We spent much of the morning at a playground among local families with little kids. We noticed the playground as we drove past in a tuk-tuk on our way to a historic district of Phnom Penh along the waterfront. The girls had a fun time climbing on the equipment and acting out an adventure story. Vendors offered drinks and ice cream. A little boy casually peed on the pathway and toddlers were only half-dressed.
This bicycle newspaper seller sold us a copy of the English language Phnom Penh Post while we were in a tuk-tuk
View from the rear of the tuk-tuk. I can't get used to seeing little kids standing on motorbikes without helmets.
How busy are they?
Phnom Penh's main attractions
Our tuk-tuk driver with the unfortunate name "Porn"
At the playground
A bamboo naga (snake head) sculpture at the base of a hill that houses a famous temple. We saw it again at night spectacularly lit up
A nondescript and seemingly empty building at the center of the playground housed a neglected exhibit on Phnom Penh's past and future, watched over by a bored attendant. A plaque mentioned a fact that I had forgotten - in 1975 the Khmer Rouge took control of Phnom Penh with its population of two million and "emptied it of its people". So much tragedy and horror is hidden by that bland description. I felt amazed by the resilience of the people and the city and by the path they both had travelled. Another plaque stated that after the overthrow of the Khmer Rouge people returned to resettle and rebuild the abandoned ghost town.
We were curious to explore the old town on foot. Walking toward the waterfront, we paused by a couple of vigorous volleyball games contested by shirtless middle-age men. Alexa, who is a new member of the Bamboo Spikes volleyball team at Green School, took a special interest. At lunch I tried a delicious Cambodian curry dish, Chicken Amok. Then we all went to a nearby shop for delicious ice cream and pastries - thank you French colonial influence.
crumbling grand architecture in the historic district
The central market is another example of French influence - a grand yellow building with a 30-foot high central dome and arms branching out in all directions. Lynn made use of her bargaining prowess to purchase clothes, shoes and handicrafts. I bought a pair of Columbia sportswear shorts with an H&M tag, and went exploring the food and electronics section.
One of the odd things about Cambodia is how much American influence there is. English is widely taught in school. My (not well informed) impression is that more everyday people speak some English in Phnom Penh than in Bali, even those who aren't working directly with tourists. US dollars circulate alongside Cambodian Rials. They are interchangeable at 4000 rials to the dollar. US Dollars are accepted everywhere. When a vendor pulls out his wad of bills, the dollars are intermingled with the rials. If you pay in dollars you are likely to have your change returned in dollars. The exception is if you are owed some additional change that is less than a dollar. That will be paid in rials. So if you are owed $2.50, you'll likely receive 2 one dollar bills and 2,000 in rials. I found it surprising that of the places that we've visited in SE Asia, the one that has historically been the most anti-American, the one that is the least developed, and the one who has a short history of welcoming Western tourists, is the one where US dollars circulate freely and where English is widely spoken.
A sight you won't see in the US - one security guard casually resting his hand on another guard's thigh
Did someone boost a truck loaded with Dr. Dre merchandise? This was one of several stalls dominated by Dr. Dre headphones. The woman behind the counter spoke excellent English. She said the headphones were quite popular with both foreigners and locals.
Young boys taking a break near a memorial to King Sihanouk
That evening we left our hotel in pouring rain to head to the grand Hotel Le Royal for drinks. Raffles Hotels had bought and restored to its former glory this most elegant and grand hotel of pre-war Phnom Penh, one that had a storied past and that had hosted Jacqueline Onassis in 1967 and earlier Charlie Chaplin. Because of the rain we made it ten feet from our hotel before being stuck for about half an hour in a massively gridlocked intersection with a cement truck adding to the congestion. Eventually we made our way to open roads.
In the tuk-tuk, all four of us sat on a rear-facing bench looking out at the traffic behind us. At a traffic light a family of four on a motorbike pulled up directly behind us - a father, a mother, and two young daughters. They were drenched by the rain. They stared silently at us and we stared back at them. We each recognized that our families were mirror images of each other. We were within a few feet of each other on the same rainy Phnom Penh street and yet it felt that we were worlds apart.
at the entrance to our hotel
in the Elephant Room at Hotel le Royal
Jackie Onassis and Prince Sihanouk and a wine glass with Jackie's lipstick still on it
with the bell boy
While in Cambodia, Lynn and I both read River in Time by Jon Swain, one of the few journalists to witness the fall of Phnom Penh. (It was recommended by Green School friends who worked for many years for the U.N. in Cambodia.) Along with other journalists and expats, he lived in an apartment at the Hotel Le Royal. The day of the fall, the hotel was being used as a neutral Red Cross hospital. The Khmer Rouge refused to honor its neutrality and ordered everyone out. Jon Swain was a colleague and close friend of Sydney Schanberg and Dith Pran, whose stories are told in The Killing Fields movie and who feature prominently in Swain's book. Dith Pran saved Swain's life when the Khmer Rouge were about to execute him. In the movie, Jon Swain was played by Julian Sands. The ghosts of the past felt more real after we had visited some of the places mentioned in the book that had witnessed so many tragic and cruel events.
It feels very strange that being in Phnom Penh does not feel strange. As a kid, I knew it as the scariest place on earth. It was the home of the "The Killing Fields" and the horrific brutality of the Khmer Rouge. To have come here then would have meant certain death.
So it feels surreal now to be dining at a fancy restaurant in Phnom Penh, serenaded by a musician playing a traditional Cambodian stringed instrument, overlooked by a huge photo of Gordon Ramsay hugging the restaurant's chef.
On the surface, Phnom Penh does not appear that different than Chiang Mai or Laos. There is a similar buzzing of motorbikes carrying every configuration of people and goods. The streets are lined with small, ramshackle family stores, their wares spilling out onto the sidewalk. Similar stores congregate together, so after a stretch of stores selling mainly tires comes a batch of stores selling ceramic tiles, followed by furniture stores, succeeded by blocks of garages with engine blocks and car chassis lining the streets.
But there are still reminders of a past that was less welcoming of Westerners. The road from the Airport to the center of town is Russian Federation Boulevard. The way from our hotel to the main market, still known as the Russian Market, passes along Mao Tse Toung Street.
We also know that there must be countless other reminders of the past, invisible to us, carried as painful memories within all the Cambodians we see busily engaged in their daily routines. Knowing the history we can't but wonder what tragedy befell the family of each person we meet.
We arrived at a moment of national reflection on Cambodia's turbulent and tragic past due to the death a few days earlier of the "King Father", 89-year-old King Sihanouk. Reading news articles about his death I learned that Sihanouk became king at age 18 in 1941 when Cambodia was still under French rule. He was a key player in Cambodia's destiny for nearly all of the succeeding 70 years. He led Cambodia to independence, helped it survive the Vietnam War, was ousted by a rival prince, supported the rise of the Khmer Rouge in an attempt to regain his throne, became deeply depressed at their atrocities, and many years later helped broker the truce that allowed Cambodia to return to relative calm.
Large portraits of the king wreathed in flowers are prominently displayed throughout Phnom Penh. Many of the people we see on the streets are wearing white shirts with a black ribbon affixed to the front as a sign of mourning. We learned that hundreds of thousands lined the streets to watch the procession bearing his body to the royal palace. The Phnom Penh Post, the local English language paper, reported that many Cambodians were convinced that they could see the image of the "King Father" in the moon. As Americans we probably don't have a figure that would be equivalent to King Sihanouk. To someone from England the passing of Queen Elizabeth II might evoke similar feelings, though likely not as intense nor as conflicted.
Memorial to King Sihanouk at the National Museum
We flew out of Bali on Friday afternoon, after attending parent teacher conferences at Green School in the morning before the school went on a weeklong break. Due to flight schedules we had to spend an overnight in Kuala Lumpur (KL), as our flight from Bali arrived too late to connect with the flights to Phnom Penh that only leave earlier in the day.
This allowed us to hop a bus and then a fast-train from the airport to the center of KL where we stayed overnight in the Hilton. It also allowed us to reconnect at brunch the next morning with friends from D.C. whom we had not seen for several years and who are now living in KL. They have three daughters, one of whom was in Alexa's class for the three years at Aidan Montessori and another of whom is a little younger than Charlotte. The girls immediately picked up where they left off which was a great treat for them.
Then it was a taxi back to the airport, through the security lines again, and two more hours of the girls on the iPad before we landed in Phnom Penh.
Entry to Cambodia required visas on demand, processed by a counter full of uniformed men and women awaiting us as we entered the terminal. $20 US per visa plus $2 if you don't have a passport sized photo. I had some US dollars on me but not quite the $88 required. I head to the one ATM in the room to pick up some of the local currency, Cambodian Riels, only to have the ATM spit out fresh Ben Franklins. It's the first time since we left the U.S. that an ATM delivered US Currency. It was disorienting to be freshly landed in Phnom Penh facing a room full of uniformed Cambodian officers, feeling further away from the US than ever, and to be staring down at familiar US currency in the ATM tray.
Freshly replenished we head to the visa counter where we are told by an officer that visas for the girls are only $5 each to be paid directly to the officer, while Lynn's and my visa are $20 each to be paid to the cashier. Suspicious but not arguing we pay the man, pay the cashier, collect all four passports that now include visas and head to immigration control. There, for the first time in our travels in SE Asia, Lynn and I have our fingerprints scanned - four fingers on the right hand, thumb of right hand, four fingers of left hand, thumb of left hand - entry to Cambodia granted.
A quick stop at one of the mobile network booths lining the pathway and I walk away with a new SIM card for my cell phone. For $8 US I now have Cambodian cell phone number and a high speed unlimited data plan. I'm checking my work email as I head to the exit.
It took me a long time to get used to how cell phones work in South East Asia. It's all a la carte. You can buy a phone from one store, a SIM card that provides you a phone number from another store, and add minutes at a countless number of small stores and kiosks. Internet access is offered a month at a time. It's completely different from the US model with its all-in-one package of phone, mobile number, calling plan and data plan locking you in for two years with one company. Here is South East Asia, you go to a new country, swap out your SIM card, and you are up and running with your existing phone on the mobile network of the new country in less than five minutes.
The drive from the airport into the center of Phnom Penh gave us our first glimpse of Cambodia. It was of dusty streets filled with motorbikes and small trucks.
We were glad when our taxi finally pulled up at a gleaming white building that contrasted with the rest of the gritty, somewhat run-down block. The interior of the boutique hotel was just as charming as the exterior. Our wood trimmed, tiled, mini-suite was large enough for two small beds for the girls.
We took a tuk-tuk to a touristy restaurant overlooking the central river for dinner. Charlotte spent much of the evening drawing a picture of the dancers and musician that were performing for the diners. Then to their amusement she gave them a gift of her drawing.
We arranged with our tuk-tuk driver to pick us up after dinner for the ride back to our hotel.
Driving around Phnom Penh in a tuk-tuk puts you in the midst of a swirling chaos. Driving is a more communal activity than it is in D.C. People aren't isolated inside the pod of their enclosed car. We are in an open air tuk-tuk swarmed on all sides by motorbikes passing inches away. The entire population rides on motorbikes so multi-generational families would pull up right next to us and we'd exchange nods and smiles before pulling apart. There's an absence of traffic lights so when busy main streets cross everyone dives into the intersection, horns blaring, and by slithering into the tiniest of gaps somehow makes it across to the other side without producing total gridlock. In spite of all the noise and commotion, Charlotte was fast asleep before the tuk-tuk returned to our hotel.
one of the quieter streets in Phnom Penh
The next morning we headed to the largest market in Phnom Penh, the Russian market. It was similar to other markets we'd seen in SE Asia, but these markets are never boring. The food section is intense.
An elderly couple did a steady business selling small live crabs that they kept in a large bowl. The crabs kept climbing out of the bowl. It required the couple's constant attention to keep catching the crabs and plopping them back into the bowl. I imagine they spent years engaged in this Sisyphean task.
the crab minders
Live fish wriggle on trays next to their cousins who have already been cut in half. Dead chickens are stacked in rows to be severed by a cleaver at the request of a customer. Butcher stalls display their wares hanging from meat hooks while a man minces a slab of meat with a cleaver. One room is filled with food stalls, the stall owners bathed in perpetual heat and steam as they boil up large pots of soup for their customers.
mincing meat
fish seller
arrangement in dried fish
egg varieties
butcher stand
hair salon next to food stalls
Further on are the stalls filled with clothes and shoes, handicrafts and jewelry. While Lynn goes shopping with the girls, my attention is captured by a stack of old, oversized bank notes from an earlier stage in Cambodia's history. The shop owner pulls out an envelope with her more precious holdings - currency issued by the Banque d'Indochine when Cambodia was under French rule and a few notes of 'Pol Pot' money, printed by the Khmer Rouge but never distributed since they soon after abolished currency. She claims they are quite valuable. I try to confirm by taking advantage of the Internet connection on my phone to do some quick Google searches, but draw a blank. I pay her half what she asks, and wonder if I have secured some rare items at a bargain price. When we return to our hotel room I finally locate examples of the currency I bought on eBay, listed for a fifth of the seller's asking price. I have to be content with having overpaid for some historical curiosities. You can't out-bargain a shop owner in the Russian Market!
good shopping in the market
Indochinese and Khmer Rouge bank notes
We spend the afternoon at the National Museum wandering among thousand year old sculptures and carvings from Angkor and other archeological sites. It whetted our appetite for our time in Angkor Wat.
sculpture at the National Museum
Charlotte feeding the fish at the National Museum; in the background are people wearing white shirts and black ribbons as a sign of mourning
Charlotte encounters a child monk
Cambodian group visiting the museum
Then to dinner under the benevolent gaze of Mr. Ramsay and Charlotte falling asleep again on the tuk-tuk ride back to the hotel.
After eight months in Bali, today marked our first excursion as a family into the fabled Monkey Forest, the top tourist attraction in Ubud. (Nat and his buddy Andy visited a couple of months ago.)
The monkeys (macaques, actually) are well known for being aggressive and ornery at times. They will jump on visitors especially if the visitors aren't quick enough in giving up the bananas that are sold at the entrance. Alexa had a friend from school who was nipped by one of the monkeys. Fear of getting bitten by a monkey with an unknown disease had kept us away this long. Alexa was a nervous wreck. Charlotte absorbed some of Alexa's nervousness but was more game to take a look around.
We found the monkeys in a relatively mellow, easygoing frame of mind on this Sunday afternoon. Dewa told us they are often more aggressive toward visitors in the morning when they are hungry. Some of them even turned away offers of food. Many wandered by us showing no interest in our doings. Occasionally we heard the screeches of a band of males as they horsed around, much like adolescent males of other species.
The Monkey Forest itself is strikingly beautiful. It has an enormous banyan tree, several temples, and many unusual statues. In the middle of the park, you cross a bridge over a deep gorge that passes through the dangling roots of the banyan tree.
giant lizard statues
Life in Ubud would be incomplete without a visit to the Monkey Forest, so we're glad we finally made it. Alexa is glad we made it out.
Ubud is fertile territory for taking an idea and running with it. So many of the events that we attend occur with a minimum of advance planning. This spontaneity is one of the great joys of living in Bali.
Alexa was Athena in her 5th grade's production of the Iliad done in "valley-girl" style. It was a lot of fun and very impressive for being produced from start to finish in one week.
We attended a dinner event that was arranged at the last minute. A Michelin-rated chef from Europe was persuaded to interrupt his vacation to prepare a "slow food" meal using only the ingredients grown at one of the local eco-friendly hotels. It gave him a chance for his first hands-on slaughter of a pig.
Alexa is ready for "crazy hair" day at Green School
Charlotte at her good friend's birthday party. The parents of the birthday girl are building a boutique hotel next door. They had the swimming pool ready just in time for the birthday party.
Alexa was brave enough to join in the soccer game on the road to our house, even though it was an all-boys match. Then Charlotte joined in too. The boys were good sports, found it amusing, and gave the girls plenty of opportunities with the ball.
Lynn has arranged for the whole family to take tennis lessons on a more or less weekly basis. In the village where we play, somewhat incongruously, the tennis court is adjacent to two primary schools and just steps away from a temple. This ensures that we have a gallery of school kids in their matching uniforms shouting "hello!" and laughing at our mis-hits. After our lesson on Sunday, Dewa mentioned that a cock fight was taking place at the temple, so I wandered over with him to take a look. Though cock fights occur regularly temple ceremonies, it was still a startling juxtaposition to have an elaborate temple ceremony taking place side-by-side with a cock fight. I felt quite out of place wearing my sweaty tennis clothes.
Later that afternoon we went to a fund-raiser organized by Green School parents to help a local Balinese boy with his cancer treatments. The event was held at the Linda Garland estate, one of the largest in the Ubud area. Its sprawling grounds and bamboo buildings (which were the inspiration for John Hardy's bamboo building efforts) are nestled in a gorgeous setting overlooking a stream below. It was a last hurrah for the estate, which has just been sold, though not to Richard Branson as it had long been rumored.
