Phnom Penh

We arrived on a bus from Saigon after a seven-hour journey. The border-crossing into Cambodia was quite tedious, but once safely through we noticed a distinct difference from Vietnam. There were now tuk-tuks and Buddhist temples. Motorbikes were less prevalent. More rubbish littered the roadways and the roads themselves were less maintained. Everything seemed dustier. Khmer script had replaced Vietnamese writing on the store-fronts. The atmosphere became more rural and suddenly there were water buffalo loitering in the fields. 

About an hour and a half later we crossed the mighty Mekong River, and soon after that we began arriving in the capital of Cambodia, Phnom Penh. 

Phnom Penh is a beautiful city. Buddhist temples dot the cityscape, mingled with skyscrapers scattered in random fashion. Tuk-tuks on the street give an older vibe. Wide boulevards are a reminder of the French colonial period. We came during the cool air of the rainy season. 

On our first full day in Phnom Penh we hired a tuk-tuk driver to take us around town. (This was the best decision we made our entire trip. He ended up being our guide for the next three days.) We sat in the back of the tuk-tuk, moving at a leisurely pace with a fresh breeze at our face while enjoying the sights and sounds of the city. 

Thai, our tuk-tuk driver.

The colors of Phnom Penh are amazing: the Buddhist temples with their red and yellow walls, and golden spires; the orange robes of the monks; the dirty brown of the Mekong; the maroon, silver and blue corrugated roofs of the shacks at the water's edge; the white and navy blue uniforms of the school kids; the cerulean sky; the gray of the clouds. These were sights never to forget!

We crossed the Tonle Sap River onto a narrow peninsula that also straddled the Mekong. We stopped at a Buddhist temple with an elaborate staircase consisting two mythological golden snakes along the sides. Beneath the balustrade at the center of the stairs were four Dharma wheels, each representing the eight righteous practices taught by Buddha. This golden staircase led to the main worshiping hall. We were almost the only visitors there. Frescoes on the walls and ceiling told numerous stories. A lady knelt and worshiped near the Buddha while a monk entered to offer prayers. 

My favorite place, however, was across the road at the old Royal Palace. According to our driver, the kings lived there 200 years ago. The building was now locked and abandoned, but what fascinated me most was the nearby cemetery. This was the first burial ground I had seen in Asia. Most of the graves were in the form of large conical monuments called stupas. I didn't know if these were burials of the royal family, or monks and nuns. 

Old Royal burial ground.

Frescoes on the walls of the temple.

Stone sculpture in the National Museum of Cambodia.

Buddhist grave and temple on outskirts of Phnom Penh.

Another thing that struck me about Phnom Penh was the friendliness and openness of the people. Thai, our driver, was extremely friendly and always carried a big smile. 

On our way to another temple, while in the back of the tuk-tuk, we were accosted by a couple school boys who hopped in to hitch a ride. They weren't shy at all. Jordan put his arm around one and they stayed with us until the driver shooed them out. 

When we arrived at the temple there was a boy and girl who quickly became our buddies. The girl jumped onto Jordan's back and demanded a piggy-back ride around the grounds. She would get restless and jump off, but a minute later was climbing back on. Then she would grab onto my arm and I would swing her around. The boy demanded that we buy peanuts from his father so we could feed the resident monkeys. We paid 2,000 riels for a small package and the monkeys came right down from the trees. We stretched out our arms and they ate directly from our hands.—But when it was time to go, the two young kids rubbed their bellies and held out their palms. They wanted a hand-out. 

This scenario played out another time as we sat at an outdoor restaurant, waiting for our food to come. Three kids, who appeared to have just gotten out of school because they still had their backpacks, came begging for money. They stood at our table for five minutes straight in silence with their hands pressed together in prayer position. They stayed until the owner shooed them away. 

A schoolboy hitches a ride on our tuk-tuk.

These kids aren't shy at all.

The resident monkey eats peanuts from my hand.

This friendly girl wanted a piggy-back ride.

Smiling monks outside the National Museum of Cambodia.

We passed this cute boy on a street in Phnom Penh.

A visit to Phnom Penh would not be complete without an understanding of the Cambodian Genocide and its impact on the local population. It was 1975 when Pol Pot, the communist leader of the Khmer Rouge, led his troops and seized the capital city. They proceeded to evacuate the citizens by force to the countryside where they would live as farmers. The goal was to create a pure and self-sufficient peasant society by eradicating the urban and educated classes. 

During the next four years over 1.7 million citizens—a fourth of the population of Cambodia—would die from starvation, forced labor, torture or execution. Many were brought to Tuol Sleng Prison in Phnom Penh, a former schoolhouse transformed to interrogate and house prisoners. After being kept in squalid conditions, they were shipped a few miles away to the Killing Fields where they were executed and buried in shallow graves. 

The prison, also known as S-21, is now the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum. Walking through the rooms is a humbling experience. The small brick cells where prisoners slept are still intact. Thousands of black and white booking photos are on display—men, women and children who would eventually be killed. Tools used for torture are laid out. The final room exhibits skulls of some of the deceased. 

Nineteen seventy-five wasn't that long ago. Most of the people here have direct connections with someone who was killed. Thai, our tuk-tuk driver, had his parents and at least one sibling who were killed. He was raised an orphan and has no memory of his family. 

Interrogation room at Tuol Sleng Prison in Phnom Penh. The prison now serves as a museum.

Mug shots of those sent to Tuol Sleng Prison.

Shanty dwellings extend to the river's edge.

Anywhere in the world where I travel, I always make sure to visit as many markets as possible. This includes small family-owned stores, neighborhood grocery stores, and major city markets. In Phnom Penh, Central Market is the major hub where vendors of all kinds come to sell their wares. 

Nearly everything is sold there, from appliances to apparel. We found t-shirts for two American dollars each. Jordan found pants for his girlfriend and I bought a couple hard-to-find postcards. 

For me, the heart of a market is where the food is, and this one didn't disappoint: fish, herbs, fresh fruit, strange desserts. Want food on a stick? Try squid or prawns or . . . frogs! 

We wanted to be sure to visit the night market also, which opened only after 5 pm, and was located in a different venue from Central Market. The market sat in open-air, but was protected from the elements by individual awnings. At first, nothing appeared special about this market. Booth after booth of clothing was typical of any market in the world. But then we came to the food court. 

Instead of tables and chairs to sit on, there were colorful mats laid on the ground. The customer removed his shoes and ate comfortably with his plate on the floor. We ordered Lort Cha, a stir-fry with rice pin noodles and beef. 

By the time we were done with the market, the rain was coming down at a slow, but constant drizzle. We walked a mile in the dark to the hotel, I with an umbrella and Jordan with damp hair. 

Fatigued worker at Central Market.

People eat on mats at the Night Market in Phnom Penh.

Phnom Penh is a river city. It is bordered by the Tonle Sap, Mekong, and Bassac Rivers. It is considered the beginning of the Mekong Delta, meaning that instead of tributary branches that flow into the river, there are distributary branches which run out. The river system is an important source for fishing, which contributes immensely to local cuisine. 

In front of the Royal Palace, along the edge of the Mekong, is a riverside pedestrian walk, and at this point the river is nearly a mile in width. It is a lovely place to sit down and enjoy the breeze and view, watching people in their own environment. In the river there are fishing boats and patches of water hyacinth floating slowing with the current. 

When we were there we watched a group of boys fishing with a stick and piece of string. Even a monk, dressed in orange robes, found time to enjoy the spectacle. 

It wasn't surprising to see the monks because across the street was Wat Ounalom, a Buddhist monastery that is over 500 years old. We walked into the courtyard and found a lady feeding pigeons by tossing bird-feed onto the plaza. Shortly afterward a young boy raced through with his toy car into the flock of feeding pigeons and a couple mooching roosters. 

As we moseyed through the courtyard we came to an adjacent building where a dance class was being held among the youth. The face of the building was open so we could watch from outside. The music was a gentle traditional melody and the boys and girls walked slowly, but deliberately, in a circle while contorting their hands and feet in a specific manner. The instructor was strict, often slapping the hands of the dancers if their movements were not exact. The dancers wore sampots around their waist and moved with bare feet. 

It was interesting to watch. They practiced with strictness and exactness, displaying that Asian discipline that is often frowned upon back home. I admired their devotion to learning a traditional dance. I don't know if this was compulsory or voluntary, but either way, their culture was being handed down. 

Locals use a stick to fish in the river.

A lady feeds the pigeons at Ounalom Temple.

Youth learn a traditional dance.  They are wrapped in sampots.

We arrived in Phnom Penh on bus, but we would leave by boat. We had spent four days in the Pearl of Asia and it was now time to bid adieu. A four-hour journey would bring us back into Vietnam.

In all my days of traveling, perhaps my favorite city I've ever visited has been Phnom Penh. It was an unexpected surprise. There was a blend of old and new, Buddhist temples, monkeys, tuk-tuks, perfect temperatures, harrowing history and exotic markets. As someone who wants to waste no time seeing the world, there are very few places I would prefer to see a second time. But Phnom Penh is one of those places. ♠

 

 

Chinatown—Saigon

Sanshan Hokkien Temple, Ho Chi Minh City.

We did something we had never done before. The two of us piled onto the back of a moped, trusting our taxi driver to take us through the crazy streets of Saigon. Two-wheeled vehicles are the preferred means of transportation here and it is not uncommon to see three, and sometimes four people on a bike.

He drove us four miles, weaving in and out of traffic until he dropped us off at Bình Tây Market in the heart of Chinatown. 

The emergence of the Chinese in present-day Vietnam dates back to 1664 with the collapse of the Ming Dynasty. During subsequent years many Chinese fled the Motherland. In 1778 some of them took refuge near present-day Ho Chi Minh City due to a fear of retaliation for their support of the Nguyen Lords. In 1782, more than 10,000 of them were killed in what is known as the Tay Son Massacre. 

This Chinese community became its own village, known then and now as Cho Lon. Over the years it has been absorbed into Saigon, but retains much of the original Chinese flavor. It is now the largest Chinatown in Vietnam. 

Chaotic street just outside Binh Tay Market in Saigon.

Aromas come from all directions. 

Inside of Binh Tay Market.

Motorbikes are the principle means of transport in Saigon.

I don't even know how to begin describing Cho Lon. The smells are different. Maybe it's the herbs, the scent of fresh fish, the dank alleyways, the humidity, the incense. I don't know. 

There is the Chinese script that is everywhere, the lanterns, the different foods and Chinese temples. There is an older feel to it, as if you stepped back in time fifty years. 

Chinatown is not confined to a block, or any small space, but spreads in all directions, and there is no distinction as to where it begins or ends. The substance of Chinatown is a blend between Chinese and Vietnamese culture, making it difficult for the casual stranger such as myself to distinguish between the two. 

Fresh ingredients waiting to be used.

Taking a break at a park in Chinatown.

Food cart attached to a motorbike.

Our first stop was into the heart of Cho Lon: Bình Tây Market. This chaotic hub is arguably the best in Ho Chi Minh City. The market building itself had two stories, but vendors spilled out into the streets. The place was packed with fresh produce and food stalls. 

Compared with the other major market in Saigon, this one had no tourists and vendors were not at all pushy. Much of the space was devoted to practical items such as cookware, towels, blankets and the like. No souvenir items at all. 

The food section was sensory overload. There were so many smells and so many foreign foods that I couldn't comprehend them. I didn't even know most of what I was seeing. 

Pet rooster on the sidewalk.

A seller of headstones.

Chinatown felt like Saigon, but crazier and more chaotic. There seemed to be less room, more traffic, and more congestion. Sidewalks often had no room because they were filled with vendors and parked motorbikes, leaving the wary traveler at his own peril to walk along the edge of the street with traffic whizzing by just inches away. 

Of course, we had to eat Chinese food while in Chinatown. Not being too familiar with either Chinese or Vietnamese cuisine, it was difficult to distinguish between the two. We settled on a restaurant serving dim sum, a name referring to small Chinese dishes. I ordered dumplings filled with shrimp, which I ate with chopsticks and dipped in an unknown sauce.―Later in the afternoon we stopped at another restaurant and ordered wonton soup. 

It was while eating wonton soup that we experienced our first Vietnamese rainstorm. We stayed safely dry within the recess of the restaurant while fat drops of water fell from the smoggy Saigon sky. No one missed a beat. Pedestrians and motorists alike donned colorful rain ponchos and continued on their way. Within five minutes, it was over. This was a tease of what was later to come. It was monsoon season here in Southeast Asia. 

Dim sum.

Wonton soup.

No visit to Chinatown would be complete without a visit to one of the many temples. We visited three altogether, and all were similar, but unique in their own way. Common to all were the incense, the intricate sculptures, fine paintings, Chinese script and solemn atmosphere. 

The most iconic was Thien Hau Pagoda, built in 1760 by Chinese immigrants from Guangzhou. It was dedicated to the goddess, Lady Thien Hau, who gives blessings of prosperity and health on fisherman, sailors and others who travel on the sea. The new immigrants believed they had been helped by her during their travels to Vietnam, and thus built a house of worship in her honor. 

The main room was the Black Hall where there was a statue of Lady Thien Hau, as well as spiraled incense hanging above and sticks of incense in large pots. There were several red pillars with Chinese characters. As with all the temples, there were many intricate sculptures, both in the halls and outside on the grounds. 

The Black Hall of Thien Hau Pagoda with spiraled incense hanging above.

Courtyard of Ong Bon Temple.

Detail on Thien Hau Pagoda.

Pots of incense inside a Chinese temple.

One thing that amazed me about Saigon, but also Chinatown, was the innumerable amount of narrow side-streets that wound their way between buildings. They reminded me of the narrow slot canyons back home. But people live here. They park their motorbikes outside. If you peek inside, you can catch a glimpse of their humble living quarters. Although small, they keep them well decorated with plants.

One of the oldest alleyways in Chinatown is Hau Si Phuong, with two levels of colorful homes. When we visited, all was quiet. A man sat shirtless outside his door and a solitary scooter passed through. That was it. Wrought-iron railings surround the second-level balcony. Clothes were hung out to dry and plants decorated near the front door. Some had a rooster in a cage. This alley is over 100 years old and retains much of its original beauty. 

Hau Si Phuong Street, one of the oldest in Saigon's Chinatown.

Pharmacy of traditional Chinese medicine.

Along a street corner we found a pharmacy that sold traditional Chinese medicine. I stood and observed for a few minutes, watching many customers come and go. The shop was small—like almost every shop in Saigon—stacked with small boxes and bags of herbs. Some were behind a glass sliding door that a lady had to unlock. As I observed I became curious about this traditional art of healing, and wished I had known more. But, for now, a quick glimpse would have to suffice. 

Unlike our four-mile motorcycle taxi ride that brought us to Chinatown, we ended up walking the entire distance—and then some—back to our hotel. The Chinese script, the lanterns, the dim sum—they gradually faded out and were replaced with the usual din of Ho Chi Minh City. ♠ 

A Cham Village in Vietnam

Jordan and I strolled through the fish market in Chau Doc when a weathered old lady approached us. Using no English other than a few words scribbled onto a piece of paper she managed to ask us if we wanted to take a boat and see her village. Right away I recognized it as a tour of the Cham Villages that I had read about. Without hesitation, I said yes. 

She walked us out of the market and onto the dock where she had a blue boat tied to a sidewall of the river. We hopped over a short gate and walked down steps to the water's edge where we stepped into the wooden vessel. She scooted around us and moved to the rear where she fired up the motor and we slowly backed into the river. 

She wore a sun hat with a wide brim in front. From her position in the rear of the boat she drove it across the river, then slowed down as we began to pass the floating houses. These were one-story wooden shacks that were literally floating on the river. Most had a front porch. Clothes hung from every possible place to dry. Occasionally a person sat on the porch.  Most had a wooden boat docked outside. 

It was hard to believe that this was how people lived. No roads connected these homes. Only boats and water. 

The boat docked at one of these homes and our guide motioned for us to get out. We stepped into a room with a wooden floor and one side completely open to outside air. In the middle of the floor was a square hole that led to a subterranean tank of fish. The fish were caged and the water in the tank was that of the river. I don't know if these fish were to be sold to markets or if they were just to be used by the household anytime they had to cook a meal. 

The lady took a scoop of fish food from a bucket and when she sprinkled it into the water, dozens of fish jumped to the surface in search of a meal. One of them even jumped out, but quickly flopped back in. Then she motioned for Jordan to do it. He took a scoop and once again the fish went crazy. 

This was just one room of the floating house. I don't think the lady lived there, but had permission from the owners to bring in tourists. A man walked around with shorts and no shirt while a woman sat and stared off the deck toward the river. Nearby was an empty hammock, and beyond that a door that led to the rest of the house. 

We returned to the boat and continued to float past other houses of the same nature. I'm sure that many of them had the same type of fish tank. One man sat outside his house eating a bowl of rice while another cast a line with a fishing pole. Some navigated the waters on boat, bringing necessary items to their homes. Their lives were literally spent on the river. 

We now slowly floated through a side-channel, past shacks made of corrugated tin and tall trees growing in the water. This was the monsoon season and the river was at high-level. Our guide pulled the boat up to a wall where she tied it. We stepped over the hull and walked up a rocky embankment full of weeds and trash. At the top of this short, but steep incline we arrived at a road. 

I must say that even though our guide spoke no English, she was very good at charades. She walked us along the road and right away I could see where we were going: the mosque. 

The Cham people are of a different ethnicity than the Vietnamese. They are Austronesian, most likely descend from a seafaring group from Borneo. In the fifteenth century they embraced Islam and have since held firm to the faith. Therefore, by simply crossing the river, the traveler will come across mosques, women covered with hijabs, and men wearing square hats. 

She led us inside the grounds of the mosque. We took off our shoes at the bottom of the steps and walked up to the threshold of the interior. We couldn't go inside or take pictures of the inside, but we could look in and see them worship. The floor all around was made of a shiny white tile. Outside I could see a cemetery. I also saw a Muslim man taking off his sandals and washing his feet. There was a line of water spigots, probably specifically made to wash off feet. 

She then took us across the street and down a narrow alley-way to another house. This was a house on stilts and the brown water of the river stood on every side below. This was the home of a Muslim lady who sold scarfs. The scarfs are used by many of the women here to cover their head. We bought two for 10,000 dong each. 

We then went outside on a wooden deck and sat in chairs. The lady sat at a loom where she demonstrated how to make the scarfs. The loom was a large contraption with rolls of string on a spindle, the string coming up and over a beam which then passed through a beater. The lady pumped pedals to make it move and pulled down on a cord with each pass. Somehow those solitary strands of string came together as a beautiful silk scarf. Pretty amazing. I was impressed. 

I was equally fascinated watching our surroundings. A neighbor boy from one of the adjacent shanties swam in the brown river water. When he emerged and climbed out he shampooed his hair using a bucket of rain water to rinse it off. Later he came out from his shack all dressed up in a Muslim robe and cap, probably on his way to school or worship. 

That was the final event for our tour with the lady who spoke no English. She brought us back and we paid her the money, bowing to her with hands together. She was appreciative. 

The Cham have a fascinating history. They descend from a warrior culture who defeated Angkor, the capital of the Khmer Empire of Cambodia, in 1181 AD. Two centuries later, however, they were defeated by the Vietnamese. In modern times they were one of many targets of the Khmer Rouge during the Cambodian Genocide. Many of their cousins to the north were annihilated. The Khmer Rouge made many threats and even arrived ten kilometers away, but didn't attack. In a village in another district they burned down houses and killed thousands of people. 

Still, the Cham have endured. They were able to safely practice their religion, which varies slightly from orthodox Islam. For example, Cham women are able to leave the house and help earn a living without wearing a veils, or completely covering their face. This would be forbidden in an an orthodox society. Instead of praying five times a day, they only pray on Fridays. Instead of fasting during the entire month of Ramadan, they fast for three days. Pork is not consumed, but alcohol is allowed. 

Now that we were done with our tour, we wanted to see the rest of the village on our own terms. Not far from the dock where the lady dropped us off was the ferry terminal. All day long there were several large ferries that made the continuous cycle of transporting people across the river. 

We walked onto a waiting area, standing on foot while most there sat on motorbikes. There were a few vehicles. Many held shopping bags or produce that they procured on this side of the river. A lady came to me selling tickets for 10,000 dong each, which I assumed were to board the ferry. She spoke no English, but did a good job convincing me that I need to buy them. I later learned that the ferry was free and what I bought were lottery tickets! 

Within minutes a ferry pulled up to the dock, unloaded its passengers, then immediately our group filed onto the boat. Jordan and I boarded while anxious motorists sped past. The trip across the Bassac River took less than five minutes. Soon we were unloading on the other side. 

For the most part, the village consisted of one paved street. There was no sidewalk to speak of, and as we walked over potholes, we also competed with mopeds and bicycles. The street was lined with one- or two-story shacks built with brick and corrugated metal. 

It didn't take long before we came to the first mosque. This one wasn't as large as the first. We walked around the grounds and saw no one else. Atop was a bell tower with a crescent and star as its crowning feature. Inside the bell tower were loud speakers, which I assume were used for the call to prayer.

Behind the mosque was a cemetery. Although I did not enter, I got close enough to see the grave markers. Most were in Arabic, of which I couldn't decipher. The graves were stacked so close together that I didn't understand how they could fit so many bodies. 

We continued down the street which gave the vibe of a smaller town. It was difficult to pinpoint what exactly made it uniquely Cham. We saw several women wearing the hijab made from a silk scarf. Some of the men wore a kufi cap, that brimless round hat often worn by Muslims. 

It was common to see sausages out to dry. We saw other Mosques, some big and others not so big. Men inside a building played a game of checkers. Dogs barked at us. Chickens and roosters loitered along the side of the road. For some reason we saw several coconut shells broken in pieces and laid out on a blanket to dry. 

We crossed a canal which brought us to another Cham village. It suddenly had a different feel. It was more laid back, had less traffic and a narrower road. Now all the shacks seemed to be only one story tall. There were fewer mopeds and more bicycles. 

As we walked we could inconspicuously glance inside their homes. Most, I assume, were only one or two rooms. They lined their shoes outside the front door near where they hung clothes. Many had a spirit house in the front, which I believe is used to ward off evil spirits. 

Oftentimes the front of their homes were used to do their work, whether domestic or commercial, I don't know. They spread out herbs to dry and cleaned fish on large platters. For many their home was their store and they sat on a plastic stool hoping for a customer. 

I saw several Muslim men wearing their robes and kufi caps inside what looked like a small restaurant. They drank tea and I wished we could have entered and ordered some food, but there were no signs and for all I knew it was a private place. 

Near the canal was a fascinating spot. Here we saw homes on stilts like those we had seen earlier. From what I could tell the front of the home was on the road, while the backside on the canal. The walls were all patched together with corrugated sheets, some with a section cut out for a window. 

At the end of the village the road turned to dirt. I wanted to continue, but with each step we were getting further away from the ferry. And now with the dirt road, we felt as if we were intruding more into their backyards. As it was, nearly everyone stared at us as we walked down the road. I think a tourist is a rare sight here. There was so much more to explore and we had barely scratched the surface. Reluctantly we turned around. 

We crossed the canal and made it back to the original Cham village. We found a place selling noodle soup. They couldn't speak English, but we made our communication work. We sat at a table and were served a huge bowl filled with angel-hair pasta and a flowery broth. The soup contained lemon grass, basil, two thin strips of meat, and the yellow head of a flower. It had a fragrant taste. It was served with an ice-cold glass of herbal tea. We never did find out the name, nor whether it was unique to the Cham. 

That was the last of our experience in the Cham village. We returned to the ferry where this time we rode for free without even having to buy a lottery ticket! We crossed the river and docked on the other side where we emerged from the ferry into the bustle and din of Chau Doc. ♠