One travels back in time coming from Singapore and landing in Sihanoukville, Cambodia.
The first view from the upper decks of the Amsterdam opened onto a series of traditional fishing villages, half in the shape of live aboard sampans and fishing boats in the shallows and wood. tin and corrugated huts on stilts. The tide was out, and people were wading through mudflats to their boats, and children flew kites from the rickety docks. The humidity and heat made the air feel thick and heavy, although the sea breeze brought a certain level of relief.
Not knowing ANYTHING about Sihanoukville I had booked a tour to the little town nearby, where I saw my first Buddhist Shrine, Wat Leu, and a number of intricately carved moss-covered pagodas (those seem to be tombs). The temple was lavishly decorated and every inside surface was covered with descriptive colourful paintings of Buddha and his life. Wat Leu is located on 400 feet high Sihanouk Mountain.
A beautiful view of the surroundings, pleasant and peaceful. A few monks in their saffron robes worked in the grounds, sweeping, cleaning and guarding the temple doors, or watching television sitting beside a shrine.
Peace, a thing that is relatively new to Cambodian citizens ( now a constitutional monarchy, led by His Majesty King Norodom Sihamoni). It has suffered unspeakable atrocities under Khmymer Rouge and Pol Pot (short for Political Potential), where more than two million people - mostly intellectuals - were tortured and put to death.
We travelled to one of the local beaches, named Ochheutel Beach, whose resort tradition was started by the French in 1908, when Cambodia was Indochina under French rule. It competes in beauty with Serendipity, Independence and Sokha Beach and numerous others in the vicinity inviting not only to swim, boat and snorkel, but to have one's feet nibbled by fish, one's bodyparts massaged by ladies patrolling the sands with their little baskets of equipment ($2 per half hour), or one's stomacs filled with delicious fresh seafood, or one's thirst quenched with icecold Angkor beer, whilst relaxing under an umbrella in a padded lounge.
This also was an area, where the least fortunate professions ply their trade, openly and imperceptibly: first, the maimed beggars, who crawl around legless, hold out truncated arms, and hobble on padded knees - a sad and sobering sight, which proves that being a beggar is still considered an 'honourable' career, despite the loss of mobility for the rest of their lives. Religious Buddhists making up the majority of the population, will donate to these unfortunates, as there is a) no official social security and b) a belief that offerings will bring the giver blessing and help on the road to enlightenment.
Young local boys clustered around bikini clad foreign girls and women, too good looking, too daringly dressed and too 'cool' than to be anything else but beach gigolos. As Cambodians are almost without exception beautiful, attractive and blessed with the brightest smiles and most agreeable dispositions, it makes them easy targets for unsavoury characters - and the vicious circle has begun.
A quick stroll through the Central Market brought us close to the heartbeat of the village. The ususal produce, fish, meat and household goods and textiles offering and dozens of tiny cookeries, where women cooked delicacis on charcoal fired pots. Outside was a chaotic congregation of tuk tuks, the wheeled rikshas, ready to transport customers and visitors anywhere at a wonderfully low price. The roofed market was insufferably hot, and I must have perspired a liter of fluid within a few minutes, salty sweat burned eyes almost upon entering the crowded, narrow, and packed passages.
We drove to a fishing village, the one we could see 'from afar' upon arrival. This time we experienced it in all its rickety and perfumed splendour. But, fishing boat construction and repair is in full swing, with machine and wood shops that look like abandoned garages with outdated manual tools, dirty and oil soaked, but the resulting vessels look seaworthy and well constructed. As the extensive village, or series of villages, was built on stilts, the corridors between living quarters, work shops and docks were also laid on stilts. The walkways were constructed out of driftwood, reject beams, bits and pieces with more spaces and loose boards giving way to the muddy sea below, than there were places to put one's feet. Extended families of the fishermen lived there, grandparents looking after the kids, and parents out fishing to earn a meagre but sustainable living. Small wooden platforms, like front potches, built a little above the general walkways,served as cooking areas, sleeping areas, laundry drying areas and general hanging out areas. Again, the local people were polite, smiling, 'happy to have each other' (as the guide explained), and albeit poor, tranquil and content with their lot. Children everywhere, no one begging. Adults dignified and proud, friendly and tolerant of the invaders gawking at them, their houses and their boats.
On the few areas of solid grounds, pink carpets of small shrimp dried in the sun. And between stilts and rare trees hammocks held sleeping people, oblivious to the procession of the stream of curious passing by.
Cambodia is famed for the great Angkor Wat, one of the most renown destinations in all of Asia. Although I did not have an opportunity to visit Cambodia's 'must see' attractions, Sihanoukville sufficed as an introduction to this little known, small country with so much to offer and with such lovable people. Here seems another proof, that lack of wealth, i.e. poverty, or 'Third World' status are not neccessarily equivalent to abject human misery. There are problems (maining of beggars) which the country will overcome, but there is also no crime or blatant starvation. Family, dignity and respect seem to be still very much alive.
