Cambodia

Siem Reap was our surreal introduction to Cambodia. We arrived at the brand spanking new international airport and into the City of Siem Reap which is literally filled to the brim with huge, luxury (mostly tacky) hotels with others springing up on what seems to be an hourly basis. It felt to me more like Orlando, Florida than Southeast Asia. There is clearly no city plan in mind, just a feeding frenzy to capture the staggering and growing amount of dollars (and I do mean dollars—the currency is widely used, including in the ATMs) brought by Western, Japanese and South Korean tourists who flock to this city at a rate of almost two million a year to view the magnificent temples and then immediately fly out. The city is entirely devoted to catering to the seemingly gaudy taste of wealthy Asian and Western tourists and seems to be devoid of anything authentically Cambodian, at least on the surface. Indeed, our guide told us that most Cambodians have had to move out of the city because of the skyrocketing price of land, affordable only by wealthy Asian and Western Hotel developers. Yet, at the same time, the people of Siem Reap and its environs have clearly benefited economically from the influx of tourists.

The temples are located a bit outside of the city and our first glimpse at Angkor Wat quickly revealed why the tourists flock there in droves. It is the most extraordinary architectural site I have ever seen and, as long as you can see past the bus loads of tourists, it truly takes your breath away.

While we have tended to avoid guides in most places, preferring to explore places on our own, a guide was really a necessity here as we would have missed the myriad details and fascinating stories behind the art and architecture. We were fortunate that my friend Karen Lash hooked us up with a phenomenal guide named Kao Samerth (Sam for us lame Americans who cannot properly pronounce Cambodian names). His English is terrific, as is his air conditioned van and cooler of water awaiting your return from the heat and dust of temple viewing. Most importantly, however, is that his enthusiasm for the temples and the rich history of the Cambodian people is positively infectious. He told us of his frequent dreams about the beauty and glory of Angkor Wat and the other stunning temples. His knowledge is incredibly comprehensive and he shares it with such a sense of love and almost duty. As is the case with every single Cambodian over the age of 27 or so, Sam personally experienced the brutally of the Pol Pot regime, including loosing his father and his oldest brother. He spoke openly to us about his horrific experiences during that time and willingly answered our many questions. It was absolutely heart breaking to listen to his stories and hear not just the personal horrors, but also how raw and open the wounds still are for him. His sadness is just palpable. In one story, he described working at a labor camp as a 16 year old boy and crying inconsolably in his bed at night—but quietly to avoid being discovered, and likely killed, by the Khmer Rouge. He seems to find some solace in the fact that he can teach foreigners about the positive aspects of Cambodian history. Adam, Maya and I have been reading books about the Pol Pot regime and he seemed heartened by our desire to learn more. In fact, on our last day, he gave us a book to help fill in some of the political and historical gaps we have been trying to understand. From someone who is struggling to survive and support his entire family (including siblings and his mother), this was an extraordinary and generous gesture.

Sam was only able to actually accompany us on one of the days, but he planned our entire stay for us in a wonderful manner and set us up with another terrific guide, Pep, for the time he was unavailable. He also just set a great tone for us to explore the temples. In our three days of touring around the temples we learned volumes about the complex mathematical formulations that went into designing and building these architectural wonders, the religious and historical context, the myths and stories behind the intricate wall carvings, and what historians were able to learn about the lives of 9th, 10th and 11th Century Cambodians from it all. Angkor Wat itself is overwhelmingly beautiful and the many pictures I had seen of it simply do not do it justice.


However, my particular favorite temple is called Banteay Srei—known as the female temple because it is smaller in scale than the others and the carvings and detail are much more intricate (apparently Cambodians believe that women are more patient than men). The kids were absolute troopers as we schlepped through the hot ruins 7-8 hours per day (with a very welcome lunch and swim break mid day). One of the most enjoyable parts of viewing the temples is that you are able to climb all over most of them and touch many of the carvings and treasures. Of course, this is also somewhat disturbing because you wonder how many more years the temples can survive this.

So, the temples are indeed extraordinary, but there is something profoundly depressing about the entire Siem Reap experience. It is heartening and just that Cambodia can finally reap spiritual and financial benefit from these national treasures. However, I left wishing the government, or someone, would engage in thoughtful planning and preservation mechanisms to ensure that these sites will be preserved into perpetuity so that future generations, Cambodians and others, may enjoy and benefit from them.

One afternoon, we took a boat trip on the Tonle Sap Lake to see a floating village. It was absolutely devastating—some of the most profound poverty I have ever seen. As our boat approached the village, it was quickly stopped by several local boats with young kids trying to sell us souvenirs and drinks and ask for money. The kids are so aggressive in their selling and begging tactics, I often just wanted to run away. It’s also impossible to know whether it is right or wrong to give them money. When I asked Pep, he told me that when they become successful at begging or hawking tchotchkes (my word, not his), their parents insist that they leave school to do so full time and support their families. I had my answer—but it is still hard to walk (or float) by knowing that the dollar you give them could actually mean the difference between them eating or not that evening.

From Siem Reap, we traveled to the capitol city of Phnom Penh by bus. It was certainly not the most comfortable 6 hour ride-but I appreciated the opportunity to observe more authentic Cambodian life as we drove through. As I sat on the bus, I recalled observing that the poverty in Tanzania, while profound, did not have a sense of desperation about it. Not so in Cambodia. The desperation here is so palpable that it is unnerving. The pain of watching all of this was enhanced by the fact that so many of the faces I saw reminded me of my niece and ex sister-in-law. It was simply impossible not to think about what Borany and her family’s lives could have been like had they not been able to escape the war.

Our first impression of Phnom Penh was rough. As we exited the bus we were accosted by what seemed like hundreds of taxi and tuk tuk drivers begging for us to use their services. We chose one and made it to the hotel, but once again, that sense of desperation from these drivers was just heartbreaking. We then stupidly decided to walk into the downtown area from our hotel. It was overwhelming, loud, and you literally take your life in your hands to cross the street or even walk along the sidewalk. Traffic rules, if they exist at all, are completely irrelevant. Cars and motorbikes seem to be going in any direction they find an open space. It makes New York streets look positively orderly. We all went to bed that night feeling relieved, and a bit guilty, to be safely ensconced in our quiet hotel. The next day, we saw the gentler more promising side of Phnom Penh from the (relative) safety of a tuk tuk—with it’s large sweeping boulevards, beautiful architecture and expansive and welcoming gardens, you can clearly see the French influence. We would have loved to visit with some of Borany’s relatives, and gotten a more local perspective but the few that survived the war were traveling and we could not connect.

Overall, Cambodia seems to be a place with a (constant) undercurrent of sadness. The history of war and genocide is so recent, brutal and dramatic that, as my friend Karen aptly put it, a huge portion of the country seems to be suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. There is clearly economic progress being made, but it seems it will take many more decades to overcome the ravages and destruction that the Pol Pot regime wrought on this country. Some of my discussions with Pep really underscored this for me. He is clearly a smart and interesting guy, but when he had the opportunity to go to university, he had no interest. His brother actually went through medical school, but is now a driver for private tours (such as ours) because he could not get a job as a doctor unless he paid a $4000 bribe to some government officials. He also described a typical evening for Cambodians in his town, about 7 kilometers outside of Siem Reap. They are too far out of town to have electricity, so they use car batteries for lights and any other electrical needs. They do not have refrigerators, but they all have televisions and watch each night from 7:30 to 10:30. I found this depressing. Of course, many Americans do the same, but there was something profoundly sad and defeatist in his description of his life. Though, in fairness, I may be viewing this through the prism of how I think that I would feel being among the first generation born after Pol Pot.