GENOCIDE

Day 25, April 15^th

Last night was kind of tough.  The A/C never really did anything and the fan made it just barely bearable.  I am beyond tired.  I don’t think the kids slept well either.  We are down early in the Irish Pub for a quick breakfast and then ready for the day.  Yesterday we arranged for a tuk-tuk driver for the day through our Canadian hotel manager.  Our driver is waiting for us and we are off.

Tuol Sleng.

Today is going to be an interesting day for me.  This is the first city we have been to on our trip that I visited when I was here in Southeast Asia back in 2002.  It will be interesting to compare the experiences and see the changes.  It is already obvious the city has grown quite a bit.

'Interrogation' rules.

As we wind through the streets, I am reminded that Cambodia is a beautiful and tragic country.  The people are amazing and the country is stunning.  But, Cambodia has suffered one of the greatest human rights tragedies of our time.  The people still suffer from it today.  It is all a result of their former leader, Pol Pot.

Pol Pot was the communist leader of Cambodia back in the 70s.  He was so afraid of uprisings and rebellion that he took the poor youth of Cambodia, enlisted them in the Khmer Rouge, gave them guns and a directive of genocide.  The Khmer Rouge wiped out all of the people Pol Pot feared would stand against him.  They killed all of the doctors, lawyers, professors, artists, musicians.  All of the intellectuals of society.  They practically killed off all of the older generations.  One thing that mom, dad and I notice is that there aren’t that many old people around.  No where near the number of old people we saw in Laos and Beijing.  Most of them were killed in the 70s.

As we wind through the streets, nothing is familiar to me.  I don’t recognize anything.  Then we make a few more turns and I recognize our first stop, Tuol Sleng, also known as S-21.

'Interrogation' room.

This is a really heavy place.  I can feel the weight of it.  Nothing but bad vibes here.  Tuol Sleng used to be a school back before the Pol Pot era.  Once Pol Pot came to power, Tuol Sleng was taken over and converted in to a security prison and interrogation center.  More accurately, a place where confessions of opposing Pol Pot were tortured out of people.  Every person who entered these doors for ‘interrogation’, an estimated 17,000, ended up dead, except seven.

As I walk through the rooms and the halls, it is hard to get a sense that this used to be a place of education and growth.  The rooms still have some of the remnants of torture and there are photos of how the rooms looked with dead bodies in them the day the Vietnamese arrived and liberated Phnom Penh.

Solitary confinement cells.

I am amazed that the museum hasn’t become very commercial.  It certainly has changed.  There are more displays and updated information.  But no gaudy gift shops or harassing hawkers.  They have taken great to care to ensure the grounds are kept quiet and respected.

There are four main buildings in Tuol Sleng.  The museum still has the displays of photographs of formers prisoners and former workers.  There are also the rooms with the beds the prisoners were strapped to.  There are the torture mechanisms, such as the waterboarding apparatus.  And rooms of endless solitary confinement cells. 

The new additions are fascinating.  There is a room highlighting the former leaders of Tuol Sleng and the current status of their trials for crimes against humanity.  There is a photo display with confessions from former S-21 workers. 

Photos of former prisoners.

One of the confessions of the former S-21 workers highlights the difficulty in achieving closure from this period in history for Cambodians.  The former worker basically said that he had no regrets about what he did at S-21.  He knows many people died, but he doesn’t regret how he contributed to it.  He did his job.  He did what he was told to do.  If he didn’t, he would have been killed.  So, in aiding in the killing of others, he survived.  In his eyes, he is a victim too.  On top of that, he is not being charged with any crimes.  He was a kid when this happened.  He now lives like all other Cambodians.  Free.  No accountability or punishment for what he did.

The hardest part in achieving closure from what occurred during Pol Pot’s regime is finding a place to direct the anger and hold the responsible parties accountable.  While there are a handful of people who have been arrested and are on trial for crimes against humanity, most people do not believe they will actually be held responsible.  The most culpable off all people, Pol Pot, died quietly in his bed with his wife by his side in 1998.  He was never held accountable.  Many believe the same will happen to the few who are currently on trial.  They are old and the proceedings are moving slowly.  The Khmer Rouge fell in 1979.  32 years ago.  And to this day, not a single verdict has been handed down.  No Cambodian has received closure yet.

The Buddhist stupa.

While some people did die within the walls of Tuol Sleng, most were taken to the Choeung Elk extermination center, better known as The Killing Fields.  This is our second and last stop of the day.  As we pull up to the gate of The Killing Fields, it is obvious it has changed since I was here in 2002.  There is a new huge gate, walls enclosing the area, paved walkway, a place to buy food, drinks, souvenirs.  Thankfully, just like S-21, Choeung Elk is still very quiet and solemn.  Not much talking at all.  Not much noise.

The Killing Fields is like Tuol Sleng.  A very heavy place.  This place has a bit of a different vibe though.  You can certainly feel the death, but it isn’t as dark here.  It isn’t as sinister.  Perhaps that is because it is open-air and there is green grass growing up through the mass graves.  A metaphor for healing?  I don’t know.  It is really hard to wrap my mind around what happened here.

The centerpiece of The Killing Fields is the Buddhist stupa.  Standing several stories tall, it has many layers that are filled with skulls, bones and clothes from the people exhumed from the mass graves.  Off to one side is a museum with photos and facts about Choeung Elk and a screening room for a documentary about the extermination center.

The mass graves.

Walking around The Killing Fields is surreal and eerie.  The mass graves look like nothing more than big dents in the ground.  A few are protected by a railing, but many are open and you can easily walk right through them.  Thankfully, people don’t.  As a result, there are well-worn footpaths between the graves. 

One thing that makes Choeung Elk even more disturbing is the manner in which the people were killed.  The Khmer Rouge didn’t want to waste any bullets or ammunition.  There were no firing squads.  The people were stabbed or their throats slit and then pushed into the mass graves.  The babies were often grabbed by the ankles and swung like baseball bats into a tree and then tossed into the graves.

As we walk on the paths between the graves, there are clothes and bones and teeth rising to the surface from the rains.  It is almost impossible not to step on them at some point.  It is obvious this is not something that occurred in the distant past.  This is very recent.  Within my lifetime.  The wounds are still fresh.

Skulls inside the stupa.

Cambodia sticks out from Laos and my experience in Vietnam when I was here last time.  Now that I have the comparison of the countries in the region, it is easier to connect the dots and understand the effects of someone like Pol Pot.

There seems to be a lack of education in certain aspects of Cambodia.  That is not an insult, simply an observation.  The people are amazing and nice.  But the way some things are done makes you question them.  For example, the trip from Laos to Cambodia, where we switched vans and were crammed into a much smaller van in Cambodia and had to deal with the scam.  That was definitely not the right way to do things.  But these kids, and they are young, were extremely nice.  They just haven’t been educated and taught the right way to do things.  They are just trying to make money.  The towns are crawling with tuk-tuk drivers.  Too many that the current number of tourists can’t keep them all employed.  But, it takes no education to be a tuk-tuk driver.  An older, wiser generation has not explained the value of higher education to the younger generations.  And for a long time there was no older, wiser generation to teach them.

Bones rising up on the walk paths.

Vietnam, as a result of the war and geography, had in influx of money and resources.  With its intelligence, it has progressed at a rapid pace it can handle properly.  Laos is at a huge disadvantage geographically, but it understands its potential in the tourism industry and has the wisdom to progress at a pace it can handle.  Cambodia also sees its potential in the tourism industry.  Plus, it is geographically better off than Laos since it sits between two well-developed countries (Thailand and Vietnam) and has a small coastline.  However, it is progressing at a pace that the people are having a hard time handling.  The education and guidance isn't there.  There is an attitude of get what you can while you can.

This is all a result of Pol Pot’s efforts to ‘cleanse’ the country of approximately 2.5 million people.  It is a very sad reality and hard to know where to begin to fix it.

We hop back in the tuk-tuk and head back to the hotel area.  A quick bite to eat and we are in for the night.  Certainly one of the heaviest days we have had on the trip.

Solemnly yours,

Kevin

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HAPPY KHMER NEW YEAR!!

Day 24, April 14^th

Battambang done.  Time to mosey on down the trail.  As I stated before, I made the ‘rational’ destination choice, Phnom Penh.  ‘Rational’ isn’t my typical M.O.  But Phnom Penh is it.  I need more time to figure out the beach options.

The three of us meet for a nice rooftop breakfast before the bus for Phnom Penh arrives.  Naturally, I am the last to the lobby.  I pay for the rooms and we hop on the transport to the bus station.  A few minutes later we are at the bus station and must say goodbye to Battambang.  This was probably one of the smoothest cities we have been to.  Probably one of the better times we have had too.

A four-seater.

The ride to Phnom Penh is an easy slow roll up the road.  One interesting thing on this ride, actually on every overland ride we have been on in Southeast Asia, is the traffic.  Initially, it looks chaotic, unorganized and dangerous.  No one is stopping at red lights or intersections.  Every level of transportation can go anywhere.  Huge busses.  Mini busses.  Cars.  Motorbikes.  Bicycles.  They all go everywhere.  Highways.  Back roads.  Dirt roads.  Alleys.  Weaving in and out of each other.  I’m always waiting for a wreck.  But it never happens.  There are no rigid traffic laws in this region.  Just traffic suggestions.  And the suggestion is if someone is coming at you in a bigger automobile than you are in, they suggest you get out of the way. 

Typically for the farm, but goes anywhere.

Once you step back and look at the way their traffic works, it makes sense and is highly efficient.  It isn’t stop and start.  It is a rhythmic, fluid motion that is made possible by the demeanor of the people in the region.  Patient.  Calm.  It is like an organism in constant motion.  This would never work in the U.S.  We drive with too much aggression and impatience.  There is no such thing as road rage here.  Once I was able to wrap my head around how the traffic works here, it is pretty impressive.

After a quick five hours on the road, mixed in with a couple of ‘rest stops’, we arrive in Phnom Penh.

Phnom Penh is one of the cities in Southeast Asia I made it to back in 2002.  Just in the time it takes the bus to drive into town and to the area we are staying, I can tell this town has changed quite a bit.  Built up.  More money all around.  Businesses.  Traffic.  Tourists. 

Public transportation.

We hit the bus station.  Employ a tuk-tuk.  Get to a restaurant.  Lunch.  Ditch the kids.  Hoof it to locate lodging.

I find a place called Paddy Rice Irish Pub with a restaurant on top.  I know, an Irish place in Cambodia.  The main selling point for me is the manager here, a cool Canadian.  This is the first place where we can communicate with a hotel staffer whose first language it English.  Not that that is imperative, but we are in Phnom Penh during an interesting time, the Khmer New Year.  We have heard a lot of different reports of what to expect, and judging so far, most have been wrong.  The new year in Southeast Asia is suppose to be huge, crazy, with lots of water guns.  We’ve seen people preparing for it.  Huge animals slow roasting on a spit.  Colorful decorations.  This is going to be a big deal.  Or so we thought.  The town seems empty.

View from the front window of the VIP bus.

Our situation is we need to know what to expect with the New Year, if the things we want to see in Phnom Penh are open and what are the possibilities with transportation to the next town.  The Khmer New Year stretches out 3-4 days and will affect all of these things.  The Canadian has been here for about 10 years and he should know the skinny.  Any kind of language issues could cost us precious travel days.  I choose the Paddy Rice and the Canadian manager to eliminate that possibility.

I round up the kids and we check in.  Immediately, Patton starts inspecting the room.  Lights.  Hot water.  A/C.  Crap!  The heat in Phnom Penh is suffocating and the A/C isn’t sufficiently cooling him.  We are in serious danger of another hot flash and there are no hand wipes in site. 

A quick call to the staff and a girl brings in a fan.  It really does no good and we can tell, Patton isn’t happy.  But, to his credit, he says no worries.  He’s gonna try it Pyle-style.  Just gonna go with the flow.  That is the most non-flow going with the flow I have ever seen.  We’ll see how long that lasts.

Constant motionly yours,

The Rabbit 

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ONE DAY IN BATTAMBANG

Day 23, April 13^th

Today is going to be a quick day.  We have one day in Battambang and quite a few things to get to.

Mom and dad are down stairs early.  Our tuk-tuk driver, Dara, is right on time at 9am.  I am late, as usual.  As I walk through the lobby, mom stops me and introduces me to a French lady who used to be a tour guide in Cambodia.  She gives me the lowdown on a beach town in Cambodia called Kep.  She says it is better than Sihanoukville, the beach town we plan to go to.  I have to buy our bus tickets for tomorrow morning out of Battambang right now.  Crap!  I have no idea which city to go to and we likely won’t have time to go to the other if we don’t like the one we go to.  I have to buy the bus tickets now.  Plan C.  Phnom Penh.  We’ll go there first and then the beach after that.  That way I have more time to research the two beach cities.  I purchase tickets and we are off on our day.

Patton commends me on my rational decision about the bus tickets.  Great!  Now I REALLY feel like I made a mistake.  No going back now.

Assembly step 1.

 Our first stop is a Patton discovery.  Actually, Battambang and everything in it is a Patton discovery.  The first stop is the bamboo train.  It’s a bamboo platform set on wheels that races up and down uneven, single-track, French-era rails powered by a loud lawnmower engine.  When two ‘trains’ come head to head, the one with less cargo is disassembled and the other is allowed to pass through.  These are still used to transport people and goods to and from the market.

Assembly step 2.

When we get there, it must be tourist day.  No market.  The track is set up and organized for tourists.  Dara grabs the seats from his tuk-tuk and puts them on the bamboo flat.  Our VIP ‘train’ is ready.  We mount up, the engine is cranked into action.  It’s slow moving at first.  But, as the wind picks up and the ground starts flying by, the ‘train’ feels pretty fast.  Just incase you are on the verge of getting comfortable, the uneven and occasionally unconnected tracks sends an unsettling jolt through the flat to remind you how primitive this is.

We go about 15 minutes and then stop at a ‘station’.  It’s a place to buy food and souvenirs.   It is amazing, this country never misses an opportunity to sell you a can of Pringles and a 7up.  We spend a few minutes at the ‘station’.  Mom makes friends with the ‘station chief’.  This little girl makes me a ring out of banana leaf.  I think I am married now, or at least intended.  A few pictures and we ride the rails back.

The lovely couple.

After the bamboo train, we do a few more stops at a bridge and a winery.  Suffice it to say, there is a reason Cambodia isn’t known for its fermented grapes.  Moving on.  Right after the winery, we pass by a Cambodian wedding.  The Cambodian weddings are very loud, colorful affairs.  Karaoke.  What else needs to be said.  The bride and groom are outside taking pictures and they wave to us.  Several more people wave to us and invite us in for a drink.  I hope they aren’t serving wine.  We keep moving.

We arrive at a temple and there appears to be a huge ceremony going on.  I know we are approaching the Khmer New Year, but this looks religious.  Then again, how can I tell the difference in the ceremonies?  The temple is on the hilltop, the highest temple in Battambang and there are many steps to get to the top.  About 300 I think.

Initially there is hesitation about allowing us to climb to the temple.  I am getting the vibe that the ceremony is preventing us from being able to climb, which is fine.  Then someone brings up the fact that there is a back way, through the woods to the back of the temple.  We can go up and down that way.  More discussion.  There is a big group congregated now to discuss this.  We have no clue what they are saying.  Finally, the decision is made.  We can go up the steps to the temple, but walk down the back way through the woods.  That’s cool, but doesn’t make sense to me.  I guess the ceremony dictates no one comes down the steps?

The climb.

Mini break.

We start off for the steps and are immediately given ‘guides’.  Three women and a boy.  That seems excessive.  They will show us up the steps and lead us down the back way.  We pass by the ceremony and start up the steps.

You gotta be joking!  I cannot believe this!  Now I know why they were so hesitant about letting us climb the steps and it had nothing to do with the ceremony.  And these guides aren’t guides.  They are ‘assistants’.  As in assisting old people up the steps.  They looked at mom and dad and figured they couldn’t physically make it up the steps to the temple and the back way was the less strenuous, easy way up and down.  I guess they thought they could minimize the risk by having ‘professional assistants’ aiding the geriatrics in their ascent.  This is really pathetic.

To dad’s credit, he doesn’t need the help.  He is shocked there is a five-year-old boy on one arm and a young lady on the other ‘helping' him.  Dad’s just playing along.  Mom, she has a stool and pale and is milking this thing.  The two ladies helping her are massaging her while we climb up the steps.  She moans at how good it feels and how much it helps her.  We stop every 20 steps or so so they can massage her thighs and calves.  I am dumbfounded.  I can’t even get someone to fan me with a banana leaf.  Ridiculous!

Big break.

One major break and about 5 mini-breaks later we are at the top at the temple.  Mom barely even walks around.  She sits on a bench while her helpers massage her, fan her and tell her how good she did.  “Kevin, look around and tell me if I need to come see anything.”  Déjà vu.

I do a little walk around the temple.  It’s pretty nice.  Worth the walk up.  Time to walk down.

Again, mom and dad are flanked by their helpers.  Holding their arms.  Fanning them.  Pointing out treacherous pebbles in the path.  Holding back dangerous twigs that overhang the trail.  I can’t believe I am paying witness to this.

Somehow, mom and dad miraculously survive the descent without having a heart attack or passing out from exhaustion.  Good-byes and tips to our heroes and we are back on the road to the next place.

Entrance to the Killing Cave.

The Killing Cave is one of the lesser-known places from the darkest period in Cambodia’s history.  Like the Killing Fields in Phnom Penh, the Killing Cave is where the members of the Khmer Rouge would take people who were believed to be a threat to Pol Pot to be killed.  There is an area there where the adults were killed and an area where the babies were killed.  They were never shot.  The Khmer Rouge didn’t want to waste the ammunition.  An estimated 800 – 900 people were killed at the Killing Cave by knife, rock or being swung like a baseball bat in to the cave wall.  The number is small compared to the tens of thousands of people killed at the Killing Fields, but no less horrific when you stand in the cave and see the skulls, bones and clothes.

A shrine of skulls.

Dara brought us to a restaurant he knew about at the bottom of the mountain with the Killing Cave.  After a quick break, three guys from the restaurant take us up to the top on motorbikes.  The head guy explained the story of the Killing Cave as best he could in English.  You can see in the way he talks that it isn’t some event that happened lifetimes ago.  It is a very recent part of Cambodian history.  Within his lifetime.  It is something the country is still dealing with.

We walk around to a few more temples and structures on the top of the mountain and then we are done.  Done for the day.  Time to go back to the hotel.

Our trusted guide, Dara, assisting mom.

At the hotel, we thank Dara.  I give him the money for the day with a tip.  He really was an amazing kid.  He sees that I have given him more than we had agreed upon.  His face lights up, he brings his hands together, does a small bow and says, “Thank you for giving me a job today.”  Wow.  That is such a unique, telling and humbling phrase to hear.  During the day, he constantly talked about school, learning, working, wanting to do so much.  He has the right attitude.  Actually, it seems as though everyone in Battambang has the right attitude.  It lacks the seediness and greed that permeates so much of Siem Reap.  I hope it stays that way.

We head out into the small city and find a nice quiet dinner.  I have been craving a cheeseburger.  This certainly isn’t Hut’s Hamburgers, but it will have to hold me over for the next few weeks.  We turn in early.  Tomorrow morning we head to the ‘rational’ destination.

Unassistedly yours,

The Dagwood

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THE BOATMEN

Day 22, April 12^th

Today is a travel day, but not the usual travel day.  We are taking a boat from Siem Reap to Battambang with the purpose of getting from one place to the next as well as see the floating villages.  This was Patton’s discovery.

Local transportation.

We are up early and downstairs right on time at 5:45am.  The bus is late as usual.  At least we get to have breakfast.  The bus arrives and there is room for three people and five people to pick up.  Typical.  Atypical, they leave the extra two and pick up only mom, dad and I.  We are shocked.  We take off.  Only a few blocks away we stop.  This is our rest stop/food break.  Typical.  I’m sure it is relatives again.  Apparently, the boat will not have food available for purchase.  I don’t believe that.  A few people load up on food and we are off.  We pass by our hotel again, go a few more blocks and stop.  Another pick up.  Despite being full, we are picking up three more people.  Two of them are the original two from our hotel.  Disorganized.  This is more like it.  Twelve people and only seats for nine.  This is becoming very common in Cambodia, worse than any of the other countries we have been in. 

Another pick up.

We get to the boat and it is an open-air boat.  Hardwood seats.  No leaning back.  Upright the whole time.  The description of the trip is 6 ½ to 9 hours, or more.  Again, this was Patton’s idea.  Off we go and it is a little less than interesting,.  The canal we are in is pretty barren and the engine is deafening.  We break out of the canal and into Tonle Sap lake.  The lake is huge, but it can’t be deep.  There are sticks standing straight up across the lake with colored flags tide to them to mark directions.  A few fishermen on the lake, other than that, nothing.  We eventually get to the other side of the lake and enter into another canal, the canal that leads to Battambang.

Weaving through the canal is slow going, but nice.  People live on floating houses and any kind of wake created by boats causes the houses to start rocking.  On top of that, the boat is just like the busses.  We are constantly picking up and dropping off people.  This is their transit system within the canals and on the lake.

A stark contrast.

This is likely the only way we could have seen true river life.  It really is amazing.  Score one for Patton. 

One interesting observation about river life is the level of poverty contrasted by the opulence of their temples.  In some areas where people’s houses are half way in the river or their walkways or walls seem to be made out of the most weathered of sticks, they have these grand temples.  Big.  Beautiful.  Sturdy.  Painted.  Extremely ornate.  A complete contrast to their living conditions. 

The river restaurant.

I knew it!!  There was no way that rest stop/food stop this morning was the only opportunity to buy food and drinks.  We stop at a river restaurant.  This guy was expecting us.  Family or friend as usual.  The crew of the boat eat free.

The bathroom is weird.  Four walls and no floor, just places to put your feet on the sides.  It’s just going to the bathroom in the river.  Mom and dad pass on the food and just get some drinks.  I see one drink that I have to have.  No idea what it was at first, doesn’t matter.  Black Panther.  There is no way you can not try that.  Upon a further look see, Black Panther Beer.  A must.  Cause 60% of the time, it tastes great every time.  That plus some rice with ‘sauce’, and it is a fantastic river meal.

60% of the time...

Now the trip is just dragging on.  Even Patton is ready to get off.  It seems like we are on an endless series of drop offs.  Weaving back and forth across the river from bank to bank letting people off.  No docks.  Just get as close to land as possible and hope they can make it.  We are beyond the 6 ½ to 9-hour range.  We are in the ‘or more’ range now.  This is described as the most enchanting boat ride in all of Cambodia.  I would hate to be stuck on the second most enchanting boat ride.  Plus, there is an ominous cloud forming overhead.  I hear thunder.  I think I saw some lightening.  It’s only getting worse.  I hope we get to the hotel before the downpour.

After 11 hours on this boat, we finally get to the dock in Battambang, and by dock I mean an area where several men try to yank you off of the moving boat on to a cement step before you fall in the river.  There is no dock.

Advertising knows no boundaries.

Before we left in Siem Reap, mom was handed a brochure for a hotel and it jives with the description in the book.  I don’t feel like sweating a place to stay right now, so we are going straight there.  As we pull up to the ‘dock’, the shore is covered with tuk-tuk drivers yelling and shouting, pushing and jostling.

One kid catches my eye.  He has a salty set of whiskers and the energy to match.  Yelling.  Elbowing.  Plus, he is holding a sign that says free ride to the hotel we are going to.  I point at him.  Eye contact.  Head nod.  The deal is set and he springs into action, pushing his way through to get to mom, dad and I.  He grabs our bags and off we go.  He seems like a great kid.

We get there, check out the room, looks good, settle in.  I chat with our tuk-tuk driver, Dara, and we make arrangements for him to be our personal driver for all of the next day.  I don’t know if it is common for the tuk-tuk drivers to do this, but Dara gives free rides to foreigners arriving on the boats or busses to their hotels in the hopes of securing much more business from them for the duration of their stay.  It worked.

We head down to the local market and get some food for dinner and we are done for the day.  Rice.  Fruit.  Chicken.  ‘Sauce’.  Shower.  Masks.  Sleep.

Disenchantingly yours,

Kevin Fantana

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I NEVER SAID I WAS MATURE

Day 21, April 11^th

It’s our last day in Siem Reap and it is going to be an easy one.  After the usual start to the day, we are off to an artisan workshop.  They take kids who are homeless, uneducated, victims of landmines, disadvantaged for whatever reason and teach them the skills of woodworking, rock carving and other things to help restore the temples and make souvenirs.  It is really amazing what they are able to accomplish.  It's a pretty quick tour through the shop, especially since we don’t buy anything.  And we are out.

From bad...

I have talked the kids into taking a cooking class and we have a few hours before it starts.  Dad wants to feed the fish again.  The fish line the glass of the tank when they see his hooves coming their way.  His feet hit the water and they attack like piranhas.  And I’m on the other end.  Alone.  Mom is in the other tank.  While her feet are not the Thanksgiving feast that dad’s are, her feet are at least a Big Mac combo, supersized.  My feet don’t stand a chance against theirs.  For once, my shower gloves have done me wrong.

Time for the cooking class.  Looks like it will just be the three of us.  There are three main dishes, three starters and three desserts to choose from and we each get to do one of the three categories.  I actually enjoy the Cambodian food and want to learn some of it, so I choose the chicken amok, spring rolls and pea soup dessert.  Mom and dad don’t really like any of the Cambodia food, so they get the rest.  Mom gets chicken curry (she hates curry) and dad gets Cambodian soup (he hates soup).  I can already hear the complaining.

...to worse.

Right before the class starts we are joined by two girls who are also taking the class.  Mom immediately downloads the information.  They know everything about our trip within minutes.  She’s efficient.

Our teacher shows up and has a pretty tough accent.  Everyone else can’t really understand her, so I become the ‘translator’.  First thing is first, we all have to put on our aprons and chef hats.  I just want to learn the spices and cooking techniques, not play dress up.  We all have to wear the uniform.  The only positive note is that dad hates it worse than I do.

In her element.

The instructor starts slowly and explains everything well.  We start off with some chopping of vegetables for our main dishes.  Then we move to mixing some spices.  Now, the spices have to be mixed up and smashed to create a paste that is the base for the flavor of two of the main dishes.  It all must be smashed and pounded in a stone grinder.  Not easy apparently.  Mom has a go at it.  Then dad.  Then me. 

I’m sorry, I know it is immature, but you can’t miss the innuendo when watching this being done.  The hard, fast, up and down motion.  The pounding.  The beating.  Dad can’t stop laughing while I’m doing this.  Plus, it doesn’t help that the instructor is next to me telling me to “beat it harder.”  I can barely keep a straight face.  I know, I should be more grown up than this.  Apparently I’m not.  Given the fact that one of dad’s favorite movies and mine is KINGPIN, this really isn’t a shock.

During all of this, mom doesn’t see the resemblance.  She just thinks we are all having a good time and enjoying the cooking class in our apron and hat.  Ever the polite lady, she turns to the two other girls in our class and offers, “would you two girls like to help Kevin beat it?”  Her exact words.  Verbatim.  I’m done.  I can’t do this anymore.  Someone else can beat it.  Pound it.  Make paste.  Whatever you want to call.  I’m exhausted from the heat, starving and my maturity level is rapidly plummeting.

He is VERY excited about this.

Paste is eventually made and it is time to bring these dishes together and wrap it up.  The instructor isn’t as patient as she was at the beginning.  She’s rushing.  Just trying to get done.  Doing things for us.  Not teaching.  Oh well, I’m starving and not mature enough to be an accomplished Khmer chef.

The meals are finished.  We sit down and eat.  Dad hates his main dish.  Mom isn’t a fan of hers.  Mine is pretty good.  My fresh spring rolls are delicious!  Dad does like his fried spring rolls.  All is not lost.  After the meal, despite the suffocating heat, we wait for our free t-shirts that we will never wear.  Cooking class done.

What is that stuff in the middle?

After the cooking class, we kill time.  What are we killing time for, you ask?  Our next real massage.  After the last massage experience, you may be surprised to know that I am the driving force behind this massage.  I saw something on a brochure that I had to try…the 4-hands massage.  That’s right, two girls, and they will be girls this time, massaging at once.  I have never even heard of this in the states.  I gotta see what this is like.  Also, dad, newly empowered by his successful fish massages, is going to give it a try one more time.  He is getting a one-hour Swedish massage while mom and I are getting the 4-hands for two hours.

Do they have to watch?

Dad is a bit nervous.  He does not want to go through another tenderizer like the last two times.  He keeps imploring me to make sure the massage will be soft.  So, I tell the girls the rules.  He has to have a girl and the massage had to be soft.  I jokingly call him a big weenie because he needs a soft massage.  The girls all laughed. 

My massage is hands down the best massage I have ever had.  The girls have trained a lot to perfect this.  They basically divide your body in half, left and right, and simultaneously massage your body in unison, same rhythm, same intensity.  Two hours.  I feel like jello now.  Mom agrees, the best massage she has ever had as well.    We will now search out more of these massages for the duration of our trip.

I just remembered, when it was time for all three of us to go to our massage rooms, I reminded the girls one last time about dad needing a soft massage.  I patted him on the shoulder, pointed to him and told the girls, “Big weenie, biiiiig weenie!”  Wait a minute.  That probably doesn’t translate properly, especially considering all of the “extras” in most massage places.  Oh well, if they try to check, mom will be there to protect him.

Paste makingly yours,

Chez Kevòn

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