But different ...

I missed Stephane:  it's 730 pm by the time I leave my hostel. I hop on my yellow bicycle and head to the centre anyway. This is warm evening and the cycle cools me down nicely.

A smiley cyclist slowly overtakes me. He turns to say hallo and I respond. The back of his different reads' but different...'. I am compelled to speak to him and say:  'Of you course you are different, you are Barrang'. He laughs out loud , slows down to cycle with me and asks: 'What is Barrang?'.

I know this accent, I know these features. I explain the meaning of Barrang and then ask him where he is from.

'Greece' he replies enhusiastically.

I respond :

'Den mou kaneis plaka etsi;, which means 'you are not joking are you ?' in Greek. The man almost falls from his bike, staring at me incredulously.

Yiannis is from Serres , near where I am from. He is here working on the location , seeting and production of a film. He has been here for two months loving it and he will be off in a couple of months. He tells me that in the past 24 hours he has met the only two Greeks he has seen in Cambodia.We are both Greek girls from who have or still lived in the UK.  Like me he was convinced that Cambodia is not a Greek people destination at all.

We exchange contact details and agree to meet for a coffee Monday morning.

What are the chances?

Tipparat and Richard

I head to Le Grande Cafe, a calm spot on this busy street, looking forward to some writing and wind down time. The place is ideal for this and has free wi fi connection. I sit next to happy couple enjoying their dinner. And so I end up doing no writing but have the pleasure of meeting Tipparat and Richard. Tipparat is from Thailand and Richard is... well Richard is... a citizen of the world. They live between Prague and a small town in Thailand. You see they both have their own business bases as well as each other. Richard runs a large software company with some important and eponymous clients around the world. This man has been to close 100 countries at different times for shorter and longer periods. We talk about a lot of places, but India and Lebanon stick to my mind as ones he is particularly fond of, particularly Lebanon. Richard's country list is impressive but at the same time I don't envy the rythyms of his life. I would rather visit a smaller number of countries in a different way. Life is short, I want to go to many places but it is impossible to be everywhere at the same time. I want to add experiences and not just names to my list. Richard is a very interesting man and we have a very pleasant conversation.

Tipparat is bubbly, full of life and energy. She is a young farmer from Thailand, strong and business minded. Soon I see hundreds of pictures of her beautiful farm, its produce, her angelic 5 year old daughter, Marisa, her mother, Buddhist celebrations at her village. She prefers Cambodia to Thailand. Like a British couple I spoke to earlier, she thinks that Cambodians are much friendlier. I however am taken by Tipparat’s Thai friendliness. What an individual! I have a blast with her and she gets me a bit drunk on the beer she buys me. We are online so we exchange contact details there and then. Richard is almost falling asleep as we two chat away. It’s been a long day for those two, so we soon part.

In my mailbox, I find a message from Stephane inviting me to meet him at a bar on Pub street. Pub Street is full of loud bars and is pedestrianised in the evenings. Take away the Khmer writing and faces and it could be in any tacky resort in the world. Reluctantly, I set out to meet him saying to myself that I should  not reject anything before I visit it once. I am 2 minutes away. Again I am late but I am thinking that friendly Stephane will probably have hooked up with other people and I will find him there drinking merrily. But the bar is unbearable and really loud, like a Saturday night on

St Mary Street

in Cardiff. I don’t even look for Stephane properly. I just turn and go back to Le Grande Café, check some emails and have a long night cycle ride along the river. The night is warm and starry. I think I have had my socializing for the day, my eyelids feel heavy, my derriere hurts from the bumpy motorcycle ride and I am ready for bed.

Phnom Kulan

Images from the Kulan Mountain:
http://picasaweb.google.com/liamoutselou/PhnomKulan#

On the motorbike ride to the Kulan Mountain, a mountain holy to the locals here, I let my mind roam and run free in the countryside and rice fields. My driver today is a young man called Lihou, age 26, ecstatically just married and loving his job. Tim seems tired today; I think he might have had a heavy night drinking, so I am grateful when he suggests that his friend takes me to Phnom Kulan instead. I am not one to take unnecessary risks.

The journey to Phnom Kulan takes a couple of hours and is beautiful crossing the Angor park to the west. Kulan is not really a mountain but I guess you could use the term as it is quite high by Cambodian standards. The road uphill is quite bad but I am impressed at Lihou’s good driving skills.

Today I am really happy, almost grateful to be on my own. I leave Lihou behind in search of the Giant Buddha and the waterfalls. This is my day with nature. I can’t wait to explore this wonderful forest in search of the waterfalls. The gateway to the Pagoda here is imposing and guarded by two fierce tiger sculptures. Once again I am serene and calm. Monks recite readings on a megaphone, pilgrims pray and locals take different paths into the forest. Phalla advised me to come here during the weekend and follow the local people.  This is the best way to explore the place.  I follow a group of five locals into the forest. I walk through a village, again people here are quite poor but really friendly.  As I reach the village exit I hear the waterfalls and soon I enter the riverside area. There are huts, resting stops for the visitors, a hanging bridge to cross to the first small water fall and a path to the larger waterfalls.

At first I am reluctant to take my clothes off here, but Phalla has encouraged me to have a swim here. And the young Russians who I sit with are already in beginnings and speedos (ha ha!). I scan the area for monks: there are none.  I am free again.

I walk carefully on the stones in the shallow water of the small water fall lake. To reach the water fall it is best to walk in a straight line and then turn right as there are some really deep parts of the ‘lake’ in the middle, which you would like miss to avoid any accidents.

Descent to the larger waterfalls spot is possible through wooden steep steps. Every other step there is one missing but the children here prance like goatlings, going up and down. The waterfall site is spectacular and I am drawn to the water, like a dry toad. I swim to the water fall and cleanse my soul sitting on a rock as its water falls on me powerfully. Today is a day of rest and serenity. I get rid of the debris, I feel strong and no longer afraid to expect and want what I know is right for me. My conversations with Phalla and other strangers here have common strands and themes and help me embark on answering some of the most important questions that have been lingering on my mind for a while.

I dry myself in the sun; the sound of the falling water is a soothing lullaby and I fall into a beautiful sleep as the sunrays caress me. When I wake up I see two butterflies resting on my toes. A dragonfly circles me. I feel like a muse. This is the setting of myths and fairytales. I love nature and nature loves me. We work well together.

I walk in the forest and have no sense of time. When I am back at the riverside huts, I get my self sweet potato fritters and a waffle from a village vendor. Here I meet Peter. Peter is an Australian volunteer teaching in the same area as me. He teaches English and maths. He has been here since September. There are quite a few volunteering projects here but I don’t recall the name of the project that he works with (my concentration wanes when I am so hungry). I like Peter, he is very friendly. Lihou (my driver) approaches me stressed then relieved. ‘I thought you were lost’ he says. Then he disappears again.

The next hour is like a silent comedy movie scene with a happy ending. Lihou and I chase and keep missing each other at different entrances and locations in the forest. I despair as I think that he has left. I have no battery on my phone and stupidly I have not written his number down on paper (what an amateur mistake right)? But the locals here are wonderful and they get me on a bike to search the forest. Lihou and I eventually find each other relieved. He is very apologetic. I think it’s best to stick to an agreed plan. We had agreed he would wait at a spot. But he moved only because he cared and wanted to make sure that I am ok. Note to self: clearly agree a time and place with the driver next time. And from a traveller’s perspective it’s best to charge a mobile phone- this is why I have it anyway- emergencies!

But all is ok and we leave for our next stop. The Western Barray is a large ancient reservoir built by the Khmer empire.  Wikipedia tells me that construction of the baray probably began in the 11th Century during the reign of King Syryavarman I and was finished later under King Udayadityavarman II. The impressive feat of building a dam at the time creates a vast  artificial lake, which is full with water during the winter season. There is an Easter Barray but the water level there is now low.  We arrive just before sunset. I descent using the side steps alongside the Dam. ‘Barrang, barrang!’ shout the children and women in a friendly manner. There is row of huts with a narrow wooden lakeside bridge. There are three hammocks per hut. Here you can bring your food and book, company and family and enjoy the calm and water. There is no other tourist in the huts but me, hence the locals’ excitement. Good tip Phalla , thank you. I read my book, the novelty of the Barrang wears out and everything resumes its order. I observe children playing happily, mothers bathing their babies in the lake, whole families enjoying time together, grannies crossing the wobbly bridge with the assistance of the grandchildren. This is one aspect of good quality of life that the Khmer have. They have the time and the culture to allow them to spend as much time with each other. Their health system is not developed, perhaps their education can be improved and there are some horror stories here. But despite their poverty and deprivation these people have each other in a way that for example my parents can’t have me. And this is beautiful.

I return to Lihou. Time to return him to his wife. I think he is so in love at the moment. It makes me smile.  

As we ride back to Siem Reap through the sunset I suddenly feel that the bond is complete. I have Cambodia and ‘she’ has me.

Jens who travels light

After meeting Yianni I still head to Street no 9 and the row of local cafe/restaurants. It is even busier on Saturday evening. The only table is under a bright light and therefore my soup is flavoured by the delicacy of local bugs taking suidical plounges in the hot liquid. Jens, the German tourist sitting across me, was wise enough to change tables but I am the last one to arrive and I have not choice. Jens is travelling for 11 weeks across Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam (lucky bastard!). In Germany he has his own business building display stands for conferences and events amongst other things. There are  many inventive people crossing my path here with multiple professions and activities, and Jens seems to be one of them.

He mentions the flashing lights on my bicycle and he laughs. 'People are very careful here' he remarks 'noone uses a light and I feel safer than I do cycling in Germany'. Is the German telling me to be less obsessed with safety?

He is heading to Battambang on Monday, to visit the beautiful countryside and the amazing bamboo railway. I have heard about this from other people. The railway tracks in the area have fallen in desrepair and bamboo trains have been built to use them for tourist but cargo and livestock transport as well. Apparently, there is no traffic control system and if two of the motorbikeengine powered bamboo trains meet one has to be dismantled to let the other one pass. This is not that difficult as they are very basic structures. Also the trains move at approximately 20 mph so they are not too hard to stop. The Government might be repairing the tracks to reinstate 'normal train' traffic. This will be the end of the bamboo railway. Battambang was on my list of destinations for this weekend. But as it is a 4 hour bus ride away, I have already decided that I don't want to spend Sunday on a bus. So if the Government resolves to repair the railway before I return to Cambodia I will miss the chance to experience this inventive form of transport.

Jens quickly becomes my role model for travelling light. He left  home with one t shirt and one pair of trousers. ' I have bought everything else along the way'. We chat and chat. He is still hungry and suggests we try the raw eggs, condensed milk banana pancakes across the street. But I don't think I can stomach that at this time of night. This is the first time I say no. So we part wishing 'good luck for each other' as the Cambodians do. Safe journeys Jens.

Mr Mao

After Tonle Sap  I head to the bank where I run into Koosh and arrange to meet him in the evening. 

I am so hungy I am about to faint, so I stop at Street no 9, near the old market, at one of  the small road side cafe/restaurants that serve good and reasonably priced food. Soon after I order another loner comes to sit at the the table opposite  to me. A group of street kids stop and start talking to both of us in every possible language you can imagine, trying to sell us cards, bracelets and writing our names down. I am in such a way introduced to Stephane Mao, who is in hysterics at my inability to say no to  these lovely children ( have been able but not tonight).

Stephane is from near Marseille and we speak in two languages enthusiastically. Well...he speaks French at me and somehow I understand him and he practices his English with me. We communicate fine.  Stephane is half Cambodian. His father is a Khmer Rouge, political refugee in France. This is a pilgrimage to his roots and to his unknown second homeland. He has come here from Thailand and will head to Vietnam and Laos. Stephane has lived in different countries including Antigue.  He is an artisans, a builder, handy man, lover of the travel, journey and people. He thinks I am a gitane (a gypsy). I tell him about how much I love Cardiff and Greece. To me roots and not severing those are very important. But I have places to go with the purpose and I would like to some of it with people I love, some of it alone, but always with a purpose.

I learn :

Je vois aller au Mali pour decouvrire fabuleux pays.

(I want to go to Mali to meet fabulous people)

So many places, so little time but what I really like about Stephane is that he is not restless. He seems equally content to stay put and I think he is a man that appreciates people, stability, connection with loved ones. He is not escaping anything. Respect!

My encounter with Stephane is an unexpected present. We talk about Argentina and tango. Perhaps we will meet there again one day? He loves to hear about the children at school, Safe ,  my life and so we jump from one subject to another joyfully, until Koosh calls me and he is ready for our drink. Oops I got carried away....

'If I stay another day and we meet tomorrow here are 7?'

'D'accord mon amie'.

We kiss good  bye and hope to meet again sooner or later.

Random observations- Part 1

The Pyjama craze      

When in Siem Reap you can’t help but notice that many women walk the streets in their... pyjamas. Pyjama clad they are on bicycles, mopeds  walking, dining, shopping , catching up. After my first few sightings I found it great that they are comfortable enough to nip out in night wear. I did not find it that strange. After all students in Cardiff do this all the time when the nip out to the local tesco for fags, eggs and bacon, right? But as the sightings continue, I realise that the pyjama craze is everywhere. At Angor Wat me and the Spanish I hooked up with interrogate tuk tuk drivers. After much research there are three possible answers:

1. Cambodian ladies want to protect their skin from the sun. White skin is idolised here. What better way to do that than wearing long sleeved pyjama tops and long trousers.
2. It is now Cambodian winter and it is cold (?!!). Therefore long sleeve pyjamas are the right clothes to wear.
3. These clothes are not pyjamas in Cambodia! They are just fashionable, colourful clothes. There is a pyjama craze in Siem Ream. 

Perhaps I should get myself a pair. What do you think?

The running man

There are some pedestrian crossings in Siem Reap. There are also some traffic lights. To cross a busy avenue in this city, you are given the green light by a figure of a running man and you better run because you have 40 seconds to  do this. There is an actual countdown next to the animated running figure of the green man. And this is not an easy feat considering that the traffic does not actually stop.

Tuk Tuk  Lady

Since my first day as a walking visitor of Siem Reap I have been wondering:

How many tuk tuk offers can a lady have in an hour?

It is easier to be a bicycle lady than a tuk tuk lady if you find it hard to say no.

The Lord of Siem Reap

I am queing at the bank on the same busy avenue where the running green traffic light man puts my life at risk. I have just walked in and I turn as I hear a familiar voice, to face Koorash. 'Fancy seeing you here Mr Koosh' I think. He is greeted by a few people. I think this man is everywhere, the Lord of Siem Reap.

Who’s the boss

The fact that Koreans frequent Cambodia as tourists became obvious to me on my flight from Seoul, when I was surrounded by a jolly crowd of excursionists. But in my first week I realise that Koreans are just everywhere. The same goes for Russians. Koreans and Russians find it acceptable to travel in groups below ten. But the Japanese ,who are next in abundance, come in groups only. They usually wear matching tourist group hats and are led by some interesting figure of a tourist guide. Aussies are also around and I have met a couple of New Zealanders as well as Spanish and Italians.  Perhaps most of the British and the Americans just stick to Pub Street, the loudest and pedestrianised street of Cambodia perhaps they are in the villages. But at a first glance Korea seems to be the boss here...

Tonle Sap song

Lakeside cafe

 <><>

<><>

The boys



Tim recognises me in the morning when I try to negotiate a tuk tuk journey to Tonle Sap with one of his colleagues. Tim is the driver that picked me up from the airport with Phalla and is willing to give me a reasonable price.  This is how it works here , if you stick to one driver they become your friend, companion, guide and they can be very protective of you. But then I am lucky because I think Tim is a nice man.

Today I am at the Tonle Sap lake. The tuk tuk journey from Siem Reap is 30 minutes. The road swivels along the river. It crosses roadside neighbourhoods and villages, as we go further away from Siem Reap. There are many huts the other side of the river and small bridges , the crossing points,  at different spots. Soon we reach rice paddy land. Humble roadside cafes with hammocks are laid out one after the other. The  landscape has changed to open space fields and vastness. Here there is low vegetation and the lusciousness of the riverside is a distant memory. Soon I can see the lake.  The temperature is rising and this is hot day but it is not unbearable. 

At the lake I have to pay an entry and boat fee for a visit to the floating village and a boat ride around the lake. This is all Government run but I am really not sure whether the young boat drivers get a good wage. My boat is number B60. My drivers are two brothers, Neht and Loih (I really think I didnt get their names right), aged 18 and 10. Tim has never been to the lake, can he come with me? This is my 6^th day in Siem Reap area and I have already seen so much it  upsets me that a local has never managed to be on a boat and visit Tonle Sap. I am happy to have him along. He can only be of help and he is a subtle and discreet man. The boat ride is a blast. The boys warm to me, they sing and tell me about the village and their family in Siem Reap. They let me ride the boat to the open lake. There we go around in circles to test my skills. We watch people fishing. We watch a fast large river boat arrive from Phnom Penh, a six hour journey , which I would have thought is more comfortable than its road equivalent.

We go past a floating school, a floating pig farm, the water treatment works, houses and cafes. This is a small floating village and the people are poor despite the constant stream of tourists. At our stop the boys and I have a cold drink. They are delightful and so much fun I am in giggles most of the time. Tim is hungry and has the strange and disgusting to me delicacy of crocodilie eggs with some chilli sauce. These are sold to the locals by approaching floating vendors.  Believe it or not I think I have discovered something I am not willing to eat. ‘They are just little’, Tim says, ‘ No problem’. I can actually see the little crocodile embryo.

On the way back,  little Loih and I sit on the bow of the boat. Earlier at the café whilst gazing at the lake he was cheerfully singing to himself. It was so beautiful.  What can I do to get him to sing again? I ask him but he shyly giggles and hides behind his hands. As I sit on the bow I break into a loud song. I sing whatever comes to mind in Greek and I turn to see his amazed face. What is this he wonders? Perhaps he is willing me to stop. But I get no other reaction than surprise; this boy is a difficult one to win over. But when I no longer have any expectations, he starts to hum and gradually raise the volume of his song. His brother joins in. For the rest of the journey, I marvel at their beautiful voices and synchronised performance.

At the lake side I am in much need of a drink. I pick roadside or lakeside cafes by the face and smile of the people working there. My next pick is quite a gem. I am greeted by a brother and sister who are from the same province as Tim but don’t know him. The owner’s English is very good and he tells me about his family. His father is now a monk in old age and is family is still at the village. He runs this café, which at the moment is swarming with locals watching some Cambodian comedy show mesmerised. This is a nice rest stop before we go back. And Tim is hungry again so he orders himself a bigger meal which he devours in a few minutes. It’s 3 pm and time to go back. I am ready for a wander in town and a quiet evening (little do I know it’s not going to a quiet one). I think I will go for a swim tomorrow.

More photos from the lake are here:

http://picasaweb.google.com/liamoutselou/FloatingVillages#