Cambodia through to semi's

Cambodia - Temples, Books, Films and ruminations...
In a country famous for its appalling roads, the one to Preah Vihear must be its worst. Barely wide enough for our 4x4, it cut into the 500m high cliff face at a vertiginous 45 degree angle. Shoulder-high grass pushed against the windows and rusty skull-and-crossbones signs loomed out (“Danger! Mines!”). This, I thought, clinging white-knuckled to the door handle, had better be worth it.
Our goal was one of Cambodia’s most isolated and dramatic temples, carved into a sandstone plateau in the far north-west of the country. We had spent two days on tortuous roads to get here – two days that proved to be an effective way to leave other tourists behind.
In Cambodia, you quickly adapt to your fellow visitors. You don’t have a choice. More than a million of them flood into Siem Reap each year to see the country’s famous site, Angkor Wat. There, my boyfriend and I had queued to join the swarm over Angkor’s lofty towers, been pushed aside by a crocodile-line of tour groups below Bayon’s stone heads, and raced through Ta Prohm’s chambers, fleeing the screeching megaphones of Korean tour guides.
We escaped Siem Reap on what they call a temple safari, a promise of a three-day adventure into the wild north-west. Here, we would take in some of the least-visited ruins in the country and camp-out, alone, in their shadows.
We set off in a dusty 4x4 with a guide, Servert, a cook and a driver. Trussed to the roof were three plastic water tanks; the boot bulged with boxes of food, ropes, tarpaulins and tools. It was like being rescued by the A-team – although this squad included a live chicken, clucking quietly in a box in the boot.
As we raced through Siem Reap’s outskirts, gleaming five-star hotels gave way to wooden huts on stilts, and tour buses were replaced by mopeds, swaying under the weight of entire families and baskets of live piglets. The Tarmac roads narrowed and crumbled into red dust, edged by emerald pools where water buffaloes wallowed amid lotus flowers. Mopeds gave way to bicycles, and bicycles to buffalo carts.
After two hours we arrived at Beng Mealea, our first stop. I braced myself for a queue of tour buses, but as we slowed to a halt the road stretched ahead, empty and shimmering hot. A small boy in ragged shorts wobbled past on an adult bicycle. A stray dog dozed outside a roadside café. Finally, no other tourists. We left the car and walked into the forest.
Hidden at the end of a dusty track stood the silent 12th century ruins, their collapsed, mottle grey stones smothered by foliage. Strangler figs snaked over stones and straddled walls, dropping their roots to the ground like thick plaits of hair. Vines wrapped around lintels and traced intricate patterns over carvings of demons and dancers.
Whilst we scrabbled around the ruins, the chaos of the forest pressed together over our heads, blocking out sunlight and dampening sound. We saw just two other people: a pair of guards slumped on some steps sharing a cigarette. It felt like an expensive, deserted, Hollywood set: Indiana Jones or Lara Croft might suddenly leap from a doorway, clutching a relic.
We drove on through the forest, a brief shower patting the dust back on the raised red scar of rod. Houses became smaller and villages farther apart. Children gleamed in the afternoon sun as they fished in the waist-high ponds and stared open-mouthed as we passed.
We saw only one other vehicle; a rusty blue van from the Cambodian Mine Action Centre, bumping over the potholes that seemed to increase with every mile. The signs warning of mines began to multiply, too: skulls and crossbones scattered ominously between the trees. Cambodia has one of the highest incidences of landmines in the world, a legacy of years of civil war, but Servert assured us that 98 per cent of the devices had been removed.
That night, we camped outside the walls of Koh Ker. Three centuries older than Beng Mealea and once capital of the Angkor empire. A hundred temples are hidden in the silver-grey forest, from dark stone structures sheltering giant stone phalluses to large red-brick temples smothered by strangler figs.
Despite first impressions, nowhere was quite deserted. At each site a handful of workers would emerge from the trees and temples, armed with brooms and earnest smiles. The youngest would follow us around, pointing at an engraved column here, a hidden garuda statue there. Servert said we were the first visitors in a week.
The true scale of the site was revealed beyond the leaning structures at our last stop. Behind the rusty-red temples, the forest abruptly opened up to disclose a seven-tiered pyramid, towering above the trees in a field the size of two football pitches. As our tem went to set up camp, we clambered alone up the steep, worn steps and sat looking out over the forest, the light sliding into a dusty pink and a cloud of egrets passing soundlessly overhead.
Dinner was a noisier affair. Arriving at the camp – a fireplace, a couple of tents and a bucket shower just outside the temple walls – we found that our cook had created a feast of ginger chicken, fried fish and spicy soup. The hen that had been boxed up in the boot was nowhere to be seen. We ate under the trees, listening to the background thump of the generator and the blare of Cambodian pop from the cook’s radio.
At 9.30pm sharp our team dispersed into tents, the radio and generator were silenced and a hush fell over the camp. Eerie forest crackles drifted through the thin canvas of our tent, and in the distance a baby cried into the night.
Next day, we spent five bone-crunching hours juddering across rice-paddy plains and through forest villages, before our final cold-sweat climb up to Preah Vihear. And here, after two isolated adventurous days, we saw our first tourists. We hadn’t seen or passed any on the way up. Where had they come from? I was utterly unprepared, and glared resentfully at their Bermuda shorts and baseball caps. My grumblings were halted an hour later, though, when they headed towards the gate and vanished. At 4pm we had the ruins to ourselves.
The temple climbed up over a series of avenues, stone steps and gopuras (entrance pavilions), which followed to the very top where we sat, cross-legged, on the edge of the plateau. With the hot stones of the temple behind us and the countryside rolling out below, we watched the sun set in a milky, tropical haze. It felt as though we could see the curve of the planet.
That night, after another feast below the ruins, we climbed, giggling, back up with a torch. It felt brave and audacious and when we reached the first temple I dared my boyfriend to turn off his light. As we stood beneath the dark, silent stones – still radiating warmth from the day’s sun – it felt suddenly menacing. Pinpricks of starlight shone between the looming ruins and the centuries-old stones seemed to weigh down around us. We clambered back down to the reassuring light of the camp.
Next morning, the quiet was broken as a small trickle of tourists arrived and, by the time we had broken camp, two dozen or so were straggling up to the top. Where on earth had they come from now? Nonplussed, we walked past them to the main entrance and, from this new, low vantage point, saw what was bringing them in. On the far side of the plateau was a gleaming, beautifully laid three-lane highway. This, Servert explained, was the road on the Thai side of the border. Half a dozen air-conditioned buses arrived every day, dropping off their charges and whisked them back to the comfortable hotels on the Thai side before sundown.
As we clambered back into our dusty 4x4, I braced myself for the wrecked roads, landmine warnings and empty plains on the Cambodian side. I preferred it our way.
If you are looking to experience this unique adventure for yourself, click here for more info.
The National Library (Bibliotheque)
The National Archives
Two dragon boats battle it out mid-stream at the half-way marker
The all-female boat is dwarfed by the larger all-male crewed boat
Street 96 is Christopher Howes Street
Ara and Ly with guests before the main ceremony
Ara and Ly with attendants
I've mentioned before that Hanuman is a brand that has different entities - providing tours in Cambodia, Vietnam & Laos (that's the area I'm involved in), its own boutique hotel in Siem Reap, fine arts, antiques and clothing outlets as well as a film production servicing arm. The latter, Hanuman Films is the brainchild of Nick and Kulikar, who did such a good job on the filming of Tomb Raider back in 2000, they established the company which has gone from strength to strength ever since. Between them, Nick and Kulikar have unrivalled experience across the Mekong region and are kept very busy with numerous film, television and commercial shoots in Cambodia and beyond.
Just to mention a few of the recent filming productions:
They collaborated with a US television documentary team for a programme called The Human Weapon - Cambodian Bloodsport. The program pitched Cambodian kick-boxing (Pradal Serey)champions like Oth Phouthang (who posed for this picture for me) against American opponents, Jason Chambers and Bill Duff and will be shown on the History Channel on 16 November. If anyone is interested in watching live Khmer kick-boxing, CTN has live action every Saturday and Sunday between 2-5pm atheir studio, whilst TV-5 promotes shows on Fridays and Sundays. When Al Jazeera television arrived in Cambodia to film a one-hour special titled I Knew Pol Pot, Kulikar arranged interviews with senior Khmer Rouge figures and survivors, including Brother Number 2 Nuon Chea and former head of state Khieu Samphan.
The programme Digging For The Truth - Angkor Wat was aired on the History Channel last week as Hanuman helped the filmmakers to tell the secrets and story of the Angkor temples and the ancient Khmer civilization.
Pepsi recently came to Siem Reap to film scenes for a new commercial that will be aired across the globe and will feature some of the top Premiership football stars. I was roped in to whizz around town getting snap-shots of market stalls so they could decide what to put in one of the scenes. More productions are taking place and as Cambodia takes off as far as filmmaking is concerned - amazing locations, places and faces bursting with colour - even more are sure to follow. Find out more about Hanuman Films here.
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Prosthetic Prowess - by Simon Montlake, Time (USA)
Cambodia hasn't excelled at much lately on the world stage, unless you're ranking countries for genocide and undetected landmines, of which it has an estimated 4-6 million. But the latter, grim though the connection may be, are the reason that the country is competing for a world title at the 2007 Standing Volleyball World Cup, taking place in its capital Phnom Penh. Planned by World Organization Volleyball for Disabled (WOVD), the event runs from Nov. 24 to Dec. 2, and is open to disabled athletes capable of standing, with or without a prosthesis (the WOVD also holds "sitting" volleyball tournaments for wheelchair-bound players). Ranked top in Asia, Cambodia is one of eight national teams competing for a trophy that local artists have fittingly sculpted from melted-down AK-47 assault rifles. Canada, the reigning champion, is the team to beat. The German squad is also highly rated. Out of the running are Afghanistan and Rwanda, who pulled their teams at the last minute, pleading lack of funds. Like those troubled nations, Cambodia has been ravaged by civil strife. The poisonous aftermath still lingers in mine-strewn soil, where the nation's farmers scrape a living. One of the consequences is that there's no lack of amputees keen to strap on an artificial limb and hit a ball over a net. Since 2002, a wet-season disabled volleyball league has nurtured a squad of high-flying semipro athletes who came fourth at the 2005 World Cup in Canada and are gunning for gold on home soil. Christian Zepp, 26, the team's German coach who arrived in September, reckons a place in the finals, or even victory over the favorites, is within reach. "This is our moment," he says.
Not all of Cambodia's volleyball players lost limbs to land mines. Some suffered polio or other childhood diseases, or were maimed by motorbike wipeouts on dangerous roads. Others are ex-combatants with nowhere to go: the Hawks, in the notorious Khmer Rouge stronghold of Pailin, field a mixed team of cashiered former rebels and government soldiers. From eight teams in 2002, the local league has grown to 16 sponsored squads in two divisions who compete for an annual $3,000 prize — a sum that goes a long way in rural Cambodia. Disabled volleyball might sound like a charitable exhibition sport, but don't be fooled, says Neil Wilford, a British adviser to the Cambodian league. When an Australian Navy ship docked two years ago at the southern port of Sihanoukville, its volleyball team agreed to a friendly game against a local disabled squad. Before it started, one of the Australians took Wilford aside and asked how easy they should go on their opponents. "Just play as normal," Wilford smirked. The Cambodians trounced the Australians, spiking ball after ball past the red-faced servicemen. The game has since become an annual fixture.
The National Sports Complex, completed in 1964, is the venue for the WOVD tournament. Designed by the nation's architectural doyen, Vann Molyvann, the Modernist facility was one of the high-tide marks of Cambodia's post-independence achievements, but the nation slid into civil war before it could be properly put to use. Today, the complex is hidden from view by a garish Chinese shophouses that obscure its perimeter walls, but the facilities have been restored. All the matches in the WOVD competition will be played in an indoor stadium and are free to the public. Cambodian Prime Minister Hun Sen, the patron of the disabled league, will preside over the opening ceremony.Staging a successful World Cup is symbolic of Cambodia's sporting rebirth, says Chris Minko, 51, the league's full-time secretary general. Back in the 1960s, then Premier Norodom Sihanouk promoted Phnom Penh as the sporting hub of Southeast Asia, until Indonesia stole his thunder by staging a nonaligned version of the Olympics. Secret U.S. bombings and the Khmer Rouge did the rest. But Minko, a combative, shaven-headed Australian, wants to see Phnom Penh back on top. The first step is victory on Dec. 2, which Minko hopes will help reclaim Cambodia's stature as a sports power to be reckoned with in Southeast Asia. "We're going to bring that back," he says.
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Soon to be reporting from Phnom Penh will be author Anne Elizabeth Moore, who is coming to Cambodia in December to explore an underground comics scene few have heard of in order to gain insight into the country and its government. She's been invited to live in an all-women dormitory, set up by the Harpswell Foundation, dedicated to educating Cambodian women. Moore will be a Leadership Resident, and plans to stay at least two months, initially. You can read about her trip at camblogdia.blogspot.com.
Finally, if you are not familiar with the work of Yale University’s Genocide Studies Program, click here. Yale's GSP is instrumental in the study and analysis of atrocities worldwide. In the case of the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia, Ben Kiernan, the program’s director, has made significant contributions to the field. “In 1996, our Cambodian mission discovered over 100,000 pages of secret police files,” said Kiernan. The files included lists of names produced during torture sessions with execution orders at the bottom signed by Pol Pot. GSP was founded in 1994 as the Center for Cambodian Genocide Studies, but Professor Kiernan expanded its mission and changed its name in 1998. Since inception, affiliates of the project have produced ten books and 35 working papers.