We're leaving tomorrow afternoon on a flight to Hanoi, and I can't say I'm sorry to leave Cambodia -- despite the friendly people we met and the places we were fortunate enough to have seen.
I expect Vietnam will show us its beauty and scars as well, but it will be different. After all, the generation before mine engaged them in a pointless war, and it's fresh in everyone's memory, I'm sure.
Skipping backward...
After our first three nights in Phnom Penh, we took a (cramped, poorly ventilated) speedboat up river to Siem Reap -- the province that contains Angkor Wat, the fabled, vast temples built between the 0800's and the 1300s.
The boat was dark and claustrophobia-inducing, so I wended my way through the French family that had colonized the port-side door to step out on deck. We were roaring up the Tonle Sap at a good clip, which explains the poor quality of the few photos I managed to snap. I needed my shooting hand to cling to the rail as we skittered across the water.
For a moment, I was reminded of Martin Sheen's character in Apocalypse Now, standing in the prow of a swift boat that would propel him into the heart of darkness. Obviously, I watch too many movies, and to be honest, I was purposefully filling my head with empty culture calories after our visit to S-21; a vain effort to lose the bitterness I've been toting around.
The river views included technicolor pagodas and weathered homes on stilts, along with fishermen casting nets, and kids running down the muddy banks to wave at us. I waved back every time. Sometimes, I'd wave first, and I was always greeted with a smile.
I can't imagine what I looked like to the folks going about their business on the river. A big, black American, wearing wrap-around Ray-Bans and a multi-colored kramaa, the traditional Khmer scarf. Both items were purchased the previous day for less than $5 at PP's Central Market, the Psar Thmai.
Standing up there, feeling the spray on my forehead, I felt sort of bad-ass. I must have looked the part, as the francophones and Korean tourists cleared out, leaving plenty of space for me.
After five hours, the boat let us off at a wobbly pier, and I was delighted by the official greeter at the port of Siem Reap -- a small boy seated lotus-style in a large plastic bucket.
He bobbed alongside after we dropped anchor, using a weathered plank as an oar, smiling and waving excitedly. Carefully, we transferred ourselves and our bags into a longtail boat that brought us up a narrow estuary that was quite well-populated. Not the shoreline, mind you -- the river itself.
Not exactly boats, but homes bearing all the signs of human habitation. Folks sleeping in hammocks, chimneys smoking, guys playing cards on the porch of a general store, children chasing tiny toy boats downstream, women returning from market with plastic bags filled with fruit & veg, Cokes and Lay's chips. Even a boat full of schoolgirls in uniform, paddling home.
I saw more than a few flickering TV screens on these houseboats, and several had satellite hookups on the roof. We passed half-submerged bamboo fences pushed down into the silt -- our guide explained that fishermen store their catches in these corrals until they have enough to take to market. I drank it all in, glad to see a sense of superficial normalcy.
We stayed in Siem Reap for two nights in a hotel about a 100 yards from the goings-on in the town proper. I wandered through their town market, marveling at everything from the recently renamed "Darlie" toothpaste on sale to the fried grasshoppers and crickets available for snacking. As I browsed the fishmonger's aisle, a particularly desperate catfish made a run for it and flopped out of the tank directly in my path.
The fish's owner looked at me with eyes full of embarrassment or annoyance, I'm not sure which. I stooped to pick up her slippery runaway and dropped him back in the tank, much to the amusement of everyone who had a view of the scene. I laughed, too.
I successfully avoided the hard-driving girls selling books (yes, they have them in Siem Reap, too), gave some rials to unlucky victims of land mines, and found the slowest Internet cafe in Asia before wandering back to the hotel. Along the way, I took a side street that led me into a residential area.
Growing up black and middle-class, I've grown used to being the only chip in the cookie. But walking down a quiet street in Siem Reap on a Friday afternoon was something else entirely. Children ceased their play to run out into the street for a closer look.
A woman selling sodas and cigarettes from her front door stopped in the middle of a transaction and tugged her customer's arm to make sure she got a good look at me. I had traded the kramaa for the floppy hat with a very wide brim, but kept the shades.
I was, however briefly, a celebrity.
The last time I was aware of being the object of that much attention was several years ago in a previous life. I had a job producing "content," whatever the hell that is, for a major Web portal. As a result, I often flew to LA to have sometimes fruitful and often pointless meetings with executives at older media companies who were fearful and ignorant about this new Internet "thingy."
After one of these meetings, I was standing at a gate in LAX, waiting for the United Shuttle to SFO, and I realized that people were doing that thing they do when they see someone who might be important. Speaking in conspiratorial tones, pointing -- making, then breaking eye contact. I was also wearing sunglasses that day, along with a recently purchased suit that had hoovered up most of my savings.
That day in the airport, I looked around to see if there was some big star waiting at the gate behind me, but quickly realized that they were looking at me. Silly rabbits. Important people talk on cell phones, not pay phones. Nevertheless, I basked in the glow of the uncertain attention. Most scrutiny thrown my way is from nervous shopkeepers and women who clutch their purses just a little tighter when they see me on the sidewalk.
So, I was feeling quite lighthearted when I reached the end of that dusty street and turned back towards town. Whatever assumptions those residents had made about me, I knew I'd be the topic of conversation at the dinner table, or on the walk to school or work the next day: "Did you see the big, black man walking down the street yesterday? What was that about?"
More about Angkor Wat later, when Liz and I have had some sleep. We have a ton of photos to share, but she's worked out a scheme where you can click a thumbnail to get to a larger image -- so no kvetching from you dial-up kids out there.
Right now, I hafta get to the lobby and plug into the Internet thingy so I can find a hotel in Hanoi. Without reservations, indeed.
This wasn't a terribly momentous post, and I appreciate you for reading it. I just wanted to make sure no one got the impression that Liz and I spent our week in Cambodia thinking solely of this country's dark, recent past. We've had some fun, strange, unexpected moments here, but I'd be lying if I didn't say that the last week's changed me in some way I don't fully understand.
Posted by Walter at July 17, 2005 09:56 AM