Phnom Penh and the Killing Fields

This is part two of a four part series of our trip throughout Southeast Asia. Please use this site’s search function to see other parts of this series.

A seven hour bus ride took us from Ho Chi Minh City to Phnom Penh.  It was a public bus but relatively comfortable.  Sitting on the one side of the bus were us tourists from G Adventures.  On the other side were locals either getting away from or going to their homes. 

The bus driver crammed every nook and cranny with goods and supplies such as TV’s, blankets, bottled water, fruits and veggies, and liquor.  Then the locals brought on their own supplies.  Apparently there’s not much to be had on the Cambodian side of the border.  We even guessed the bus drivers were involved in some black market trading of their supplies, or a side job to supplement what were certain to be meager wages.

The border crossing itself went by fairly smoothly.  The bus boy took care of getting all of our forms and fees paid ($25.00 US per person) so that we could get our visas.  Being a dummy, I decided to video part of the crossing and in the customs check point area only to get yelled at by the police that pictures were forbidden.  I survived the intense scolding and was not detained or arrested.

The differences between the two countries were very apparent.  In Vietnam there was more development and infrastructure, more cars, trucks and motor bikes.  In Cambodia there was very little, traffic was light, people and their housing were poorer, motor bikes (what few they had) hauled their possessions around, some having pink but dead pigs strapped on the back with their feet pointing up toward the sky.

The ferry crossing at the Tonle Sap River was where the poverty was most apparent.  Rubbish was strewn everywhere.  Little kids were begging for money.  There were disfigured teens, one with withered arms, asking for food or money.  It was hot and humid and dust was hovering in the air.  On board the kids hitched a ride across, some would stand on the steps of our bus so they could glimpse at part of the Jackie Chan video we had been watching.  A small pick-up, jammed in amongst our bus and everyone else’s vehicles was stuffed full of live pigs, under inhumane conditions, destined to a fate that I was sure was not a good one.

However, our hotel in Phnom Penh was nicer than the one we had back in Ho Chi Minh City.  Its setting was in a more sketchy area, but once inside it was relatively clean and spacious.  Our room was bigger too.  After freshening up, Mary Kay and I went to the Central Market, one that was similar to the market back in Ho Chi Minh, but with more raw food being processed. 

One lady in her bare feet was squatting on a table while chopping apart raw chickens using a big meat cleaver, spreading out the newly chopped parts onto the very table that she was squatting on.  Another lady was beating to death live fish with a mallet to the head.  The fish would wiggle and squirm from the blows, but would soon be relieved of its suffering with a sharp knife severing the head.  Other fish swam in a shallow pan, flies overhead, and seemed to thrash about in fear, knowing they were destined to a similar fate.

We met up with the group back at the hotel where we commenced our cyclo tour of the city.  These cyclos were three wheeled bicycles with a basket like seat for one passenger being peddled and pushed by a driver from the rear. Dodging and swerving amongst the traffic we traveled to various temples, monuments and palaces, all beautiful and glowing in the late afternoon sun.  At first, I thought it was all cheesy, but it ended up being a fascinating and interesting way to see the city. 

We met Pun Pun at the Foreign Correspondence Club for happy hour and dinner.  Afterwards we shared a tuk-tuk with two others from our group for a ride back to the hotel.  A tuk-tuk is a motorbike pulling a cart of sorts that can carry four people.  It was only $2.00 for the four of us.

We spent the following morning touring what was a horrible part of Cambodia’s past.  The Toul Sleng Prison (also known as S21) was one of several facilities, this one in the middle of town in an otherwise quiet neighborhood, where the Khmer Rouge tortured people from 1975 – 1979.  They targeted teachers, doctors, lawyers, writers, artists, etc. - the more educated class - trying to extract confessions on being spies for the CIA or KGB. 

The things they would do to these poor people, especially women and children are just too terrible to mention.  Our local guide detailed for us the grounds and the prison cells.  Some rooms still had dried blood splattered on the walls and ceilings.  Many of the rooms had displays of photos and paintings of the victims.  It was haunting to look at their eyes; a look that they knew what was about to happen to them. 

Our guide also shared that his mother, a child during this dark period, was one of only a few out of a larger extended family to have survived.  Her mother, father, aunts, uncles and other brothers and sisters were all taken away, never to be seen again; presumably tortured and murdered.  It was hard to keep your eyes from misting up listening to the story. 

When the prison was liberated, only 17 prisoners were left alive.  Today, about 30 plus years later, only 3 of them are still living.  One of those was at a stall near the exit gate selling a book about his story.  With hand gestures and pointing at pictures, he was able to communicate to us about his ordeal.  The look on his face by itself told enough.  The way he described his wife and how she was murdered – well – you’d have to be very cold and callous not to be filled with emotion and compassion for this poor elderly man.

Our next stop was at the “killing fields”.  The numerous pits, now excavated, held hundreds, perhaps thousands, of those taken from the S21 prison to their death spot here at the south edge of town.  The prisoners would be blindfolded and lined up after getting off of a truck.  They then were led one at a time to the edge of a pit where they were instructed to kneel.  They were then bludgeoned to the head with a thick and heavy stick. 

After falling into the pit, another guard would check to see if they were dead and, if not, would slit their throats.  Around the grounds you could still see remnants of clothes and human bones sticking out of the dirt.  A large monument or stupa was erected to remember the dead.  In it, encased in glass, are the skulls and other bones of the skeletons of the dead.

Mary Kay and I spent the afternoon visiting the Royal Palace and other parts of Phnom Penh.  The buildings had unique Cambodian architecture clad in gold, temples, Buddha statues and shrines, monks in their saffron colored robes, some areas where hats, shoes and photos were forbidden; all of this and more in a setting of immaculate and beautifully manicured grounds and gardens. 

We took a long, slow walk back to the hotel, down street No. 154 that stretched along what could be described as a microcosm of street life in Phnom Penh.  There were clothing shops next to welding shops next to motorcycle repair shops next to food stalls next to phone and internet cafés, all with the hustle and bustle of the traffic and pedestrians competing for the right-of-way. 

Here, the sidewalks were not for us pedestrians, but instead were used as extensions of the adjacent shops and stores.  The fumes of cars and motor bike exhaust mixed with the smells of roasting whole pigs and of the rotting garbage, grease, and gas emanating from the sewer grates.  It was gross and repulsive but fascinating and exciting all at the same time.

In the early evening we all boarded tuk-tuks for a 15 km ride through the hustle and bustle of traffic to the home of a local family that Pun Pun knew.  In their basement was a school where English was taught to the neighborhood children.  Many of them were waiting patiently at their seats, eager for us to help them learn and practice their English skills. 

Mary Kay and I exchanged names, ages, interests, favorite foods, sports, movie stars and other items of conversation.  These kids were already well versed in the language but at times conversed with each other in Khmer to explain to one another some of the new difficult words we were speaking. 

Afterwards the owners had set-up a table outside where they fed us a feast of the local cuisine.  At the table were heaping dishes of rice, vegetables, spring rolls, stews, noodles, all washed down with Angkor beer, and then finished up with tarantula wine (yes, the spider, several of them in fact, were at the bottom of the bottle from which they poured our drinks).  It was a fascinating way to connect with the locals for a true and authentic travel experience.

A video of Phnom Penh and the Killing Fields is at the following link: