5 posts tagged “politics”
Geek love:
How do I even begin to describe this day?
Ok, from the start: We started the day with breakfast. Our friends were held up for some reason, so the Russian and I headed off to the Sunrise Coffee House without them. We were its first patrons.
We asked the waitress how big the pancakes were. She showed us a small circle with her hand. So we each ordered pancakes AND something else. Him a cinnamon bun, me some french toast. Of course, the pancakes turned out to be pretty damn huge. Also very very tasty. We got the café to pack our leftovers.
Our friends joined us halfway through breakfast. The Russian and I left them before they finished, because we needed to shit and we had a 5-hour bus journey ahead.
So then we checked out of the hostel and took a small van to the bus terminal. The bus to Phnom Penh, thankfully, was air-conditioned. However, and unfortunately, it also came with "entertainment". This included:
a) Thai music videos which showed girls dressed in skimpy clothing dancing as if they were in a club -- no choreography here -- against various psychedelic technicolour backgrounds. It was... bizarre. At one point Um.a turned around to look at me and we both burst out laughing. Look, I just snorted thinking about it. There were many different songs, but all the music videos were of the exact same style. Different girls and backgrounds though.
b) A Khmer sitcom, which involved people being angry and yelling at each other ALL THE TIME, and men crying in an exaggerated manner. The Russian pointed out that this was probably why PCK Pte Ltd always wins Best Comedy at the Asian Television Awards. Worse, the volume on the show was so loud it was honestly ear-piercing.
c) Cambodian music videos, which were the least threatening to my sanity. Slower, gentler music and no dancing -- just local actors playing out some sentimental drama.
I fell asleep for the first part of the ride. After I woke up I borrowed Fa.rah's Lonely Planet and read about Cambodia's history. Then I went back to sleep and the Russian took over. He not only read the history of Cambodia, he also put to memory the map of Phnom Penh, picked up tips on how to keep safe from lowly criminals and high-class thugs and categorised the guesthouses recommended by Lonely Planet according to how well-located they were with respect to all the tourist attractions.
The only reason why he did the last thing was because our friends had decided that The Boddhi Tree was too expensive for them. I had booked us rooms at The Boddhi Tree before the trip and was actually looking forward to staying there after reading all the reviews; now my friends said they would prefer somewhere cheaper.
When we reached Phnom Penh, it was utter chaos. I cannot even explain it to you. Could you try to imagine this for me please: Imagine you have just woken up from sleep and your head is still fuzzy. You are separated from some of your friends by the throng of passengers milling about. A policeman is standing next to you, blowing on his whistle and swinging his baton to keep the horde of shouting tuk-tuk drivers at bay. But despite the policeman the drivers keep grabbing your suitcase. You take it back once, twice, they just keep snatching it from your hand again.
Now in the midst of all this, the Russian and his brain full of knowledge was stuck somewhere at the back of the crowd, too far to take charge of the situation for us. I turned to Uma and asked her whether she had a guesthouse in mind, since she was the one who suggested the change from The Boddhi Tree. Unfortunately she hadn't gotten around to looking through the Lonely Planet recommendations.
All this while the tuk-tuk drivers were still yelling at us and shoving advertisements in our faces. They were posters for a guesthouse called The Lakeside, located along the strip of guesthouses and cafés on the bank of the Tonlé Sap. It's kind of the Khao San Road of Phnom Penh, I suppose.
It really was the worst place in the world to hold a discussion. Somehow we had to decide where to go. I suggested to my friends, why not we go to The Boddhi Tree, sit down at the restaurant and discuss where to stay. For about five seconds that became The Plan. But then U.ma said, you know, I really don't mind just going to this Lakeside guesthouse. And, you know, I was just like ok yeah whatever let's go. I just wanted to get out of that place.
Of course, it turned out to be a bad idea. The moment he caught up with me, the Russian started scolding me about giving in to scammers. It was my own brain fart, so what to do? Just sit down and feel stupid.
We then proceeded to pay too much to the scammer, who dropped us off at a completely different guesthouse. It was located along the Tonlé Sap too, but it was called the Greenlake. When I said to the driver, "This is not the Lakeside!" he pointed at the lake and said, "Yes, that is lake. This is lakeside."
Also one of the men who carried our luggage into the guesthouse tried hugging Fa.rah from the back, which really freaked her out.
Well there was no fucking way we were going to stay at this Greenlake place and earn the scammer-driver some commission, so we ignored the receptionist and the driver and all the other men and sat a table to discuss what to do next. The boys then left to look for the actual Lakeside guesthouse, or any other decent-looking guesthouse we could stay at.
In the meantime, I'm sorry to say I snapped at my girlfriends. I really had had it up to there. In the run up to the trip, I complained to the Russian many, many times that I seemed to be the only one doing anything. (Of course that is arguable.) I had looked for the guesthouses, got everyone's votes and booked the rooms with their approval. When my friends had said the day before that The Boddhi Tree was too expensive, I was hoping they'd look for a replacement guesthouse and have it decided on by the time we reached Phnom Penh. I was not expecting to end up scammed. But it was all my own damned fault anyway, so who was I to snap?
U.ma asked if I would prefer to just go to The Boddhi Tree now. I said, "Well I booked the fucking rooms there, so of course I wouldn't mind going fucking anywhere now."
And that's how it was decided.
But determined to ruin the day further, I promptly forgot that The Boddhi Tree had three branches and of course led them to the wrong one. So we had to walk about five minutes to the correct one.
Well at least it was a nice place. A sanctuary, really, from the outside world of shitty, dusty, lying Phnom Penh. The guesthouse is actually a restored colonial house. All the bedrooms and any available space besides have been turned into guest rooms. The Russian and I ended up with the attic. It had no doors, just curtains for cover, but the staff assured us the place was secure. I actually liked it a lot. As a kid I had always wanted to live in a tree.
But oh -- the day was only going to get worse before it got better.
After placing our luggage in our room, the Russian scolded me some more. And then we went to Tuol Sleung. We went without our friends because they wanted to shower first and we didn't.
Tuol Sleung, also known as S21, was where enemies of the revolution were kept, tortured and mostly killed. Before entering the building proper, there is a board where you can read a brief history and description of the place. And just outside the classrooms (Tuol Sleung was a school before it was turned into a concentration camp) is a big board which shows the list of rules that the prisoners of Tuol Sleung had to abide by. Fucking crazy rules like "You must immediately answer my questions without wasting time to reflect". (Click on above Wikipedia link to read the rest.) These helped place my mind in the proper context, so to speak.
The first classroom I walked into was honestly oppressive. I'd always thought it was a meaningless cliché when people described a certain place as having "an oppressive air" but seriously, the air in the classroom was heavy. I could barely walk. The first classroom held a metal bed frame and a picture on the wall of a tortured inmate, only recognisable as a human being because of his shape.
The second classroom held the same exhibits and was equally stifling.
But the third classroom. The third room had row after row of boards holding photos of the people who had been incarcerated in Tuol Sleung. Thousands of people -- people who looked like me and my family and my friends, to boot.
I cry as much as the next person over Holocaust films, but the truth is there is nothing that aids empathy more than the superficial.
And then, in one corner, was a cabinet filled with the clothes of these people, folded, in a fucking cabinet. Like they were waiting to be worn again. That was where I lost it.
I didn't just cry, I sobbed. I was a fucking mess. I ran out of the room and sat on a bench and cried and cried and cried. The Russian was there with me.
And even at that point I asked myself if my outburst had anything to do with my own experiences that day, but no -- I don't think the petty horrors of my first hour in Phnom Penh had anything to do with my racking grief.
After cleaning myself up we walked on.
Halfway through our tour our friends arrived, and we arranged to meet at the entrance at 5.30. By the time the Russian and I finished our tour, we had a lot of time to spare. I decided to buy my own copy of Lonely Planet Cambodia because I had a feeling the Russian and I would need it. I turned out to be right.
When our friends were done, we minus Uma went for dinner at Comme à La Maison. It was a pleasant interlude from the trying day. Haute cuisine at fast food prices! The food was excellent. The Russian's fish carpaccio was especially uplifting. If you go to Phnom Penh, you must eat there.
After dinner Fa.rah and So.o Hia.n went exploring the city. The Russian and I went looking for a place to get a foot massage. But we didn't find any so we just walked back to our guesthouse.
It turned out to be quite fortunate that we couldn't find a massage parlour, and this was also where my newly-acquired Lonely Planet came in handy: We had a fucking hell of a lot of things to arrange and very little time to do it.
Here was the problem:
Originally, we had planned to stay Friday night in Phnom Penh, then take a bus to Kampot and stay there overnight, then return to Phnom Penh on Sunday, so I had not booked a room for us in Phnom Penh for Saturday.
However, we wanted to take a day trip to Kirirom National Park on Saturday. This would be a whole-day affair starting at 730 in the morning. We won't have time to move to a guesthouse in the morning, and we'd probably be too tired to move after hiking all day.
So, we thought, maybe we could just extend our stay at The Boddhi Tree for one night.
But, when the Russian and I got back to the guesthouse after dinner, we found out that they had no rooms for Saturday. We also overheard a couple of other guests asking to extend their stay. (And I didn't ever want to leave the place, honestly, so I wasn't surprised they didn't have rooms.)
So then there was a mad scramble to look for another place to stay. I figured our best bet was the Sunday Guesthouse, where I had booked us rooms for, coincidentally, Sunday.
In the meantime, the Russian and I also had to arrange for transportation to take us to Kirirom.
While juggling several phone calls at the same time, we got to talking to the waiter/manager at the Boddhi Tree. His name was Sak, and he was a 23-year-old Cambodian who had just graduated from university, where he had studied economics and informatics. Sighing the universal lament of the graduate, he said the jobs he had now were of no relevance to his studies.
Yes, jobS. He worked in marketing by day, at the Boddhi Tree by night. He was the sole breadwinner of his family now, since his father passed away last year. But since he started both jobs he hasn't even made enough to send any money to his family. He earns just enough to cover his own food and petrol (they always call it "gasoline" in Cambodia) costs. His family lived in a different province, near the border with Vietnam.
We asked if he was not tired working two jobs daily. He said, "Yes, sometimes I think, why is my life like this? But you know, I am so happy to come to work. Because here we are like a family."
He just reminded me so much of Xai, which made me feel like doing to him what I often did to Xai -- give him money. I didn't, however. Though I really wish I had, because he was the one who got us the driver to Kirirom, through a friend of him whose work it seemed was to arrange drivers for every need.
Back to the accommodation dilemma: the Sunday guesthouse got back to me and said they did have rooms for Saturday, but I had to confirm quick. Yet my friends were taking very long to reply my SMSes and I didn't want to make a decision without their approval.
But finally, Far.ah and So.o Hia.n came back and said yes to the guesthouse, so I could confirm our booking. By that time my eyes were already half-closed. I went straight to sleep.
Well that was an exciting election wasn't it? Too bad it wasn't ours. Watching CNN and BBC on Wednesday, I really wished I was there, reporting on it, which I think shows that since 2004, I've either grown more rooted in Singapore or more cynical about the possibility of change in US foreign policy. I mean, back then, I was dying to vote in the US elections.
But oh, to be up at 4 a.m. doing live broadcast reports analysing the implications of a Democratic control of Congress! I can only dream.
From The Morning News' Mock the Vote contest:
In case you missed it in the news, Pervez Musharraf was on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart to promote his autobiography.
Who would have guessed that everything could end so suddenly on a pretty Tuesday morning? In the space of two hours, we left behind a happy era of Game Boy economics and trophy houses and entered a world of fear and vengeance. Even if you'd been waiting for the nineties-ending crash throughout the nineties, even if you'd believed all along that further terrorism in New York was only a matter of when and not of whether, what you felt on Tuesday morning wasn't intellectual satisfaction, or simply empathetic horror, but deep grief for the loss of daily life in prosperous, forgetful times: the traffic jammed by delivery trucks and unavailable cabs, "Apocalypse Now Redux" in local theatres, your date for drinks downtown on Wednesday, the sixty-three homers of Barry Bonds, the hourly AOL updates on J. Lo's doings.
-- Jonathan Franzen, The New Yorker
From the September 2001 issue of The New Yorker, a collection of reactions from writers including John Updike, Jonathan Franzen and Susan Sontag just after the attacks.
