Tourists II

How could I have forgotten the local tourist?! (In my defence, they are a bit of a rarity in Cambodia on a weekday.)

These ones appeared on our organised tour to Ream National Park. The young couple (in their early 20s?) were on the van that came to pick us up, but were later dropped off at Boston Hotel nearby. (Looks nice and new on the outside, but step into reception and that feeling will soon go away!) Which is to say they did not join the 20-or-so of us foreign tourists for (a very plain and time-wasting) breakfast of a baguette and jam with tea or coffee in the dilapidated front porch of an old house compound. How clever.

As if by special arrangement, they were picked up again on our way to the park. I admit I felt rather envious. We could've been picked up in similar fashion and that'd've given us an extra hour or so to enjoy a better breakfast.

Unlike other local couples we have encountered, this was an affectionate couple. It's hard to ignore when you're sitting behind them in a 2-hour long boat ride. And both of them continued to receive telephone calls through the day, despite the somewhat remote location.

That's because mobile phone coverage has rapidly expanded in the rural areas. While land lines are available in the capital and other cities, they are a complication when it comes to the land mine infested rural areas. The World Bank even provides the country funding to expand mobile communications networks.

The guy, in particular, appears to be a very busy man - and part Chinese. This prompted some pointed remarks from the European tourists. "Even in the middle of the forest, he is talking on the phone."

And in true local style, they were togged out in slippers for the trek. It's commonly seen also in neighbouring Vietnam and China. Keep your eyes peeled and you'll even spot some ladies in open-toed heels (with stockings, of course!).

Tourists

I can't remember the last time I saw so many tourists (besides the dodgy ones). Maybe it's because Cambodia has the Angkor historical park and even turned their sites of horror into tourist attractions. But there're crowds of them at any one attraction on any one day, and a good percentage of them seem to hail from Europe.

But I'm also a tourist, so let's start with me!

I'm the road menace. I rent a bicycle and cycle with all the other traffic. Not really the best way to travel considering the sheer number of potholes and motorcyclists raising clouds of dust on the sandy road. On one occasion, I was wearing a baseball cap, which was a bad move. Sure enough, it flew off my head just as I got over the crest of a hill. The brakes come on as a reflex action. The groovy combination of brakes, downhill slope and sand on the road accumulated into a skid. I jump off the bike as it goes crashing down, dumping everything in the basket onto the road with a clatter. I landed on my feet with nary a scratch! Instead of applause, my great escape incites laughter from watching locals in a nearby shop. They must sorely lack entertainment.

We were looking for hilltop restos Chez Claude on one of these bicycle trips, when we ran into an Englishwoman. Half of what I assume to be a fairly well-to-do middle-age couple, since we ran into them while trying to ask for directions at a high-end seaside resort that's got its own private stretch of beach and beautiful chalets over the water.

She hailed me as I rode past, wanting to know where I got the bike. So insistent was she on getting similar bikes that she got the address of the shop off us, even though it was all the way in town. The concierge was trying hard to meet her needs with various bikes, but she rejected them, as her husband looked on with a pained expression. Only bikes like ours will do! Ouch, customer service is hard!

You know what else is apparently hard? Trying to get a photograph at attractions overrun by tourists. If you are sitting in a large tree, one of those that have invaded one of the Angkor temples, just minding your own business, a group of tourists, mostly large middle-aged Caucasian women, will appear on the other side of the pond. What they're going to do is they are going to start shouting across the pond at you. They holler at you to remove yourself because they want to take a picture and you're in the shot. Their Cambodian tour guide joins in. And when you get off the tree and out of their picture, they applaud, making you wish you'd stayed where you were and gave them a finger instead.

There's another breed of photographer - the lone wolf. We caught one lurking around the countryside - or rather, he caught us as we rolled past on our remork moto - he was huffing and puffing away on a bicycle. Our driver regarded him and his straw hat with distaste and distrust - apparently they'd already met the day before, at the same pepper farm. He was apparently flirting with the two Australian girls who'd hired our driver. It might be your lucky day if you actually catch him in the act of photography.

If your luck doesn't hold up, you're bound to run in the more evolved specimen of the photographer - the videographer. He is all geared up - right up to the furry muffler for his microphone. He videos the Killing Fields, with its scraps of tattered clothing in the dirt that used to belong to people who died in mass graves. He videos the skulls all stacked up in transparent plastic boxes for the world to see, the exhumed graves now just holes in the ground, the signs instructing people not to walk across the grave, the rows and rows of pictures of those murdered by the Khmer Rouge. God help you if you stand in front of him.

One might think there's an escape from all this in the quiet of a spa. That works until a clueless French couple arrives and starts talking loudly to each other through the walls after being placed in separate rooms. I suppose it's easy not to realise that there're other people in the neighbouring rooms too. But that bit of entertainment quickly ends when the spa staff run to shush them. And then the tinkling zen music reigns again.

I come from Kâmpŭchéa

Yes, yet another country where I get mistaken for a local.

Apparently, Cambodia is a constitutional monarchy operated as a parliamentary representative democracy. I always was under the impression it's something of a communist state or a military-ruled state. Guess I really should read the front bits of LP rather than skipping the lot of them.

I know, though, that Siem Reap used to be under French control. You can't actually miss it, given the number of French tourists trawling the city. This is actually a new phenomenon to me, until I arrived in south India's Pondicherry, and not something I really understand. If it's because of the language hurdle, then it would seem to apply more to Cambodia than Pondi. Some Siem Reap hotels and restos even advertise with "French is spoken here!", while I didn't get the sense that French was all that popular in Pondi.

There're also many French businesses in Cambodia, including guesthouses and cafes. Not sure if it's French sensibilities, but I'm unable to reconcile the fact that the French owner of the cafe from which we rented bicycles from will not let us return the bicycles because the rental business closes at 5pm, while the cafe very obviously remains open! Madame, madame! We are closed, he says! I can't trust him, cause he gives off a mob boss vibe, the way he orders his employees about. He has my passport!!!

Siem Reap, in particular, strikes me as a city that relies heavily on the tourist dollar. Most cities are said to by throbbing with life - the Siem Reap heartbeat could possibly slow to a deathly crawl if all the tourists were to suddenly disappear.

Phnom Penh, in contrast, is a heaving mass, much like nearby Ho Chi Minh City (only 6 hours by bus!). Their motorcycle gridlocks are so alike, they could be twins!

Another misconception - that Angkor Wat is just a temple. It turns out, it''s just the southernmost temple of the Angkor historical park's main group of sites. And it's a very large park indeed - if you are a temple fanatic, you can purchase a pass that allows 7 days' worth of drooling over centuries-old ruins for US$60. The cheapest, a 1-day pass, costs US$20. Imagine how much the millions of tourists who flock to the site are contributing to the Cambodian economy! Meanwhile, conservation efforts are undertaken by international groups with aid or research money. It's like collecting toll on a highway built by the US or some other country, with the added benefit of UNESCO accreditation. Kaching!

Between Siem Reap and Phnom Penh, we stopped by several popular towns on the coast. Sihanoukville, with its white sand beaches and crystal clear water, is the playground of sun-worshipping Westerners. About 3 hours away, Kampot, a sleepy riverside town, is apparently popular for its sunset cruises (and pepper). A bane for yours truly, who's not worn off that 7-hour sampan ride in Vietnam yet. And finally, Kep, the hop-off point to the white sand beaches of Rabbit Island. Kep beach can't rival those of Sihanoukville, but is popular with local tourists, apparently. And it's here that we run into something sinister.

We're walking along the quiet seaside promenade that goes to Kep beach, when two fellows zoom past on a motorbike. They stop in front of us, and the pillion rider hops off and heads in our direction. He is carrying an axe and not hiding it very well. It's not of the big variety, perhaps about the size of a small kitchen chopper. Meanwhile, the driver, still with his engine running, is looking back towards us, as if watching for something to happen.

Suddenly afraid, we quickly cross to the other side of the road and walk away from the pair. I can't help but feel a crisis was averted.

Another feeling hard to shake off - something seedy going on among tourists. You've got hotels that need to be certified "child safe". You've got the usual list of rules and regulations in your guest room, except at #1, you're being informed that sex with children is illegal. And you've got middle-aged Caucasian men chatting up school boys by the riverside, or in the park. And you've got ads urging you to report anyone you find suspicious - with his full name, no less! Excuse me, sir, I see you're chatting up this school boy, would you tell me your full name, please?

Did you see the dolphins? No, we didn't see the rare Irrawaddy dolphins, even though they're said to frolic on the fringes of the Ream National Park (about 20km out of Sihanoukville). Well, if you're headed south of the country, Kratie might be a better bet ... I heard.

And here are the pictures~