One of the things I was most surprised by in Cambodia was the beautiful beaches. The calm of the sea and tranquility of the coastline does much to soothe and distract from the recent history and current political situation. A day spent island hopping was truly escapist, if not a bit wetter than anticipated (the first day of rain on my trip to date). Snorkelling the coral reefs and watching the fish in the warm salty waters was mesmerising. The scenery on the island and the view from the boat was tranquil and peaceful. A fabulous contrast and optimistic view of the country after the previous days sights.

The country does however, continue to experience considerable poverty. At every stop along the road and every tourist site we were regularly quickly surrounded by children practising their sales pitch, offering crafts and foods, acting much older than their years, and absolutely charming. Advice not to support this, to ignore them, in the hope that they will instead choose to go to school, is hard. All the more so to hear first hand how our guide was one of those children. Although education is free, money is needed for books, uniform and shoes (I am reminded of Victorian England, and again of Annie Brassey, who gave shoes to local children so that they could attend school). For our guide she also needed $12 US to buy a chair to sit on. After the Khmer Rouge decimated the country few such resources were left. This was too much for her family to afford and it was not until she was 8 years old that there were sufficient chairs in the school for her to be able to attend. She was a keen student, but school only ran for mornings or afternoons (the split in the day meant there would be two school days and teachers and chairs could be shared across twice as many children). The rest of her time she would earn money to be able to keep herself in school. It is impossible to determine which children attend school and which are the ones to see the power in earning money ahead of the longer term benefits of an education. For our guide, she has thrived on the skills learned selling fruit at Siem Reap. Charming and utterly adorable, her warmth and openness is disarming, and her ability to manage difficulties and challenges I don’t doubt have foundations in these early years.

Pot hole, Phnom Penh (Louise Kenward 2013)

Throughout this section of the trip, the road has been a constant. Travelling overland from Vietnam to Siem Reap, the roads are one of the most memorable themes of Cambodia, all life is lived at the roadside. Street food stalls and market traders sit alongside tuk tuk’s vying for business, competing for space with chickens, dogs, cats and children playing, while women prepare food with speed and skill.

On the roads it is a battle of wits and mopeds. I have seen many things and people being carried on a single moped, they rule the roads. One of the most valuable pieces of advice I have read is instruction on how to cross the road…you just start walking, don’t make any sudden movements, don’t run or slow down, the mopeds will dodge you. They did. 

A post about Cambodia is not complete, however, without mentioning Angkor, the city of temples at Siem Reap. The number of temples, their construction, scale and attention to detail is phenomenal. What is also impressive is the protection UNESCO give to the city. The limitations on development serve to protect the atmosphere and wonder of Siem Reap for many years to come. 

Sunrise at Angkor Wat (Louise Kenward, 2013)

I have recently left Cambodia, arriving in Bangkok by plane made the transition all the more stark. Having met people with such warmth and generosity of spirit and humanity, it has felt like I have made a very personal connection with the country and have enjoyed spending time there all the more for it. Travelling from the Cambodia border to Siem Reap by bus (there are no passenger trains in Cambodia, yet) the beautiful countryside continues seamlessly from Vietnam, with stretches of rice paddies a luscious green. From Ho Chi Minh City to the border, small stalls and shops of various kinds line the roadside. Once the border is crossed (and temperature taken by a man in a small wooden hut), the countryside opens out again and black water buffalo change to white oxen.

There is another currency and a new script, a new language and culture. Knowing little about the country, I did not have many expectations. I had, however, begun to read Luong Ung’s first book “First they killed my father”, and was quickly reminded of how recent and widespread the effects of the Khmer Rouge regime had, and continue, to be.

This time last week I had just returned from visiting S21, now kept as a museum, it was previously the prison in Phnom Penh. Before that, it had been a secondary school. One of many prisons which were created to hold and torture many thousands of people, S21 imprisoned and killed many of the most high profile prisoners from the city. Those who had worked for the government, teachers, doctors, artists, students, anyone deemed ‘intellectual’ or with professional training were deemed to pose potential threat to the Khmer Rouge in their bid to create a more ‘equal’, classless nation, and therefore were killed. The regime sought to anonomise everyone, issue clothes were black (colour was outlawed), everyone was set to work in the fields to grow rice and crops all year round. No one had any human rights, nothing could be said or done without prior approval of the  regime. 

The average age in Cambodia is now 23 years old. Fifty percent of the population is under 18. Over a third of the population was lost to this regime, either killed by soldiers or land-mines, or died of starvation. The population of Phnom Penh is still significantly smaller than it was before 1975 when the Khmer Rouge took power. There is not a family who was not affected, many are still looking for their relatives. Land mines are still killing people.

The guide who shows us around the prison, begins to talk of his story. He can have only been 3 or 4 years old when sent to a child labour camp. He told us how work was hard but accommodation “comfortable” in the dry season, this reversed in the wet season, as they lived and worked in the same place. Working in rice fields in the wet season meant they also slept in the wet. In the dry season they would be instructed to dig trenches, failure to meet the daily distance expected, resulted in further restriction of rations and physical punishment. He told us how he had been whipped for failing his task. Given inadequate and often reducing rations, their diet would be supplemented by what they could find, insects, rotten leaves and many things that should not be eaten.

When the regime was overcome 3 years 8 months and 21 days later, several women arrived to claim him as their son. He did not know who was telling the truth, too young to remember, his mother handed him a photograph of himself. He still did not know, he had never seen his own reflection. Putting trust in this woman he began to recognise the boy in the photograph as he studied himself in the mirror for the first time. Since then he has reconnected with surviving family members and worked hard, studied and learned English. Gradually gaining better paid employment, he spent time living in a temple before he was able to afford accommodation in the city, so that he can now work as a guide and ensure the story is not forgotten.

S21 has changed little since 1979, the cells prisoners were held captive in and tortured are much the same as they were 34 years ago. It housed 20,000 prisoners during it’s operation. There were 7 survivors. At least 20 other similar prisons operated throughout Cambodia. Chained together, prisoners had to ask the guard’s permission to be able to move or change position on the floor. Any sound of the chains which was not authorised was severely punished. Implements and tools for torture were explained in great detail, men and women treated differently, strategies used tailored to each gender. Unborn babies were treated with as much disregard as their parents, no one escaped the barbaric conditions.

Barbed wire was put up enclosing the galleries and windows several stories up, ensuring no one could get an easy escape through suicide. As we move through the museum there are several rooms of images, paintings and drawings by survivors of the regime, and photographs from the surviving film rolls, after much was destroyed by fire as the guards fled. Photographs of prisoners, each with a number on a tag hanging around their neck, each with varying degrees of despair and vacancy in their eyes, as they are regimentally recorded and documented by prison guards before they met their fate. There are many hundreds of faces staring out from the walls. Most of the meticulous documentation of prisoners and their deaths was destroyed. I wonder who had the task of processing the films as the emergent portraits were revealed, and how many more photographs were taken and never seen. As we emerge from the claustrophobic spaces into the courtyard outside and the warmth of the sun, relieved to be at the end of the tour and attempting to process what has been seen and heard, our guide gestures to a small table where an old man sits. One of the last of the surviving prisoners from S21, attending daily to share his story. The back of my eyes prickle at the closeness of all that I have just witnessed and my own helplessness.

Great attention to detail went in to treating prisoners with as much torment, torture and humiliation as seems possible. This continued in to the ‘killing fields’, the mass grave for the prison. Again, this is just one of many. Sited not far from the city, another memorial to the regime and all the people who lost their lives there, again, each in more gruesome and brutal ways. The less time to do their work, the more efficient the guards would be. If they weren’t in a hurry, the more time available for more creative and long winded scenes could be enacted. They don’t need to be repeated here, but I will never forget. Anticipating a more tranquil memorial to the atrocities, butterflies fill the air and peaceful countryside sounds resonate, but where there have recently been heavy rains we are cautioned to watch our step. With each new rainfall, more human remains emerge to the surface along walkways.