Bruce & Sherrill on the Mekong, Cambodia Sherrill and I visited more than 60 countries and most of the United States during our 52 year marriage. This is number 53 of a series about our lives and travels, true stories of two people discovering the world, each other, and themselves through five decades of traveling together. If you scroll down, you'll come to earlier posts in this series. To start at the beginning of our marriage and travels look at the Archives list in the sidebar and start with May, 2017. Older posts are a previous series.
A small, middle-aged women with broad, handsome, Khymer features and a brisk, serious manner met us at Phnom Penh. She started talking on the way from the airport to our hotel and, it seemed, hardly ever stopped.
"The city has a population now of about one million," she told us, "but under the Khymer Rouge it was empty. Everyone was sent to the country to work—unless they ran away or were murdered. Intellectuals, professionals, most educated people, were killed or driven out of the country and young, ignorant people from the country were recruited and brainwashed."
Phalla seemed determined to make sure that we understood the horror her country had endured. Despite the elegant Cambodian silk scarf around her shoulders, Sherrill told me later, Phalla reminded her of a nun teacher she'd had in grammar school.
"She always looked like she was badly disappointed with us. She liked swatting kids with her ruler—but never me."
From 1979 through 1989, the population of Cambodia dropped from seven million to four million. When Sherrill and I were there in 2000, it was about 11 million, half under fifteen.
"The city has a population now of about one million," she told us, "but under the Khymer Rouge it was empty. Everyone was sent to the country to work—unless they ran away or were murdered. Intellectuals, professionals, most educated people, were killed or driven out of the country and young, ignorant people from the country were recruited and brainwashed."
Phalla seemed determined to make sure that we understood the horror her country had endured. Despite the elegant Cambodian silk scarf around her shoulders, Sherrill told me later, Phalla reminded her of a nun teacher she'd had in grammar school.
"She always looked like she was badly disappointed with us. She liked swatting kids with her ruler—but never me."
From 1979 through 1989, the population of Cambodia dropped from seven million to four million. When Sherrill and I were there in 2000, it was about 11 million, half under fifteen.
Sherrill on the Corniche, Phnom Penh, Cambodia, 2000 Driving into the city, we were impressed by all the construction. Many new hotels and businesses were joint ventures with businesses in Japan, Thailand, Taiwan, Singapore, and other countries. Now, there were at least a hundred garment factories in Phnom Penh. The money came from abroad, while Cambodia provided the land and workers.
"I was from a province near Siem Reap," Phalla said, balancing at the front of the bus as it careened over the uneven roads, "but my mother sent me to Phnom Phen because of war danger. Later, I returned and married, but when the Khymer Rouge took over the country, my husband and I were sent to a village far in the north. My son died because there were no medicines and two of my brothers were killed by the Khymer Rouge. Those were bad times."
"Look at that!" Sherrill pointed out the window.
In the center of a traffic roundabout we were circling, a giant revolver balanced on its hilt, barrel pointed skyward—twisted into a knot. It symbolized peace, but peace came too late for these people. All across Phnom Phen, we saw maimed and mutilated men and women and sometimes children, most of them war victims, often maimed by land mines. When we were on foot, they pursued us, displaying their wounds and stumps.
"I was from a province near Siem Reap," Phalla said, balancing at the front of the bus as it careened over the uneven roads, "but my mother sent me to Phnom Phen because of war danger. Later, I returned and married, but when the Khymer Rouge took over the country, my husband and I were sent to a village far in the north. My son died because there were no medicines and two of my brothers were killed by the Khymer Rouge. Those were bad times."
"Look at that!" Sherrill pointed out the window.
In the center of a traffic roundabout we were circling, a giant revolver balanced on its hilt, barrel pointed skyward—twisted into a knot. It symbolized peace, but peace came too late for these people. All across Phnom Phen, we saw maimed and mutilated men and women and sometimes children, most of them war victims, often maimed by land mines. When we were on foot, they pursued us, displaying their wounds and stumps.
When the Khymer Rouge finally was overthrown, Phalla told us, she returned to Phnom Penh. "My husband had disappeared and I'd lost many years, but I refused to let myself drown in the dark waters of the past. When your life has been hell, you think only of the future. And revenge."
Later, we stopped at the park from which Phnom Phen Hill rises, a stupa and temple at the top, and climbed the stairway up, past giant statues of seven-headed nagas, sacred guardian snakes, to shrines not only to Buddha but also to Vishnu and other holy figures.
"People here," I said, "seem to be open to all possibilities."
"Or are hedging their bets," Sherrill countered. "And the way they drive around here, they need to!"
Later, we stopped at the park from which Phnom Phen Hill rises, a stupa and temple at the top, and climbed the stairway up, past giant statues of seven-headed nagas, sacred guardian snakes, to shrines not only to Buddha but also to Vishnu and other holy figures.
"People here," I said, "seem to be open to all possibilities."
"Or are hedging their bets," Sherrill countered. "And the way they drive around here, they need to!"
Sherrill at the Royal Palace, Phnom Penh, Cambodia We were amazed by how wild and erratic the traffic was: bicycles, motor scooters, small cars and trucks, cyclo pedicabs, wove in and out of lanes, darted around each other, several people, even whole families, often balanced on one scooter. Small children nonchalantly straddled the scooters behind their parents—usually none of them wore a helmet, but if anyone did it was the man. If the scooters, bikes and pedicabs weren't carrying families, they were hauling mountains of food, kitchen wares, baskets, or bulging bags of rice. The king's benign and saccharine features hovered like the Wizard of Oz all over the city.
During the Khymer Rouge period, we learned, the National Museum lost many important pieces, but we did see a few surviving sculptures that gave us an idea of Cambodia's artistic history. Later, we stopped at some workshops in which new Buddha statues were being made. Apparently, so many religious images were destroyed when Pol Pot ruled that now there was a boom in producing new ones—although most of the new statues we saw were crudely made. When they were finished, they were tarted up with scarlet lips and fingernails.
During the Khymer Rouge period, we learned, the National Museum lost many important pieces, but we did see a few surviving sculptures that gave us an idea of Cambodia's artistic history. Later, we stopped at some workshops in which new Buddha statues were being made. Apparently, so many religious images were destroyed when Pol Pot ruled that now there was a boom in producing new ones—although most of the new statues we saw were crudely made. When they were finished, they were tarted up with scarlet lips and fingernails.
That evening, our friend Hala arranged for us to set out on cyclo pedicabs, one of us per cyclo, for a circuit of Phnom Penh, our drivers perched behind us. They propelled us first along waterfront boulevards, then turned into busy downtown areas. Then, to everyone's surprise, it began to rain, lightly at first, then harder—and harder.
The cyclo drivers stopped to tug worn awnings over us, but they gave little protection from the wind-driven rain. We cycled along historic streets and new parts of the city, some people on bikes and scooters around us now holding umbrellas, but most were stoically becoming drenched. Finally, our little procession stopped in front of the Hotel de Royale, an old colonial place recently refurbished by the Raffles Group. Abandoning our cyclos, we squished up the driveway and into the luxurious hotel.
Dripping through the elegant lobby, we maneuvered around expensive wicker furniture, to a central courtyard. Hala told us that when she came to Phnom Penh nine years before she tried to stay at the hotel but it was so run down, with rats running through the halls, that she moved after one night. Now, it was the finest hotel in the city. The rain refused to stop, so we returned to our cyclos. Around us, traffic struggled in what turned out to be the last monsoon storm of the season. Peering from under my shredded awning, I saw a sad little elephant being led through the gray, slanting rain.
The cyclo drivers stopped to tug worn awnings over us, but they gave little protection from the wind-driven rain. We cycled along historic streets and new parts of the city, some people on bikes and scooters around us now holding umbrellas, but most were stoically becoming drenched. Finally, our little procession stopped in front of the Hotel de Royale, an old colonial place recently refurbished by the Raffles Group. Abandoning our cyclos, we squished up the driveway and into the luxurious hotel.
Dripping through the elegant lobby, we maneuvered around expensive wicker furniture, to a central courtyard. Hala told us that when she came to Phnom Penh nine years before she tried to stay at the hotel but it was so run down, with rats running through the halls, that she moved after one night. Now, it was the finest hotel in the city. The rain refused to stop, so we returned to our cyclos. Around us, traffic struggled in what turned out to be the last monsoon storm of the season. Peering from under my shredded awning, I saw a sad little elephant being led through the gray, slanting rain.
Village on Tonle Sap Lake, Cambodia The next morning, we were up early to drive to the airport. At least, the day was clear. Our flight to Siem Reap, gateway to the recently reopened Angkor monuments, carried us over the vast Tonle Sap lake and its flooded marshlands and farms. Back then, before the crowds of later years began to come, Siem Reap was still small and old fashioned, with just a few guest houses and little hotels—except one new French-built hotel on the edge of town.
Phem Lorm, our temporary guide there, a portly middle-aged fellow dressed in the loose brown shirt and pants of the Cambodian professional, spoke surprisingly formal English. As we bounced over massive potholes in the road, someone commented that it was like a battle zone. He turned to her with a fierce expression.
"Madam, this was a battle zone." Just as in Phnom Penh, he explained, the local population was sent out of Siem Reap—to the mountains. "Many of my relatives and friends died. Some were shot, others from diseases. But I survived, ladies and gentlemen. I was lucky. I didn't speak English for four years—afraid they would think I worked for the CIA."
Phem Lorm, our temporary guide there, a portly middle-aged fellow dressed in the loose brown shirt and pants of the Cambodian professional, spoke surprisingly formal English. As we bounced over massive potholes in the road, someone commented that it was like a battle zone. He turned to her with a fierce expression.
"Madam, this was a battle zone." Just as in Phnom Penh, he explained, the local population was sent out of Siem Reap—to the mountains. "Many of my relatives and friends died. Some were shot, others from diseases. But I survived, ladies and gentlemen. I was lucky. I didn't speak English for four years—afraid they would think I worked for the CIA."
Sherrill at Rolous temple group, Angkor, Cambodia In 1979, Hanoi sent Vietnamese troops to fight the Khymer Rouge, beginning a ten year civil war. A million landmines were set throughout the country, especially around Siem Reap and Angkor. Some landmines responded only to heavy weight, others to a human step. Sometimes, they were planted together, a stick under the smaller mine leading to the bigger one. A perfect example of "over kill."
"These villages look poor to you," Phem Lorm said, "but now people have food. Under Pol Pot, even animals died of starvation. At least, now, individual citizens can own land, animals, private property. It is okay to be educated. But much of the area still needs to be cleaned of land mines."
It was hard to believe that this countryside of sun-dappled fish ponds, palm trees, rice fields, and bamboo houses standing like storks on stilt-like legs had been the site of fierce fighting. We bumped and jolted to the Rolous group of temples. Climbing past guardian lions, we reached the first ninth century stone temple. Deeply cut bas reliefs caught the morning sun, creating bold patterns of light and dark. The foliage sprouting on the temple's tapering crown suggested fuzzy green hair.
"These villages look poor to you," Phem Lorm said, "but now people have food. Under Pol Pot, even animals died of starvation. At least, now, individual citizens can own land, animals, private property. It is okay to be educated. But much of the area still needs to be cleaned of land mines."
It was hard to believe that this countryside of sun-dappled fish ponds, palm trees, rice fields, and bamboo houses standing like storks on stilt-like legs had been the site of fierce fighting. We bumped and jolted to the Rolous group of temples. Climbing past guardian lions, we reached the first ninth century stone temple. Deeply cut bas reliefs caught the morning sun, creating bold patterns of light and dark. The foliage sprouting on the temple's tapering crown suggested fuzzy green hair.
After lunch, we headed to Angkor Wat, joined now by Kwon, our principle guide for the region. Twenty-eight years old, he was a small boy during the Pol Pot years. His name, he said, meant "survivor." Later, we learned what he meant.
Although recently the stone mountain of Angkor Wat was smothered by rain forest, now it was open to the sky again, with a huge moat representing the ocean. Kwon told us about the fighting here during the civil war. The Khymer Rouge soldiers were illiterate peasants who thought nothing of stealing sculptures from the temples to sell to the highest bidders.
"People died here," Kwon told us, "defending the temple."
Bullet holes, we saw, as we hiked across the causeway to the temple, still pockmarked the paving stones. The bullets hit at an angle, leaving troughs in the sandstone, as if mineral-eating worms had infested the causeway. We gazed up at the towers, impressed by their strange beauty and what they'd endured over the years.
"Our empire," Kwon told us, his features taut with pride, "stretched from China to central Vietnam and the South China Sea."
Although recently the stone mountain of Angkor Wat was smothered by rain forest, now it was open to the sky again, with a huge moat representing the ocean. Kwon told us about the fighting here during the civil war. The Khymer Rouge soldiers were illiterate peasants who thought nothing of stealing sculptures from the temples to sell to the highest bidders.
"People died here," Kwon told us, "defending the temple."
Bullet holes, we saw, as we hiked across the causeway to the temple, still pockmarked the paving stones. The bullets hit at an angle, leaving troughs in the sandstone, as if mineral-eating worms had infested the causeway. We gazed up at the towers, impressed by their strange beauty and what they'd endured over the years.
"Our empire," Kwon told us, his features taut with pride, "stretched from China to central Vietnam and the South China Sea."
Angkor Wat, Cambodia
Streaked by time and nature, the broad galleries and exuberant sandstone towers rose like a fleet of ocean liners from waves of terraces and steps. The afternoon sun etched creamy pink shapes across the stone, especially on the carved faces peering from among the shadows. The saffron robes of Buddhist monks flitted through the galleries, abstract yellow shapes among the red-brown stones. As evening smudged the terraces, we returned across the causeway, past young boys jumping into the moat's murky water, shouting and splashing as if at a swimming hole, streams of water rolling off shining heads and down sleek brown backs.
The next day, on our way to the Angkor Thom temples, we passed people on their way to work, most on bicycles, some walking, a few on motor scooters or in the backs of trucks. The outlying villages, Kwon told us, still had no electricity. The ancient fortified city of Angkor Thom surprised us by its size. Unlike Angkor Wat, which was a ceremonial site, this was a city in which people lived, perhaps as many as a million. Although the wooden structures in which people had lived were gone, what remained impressed us. The causeways were flanked by rows of stone gods and demons, broken and worn, but indomitable. Enormous faces glared at each other across terraces. Others surveyed the forest and distant mountains, as if watching for enemies.
"They look like Kwon," Sherrill whispered to me.
She was right: the same broad cheekbones, wide mouth, and high forehead above shadowed eyes—the same proud dignity.
"They look like Kwon," Sherrill whispered to me.
She was right: the same broad cheekbones, wide mouth, and high forehead above shadowed eyes—the same proud dignity.
 Angkor Thom, Cambodia |  |
"I was three when my father disappeared," he told us, one day. "We were force-marched night after night, sleeping under village houses. Any light, even the smallest, was forbidden because of American bombers, but if we strayed off the forest track we were beaten. Once, my mother had a good life, but now she had to pretend to be a peasant by building her own bamboo hut. My uncle crept over at night to build it for her or she would have been killed. She left me to go irrigate rice, but came back when she could to feed me leaves and roots and fruit and rice that she stole."
The temples of Ta Prohm, the next group we visited, still were held in the powerful embrace of gigantic ficus trees, banyan roots, and strangler figs, stones even being pried apart by the muscular roots. Lizards crawled along the walls and parrots darted among the leaves overhead.
 |  Sherrill, Ta Prohm, Angkor, Cambodia |
After a long drive the next morning, we came to Banteay Srei, a temple only just opened to tourists because it had been heavily land-mined. We were warned not to wander away from the cleaned area, but these were the most graceful carvings we'd seen, complex, but startlingly sharp and vivid. Leafy, coiling vines flowed around human and non-human forms, slender-waisted dancers, and hideous demons. Walking back to the road, Sherrill and I were attracted by the sounds of a makeshift percussion and string band, with several children singing and dancing and asking for contributions.
As we hiked across the dark dirt, we saw that all of them were missing body parts. Feet, hands, legs had been replaced by stumps and scars. Looking up at us hopefully, they played their makeshift instruments with increased vigor. What could we do, but tuck tattered riels and dollar bills into their belts and pockets and drop coins into the tin cans waiting on the hard earth?
As we hiked across the dark dirt, we saw that all of them were missing body parts. Feet, hands, legs had been replaced by stumps and scars. Looking up at us hopefully, they played their makeshift instruments with increased vigor. What could we do, but tuck tattered riels and dollar bills into their belts and pockets and drop coins into the tin cans waiting on the hard earth?
Landmine warning, Siem Reap, Cambodia, 2000 The next day, some of us visited a school in which people disabled by the war could learn handicrafts such as woodworking. However, since the government still had limited resources to help these victims of the civil war, most of them had to find their own methods of survival.
To be continued....
To be continued....
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