh let us maintain the quaint little villages; never mind the fact that they suffer a 10% infant mortality rate and life expectancy shorter than that of a McApple Pie.
McDonald's does not enter a country to cater to the whims of residing or visiting westerners, but enters a market when there is sufficient local interest and ability to purchase the product. I have been in many McDonald's; in Thailand, in Poland, in Paris, in Milan, in Budapest, in London (not too mention New York) and almost all the customers are locals and not westerners-on-tour
Soap box time again. I have a real problem with people who start ripping out their hair over the presence of McDonald's – or any franchised Western chain - in a given foreign country. The restaurant is very popular around the world and that someone thinks McDonald's should not be in Cambodia because they do not like the food or, more likely, feel that McDonald's somehow symbolises the evils of western culture and how dare they invade poor little Cambodia with their cultural pollution wrecking the social fabric of these poor little impressionable Cambodians is quite a patronising attitude.
If Cambodians want to enjoy McDonald's then they have every right to enjoy it and do not need some westerner telling them what is and is not right for them. Cambodia is for the Cambodians and they can decide for themselves whether or not they want a McDonald's.
If the presence of a McDonald's somehow disturbs some westerner's idea of what Cambodia should look like, well, that is a personal problem to work out. If you do not like it, you're welcome to go to any of the numerous privately owned bars or restaurants in Cambodia, order a beer and complain to whoever will listen, never mind said bar or restaurant is probably going to be western-owned and themed. If a McDonald's should appear in Cambodia I suggest you complain not to McDonald's or your local bartender but to the local Cambodian government that issued them the business license. However, do not be too surprised if the person on the other side laughs at you and tells you to get lost as he takes a bite out of his McCheese burger.
Bring on the Big Macs baby, supersize me !
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
3rd annual ‘No War Cabaret’ at the Peace Café
The Peace Café: café sonteipheap
Saturday night saw the 3rd annual ‘No War Cabaret’ at the Peace Café.
This normally quiet and relaxing bar was packed to the rafters by about 8:30, with standing room only for the dozens of latecomers.
The audience though was one of the funniest things all evening. Bum and Draze were there early, mingling with the crowd, looking as always, like very scary, heavily made-up, transvestite serial killers. A large number of young Khmer ladies in tow. Michael Hayes, the editor of the Phnom Penh Post even put in a guest appearance. One aging, English teaching, drug-fiend and sex tourist loitered on the periphery for a while. As well as a crowd of guys wearing ‘Danger: Landmines’ tee-shirts’ a very scary looking yuon lady-boy was also floating around solo, we initially thought that s/he was going to be one of the acts, but it turn out that s/he was just their for a chilled glass of chardonnay. Scariest of all though was a guy who looked like the bastard offspring of Jimmy Saville and Nancy Spungen wandering around in his vest with some rather severe personal hygiene issues.
Even the sandal wearing, lentil eating NGO crowd took time out from their busy schedule of yoghurt weaving and brown rice polishing to turn up for a bit - presumably between leaving Café Java and before heading over to Topaz.
Sprinkled though out all these ‘Johnny-come-lately’s’ were members of the usual Peace Café clientele; English teachers, long term expatriates, volunteer workers, international drug barons fighting extradition, et cetera.
The acts were entertaining, some good, some bad, some something. The beer flowed, the people laughed, more beer flowed and everyone was smiling.
Chris Mothershead opened the cabaret and was unfortunately plagued with a few technical difficulties during the first part of his set – still, after soundly whipping the Khmer sound boy from whom the kit had been hired it was all sorted out. His American-centric humour seemed to go over well with those that understood it, but being a true blue Englishman I had no idea who half of the American politicos were whom he was lambasting.
More along my line was the comedian Chris Sewart from Leicester, England. Although his dick and fart jokes did not seem too popular with those ladies whot lunch you know, the ones who drive 4x4 Toyota Landcruisers…
Still not too worry, a randomish pair of musicians played a nice happy clappy song about Jesus later on and they were seen smiling, as well as rocking to and fro with a slightly unnerving fervour.
The crowd was in full drunken pitch by the time Bum and Draze started, having been allowed ample hard drinking time during one ‘band’ who performed just before them; this two person setup played music reminiscent of Phoebe from Friends, I swear that their rendition of ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ was done to the tune of ‘smelly cat’…
Still, it gave everyone time to get the systems fully stocked with alcohol before Satan’s Finnish lapdogs took to the stage, with firecrackers, smoke, full throated screams and an excellent new addition - a brass section ?!?!
Highly entertaining and slightly life threatening, just as rock’n’roll should be.
All in all entertaining, fun and not to mention drunken evening. Congratulations to the Peace Café and we will see you again long before the next one.
*******
One of the highlights of the evening for me did not even happen on stage, the editor of a local e-zine, (who had earlier been carried into the bar on his usual diamond encrusted sedan-chair) overhead some Australian mouthing off at the bar about his wonderful Arabian Nights style apartment, being unable to resist enquiring further as to what the hell this guy was talking about he asked the guy a couple of questions – the usual expat stuff; how long you been here, what do you do, what the hell is “an Arabian Nights themed apartment” when it is at home and what the hell is one doing in Phnom Penh???
During this questioning, the aforementioned barbeque-jockey squeaked some excuse and ran off to hide behind his girlfriend.
Returning back to his Campari and Tabasco shooters, the editor then grumbled something about ‘bloody estate-agents’
Now that is what I call alternative comedy
Saturday night saw the 3rd annual ‘No War Cabaret’ at the Peace Café.
This normally quiet and relaxing bar was packed to the rafters by about 8:30, with standing room only for the dozens of latecomers.
The audience though was one of the funniest things all evening. Bum and Draze were there early, mingling with the crowd, looking as always, like very scary, heavily made-up, transvestite serial killers. A large number of young Khmer ladies in tow. Michael Hayes, the editor of the Phnom Penh Post even put in a guest appearance. One aging, English teaching, drug-fiend and sex tourist loitered on the periphery for a while. As well as a crowd of guys wearing ‘Danger: Landmines’ tee-shirts’ a very scary looking yuon lady-boy was also floating around solo, we initially thought that s/he was going to be one of the acts, but it turn out that s/he was just their for a chilled glass of chardonnay. Scariest of all though was a guy who looked like the bastard offspring of Jimmy Saville and Nancy Spungen wandering around in his vest with some rather severe personal hygiene issues.
Even the sandal wearing, lentil eating NGO crowd took time out from their busy schedule of yoghurt weaving and brown rice polishing to turn up for a bit - presumably between leaving Café Java and before heading over to Topaz.
Sprinkled though out all these ‘Johnny-come-lately’s’ were members of the usual Peace Café clientele; English teachers, long term expatriates, volunteer workers, international drug barons fighting extradition, et cetera.
The acts were entertaining, some good, some bad, some something. The beer flowed, the people laughed, more beer flowed and everyone was smiling.
Chris Mothershead opened the cabaret and was unfortunately plagued with a few technical difficulties during the first part of his set – still, after soundly whipping the Khmer sound boy from whom the kit had been hired it was all sorted out. His American-centric humour seemed to go over well with those that understood it, but being a true blue Englishman I had no idea who half of the American politicos were whom he was lambasting.
More along my line was the comedian Chris Sewart from Leicester, England. Although his dick and fart jokes did not seem too popular with those ladies whot lunch you know, the ones who drive 4x4 Toyota Landcruisers…
Still not too worry, a randomish pair of musicians played a nice happy clappy song about Jesus later on and they were seen smiling, as well as rocking to and fro with a slightly unnerving fervour.
The crowd was in full drunken pitch by the time Bum and Draze started, having been allowed ample hard drinking time during one ‘band’ who performed just before them; this two person setup played music reminiscent of Phoebe from Friends, I swear that their rendition of ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ was done to the tune of ‘smelly cat’…
Still, it gave everyone time to get the systems fully stocked with alcohol before Satan’s Finnish lapdogs took to the stage, with firecrackers, smoke, full throated screams and an excellent new addition - a brass section ?!?!
Highly entertaining and slightly life threatening, just as rock’n’roll should be.
All in all entertaining, fun and not to mention drunken evening. Congratulations to the Peace Café and we will see you again long before the next one.
*******
One of the highlights of the evening for me did not even happen on stage, the editor of a local e-zine, (who had earlier been carried into the bar on his usual diamond encrusted sedan-chair) overhead some Australian mouthing off at the bar about his wonderful Arabian Nights style apartment, being unable to resist enquiring further as to what the hell this guy was talking about he asked the guy a couple of questions – the usual expat stuff; how long you been here, what do you do, what the hell is “an Arabian Nights themed apartment” when it is at home and what the hell is one doing in Phnom Penh???
During this questioning, the aforementioned barbeque-jockey squeaked some excuse and ran off to hide behind his girlfriend.
Returning back to his Campari and Tabasco shooters, the editor then grumbled something about ‘bloody estate-agents’
Now that is what I call alternative comedy
Monday, March 07, 2005
Waking Cambodia
Waking Cambodia
Throughout the last forty years, all of the tragedies of the twentieth century seem to have made a home in Cambodia: regional wars, civil wars, starvation, and genocide.
Unfortunately, the name 'Cambodia' often conjures images of the infamous Khmer Rouge government. The Khmer Rouge rose to power in 1975, and within weeks of capturing the capital, forcibly relocated people from the cities and into the countryside. Money, travel, markets and communication were forbidden, and people were conscripted into agricultural work groups where they laboured for 12-15 hours a day. "Educated" citizens (many with little more than a primary school education) were marked for execution. Buddhist Monks were killed, manuscripts burned, and temples destroyed. Even the calendar was scrapped; 1975 became "Year Zero".
The Khmer Rouge killed an estimated 2.5 million Cambodians, and visitors can witness grim reminders of their rule throughout the country. In Tuol Sleng, a high school turned prison camp, pictures of prisoners stare at guests in deafening silence. A memorial temple containing almost 9,000 human skulls sits on one of the "Killing Fields" outside of Phnom Penh. Nearly two decades after the genocide, people who tour the area occasionally step on loose teeth or human bones protruding from the ground.
The Khmer Rouge's plan came to an end in January 1979 when Vietnam, in collaboration with rogue Khmer Rouge factions, overthrew the Khmer Rouge and ousted them from Phnom Penh. They were pushed west to the border with Thailand, where they remained until 1998, when Brother Number 1, Pol Pot, died of old age.
The Khmer Rouge stand with the other "social planners" of the twentieth century. Just as in Soviet Russia, Nazi Germany, and Maoist China, the piles of bones are all that remain when the system topples. A conversation with any Cambodian will show that behind the smiles there usually lies an empty hole where the love of a parent or grandparent used to dwell. As most of us were growing up happily unaware of the world, Cambodians were coping with starvation and the prospect of never seeing their loved ones again.
Since the Khmer Rouge disbanded, all aspects of Cambodian culture and civil society are re-emerging, even the French language. The arts, Buddhism, commerce and trade are all coming out of their bunkers and reasserting their role in the social fabric. It is this rapid re-emergence of civil society that makes Cambodia an exciting place to visit. For the adventurous traveller, there is much to do.
The temples near the ancient capital of Angkor Watt are a sight unmatched in the world (although Bagan in Myanmar is in close running). The city features an impressive style of architecture that shows Cambodia's Hindu roots, as well as its gradual transition to Buddhism. Some temples have stood for so long that ancient trees grow from within them, wrapping their stones in complex weaves of roots. A trip to Angkor is by far the most expensive part of a trip to Cambodia, but it is well worth the money.
Although not as bustling as Bangkok and Saigon, Phnom Penh is on the move. It is now a lively city with an active nightlife. Along the Tonle Sap River, locals and foreigners alike can enjoy a variety of foods and drinks. Drawing on neighbouring Vietnam and Thailand, Cambodian cuisine features a nice mix of tasty curries and sweet sauces. But Cambodians have also developed special foods just for foreigners that can only be purchased in Cambodia, including specialties such as "Happy Pizza" and "Happy Chicken Soup," which would land you in jail if consumed in the UK.
Tourists can also simply relax on the beach. The train from Phnom Penh to Sihanoukville, on the Gulf of Thailand, is not the most comfortable way to travel, but the memories will be first rate. Once visitors find a seat among the scattering of broken benches, they must make sure that their baggage is not near any of the holes in the bottom of the cart. Otherwise, they may find some of their possessions on sale to people taking the train back to Phnom Penh. If seating is not available, travellers can carve some holes in the wall to hang up their hammocks or can simply climb up on the roof and catch some sun.
Although Cambodia is not in the midst of civil war, it suffers from the problems that afflict other developing countries. Politics has replaced war, which is tremendous improvement, but the political system is far from ideal (but whose isn't).
The recently ratified constitution establishes a constitutional monarchy much like in England, with the power of government held by the National Assembly. The National Assembly is controlled by Hun Sen, a former Khmer Rouge officer who marched in with the Vietnamese to overthrow Pol Pot. Hun Sen has never run a business or created a product that people wanted to buy, but he has managed to become one of the richest men in south East Asia. The government is not good at collecting tax revenues, but why should it try? It is almost entirely funded with foreign aid money, and with his majority in the assembly so narrow, why would he want to start collecting taxes now?
To its credit, the government held peaceful elections in July, 2003 (but maybe because Hun Sen's party knew they were going to win). The usual election mayhem marred Election Day: polling stations moved at the last minute, some voters claiming that they never got an opportunity to vote. And of course the "Rotten Borough" problem persists, but this stuff goes on everywhere, even in developed countries.
For foreigners wishing to start a business there, it is not as difficult as one would think. In many ways, it is probably even easier than starting a business in the UK. Foreigners complain about having to pay bribes to get permits or pay the police for services, but this happens in western countries in the form of taxation. There is no sales tax or income tax in Cambodia (or the associated paperwork), only an import tax on capital goods. Given the absence of taxes, bribes are more effectively thought of as "user fees," and if one does not use the service, one does not have to pay for it.
The only real impediment to starting a business is that it is impossible to purchase land. This restriction is not unique to Cambodia, and maybe it is ethically defensible, but economically it handicaps foreign investment, and all the benefits that come with it: better jobs, human capital investment and knowledge cultivation. Many people evade this restriction by adopting a "silent partner," a local who can nominally own the land and receive a cut of the profits, but who has no major voice in the operation of the company. Usually, the silent partners are the local elite who have the connections to get title to the land in the first place.
This somewhat alleviates the problem of hindering foreign investment, but is a second best solution as it primarily benefits local elites (and their politicians) and, of course, keeps other Cambodians from selling their land to foreigners who are willing to buy. Also, as "silent partners," locals do not develop the knowledge that would be required to be "actual partners," and their relationship with their foreign business managers is built on distrust rather than cooperation. The information they are given is limited and often inaccurate (Who wants to pay all that money to someone who does not run the business?)
But Cambodia is growing. Construction is everywhere, and ten years from now the country will be completely different. At the same time, it will also be less fun. The openness and "anything goes" attitude will certainly be curtailed as the country becomes more international and concerns for safety begin to win out over the prevailing freedom. That being said, visitors should go now while the getting is good!
Throughout the last forty years, all of the tragedies of the twentieth century seem to have made a home in Cambodia: regional wars, civil wars, starvation, and genocide.
Unfortunately, the name 'Cambodia' often conjures images of the infamous Khmer Rouge government. The Khmer Rouge rose to power in 1975, and within weeks of capturing the capital, forcibly relocated people from the cities and into the countryside. Money, travel, markets and communication were forbidden, and people were conscripted into agricultural work groups where they laboured for 12-15 hours a day. "Educated" citizens (many with little more than a primary school education) were marked for execution. Buddhist Monks were killed, manuscripts burned, and temples destroyed. Even the calendar was scrapped; 1975 became "Year Zero".
The Khmer Rouge killed an estimated 2.5 million Cambodians, and visitors can witness grim reminders of their rule throughout the country. In Tuol Sleng, a high school turned prison camp, pictures of prisoners stare at guests in deafening silence. A memorial temple containing almost 9,000 human skulls sits on one of the "Killing Fields" outside of Phnom Penh. Nearly two decades after the genocide, people who tour the area occasionally step on loose teeth or human bones protruding from the ground.
The Khmer Rouge's plan came to an end in January 1979 when Vietnam, in collaboration with rogue Khmer Rouge factions, overthrew the Khmer Rouge and ousted them from Phnom Penh. They were pushed west to the border with Thailand, where they remained until 1998, when Brother Number 1, Pol Pot, died of old age.
The Khmer Rouge stand with the other "social planners" of the twentieth century. Just as in Soviet Russia, Nazi Germany, and Maoist China, the piles of bones are all that remain when the system topples. A conversation with any Cambodian will show that behind the smiles there usually lies an empty hole where the love of a parent or grandparent used to dwell. As most of us were growing up happily unaware of the world, Cambodians were coping with starvation and the prospect of never seeing their loved ones again.
Since the Khmer Rouge disbanded, all aspects of Cambodian culture and civil society are re-emerging, even the French language. The arts, Buddhism, commerce and trade are all coming out of their bunkers and reasserting their role in the social fabric. It is this rapid re-emergence of civil society that makes Cambodia an exciting place to visit. For the adventurous traveller, there is much to do.
The temples near the ancient capital of Angkor Watt are a sight unmatched in the world (although Bagan in Myanmar is in close running). The city features an impressive style of architecture that shows Cambodia's Hindu roots, as well as its gradual transition to Buddhism. Some temples have stood for so long that ancient trees grow from within them, wrapping their stones in complex weaves of roots. A trip to Angkor is by far the most expensive part of a trip to Cambodia, but it is well worth the money.
Although not as bustling as Bangkok and Saigon, Phnom Penh is on the move. It is now a lively city with an active nightlife. Along the Tonle Sap River, locals and foreigners alike can enjoy a variety of foods and drinks. Drawing on neighbouring Vietnam and Thailand, Cambodian cuisine features a nice mix of tasty curries and sweet sauces. But Cambodians have also developed special foods just for foreigners that can only be purchased in Cambodia, including specialties such as "Happy Pizza" and "Happy Chicken Soup," which would land you in jail if consumed in the UK.
Tourists can also simply relax on the beach. The train from Phnom Penh to Sihanoukville, on the Gulf of Thailand, is not the most comfortable way to travel, but the memories will be first rate. Once visitors find a seat among the scattering of broken benches, they must make sure that their baggage is not near any of the holes in the bottom of the cart. Otherwise, they may find some of their possessions on sale to people taking the train back to Phnom Penh. If seating is not available, travellers can carve some holes in the wall to hang up their hammocks or can simply climb up on the roof and catch some sun.
Although Cambodia is not in the midst of civil war, it suffers from the problems that afflict other developing countries. Politics has replaced war, which is tremendous improvement, but the political system is far from ideal (but whose isn't).
The recently ratified constitution establishes a constitutional monarchy much like in England, with the power of government held by the National Assembly. The National Assembly is controlled by Hun Sen, a former Khmer Rouge officer who marched in with the Vietnamese to overthrow Pol Pot. Hun Sen has never run a business or created a product that people wanted to buy, but he has managed to become one of the richest men in south East Asia. The government is not good at collecting tax revenues, but why should it try? It is almost entirely funded with foreign aid money, and with his majority in the assembly so narrow, why would he want to start collecting taxes now?
To its credit, the government held peaceful elections in July, 2003 (but maybe because Hun Sen's party knew they were going to win). The usual election mayhem marred Election Day: polling stations moved at the last minute, some voters claiming that they never got an opportunity to vote. And of course the "Rotten Borough" problem persists, but this stuff goes on everywhere, even in developed countries.
For foreigners wishing to start a business there, it is not as difficult as one would think. In many ways, it is probably even easier than starting a business in the UK. Foreigners complain about having to pay bribes to get permits or pay the police for services, but this happens in western countries in the form of taxation. There is no sales tax or income tax in Cambodia (or the associated paperwork), only an import tax on capital goods. Given the absence of taxes, bribes are more effectively thought of as "user fees," and if one does not use the service, one does not have to pay for it.
The only real impediment to starting a business is that it is impossible to purchase land. This restriction is not unique to Cambodia, and maybe it is ethically defensible, but economically it handicaps foreign investment, and all the benefits that come with it: better jobs, human capital investment and knowledge cultivation. Many people evade this restriction by adopting a "silent partner," a local who can nominally own the land and receive a cut of the profits, but who has no major voice in the operation of the company. Usually, the silent partners are the local elite who have the connections to get title to the land in the first place.
This somewhat alleviates the problem of hindering foreign investment, but is a second best solution as it primarily benefits local elites (and their politicians) and, of course, keeps other Cambodians from selling their land to foreigners who are willing to buy. Also, as "silent partners," locals do not develop the knowledge that would be required to be "actual partners," and their relationship with their foreign business managers is built on distrust rather than cooperation. The information they are given is limited and often inaccurate (Who wants to pay all that money to someone who does not run the business?)
But Cambodia is growing. Construction is everywhere, and ten years from now the country will be completely different. At the same time, it will also be less fun. The openness and "anything goes" attitude will certainly be curtailed as the country becomes more international and concerns for safety begin to win out over the prevailing freedom. That being said, visitors should go now while the getting is good!
Friday, March 04, 2005
Khmer Cultural Norms
Khmer Cultural Norms
How to Sleep, Walk, Stand, Sit, and Speak
Every culture trains its children to become good members of society in order to insure harmony, peace, and stability. Cambodian parents teach their children how to sleep, walk, stand, sit, and speak. For the parents, the values below capture the essence of a well-mannered Cambodian.
How to Sleep
· You must wake up before sunrise or you are lazy.
· Sleeping places in the home are determined according to status. (Cambodian families often live in one or two rooms, and everyone sleeps on the same bed, a large slatted wooden platform about eight- or ten-feet square. The parents sleep at the "head" end and the youngest children sleep at the "foot.")
How to Walk
· Tell people where you are going and when you are coming back. (This is important to show respect to others and to keep them from being embarrassed if someone asks and they do not know where you are.)
· If someone of higher status is passing you, bend lower (from the waist) than that person.
· Do not make sounds with your skirt when you walk.
· Do not wear shoes or hats when you enter a house or temple.
· Close doors softly when you go through them.
· When you meet someone on the street, ask where they are going.
· When you get into the temple you have to take off your hat and take your shoes off before go to the holy alter or get on Preah Vihea and Koth.
How to Stand
· Stand with your arms crossed at the waist. (Arms at the side mean you are signalling that you are strong. Hands on the hips or arms behind your back or across the chest means you are rich, powerful, threatening, or disrespectful of other people.)
How to Sit
· Sit with your legs straight down. (Crossing legs shows disrespect.)
· Never put your feet on a table or show the soles of your feet to others.
· Men can sit on the floor in the lotus position while eating.
· Women must sit on the floor with legs aside.
How to Speak
· You must speak softly and gently.
· Show feelings only at home.
· Children have no right to speak unless spoken to.
· A guest is polite and doesn't talk unless spoken to.
· Let others talk more than you.
· There should be limited talking at meals. Speak only if spoken to.
· If you speak with anger or emotion or express feelings, you will not be respected. You are behaving like an immature and uneducated child.
· Patience is a virtue. (Parents make a comparison between a gasoline fire which ignites quickly and burns to nothing, and a charcoal fire which is difficult to start but cannot easily be extinguished and becomes more intense.)
· Do not make aggressive movements or gestures--such as making a fist, pounding the table, or throwing something--while speaking.
· Moderated feelings are best, i.e., those that are neither very happy or very angry or sad.
· Giving criticism or discussing an individual's problems must not be done in public. (That person will lose face, want revenge, and will be unable to accept your idea.) If you must give criticism, do so in private and indirectly. Talk around the issue, ask for information about the issue, and then let the individual reach her own conclusion in her own time and way.
· Speak the right words by not telling lie, harsh words, gossip and wicked words.
· If you speak to Buddhist monks you have to call them Preah Dekjakun or Dekun. If you reply yes to the monks you have to use the word "kyom Kona or Kona".
How to Eat
· Men can eat a lot but must not eat fast.
· Women can eat only a small amount.
· Take food only when asked or directed to.
· Use the communal spoon. Not using it indicates you are insincere or not part of the group.
· People of high rank do not expect to have to get their own food (especially at a buffet). They are often seated in a private or special place and served by others to show status and respect.
· All guests must be served water or another drink even if they come for only a short visit. Give a drink rather than ask what they want which is impolite. If asked, they are obligated to choose the least expensive drink.
· If guests come during a meal, they must be invited to eat.
How to Greet
· Offer a traditional greeting with hands in front of face, palms together, in prayer-like fashion.
· Men can shake hands with men.
· Men should not shake hands with Khmer women unless they offer their hand.
· Men should not hug, kiss, or touch the body of a Khmer woman while greeting her. (She will lose respect and feel embarrassed.)
· Men should not look women directly in the eye. (They may become confused; feel uncomfortable, nervous, shy, and not respected.)
· Men should not give "strong" visual attention to other men.
· If monks visit your home come down or get out from your home to greet and invite them get into your home. Serving him with soft drink (by not asking) before sit down to respect and start to talk with monks.
How to Dress
· Formality is very important for respect in the office and at important occasions, when teaching, or when being welcomed as a guest.
· Men wear long-sleeve shirts, long pants, and shoes. No T-shirts and sandals.
· Women should avoid skirts above the knees and sleeveless or low-cut blouses.
· Shorts are not appropriate in public or when a guest.
· The goal in dressing is to blend in with others, not to stand out.
· Men's hair should be short. If you go to temple always use Khmer traditional dresses.
Other Cambodian Culture, DO and DO NOT.
· Do not rub or touch a Cambodian's head, it is considered the most important part of the body.
· Do not use your feet to point at someone.
· Do not walk over a person's feet.
· Respect Cambodian elders (they are older than and had more experiences in life than).
· Do not start to eat when you are a guest at the dinner table before your host has taken a bite.
· Cambodians holding hands are considered friendship and not gays.
· Do not burp while eating.
· Do not pick your teeth while eating.
· When you walk between two Cambodians talking, bow a little as you across them (it is really rude to walk straight through them without bowing a little).
· Always greet your guest by a drink or place fruit or snacks for them if they are coming over to your home.
· When you are the bride and groom, at your wedding both families greet and welcome their friends and everyone.
· When you are engaged or married, sit bending your knees on the side and look down and not straight at your family in law (the parents) because it is respectful to do.
· When you sit, women must sit knees bent and legs to the side.
· It is honourable for a woman to be able to cook meal and do everything in kitchen.
· When you get into Temple you have to take off you hat, drive bicycle or motorcycle slowing.
· You have to take off your shoes before getting into Preah Vihea or get up/get into monk's Kuthi.
· You have to sompeah when you speak or listen to the monks.
· You have to reply monks by use the word "kyom konaa" or "konaa
· You have to call monks "Preah Dekjakun or Dekjakun"
· You have to dress with clothes that cover most of your body when you go to temple. Do not use too much lipstick, powder or jewellery.
· If you are young, have to brave to speak with monks, because monks always not self-centred with you and they will try to teach you how to speak and act politely
· When you are sitting in front of monks or old ages you have to sit bending you knees (bot jerng). Not sit on place which higher than them.
· When you across monk by the way you have to take off your hat
How to Sleep, Walk, Stand, Sit, and Speak
Every culture trains its children to become good members of society in order to insure harmony, peace, and stability. Cambodian parents teach their children how to sleep, walk, stand, sit, and speak. For the parents, the values below capture the essence of a well-mannered Cambodian.
How to Sleep
· You must wake up before sunrise or you are lazy.
· Sleeping places in the home are determined according to status. (Cambodian families often live in one or two rooms, and everyone sleeps on the same bed, a large slatted wooden platform about eight- or ten-feet square. The parents sleep at the "head" end and the youngest children sleep at the "foot.")
How to Walk
· Tell people where you are going and when you are coming back. (This is important to show respect to others and to keep them from being embarrassed if someone asks and they do not know where you are.)
· If someone of higher status is passing you, bend lower (from the waist) than that person.
· Do not make sounds with your skirt when you walk.
· Do not wear shoes or hats when you enter a house or temple.
· Close doors softly when you go through them.
· When you meet someone on the street, ask where they are going.
· When you get into the temple you have to take off your hat and take your shoes off before go to the holy alter or get on Preah Vihea and Koth.
How to Stand
· Stand with your arms crossed at the waist. (Arms at the side mean you are signalling that you are strong. Hands on the hips or arms behind your back or across the chest means you are rich, powerful, threatening, or disrespectful of other people.)
How to Sit
· Sit with your legs straight down. (Crossing legs shows disrespect.)
· Never put your feet on a table or show the soles of your feet to others.
· Men can sit on the floor in the lotus position while eating.
· Women must sit on the floor with legs aside.
How to Speak
· You must speak softly and gently.
· Show feelings only at home.
· Children have no right to speak unless spoken to.
· A guest is polite and doesn't talk unless spoken to.
· Let others talk more than you.
· There should be limited talking at meals. Speak only if spoken to.
· If you speak with anger or emotion or express feelings, you will not be respected. You are behaving like an immature and uneducated child.
· Patience is a virtue. (Parents make a comparison between a gasoline fire which ignites quickly and burns to nothing, and a charcoal fire which is difficult to start but cannot easily be extinguished and becomes more intense.)
· Do not make aggressive movements or gestures--such as making a fist, pounding the table, or throwing something--while speaking.
· Moderated feelings are best, i.e., those that are neither very happy or very angry or sad.
· Giving criticism or discussing an individual's problems must not be done in public. (That person will lose face, want revenge, and will be unable to accept your idea.) If you must give criticism, do so in private and indirectly. Talk around the issue, ask for information about the issue, and then let the individual reach her own conclusion in her own time and way.
· Speak the right words by not telling lie, harsh words, gossip and wicked words.
· If you speak to Buddhist monks you have to call them Preah Dekjakun or Dekun. If you reply yes to the monks you have to use the word "kyom Kona or Kona".
How to Eat
· Men can eat a lot but must not eat fast.
· Women can eat only a small amount.
· Take food only when asked or directed to.
· Use the communal spoon. Not using it indicates you are insincere or not part of the group.
· People of high rank do not expect to have to get their own food (especially at a buffet). They are often seated in a private or special place and served by others to show status and respect.
· All guests must be served water or another drink even if they come for only a short visit. Give a drink rather than ask what they want which is impolite. If asked, they are obligated to choose the least expensive drink.
· If guests come during a meal, they must be invited to eat.
How to Greet
· Offer a traditional greeting with hands in front of face, palms together, in prayer-like fashion.
· Men can shake hands with men.
· Men should not shake hands with Khmer women unless they offer their hand.
· Men should not hug, kiss, or touch the body of a Khmer woman while greeting her. (She will lose respect and feel embarrassed.)
· Men should not look women directly in the eye. (They may become confused; feel uncomfortable, nervous, shy, and not respected.)
· Men should not give "strong" visual attention to other men.
· If monks visit your home come down or get out from your home to greet and invite them get into your home. Serving him with soft drink (by not asking) before sit down to respect and start to talk with monks.
How to Dress
· Formality is very important for respect in the office and at important occasions, when teaching, or when being welcomed as a guest.
· Men wear long-sleeve shirts, long pants, and shoes. No T-shirts and sandals.
· Women should avoid skirts above the knees and sleeveless or low-cut blouses.
· Shorts are not appropriate in public or when a guest.
· The goal in dressing is to blend in with others, not to stand out.
· Men's hair should be short. If you go to temple always use Khmer traditional dresses.
Other Cambodian Culture, DO and DO NOT.
· Do not rub or touch a Cambodian's head, it is considered the most important part of the body.
· Do not use your feet to point at someone.
· Do not walk over a person's feet.
· Respect Cambodian elders (they are older than and had more experiences in life than).
· Do not start to eat when you are a guest at the dinner table before your host has taken a bite.
· Cambodians holding hands are considered friendship and not gays.
· Do not burp while eating.
· Do not pick your teeth while eating.
· When you walk between two Cambodians talking, bow a little as you across them (it is really rude to walk straight through them without bowing a little).
· Always greet your guest by a drink or place fruit or snacks for them if they are coming over to your home.
· When you are the bride and groom, at your wedding both families greet and welcome their friends and everyone.
· When you are engaged or married, sit bending your knees on the side and look down and not straight at your family in law (the parents) because it is respectful to do.
· When you sit, women must sit knees bent and legs to the side.
· It is honourable for a woman to be able to cook meal and do everything in kitchen.
· When you get into Temple you have to take off you hat, drive bicycle or motorcycle slowing.
· You have to take off your shoes before getting into Preah Vihea or get up/get into monk's Kuthi.
· You have to sompeah when you speak or listen to the monks.
· You have to reply monks by use the word "kyom konaa" or "konaa
· You have to call monks "Preah Dekjakun or Dekjakun"
· You have to dress with clothes that cover most of your body when you go to temple. Do not use too much lipstick, powder or jewellery.
· If you are young, have to brave to speak with monks, because monks always not self-centred with you and they will try to teach you how to speak and act politely
· When you are sitting in front of monks or old ages you have to sit bending you knees (bot jerng). Not sit on place which higher than them.
· When you across monk by the way you have to take off your hat
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Bike Defence
Could the next person coming out to Cambodia pack one of these kits for my Honda KL400 ??
This should stop those 4x4 Land Cruisers here from driving an inch behind me !
http://www.gotflames.net/HyperCart/galleryPictureFrame.asp?Sku=photo21
Avalible from http://www.gotflames.net/ and other disreputable suppliers :-)
This should stop those 4x4 Land Cruisers here from driving an inch behind me !
http://www.gotflames.net/HyperCart/galleryPictureFrame.asp?Sku=photo21
Avalible from http://www.gotflames.net/ and other disreputable suppliers :-)
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Pugilism and Poultry: Even the Chickens Can Box in Phnom Penh
Pugilism and Poultry: Even the Chickens Can Box in Phnom Penh
Sunday is usually the day that I go out with my Khmer colleagues; we have been to an assortment of places; Restaurants, Pagodas, Bars, Nightclubs, Khmer kickboxing. But on this particular day, my friend, Buntha, promised to take me to see something really exciting. We turned down a dirt road, about twenty minutes outside of the city, and ended at a dubious looking arena in a rural farming community.
The large white man with the notebook received a lot of odd stares and a portly Khmer in a dirty T-shirt gave us the third degree. “Who are you? What are you doing here? Who told you about this place?”
I felt like a spy, sneaking in on some illicit activity that was to be kept secret from outsiders. After I had answered all of the questions to his satisfaction, the man gave me a stern warning.
“If you take any pictures, I will take your camera.”
A crowd of Khmer men stood around the waist-high fighting ring animatedly shouting, gesticulating and waving their bets in the air. We pushed to the front to get a better view, just in time to see a cock with a blue stripe leap onto the neck of a cock with a red stripe, tearing into his flesh with the sharp metal blade attached to his foot.
The blue rooster was clearly the superior combatant. He grabbed red’s throat in his beak and dragged him to the ground, kicking and pecking at his face repeatedly. The dirt floor was stained black with the aged blood of fights past.
A professional boxer may be able to look at cock fighting as an extension of boxing, but its entertainment value was escaping me at the moment. There are two opponents; blue and red, in a ring fighting for the glory of their handlers. Spectators bet money and cheer for their favourite fighter. They even use a gong to signal the beginning and end of each three-minute round, as in boxing.
But cock fighting is different. First off, the roosters do not get any of the money they win.
Secondly, there are weapons involved. In many matches, the roosters have metal spurs strapped to their foot. In other fights, called natural-spur matches, the cocks use the spur of a dead cock as their weapon.
The only analogy to professional boxing at this point would be if the opponents were allowed to hit each other with broken beer bottles. Another major difference is that where natural spur fights often end with one or both cocks sporting injuries, the metal spur fights often go to the death.
Thinking red had died, I was reviewing my chicken CPR techniques when the gong sounded, signalling the end of the round. Interestingly, instead of using a clock, the rounds are timed using a bowl with a hole in the bottom placed in a large vessel of water. It takes approximately three minutes for enough water to seep into the bowl. When the bowl has sunk to the bottom, the round is over.
The handlers separated the combatants and took them to their respective corners. When I have watched boxing matches the pugilists get a quick shoulder massage between rounds. But in cock fighting the handlers worked feats of voodoo magic. Red’s handler began by kissing his beak and kissing his wounds as he washed the limp corpse. The handler’s lips were now coated in chicken blood. Next, while mumbling some secret words, he spit first one, then another mouth full of water directly into Red’s face. The water spewed pink from the handler’s mouth mixing with the blood of the wounded animal. The magic apparently worked, dragging Red back from the point of death. When the handler lovingly blew the third mouthful of water in Red’s face, Red suddenly perked up. Not only did he return to life, but he was able to answer the bell for the next round.
Well, during the next round Red lost.
Some of the gamblers began grumbling about my camera again. I had not taken a single photo and yet people apparently wanted me to leave. An older Khmer man signalled for me to come and sit with him. “Anything you want to know, you can ask me.” He said in passable English.
The crowd backed off. I learned later that he was a high ranking general and that I was to remain under his protection for the rest of the match.
“Fighting roosters are generally between eight months and a year old,” my new friend explained. “Fights last for four three-minute rounds. Metal spur fights are much faster than natural spur fights, which could go on and on with no clear winner.” He went on to explain that there were various species of chickens. “The cocks from Vietnam have spurs, whereas the ones from Thailand do not.” For this reason they fought in separate rings.
After the fight special doctors worked on the birds, stitching the wounds and caring for them so that they would live to fight another day. All of the men crowded around the medical table, arguing and replaying the exciting moments of the fight. Money changed hands and it was clear that betting was a huge part of the game.
“Did you bet any money?” asked my new friend.
“I would have, but I heard someone paid the red cock to take a dive.”
“Take a dive?” he asked in astonishment. “Do you mean someone paid the red cock to throw the fight?”
“Oh yeah, I heard he owed money all over town. Throwing the fight was the only way out.”
My new friend did not know what to make of me. In real boxing if a fighter is suspected of taking a dive once he will lose credibility and never be able to fight again. “Maybe Red will give up fighting and get a job in the movies,” I suggested.
“Maybe you should go back to Phnom Penh and watch the kickboxing,” he proposed, not too unkindly.
I was glad to have seen the cock fighting once as a cultural experience. But in the future I think I will stick with the chicken on restaurant menus. .
Sunday is usually the day that I go out with my Khmer colleagues; we have been to an assortment of places; Restaurants, Pagodas, Bars, Nightclubs, Khmer kickboxing. But on this particular day, my friend, Buntha, promised to take me to see something really exciting. We turned down a dirt road, about twenty minutes outside of the city, and ended at a dubious looking arena in a rural farming community.
The large white man with the notebook received a lot of odd stares and a portly Khmer in a dirty T-shirt gave us the third degree. “Who are you? What are you doing here? Who told you about this place?”
I felt like a spy, sneaking in on some illicit activity that was to be kept secret from outsiders. After I had answered all of the questions to his satisfaction, the man gave me a stern warning.
“If you take any pictures, I will take your camera.”
A crowd of Khmer men stood around the waist-high fighting ring animatedly shouting, gesticulating and waving their bets in the air. We pushed to the front to get a better view, just in time to see a cock with a blue stripe leap onto the neck of a cock with a red stripe, tearing into his flesh with the sharp metal blade attached to his foot.
The blue rooster was clearly the superior combatant. He grabbed red’s throat in his beak and dragged him to the ground, kicking and pecking at his face repeatedly. The dirt floor was stained black with the aged blood of fights past.
A professional boxer may be able to look at cock fighting as an extension of boxing, but its entertainment value was escaping me at the moment. There are two opponents; blue and red, in a ring fighting for the glory of their handlers. Spectators bet money and cheer for their favourite fighter. They even use a gong to signal the beginning and end of each three-minute round, as in boxing.
But cock fighting is different. First off, the roosters do not get any of the money they win.
Secondly, there are weapons involved. In many matches, the roosters have metal spurs strapped to their foot. In other fights, called natural-spur matches, the cocks use the spur of a dead cock as their weapon.
The only analogy to professional boxing at this point would be if the opponents were allowed to hit each other with broken beer bottles. Another major difference is that where natural spur fights often end with one or both cocks sporting injuries, the metal spur fights often go to the death.
Thinking red had died, I was reviewing my chicken CPR techniques when the gong sounded, signalling the end of the round. Interestingly, instead of using a clock, the rounds are timed using a bowl with a hole in the bottom placed in a large vessel of water. It takes approximately three minutes for enough water to seep into the bowl. When the bowl has sunk to the bottom, the round is over.
The handlers separated the combatants and took them to their respective corners. When I have watched boxing matches the pugilists get a quick shoulder massage between rounds. But in cock fighting the handlers worked feats of voodoo magic. Red’s handler began by kissing his beak and kissing his wounds as he washed the limp corpse. The handler’s lips were now coated in chicken blood. Next, while mumbling some secret words, he spit first one, then another mouth full of water directly into Red’s face. The water spewed pink from the handler’s mouth mixing with the blood of the wounded animal. The magic apparently worked, dragging Red back from the point of death. When the handler lovingly blew the third mouthful of water in Red’s face, Red suddenly perked up. Not only did he return to life, but he was able to answer the bell for the next round.
Well, during the next round Red lost.
Some of the gamblers began grumbling about my camera again. I had not taken a single photo and yet people apparently wanted me to leave. An older Khmer man signalled for me to come and sit with him. “Anything you want to know, you can ask me.” He said in passable English.
The crowd backed off. I learned later that he was a high ranking general and that I was to remain under his protection for the rest of the match.
“Fighting roosters are generally between eight months and a year old,” my new friend explained. “Fights last for four three-minute rounds. Metal spur fights are much faster than natural spur fights, which could go on and on with no clear winner.” He went on to explain that there were various species of chickens. “The cocks from Vietnam have spurs, whereas the ones from Thailand do not.” For this reason they fought in separate rings.
After the fight special doctors worked on the birds, stitching the wounds and caring for them so that they would live to fight another day. All of the men crowded around the medical table, arguing and replaying the exciting moments of the fight. Money changed hands and it was clear that betting was a huge part of the game.
“Did you bet any money?” asked my new friend.
“I would have, but I heard someone paid the red cock to take a dive.”
“Take a dive?” he asked in astonishment. “Do you mean someone paid the red cock to throw the fight?”
“Oh yeah, I heard he owed money all over town. Throwing the fight was the only way out.”
My new friend did not know what to make of me. In real boxing if a fighter is suspected of taking a dive once he will lose credibility and never be able to fight again. “Maybe Red will give up fighting and get a job in the movies,” I suggested.
“Maybe you should go back to Phnom Penh and watch the kickboxing,” he proposed, not too unkindly.
I was glad to have seen the cock fighting once as a cultural experience. But in the future I think I will stick with the chicken on restaurant menus. .
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