Nile Sprague Online Journal: Cambodia 2005
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Chhnok Truo, Tonle Sap, Cambodia Posted Wednesday, April 13, 2005 Click here for photos of Chhnok Truo "Hello Father Kike, are you going to the Tonle Sap?" "Yes." "Can I join you?" "Of course." We discussed the arrangements: I would get a taxi to Kampong Ch'nang, then another ride to the Market in Ponley where I would meet him, and accompany him to the Tonle Sap Lake. He would be there around 4:00 PM, and the trip would take about 2 hours from Phnom Penh, so I needed to leave by 2:00 PM. Everything was settled and I was just about to hang up. I said, "See you tomorrow." "No," Father Kike replied, "It is today. I'm going today." "Your going today? But I thought you were going on the 3rd of April. Today is the second. Uh, well, okay, I guess I will see you soon." I hung up the phone, and started rushing around to get ready. It was 12:00 noon. 1:30 PM my bag was packed and I was ready to go. I got a ride with a motodop to Phnom Penh's central market. I told the driver I wanted to go to Kampong Ch'nang, and he took me straight to a taxi heading there. Before I had got off the motorbike, the driver asked if I wanted to go to Kampong Ch'nang, and within minutes we had agreed on the price, and I was seated in the front seat heading towards Kampong Ch'nang. The drive was uneventful, and passed quickly. The driver was quite agressive, tail-gating with about 2 meters of space. I tried to ignore this, as it would only distress me, and there was little I could do to prevent it. One tense moment occured when the back tire popped on a small motorbike in front of us. It was laden with four grown men, and the bike started to wobble dangerously. The driver used his feet to balance, kicking along the ground, steadied the bike, and it safely slowed to a halt. Within an hour and fifteen minutes I was at the bus stand in the quiet, dusty town of Kampong Ch'nang. From there I rode a motodop 30 km to the market at Ponley. By the time I arrived, my right leg was starting to fall asleep, and I was glad to get off the motorbike. I drank a coke over ice and waited for Father Kike at a cafe near the highway. Two very inquisitive young Khmer women asked me questions. After a few minutes, one of them asked for my telephone number. When I gave it to her, she called me immediately, perhaps to test if it I had told her the real number. After 10 minutes, Father Kike arrived in a pick-up truck filled with people accompanying him from Battambang. The truck had a large cab with two rows of seats. There were six people in the cab and nine people in the bed of the truck. I quickly finished the last of my coke, paid, and climbed into the back of the truck. I sat on the tailgate, holding onto a metal bar overhead. I was surrounded by teenage Khmer men and women coming to visit their families and attend Sunday mass. We drove for about 10 minutes along a dry dirt road. We passed a series of four large school buildings, all built on high stilts, about 10 meters off the ground, with cement stairways leading to the top. Father Kike told me that the water level would come to the base of the buildings during the rainy season. At the end of the road was Chhnok Truo, a cluster of funky shacks on the shore, scores of small wooden boats, and a large floating village. There was no dock or ramp to get out to the boats, so we had to walk in the water a few meters from shore to where it was deep enough for the boats. I only had my running shoes with me, so I walked barefoot through the mud and garbage along the waters edge. I watched the ground carefully to make sure I wasn't stepping on anything sharp, and when I got into the water, I just hoped for good luck. The boat took us through the village, along a large row of buildings and then turned left. On either side there were rows of floating houses, and more houses on the shore, and farms beyond. About 2 kilometers further we came to the floating Catholic church of Chhnok Truo. It was built of wood, with a large cross and a statue over the entrance. As we came close to the church, a man started to ring a large bell, announcing the priest's arrival. We got off the boat, and people started collecting, mostly women and children, coming to greet Father Kike. The sun was getting low, about to disappear behind a solid bank of clouds on the horizon. Father Kike started preperations for the mass that would be held that evening, and I was taken on a small boat tour, navigating along intersecting waterways lined with houseboats and floating stores. Some of the houses were floating on old metal oil drums, others lashed on top of boats, used like pontoons. Others seemed to float on bamboo. We stopped at an island, walking to the shore on thin wooden planks elevated above the water, with a bamboo railing to assist balance. After climbing a small crest I we came to a field, or perhaps a marsh, of lotus flowers. Most of them were white, tinged with pink, and tightly closed with tips pointed towards the sky. To the west, the clouds on the horizon were laced with deep red from the setting sun. It was dark by the time we returned to the floating church. The large cross over the entrance was illuminated with florescent light bulbs and people had begun to gather for mass. About 60 people came to the mass, filling the church to about one-third capacity. About half of the people were children, and there were very few men. The congregation sang hymns in Khmer language, but with the melodies of classical Catholic hymns. It was an interesting mix, such familiar style and melodies with an exotic language. At the end of the mass, Father Kike gave communion. The congregation lined up, and each in turn took a piece of the wafer and then dipped it in the wine held by an assistant on right of Father Kike. They ate the wafer, clasped their hands together in prayer, and bowed before the statue of Jesus on the cross. The statue of Jesus was a beautifully carved piece of dark brown wood, illuminated overhead by a bright, warm light. Behind it was a piece of white cloth, arranged to look like a cloak. The features of the face looked distinctly Khmer - a wide jaw, high cheek-bones, and classical Khmer eyes. The hands were held with the index and middle finger extended, and the other fingers held into the palm of the hand. A metal bolt pierced the wrist of each arm. That night I slept in the church. There were four mosquito nets with thin plastic mats on the floor. Father Kike slept in one, I in another, and the companions from Battambang shared the others, boys in one and girls in another. The evening was warm, so I stretched my blanket on the floor as padding and laid on top. I had a fretfull night of sleep. I remember laying there for long stretches of time, unable to fall into sleep. And later, being woken repeatedly by passing boats, and laying in bed trying to go back to sleep. The church was on a main thoroughfair in the village, and everytime a boat went by, it sounded like a helicopter passing 20 meters outside the window. I woke at 6:30 AM and looked around. Nearly everyone had already risen. I was still exhausted, but I gladly emerged from my mosquito net, happy that a night of such fit-full sleep had ended. Father Kike was sitting outside the church, talking on his mobile phone. His conversation continued for twenty minutes and then he came inside. In a gentle tone he said, "The Pope died last night." We sat down to breakfast with the rest of the group, and Father Kike repeated the news. It was received calmly, and we began eating. I drank Nescafe and ate bread with peanut butter and jam for breakfast, and then I was given another tour of the village, this time with the crisp, silver light of early morning. By 8:30 I was back at the floating church and boarding a boat with Father Kike and his group, ready to leave for Kampong Ch'nang. The boat took us to the shore where Father Kike's car was waiting, and then we went to Battambang. When I got to the taxi stand, I had tremendous luck again, and within minutes I was in the front seat of a taxi, headed for Phnom Penh. It was mid-day, the car didn't have airconditioning, and it was hot. The sun baked down on me through the windshield. I opened the window to be cooled by the wind, but the way the window was designed, no wind was blowing on me. I read for awhile, and then started to feel sleepy. I laid in a daze, half asleep and half awake, beads of sweat collecting on my face. It was quite uncomfortable. Before long, I opened my eyes, and I could see Phnom Penh's Japanese Bridge in the distance, and I knew it would not be long before I was home, where I could escape the heat by taking a cold shower and then fall asleep in my bedroom with the airconditioning on. Koh Dike, Cambodia Posted Monday, March 14, 2005 Click here for more photos of Koh Dike Note: click photos to enlarge I went with my friends Roger and Jonah to Koh Dike Island in the Mekong River about 45 minutes NE of Phnom Penh. Roger is starting an organization to promote the use of solar voltaic energy in Cambodia, and he was going to the island to see a small-scale solar voltaic energy installation. He invited us to go along for a sightseeing trip, and to get out of the city.
We found the ferry-port, paid 1000 riels (about $0.25) for each motorbike, and loaded onto the boat. When we got to the island we were met by the man with the solar voltaic energy installation. He was a Swedish man named Greg who had been living in Cambodia for seven years. He owned a beautiful piece of property on the island with a view of the Mekong and a beautifully built, spacious wooden house raised on stilts. The place was beautiful and tranquil. When we first arrived, there was the humm of a diesel water pump in the distance, but that soon shut off, and all we could hear was birds chirping, and the occasional chatter from the neighbors.
Greg also had a solar voltaic panel set up for his neighbors. The solar voltaic panel was shared between three households, with one responsible for the security of the equipment. The three houses would bring their batteries to a central charging station at the base of a metal pole that supported the solar voltaic panel. The charging station was a pad-locked, rain-proof metal box with two alligator clips inside to charge the batteries. The families would alternate; every third day it would be their turn to charge their battery. With the power provided, they could generally use a small black and white television, a single light bulb, and a radio for three days. The system had a simple, pure democracy to it: if a family used too much of their power, they would run out before their charging day, and would simply have to do without. --------------------------------
I asked if they had kromah's, the traditional all-purpose Cambodian headscarf and handkerchief. She showed me two different kinds, one plaid with black on white, and the other purple on white. When I asked how much, she said, "Bai poen," (3,000 riel, about $0.75). I replied, "Pee poen," (2,000 riel) and she quickly agreed. Just as I settled the deal, realizing I had probably paid too much, two women arrived on a motorbike carrying a basket full of sarongs, kromahs, and table-cloths. They were clearly returning from the market, where they had spent the day trying to sell the textiles. They went straight into sales-person mode, and started unfolding the cloths and arranging them for us to see. The cloths were beautiful colors which shimmered like silk in the fading evening light.
As night descended, we thanked Greg for the lovely afternoon and the tranquil escape from the city, and then followed the funky dirt track back to the meet the ferry boat to take us across the Mekong, back towards Phnom Penh. Click here for more photos of Koh Dike Stop! Thief! Monday, February 21, 2005 Today I had my motorbike helmet stolen, almost caught the thief, and got my helmet back, all in less than thirty seconds. I was standing outside a school, talking to the receptionist at the information window, with my motorbike parked behind me and my helmet balanced on the handlebars. I looked back at the motorbike every few minutes checking on it, and suddenly I looked and my helmet was gone. I quickly stepped out of the school, and saw a young man just around the corner holding my helmet as he climbed onto the back of a motorbike with another young man driving. I yelled, "Stop, thief," and started running towards them. The driver gunned the engine and sped away as the thief dropped the helmet on the street a few feet in front of me. My heart was pounding as I picked up my helmet and walked back to the school. I immediately put a padlock and chain on my motorbike and kept the helmet with me. New Years 2005, Installment 1 Posted January 5, 2005 I'm now back in Phnom Penh. Last night was my second night back. I'm going through the customary confusion that greats me when I return to work after a vacation: tons of emails to write, and phone calls to make, and a variety of projects to start, but none of them clearly taking precedent. I spent my Christmas on Koh Chang island in Thailand, accompanied by my mother and three friends from my home town, Mendocino. I spent a total of eleven nights on the beach, mostly lounging about, swimming, playing frisbee, and socializing. I met some wonderful people, and enjoyed a welcome break from the computer. On the 28th of December I headed to the mainland to spend the night in Trat and catch a 6AM bus to Cambodia the following morning, accompanied by Ian and Jonah. By 12:30PM the next day, we were getting off the boat at the dock in Sihanoukville, Cambodia. We stayed in Sihanoukville for one night, enjoying a sunset swim and frisbee session until it was too dark to see the disk. The next day (New Years Eve) we went to the quiet town of Kampot where we deposited our stuff in a $3 hotel room, the cost shared between the three of us, and arranged transportation to Bokor Hill Station at the top of a great mountain in Bokor National park where a New Years Eve party would be held that evening. We rode in the back of a pick-up truck for the two-hour ride along a single lane track winding up the mountain. Most of the road had been paved long ago, and now had crumbled into an extremely bumpy mix of potholes and patches of pavement. I tried to find a comfortable position to sit as my tailbone ached from the motorbike accident I had been in a few weeks earlier. The jungle was spread around us and hung over the road. The view was stunning from the open bed of the truck. Occasionally we would get a glimpse through the trees and see the ocean and land spread out below. The jungle was thick, nearly impenetrable, even with the help of a machete. In places there were beautiful oil palms, their deep green, 25-foot fronds stretching into the air in a graceful arch. Large bunches of unripe, green oil berries hung from the top of the trees, like long strands of grapes. Many of the trees were immense old growth, their bark white, and branches spreading to create a canopy which obscured nearly all sun-light. Below was a tangle of vines, bushes, ferns, and young trees. Occasionally we would see a small, scrambley trail going up the hill-side. to be continued... |
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