The Killing Fields and a big ol' ti-emple

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Trip Start Feb 07, 2007 Previous
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  Phnom Penh and Siem Reap, Cambodia
Thursday, April 12, 2007

I woke up in Phnom Penh today.  Phnom Penh, Cambodia.  It still boggles my mind, some of the places I've gone on this trip.  I never in my life imagined that I'd ever go to Southeast Asia, let alone Cambodia.  But, there I was, in a spectacular hotel across the street from the hill with adorable Cambodian children, amputees, women carrying huge loads of fruit on their heads, elephants that we could feed, and temples.  Becca and I went to have breakfast before the group left to go to the Genocide Museum.  I'd heard that it was powerful and grim, and after visiting the War Remnants Museum I wasn't going to take a warning like that lightly.  It wasn't a long drive, but we made our way through a quieter part of town, off of the crowded marketplace streets filled with people and traffic and instead were driving through quiet streets past apartment-style homes until we reached the gates of a school, an old high school that had been converted for use by the Khmer, and then into the museum.  We walked along the dirt road to the gate, the rocks crunching beneath our feet, and we stopped for a brief introduction about before we were let loose.  The museum, the school, was set up with two large, open courtyards divided into two by one two-story building, two lining each end, and two next to each other along the length of the property, opposite the gates.  Benches were set up sporadically around the campus, which I sat on frequently after going inside each of the buildings.  The museum was divided up by what prisoners had been sent where, and how each of the classrooms had been turned into cells, and each building was numbered.  The first building, at the left end, was devoted to leaders who had either betrayed the Khmer or opposed it to begin with, and they had just been left to die.  The classrooms were the original size, and they had only a box-spring and a canister in their rooms with them.  Pictures of what the room looked like when the prisoners were found dead were on the walls, and I felt strange walking through the balcony-style hallway, room to room.  I felt like I needed to tiptoe, to not disturb anything or anyone, out of respect for the people who had died there.  It was so eerie, to stop and think that only forty years ago, these rooms had been filled with suffering.  I just really don't understand what it takes to do that to another person.  I hurt people, I cause them to feel pain but it's usually emotional.  Sometimes that's harder to heal than physical pain, but I could never torture someone in the ways that these people were tortured: let them suffer alone and die, beat them, tie them to posts and dip them in buckets of water to get them to speak, stretch them, whip them.  One of the buildings on the right side of the campus was devoted to displaying all kinds of torture methods the Khmer used, and it made me sick.  In the first room, we were able to see the tubs that were used, and the tables that the wrists were chained to so they could be stretched.  Then, we could walk through a doorway and look at the skulls of victims who had been shot to death, while looking at pictures of their faces displayed on the walls.  I'd made it there after walking through the second and third buildings along the length of the courtyard, where the classrooms on the first floor had been divided into smaller cells, eight to twelve to a room, to hold prisoners.  On the second floor were displays of stories, told by family members of those who had been seized by the Khmer.  After I walked out of the gates toward the bus, I was so empty emotionally.  I hadn't wanted to move.  I hadn't wanted to breathe for the past hour, thinking of all the prisoners who couldn't.  I felt like my whole body was drained of everything, all emotions, all energy, and it was only nine in the morning.  As I came upon the back of the bus, I took a picture of an alleyway.  I looked down at the camera to check the picture as I rounded the corner at the back of the bus, and just as I was thinking that there was nothing interesting in the photo, I looked up and found myself right in front of a burn victim begging for money.  The skin was black and red, his face deformed with no real bone structure, and skin had grown over one of his eyes in a thin layer so I could still see the muscle movement underneath.  He had no lips, just teeth and gums in a locked jaw.  This was the man who greeted me, just as I was thinking that there was nothing interesting in my picture.  Be careful what you wish for, I suppose.  And I was okay with the fact that the picture wasn't particularly interesting.  I kind of needed something dull to look at for a minute or two, to let myself regroup, and then there he was.  I couldn't react, but it startled me.  I looked him in the eye as I got on the bus, and I'm not sure if it was intentionally or not.  I really didn't have any money for him, and I wasn't trying to be rude and stare at him, but he was looking at me, and I looked back.  He reached out to me, and just then Sang came up and pushed me onto the bus, saying something in Khmer to the man.  I couldn't even cry.  I couldn't muster any more strength to raise my eyes as I passed Rebecca.  I could only collapse into my chair and stare at my hands.  I studied the little blonde hairs on the green tinted veins, and just tried to breathe.  I collected myself and then grabbed my notebook and started scribbling down everything I'd seen, while the emotion was overwhelming and I needed to get it out.  I'd seen pictures of smiling adults and children on the walls of the school.  Smiling, because they'd been brainwashed by the Khmer.  I'd been terrified walking through the rooms divided into smaller chambers, because I was all alone in that room.  Alone with the history of all that had occurred there, until I saw Becca and Matt through the doorway that connected the classrooms to one another, and I'd wanted to hug them.  The morning was so bleak, and it was cloudy so the sun nowhere to be found and our SAS group was the only group at the museum.  So seventy people spread out over the whole campus, it was empty.  And Becca and Matt walked through it much faster than I did, so I ended up wandering it alone.  I think that added to the intensity of it, because I didn't have anybody to talk about it with.  I didn't have anybody to hear me, to agree with me, when I sighed audibly, or inhaled sharply in shock.  I saw the guillotines, the pools, the inclining tables where prisoners would be chained down and have clamps attached to their nipples to torture them.  I saw a papier Mache mannequin of a man chained to the wall at his wrists, his arms and legs bound together.  And of course I knew it wasn't real, but I was so emotionally vulnerable that seeing a figure of a person on the floor as I entered the room, it too startled me.  All of the rooms had been empty except for furniture thus far, so I wasn't expecting a model of a person.  At places like this, though, there is no sense of security.  Anything can frighten you, from a papier Mache figure to a photo to an uneven brick on the floor that makes you stumble.  Then, I thought, if I'm this terrified and vulnerable as a tourist, how must the prisoners have felt?
 
We left the Genocide Museum and drove for about an hour to the Killing Fields.  The road was a long, straight one, alongside rivers with rice paddies and small homes and markets.  It was an interesting experience, seeing all of these markets out in the countryside, rather than in the cities.  In the cities, even though they looked different to me and were unfamiliar, I still had the city feel that I knew to rely on.  But here, in the outskirts of Phnom Penh, I had nothing.  I had nothing to relate to, to comfort me.  So, just as I'd told my Dad the night before that when the running makes you tired and you want to stop, that's the time to keep going because that's when it will benefit you the most, I kept going.  I got out of the bus at the Killing Fields once we got there.  I walked up to the monument, filled to the top with skulls of people who had been slaughtered there.  I walked through the fields, looking at pits in the ground that were designated for specific groups: children, mothers with children, men, specific numbers of victims.  Our guide had warned us that we might see bones poking up through the ground, with the rain washing the soil away.  And I did.  I did see bones embedded in the soil.  I also saw piles of arm bones that had been collected in piles by the pits.  I also saw shreds of clothing in the ground as well.  I hate to say but I really couldn't think while I was there.  I couldn't really comprehend the magnitude of what I was seeing before me.  I simply walked over the grassy hills looking at the shreds of clothing and the bones and the pits, and I felt sorry about all of it, and mortified, but mostly my head and thoughts had gone blank.  I could only feel.  Everyone's face that I saw as I passed looked somber, as did mine I'm sure.  I found a couple of boys on the outskirts of the fields, on the opposite side of a chain-link fence separating us, and they pointed at my camera, wanting me to take a picture of them.  I did, and showed it to them, and then they asked for money.  I suppose when you live there you do what you have to do, but I couldn't imagine hanging around outside of the Killing Fields every day and asking tourists for money.  I couldn't even go inside the souvenir shop there.  It just didn't seem right to me, that it had been turned into a place used to make money off of shirts or hats.  It just seemed disrespectful to me.  Yet, I suppose, I was paying money to go visit the fields, so.  I don't know.  I don't know what makes sense, and what doesn't.  Does it make sense to pay money to visit the place?  I think so, but is that different than paying for a shirt sold on the property?  Or does it even matter and I'm making too much out of nothing?  But the point is, it all gets inside your head, and you can't think straight.  After making my way back through the rolling fields I removed my shoes and went into the monument.  What kind of person isn't made sick by looking at glass cases twenty, thirty feet in the air filled with skulls and bones of victims, and won't really acknowledge it?  I know I was looking at skulls, at human bones, but I couldn't bring myself to really understand that each one of them had once been living.  It didn't seem real.  And yet, it was.  Every one of those skulls represented a human life, a family it had been a part of, a future it had once anticipated.  And now, it sits in silence on a shelf, for people like me to come and take pictures of and ache for.  But what else can I do?  I can appreciate it, but that's not enough.  On the other hand, what will I really be able to do when it comes to the world?  I feel the weight of it, but it's even heavier when I think about the fact that as much as I'd like to do to change it, I probably won't do a percentage of the things I want to do.  Everyone when they're in college and getting ready to graduate wants to get out and change the world, but not very many accomplish the grandiose goals they set for themselves.  Will I really be any different?  Will I ever be able to do more than just feel immensely sorry for the ways of the world?  I can't answer that now, and I can only say that I hope I can do more.  That I can do something, whether it's big or small.  I lit a stick of incense, donated some money, and got back onto the bus.  I stared out the window, not really taking in any of the sights, on the way to a palace (I can't remember the name right now).  It probably should have been quite a site to see, with elaborate golden temples and shrines, and beautiful gardens, but I just couldn't get it together.  I was on emotional over-drive and it was such an extreme, going from the Killing Fields to the elaborate palace grounds.  So I walked, I took some pictures on the steps of a Buddhist temple, along with some other pretty temples and landscapes, but I just couldn't do any more than that.  I couldn't think about much after the morning, so I just walked through and made my way back to the bus.  We left someone at the palace, because we always have to be at the bus on a certain time, and we had to make it to the airport on time so after waiting twenty minutes for him, the bus left.  A block away our tour guide got off the bus and went back to find him, but we proceeded without him.  And for the rest of the trip to Angkor Wat, an argument ensued over whether or not we should have left him or if we all should have missed our plane to wait for him.  Some girls, after making fun of him not six hours earlier for throwing up on the front steps of the hotel because he ate too fast, were exclaiming how cruel it was to leave him in a foreign city.  I was more frustrated with them than with the whole situation.  Our leader had gone back, he was going to be fine.  But these girls, they were my real problem with the situation.  "Ew, can't you at least brush your teeth before you get on the bus? Ohmygooood, he is so gross. "  "Yeah, why can't he at least find a bathroom before he vomits everywhere?"  But then as soon as the bus starts to pull away, these same girls refuse to leave him because "he's such a sweet guy.  How would you felt if you were lost in a foreign city?  I will stay with him if no one else will."  For ten minutes.  "Just stop the bus, we'll get off and go with him to the airport.  If we miss our flight, we'll get new tickets and meet you at the hotel in Angkor Wat."  Please.  And when the bus stopped, like they'd wanted it to, and the driver asked if anyone wanted to get off to stay, who went?  Who got off, to make sure he would be okay?  Not the girls.  But, we all made it safe and sound to the airport, all of us on a bus and Bryan in a taxi, just in time for our flight.  We ran through the airport, through security, and made it to the gate just as announcements were being made for us to board.  An hour and a half later, after flying on a plane that didn't hold a single person other than SAS students and leaders, we were driving through the forests to Siem Reap, the town of Angkor City we were staying in.  The scenery was absolutely gorgeous, with towering trees and little rivers flowing along the roads.  Once we got into town, though, everything picked up.  The streets were once again congested with motorcycles and bicycles and tour buses, people running around all of the outdoor markets that were teeming with "Happy New Year" decorations, because we had arrived two days before Cambodian New Year.  We arrived at the hotel and checked in, and it was a spectacular hotel.  After staying in the hostels in China and realizing how much more of an experience a hostel is, I wish we hadn't been put up in such nice hotels on SAS trips.  It's hard to immerse yourself completely in a culture when you get to go right back to comfy beds and sweeping staircases and marble floors.  In the case of India, it was a nice comfort factor, but the hostels were just so much more fun and exciting.  But I'll get to that when I get to China (because I'm really behind- I'm playing catch-up while I'm passing the fields of Japan on the Bullet Train on my way to Mt. Fuji from Kyoto).  We had a few minutes to check in and get settled before we went to visit the temple for the first time.  We were driven back through the town and out into the forests again, which were hazy with all of the tree cover and the clouds hiding the sun, so it really felt surreal.  Driving down a tree-lined dirt road in our tour bus alongside a young girl riding a bike, we saw the temple peeking through at the end of the road.  The bus dropped us off, and we had to fight our way through the children waiting around the parking lot to sell us postcards and bracelets, cross the street-Vietnam style, and stepped onto the mile-long walkway that would take us to the temple.  The walkway that led to the entrance to the temple went over a moat, which lucky for us was full because of the season, and we climbed down the giant steps to the banks of the moat to take pictures.  Looking out over the moat in front of me, and turning around to look at the wall of Angkor Wat and the temple rising above it, I was complete.  I was content, I was complete.  In that moment, I didn't need anything else except air to breathe.  It was a powerful moment, yet a scary one, to be so happy that you feel like you don't need anything else in the world, because obviously I do, but taking in the splendor before me, I was full.  We made our way through the entrance and onto the part of the walkway that would take us directly to the steps of the temple.  Monks sat on the wall and walked around the yellow fields between the entrance and the temple, and tourists speckled the grounds.  It was getting late so it wasn't as crowded as it could have been, so we were able to stop and take pictures every five feet or so if we felt like it and not stop anyone.  We made our way to the steps of the temple but it had closed, so we went over to the pond at the base of the temple and took pictures of the reflection in the water.  We also got a kick out of the Chinese tourists climbing onto a donkey with a brightly-colored blanket on its back and something that looked like a beaded birthday party hat on its head. They could even choose to hold a whip in the picture if they wanted.  It was an interesting choice of an attraction at the temple, to say the least.  We then went over to line of shops.  The first little girl to approach us was selling postcards, and not only did she have an adorable face and smile, but she knew how to sell.  She promised twelve postcards for a dollar, but she didn't just promise it, she counted them out for you, one by one.  I couldn't say no, so I bought them from her and also got a picture with her.  I was so impressed with her, and I soon realized that they were all trained to do that, but it's a good tactic if you're not used to it.  After India and Vietnam, where they just shoved things at you, to have her show us exactly what we were getting made me want to give her my time and my dollar.  Plus, who isn't a sucker for an adorable little girl.  After the postcards, I went over to buy a coconut to drink because I'd been waiting since Brazil for one, and we proceeded down the row.  We could buy scarves, table runners, Lonely Planet books, postcards, paintings, just about anything along the way.  I had an absolute ball bargaining as far down as I could get, and wound up with three Lonely Planet books for a grand total of six dollars.  I could have gotten a beautiful piece of cloth to use as a wall hanging or a table cloth or curtains, but the boy selling it to me was a tricky one.  I didn't want to pay his price, so I walked away.  They do the funniest thing, where you say "Five" and they'll say "No, six" so you walk away and they go "Okay, six, okay?"  No, five, you'd say,and continue walking.  I made it about ten feet until he agreed to my price but when I went back he said he had agreed to five dollars for a book, and not my cloth.  They just crack me up.  I'm probably going to get back to the States and try to bargain just because I've gotten so used to it.  We were running out of time but we kept getting stopped by people and seeing things that caught our attention, so after our bargaining extravaganza, we had to run back to the bus with our books, our paintings (I bought a painting) and Becca's drum.  We didn't get to see much of a sunset because of all the clouds, but I didn't mind.  It could have been pouring rain and I would have been a happy camper, just being within yards of the temple.  We drove to dinner, which was luau-style.  We got our food out of buffet lines and sat in tables lined up in front of a stage, where we got to watch traditional Cambodian dances performed by a dance group of teenagers.  They were really neat performances, little plays acted out with music and dance.  My favorite was a group of boys and girls fishing by the river, and a boy and a girl who liked each other flirting when they were alone but pretending to not notice one another when the rest of the group would return.  Our SAS group stayed for about three dances but we left early because we'd had a long day and had an early morning, so I went back to the hotel and called Dad before I went to bed.  It was the first time I'd talked to him without being 100% excited about everything, because I was really homesick and really emotionally parched.  I wasn't sure yet how I felt about Cambodia overall, even though I knew I was already in Angkor City and its sites.  It was just a lot to take in, from the museum to the Killing Fields and not being home for the Easter holiday and not having my family come for family week.  It was one of the valleys that I had been promised I would experience as part of a study abroad program, but I got lucky because mine only lasted for a couple of days.  The hard part was over, in leaving Phnom Penh, and all that remained was awe and wonder at the temples.  So, I went to bed after talking to Dad for awhile and startling the man behind the front desk who was handling the payment of the phone call (he put his hand over his mouth to try to warn me that it was getting expensive).  I climbed into the big, fluffy bed and thought of home as I fell asleep. 

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