It's Thanksgiving Monday. I haven't written in a very long time.
Scratch that.
I haven't written in this blog in a very long time. Truth is, I spend the bulk of my days learning, sharing, collaborating - either verbally or in the written word. So, at the end of the day, or on the weekends, with all the other wonderful things there are to do with oneself when you live in Toronto, have two awesome teenage sons, family friends, and the many other blessings I count myself incredibly fortunate to have been given me, I don't find myself hankering to write.
But in the process of figuring out where I was at this time last year (Prague), I remembered you, my adoring fans, and your deep-seeded desire to know what happened after Vietnam.
Actually, I doubt anyone will read any of this. But I'm going to write it anyway, as, well, I do kinda want to get this down and done, before my mind fails me, and I lose the phone I put all my notes on.
So here we go, once more unto the breach...
Do you think Henry V was an obstetrician?
This is Day 1 of my time in Cambodia, or Day 11 of my Vietnam/Cambodia trip. Actually, it's Day 2/Day 12.
1/11 started where we left off, in Saigon/Ho Chi Minh, with a switch to a new hotel, farewells to some of the people from the Vietnam leg who were not continuing on, and the welcome dinner to meet the new group lead, and the new folk joining to do the Cambodia leg. We'll sort them all out along the way.
2/12 was our bus trip from Saigon to Phnom Penh, Cambodia.
7+ hours. 2 buses (one for each country). 1 border crossing - I think it was the one at Bavet/Moc Bai, but don't quote me. All I remember is a strong smell of fish, legal casinos, and a mild feeling of weirdness as we walked through a gap between two countries. I recall thinking of Tom Hanks in The Terminal. If only he had Wilson with him there too. Catherine Zeta-Jones wouldn't have stood a chance. This would not be the most fun place to lose one's passport.
Anyway, after the mildly nervous wait in line, and not just nervous for myself, but also for my travelling companions - especially Phil for some odd reason, that I expect Linda could explain - we found ourselves aboard one of two very fancy mega-vans, for lack of a better word.
Entertainment aboard the mega-van? My book. Why do I mention that? Well, because on the bus (and it was a bus) from Saigon, we got music videos, and a movie on the "big screen" at the front of the bus. And what was the movie you ask?
The Interview.
All I'll say is that, for whatever reason, I found the experience of travelling on a public bus from Saigon to the Vietnam/Cambodia border watching James Franco befriend Kim Jong Un (okay, Randall Park), while having to read the english subtitles as the volume was too low for me to hear from where I was (but I could read it - yay decent eyesight - for distances anyway), a tad surreal.
Try it some time, you'll see what I mean.
Anyway, so I read the rest of the way. I have no idea what - it was that good. I'm pretty sure I was done with Game of Thrones. And I didn't get The Devil in the White City until I got to Bangkok, and I hadn't been given Cambodia's Curse from our leader Channa yet, so who knows what it was. Whatever, it got me to Phnom Penh - well, the van did, but you know what I mean.
Upon arrival in Phnom Penh, which incidently means "the hill of the lady Penh", phnom meaning mountain, or hill, and Penh, being a particular lady; and by particular I mean, specific, not fussy. Who knows, she may have been a tad fussy as well, history does not relate. Actually, legend has it that Lady Penh was a wealthy woman living outside a village, and that she built a shrine to Buddha atop a hill, and that pilgrim's flocked to this temple. This hill is in what is now Phnom Penh, and the temple atop it is called Waht Phnom.
Anyway, upon arrival in Phnom Penh we were immediately attacked by these lotus plants, who turned out to have no tactical skills whatsoever (being plants), and therefore succumbed at the first sign of adversity, and whose pods turned out to be very, very, yummy, as Channa had slaughtered a couple, ripped them apart with her bare hands, and offered up their innards for our consumption.
They had attempted to ambush us during our quick evening tour around the city that Channa got us out on shortly after dumping our stuff at the hotel. She really didn't like to waste any time, and for that, I'm quite grateful.
So, here we all were, whizzing around in a collection of tuc tucs, making our way through the ever darkening city to see some of it's cultural landmarks.
Above is one of the many markets from whence the lotus pods had staged their doomed ambush.
Below is a monument to Lady Penh.
I'd show you pictures of Waht Penh, except it is on a hill, we did not climb it, it was dark, and I'm still not all that good at night pictures. (I was going to say I suck at them but a friend mentioned the other evening that I used that term a lot in this blog, so I'm trying to find new ways of expressing my disappointment in my own abilities. Perhaps a thesaurus would be of benefit.)
Slurp? Siphon?
Wrong one.
Awful. Horrible. Dreadful. Terrible.
Well, I wouldn't go that far.
And here's the new group. We'd had dinner together on the first/last night in Saigon, but this is the first one in Cambodia.
And here's where we ate.
As a Canadian, I can only admit to great pride in having this restaurant named after one of our traditional headdresses. Actually, I think it means water, but I'm not 100% on that one.
Now, I'm gonna mess with time a bit.
The way the trip went, we arrived in Phnom Penh in the evening, did some stuff around it the next day, but ended up at a home stay in Chambok, then spent a couple of days at a guest house in Sihanoukville - a beach town, and then got back to Phnom Penh where we had another day.
This is that other day in Phnom Penh - Day 6, or 16, depending on how you're counting.
On this particular day I headed out with the Martin family to see what was waht. Actually, we were headed to the Royal Palace.
But first, a building that would look just as at home in Budapest. I swear this place would make a great Ruin Pub. I believe actually that they were turning it into a restaurant.
In stark contrast, the Royal Palace.
The Royal Palace is not a single building, but a collection of several residential and administrative buildings, as well as several temples and shrines, all within a very lovely garden, surrounded by good solid walls to keep the riffraff out.
The following photos are proof of the walls epic failure to do that.
That's Phil in there.
The temple area is in fact separate from the palace area, and is also comprised of several temples, the most famous of which is The Silver Pagoda (pagoda meaning temple, and the term I will use henceforth). It's known as the Silver Pagoda because it's floor is entirely silver. Sadly the floor is now almost entirely covered now by a red carpet to protect it from the pitter patter of tourists stockinged feet, but whatever. The Red Carpet Pagoda just doesn't sound as good - and makes me think of David Duchovny to boot.
Not good.
This is not the Silver Pagoda. That's a burial stupa. You'll see lots of stupas around the pagoda complexes throughout Cambodia and Thailand. Some small and simple, some incredibly massive and ornate.
I kept wanting to see Yule Brynner. Yes, I know that was Siam, and that Siam is now Thailand, and that Cambodia is most assuredly not Thailand. But it's the first time I was getting to see this sort of architecture up close, so who can blame me for whistling a happy tune as I strolled around.
Everyone.
The pagoda complex was surrounded by a wall/covered walkway, on which a magnificent mural had been painted. This is one of the many portions of that mural, which depicts the Indian epic Ramayana, known as Reamker in Cambodia.
To summarize - it's a love story. And given it's considered one of the greatest works of Indian literature, and that the average Bollywood film is over 3 hours, you should count yourself lucky that I don't try and sum up 24,000 verses that chronicle the love between Rama and his wife Sita. And no, I did not photograph the entire thing.
Below is the Silver Pagoda.
It houses the Emerald Buddha, which is made of Baccarat crystal, which for more than one reason made me want to say a little prayer.
Not the Emerabld Buddha.
Phonom Penh has many pagoda complexes throughout the city, many of which have ornate walls obsured by markets and restaurants butting right up against them.
And of course, with pagoda complexes you get monks.
The monks' robe is made of three parts: the main robe being the uttarasanga, which is the largest piece, and wrapped around the shoulders, the antaravasaka, which is wrapped similar to a sarong, under the uttarasanga, and the sanghati, which is an additional external robe, worn for warmth. The bright orange is attributed to the natural "spice" dyes such as saffron or tumeric, used to colour the robes. The tradition of the robe dates back over 25 centuries to when Buddha actually laid down some rules about fashion for his disciples in the Vinayap-pitaka.
Yes, that's right, ixne on the epic love story, but let's talk about clerical fashion for awhile instead.
In somewhat stark contrast to the pagodas and palaces of Phnom Penh is the FCC - Foreign Correspondence Club - which overlooks the Tonle Sap river. Unlike other FCCs, this one is not a private club, which means that, after a pleasant time walking about, when Linda wanted to go for a drink, we were able to make our way to their rooftop patio and enjoy ourselves,
Sadly, the martini is not what I would have expected from an FCC. For some reason I would expect all FCCs to have exceptional martinis - perhaps this is because I expect foreign correspondents to be a bunch of discerning alcoholics, battered daily by harsh realities, and in need of a simple, yet sophisticated drink to remove some of the edge, and provide them the bravos required to go do it all again the next morning, or whatever time they emerged from their dimly lit, ceiling-fanned, bordello of choice.
Blame Hollywood.
This is the wedding that occurred over several days in the street right outside our hotel. And by right outside I mean, to get to the hotel doors you had to walk right through the seating area for the guests, while the ceremony occurred in these alcoves. Mind you, one time when I was doing that I had my arm taken by this kindly elderly woman who was happy for me to escort her to her chair. She was though, kind enough to give me my arm back when we'd gotten to the right table.
And see, there we are - eating again.
That's Kieran and Eliska in the front. I noted on FB the other day that Kieran is now bald, having shaved his head along with several other people, for a reason I have yet to determine. Next to Eliska are Patrick and Gemma, a fun couple from Wales. Beyond Gemma is Esta, from Australia, and at the head of the table is Christina, who is from the same town in Switzerland that my roomie Patrick (the other one) is from. Next to Christina is Alysha, Esta's friend. Oops, nope, got that wrong. If you look closely and right at table level you'll see Channa, her head barely above the table, and grinning like the awesome fiend that she is. Channa, as I have mentioned, was our leader. And then Alysha, and then of course there is Phil, who you should all know by now pretty well. And then round to Kieran again.
Good crew.
And that's more of the wedding on the morning we were scooting out of town for the last time.
And that? That's another story.
Scratch that.
I haven't written in this blog in a very long time. Truth is, I spend the bulk of my days learning, sharing, collaborating - either verbally or in the written word. So, at the end of the day, or on the weekends, with all the other wonderful things there are to do with oneself when you live in Toronto, have two awesome teenage sons, family friends, and the many other blessings I count myself incredibly fortunate to have been given me, I don't find myself hankering to write.
But in the process of figuring out where I was at this time last year (Prague), I remembered you, my adoring fans, and your deep-seeded desire to know what happened after Vietnam.
Actually, I doubt anyone will read any of this. But I'm going to write it anyway, as, well, I do kinda want to get this down and done, before my mind fails me, and I lose the phone I put all my notes on.
So here we go, once more unto the breach...
Do you think Henry V was an obstetrician?
This is Day 1 of my time in Cambodia, or Day 11 of my Vietnam/Cambodia trip. Actually, it's Day 2/Day 12.
1/11 started where we left off, in Saigon/Ho Chi Minh, with a switch to a new hotel, farewells to some of the people from the Vietnam leg who were not continuing on, and the welcome dinner to meet the new group lead, and the new folk joining to do the Cambodia leg. We'll sort them all out along the way.
2/12 was our bus trip from Saigon to Phnom Penh, Cambodia.
7+ hours. 2 buses (one for each country). 1 border crossing - I think it was the one at Bavet/Moc Bai, but don't quote me. All I remember is a strong smell of fish, legal casinos, and a mild feeling of weirdness as we walked through a gap between two countries. I recall thinking of Tom Hanks in The Terminal. If only he had Wilson with him there too. Catherine Zeta-Jones wouldn't have stood a chance. This would not be the most fun place to lose one's passport.
Anyway, after the mildly nervous wait in line, and not just nervous for myself, but also for my travelling companions - especially Phil for some odd reason, that I expect Linda could explain - we found ourselves aboard one of two very fancy mega-vans, for lack of a better word.
Entertainment aboard the mega-van? My book. Why do I mention that? Well, because on the bus (and it was a bus) from Saigon, we got music videos, and a movie on the "big screen" at the front of the bus. And what was the movie you ask?
The Interview.
All I'll say is that, for whatever reason, I found the experience of travelling on a public bus from Saigon to the Vietnam/Cambodia border watching James Franco befriend Kim Jong Un (okay, Randall Park), while having to read the english subtitles as the volume was too low for me to hear from where I was (but I could read it - yay decent eyesight - for distances anyway), a tad surreal.
Try it some time, you'll see what I mean.
Anyway, so I read the rest of the way. I have no idea what - it was that good. I'm pretty sure I was done with Game of Thrones. And I didn't get The Devil in the White City until I got to Bangkok, and I hadn't been given Cambodia's Curse from our leader Channa yet, so who knows what it was. Whatever, it got me to Phnom Penh - well, the van did, but you know what I mean.
Upon arrival in Phnom Penh, which incidently means "the hill of the lady Penh", phnom meaning mountain, or hill, and Penh, being a particular lady; and by particular I mean, specific, not fussy. Who knows, she may have been a tad fussy as well, history does not relate. Actually, legend has it that Lady Penh was a wealthy woman living outside a village, and that she built a shrine to Buddha atop a hill, and that pilgrim's flocked to this temple. This hill is in what is now Phnom Penh, and the temple atop it is called Waht Phnom.
Anyway, upon arrival in Phnom Penh we were immediately attacked by these lotus plants, who turned out to have no tactical skills whatsoever (being plants), and therefore succumbed at the first sign of adversity, and whose pods turned out to be very, very, yummy, as Channa had slaughtered a couple, ripped them apart with her bare hands, and offered up their innards for our consumption.
They had attempted to ambush us during our quick evening tour around the city that Channa got us out on shortly after dumping our stuff at the hotel. She really didn't like to waste any time, and for that, I'm quite grateful.
So, here we all were, whizzing around in a collection of tuc tucs, making our way through the ever darkening city to see some of it's cultural landmarks.
Above is one of the many markets from whence the lotus pods had staged their doomed ambush.
Below is a monument to Lady Penh.
I'd show you pictures of Waht Penh, except it is on a hill, we did not climb it, it was dark, and I'm still not all that good at night pictures. (I was going to say I suck at them but a friend mentioned the other evening that I used that term a lot in this blog, so I'm trying to find new ways of expressing my disappointment in my own abilities. Perhaps a thesaurus would be of benefit.)
Slurp? Siphon?
Wrong one.
Awful. Horrible. Dreadful. Terrible.
Well, I wouldn't go that far.
And here's the new group. We'd had dinner together on the first/last night in Saigon, but this is the first one in Cambodia.
And here's where we ate.
As a Canadian, I can only admit to great pride in having this restaurant named after one of our traditional headdresses. Actually, I think it means water, but I'm not 100% on that one.
Now, I'm gonna mess with time a bit.
The way the trip went, we arrived in Phnom Penh in the evening, did some stuff around it the next day, but ended up at a home stay in Chambok, then spent a couple of days at a guest house in Sihanoukville - a beach town, and then got back to Phnom Penh where we had another day.
This is that other day in Phnom Penh - Day 6, or 16, depending on how you're counting.
On this particular day I headed out with the Martin family to see what was waht. Actually, we were headed to the Royal Palace.
But first, a building that would look just as at home in Budapest. I swear this place would make a great Ruin Pub. I believe actually that they were turning it into a restaurant.
In stark contrast, the Royal Palace.
The Royal Palace is not a single building, but a collection of several residential and administrative buildings, as well as several temples and shrines, all within a very lovely garden, surrounded by good solid walls to keep the riffraff out.
The following photos are proof of the walls epic failure to do that.
That's Phil in there.
The temple area is in fact separate from the palace area, and is also comprised of several temples, the most famous of which is The Silver Pagoda (pagoda meaning temple, and the term I will use henceforth). It's known as the Silver Pagoda because it's floor is entirely silver. Sadly the floor is now almost entirely covered now by a red carpet to protect it from the pitter patter of tourists stockinged feet, but whatever. The Red Carpet Pagoda just doesn't sound as good - and makes me think of David Duchovny to boot.
Not good.
This is not the Silver Pagoda. That's a burial stupa. You'll see lots of stupas around the pagoda complexes throughout Cambodia and Thailand. Some small and simple, some incredibly massive and ornate.
I kept wanting to see Yule Brynner. Yes, I know that was Siam, and that Siam is now Thailand, and that Cambodia is most assuredly not Thailand. But it's the first time I was getting to see this sort of architecture up close, so who can blame me for whistling a happy tune as I strolled around.
Everyone.
The pagoda complex was surrounded by a wall/covered walkway, on which a magnificent mural had been painted. This is one of the many portions of that mural, which depicts the Indian epic Ramayana, known as Reamker in Cambodia.
To summarize - it's a love story. And given it's considered one of the greatest works of Indian literature, and that the average Bollywood film is over 3 hours, you should count yourself lucky that I don't try and sum up 24,000 verses that chronicle the love between Rama and his wife Sita. And no, I did not photograph the entire thing.
Below is the Silver Pagoda.
It houses the Emerald Buddha, which is made of Baccarat crystal, which for more than one reason made me want to say a little prayer.
Not the Emerabld Buddha.
Phonom Penh has many pagoda complexes throughout the city, many of which have ornate walls obsured by markets and restaurants butting right up against them.
And of course, with pagoda complexes you get monks.
The monks' robe is made of three parts: the main robe being the uttarasanga, which is the largest piece, and wrapped around the shoulders, the antaravasaka, which is wrapped similar to a sarong, under the uttarasanga, and the sanghati, which is an additional external robe, worn for warmth. The bright orange is attributed to the natural "spice" dyes such as saffron or tumeric, used to colour the robes. The tradition of the robe dates back over 25 centuries to when Buddha actually laid down some rules about fashion for his disciples in the Vinayap-pitaka.
Yes, that's right, ixne on the epic love story, but let's talk about clerical fashion for awhile instead.
In somewhat stark contrast to the pagodas and palaces of Phnom Penh is the FCC - Foreign Correspondence Club - which overlooks the Tonle Sap river. Unlike other FCCs, this one is not a private club, which means that, after a pleasant time walking about, when Linda wanted to go for a drink, we were able to make our way to their rooftop patio and enjoy ourselves,
Sadly, the martini is not what I would have expected from an FCC. For some reason I would expect all FCCs to have exceptional martinis - perhaps this is because I expect foreign correspondents to be a bunch of discerning alcoholics, battered daily by harsh realities, and in need of a simple, yet sophisticated drink to remove some of the edge, and provide them the bravos required to go do it all again the next morning, or whatever time they emerged from their dimly lit, ceiling-fanned, bordello of choice.
Blame Hollywood.
This is the wedding that occurred over several days in the street right outside our hotel. And by right outside I mean, to get to the hotel doors you had to walk right through the seating area for the guests, while the ceremony occurred in these alcoves. Mind you, one time when I was doing that I had my arm taken by this kindly elderly woman who was happy for me to escort her to her chair. She was though, kind enough to give me my arm back when we'd gotten to the right table.
And see, there we are - eating again.
That's Kieran and Eliska in the front. I noted on FB the other day that Kieran is now bald, having shaved his head along with several other people, for a reason I have yet to determine. Next to Eliska are Patrick and Gemma, a fun couple from Wales. Beyond Gemma is Esta, from Australia, and at the head of the table is Christina, who is from the same town in Switzerland that my roomie Patrick (the other one) is from. Next to Christina is Alysha, Esta's friend. Oops, nope, got that wrong. If you look closely and right at table level you'll see Channa, her head barely above the table, and grinning like the awesome fiend that she is. Channa, as I have mentioned, was our leader. And then Alysha, and then of course there is Phil, who you should all know by now pretty well. And then round to Kieran again.
Good crew.
And that's more of the wedding on the morning we were scooting out of town for the last time.
And that? That's another story.
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