Fetch-a-Phrase

Language, linguistics and travel. A blog that tries to bring them all together.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Kampot, Cambodia

I've finally gotten started on revamping the Khmer Phrasemaker. It has been useful in helping remind me how the Khmer language is set up but beyond that it's proved to be quite frustrating because of the inadequate pronunciation system I decided to employ. Now I realize I have to change the entire thing to make it fit better with the actual sounds people use here. I worked out a different system this morning and, all being well, I'll be able to double check this evening with Jasmine, though I already know it makes a lot more sense than the last one.


Fireworks at Bodhi Villa
A couple of days ago we went to a party across the river at a popular backpacker hideaway called Bodhi Villa. It's very well run thanks to the administrations of two very capable couples. It's set in a beautiful old building that bears a soft resemblance to a Buddhist temple. The roofs double off one another with each apex protruding a decorative spike of wood. Under the eaves and wrapping around much of the building are long sculpted facias sporting Khmer designs. All of this is rendered even prettier by a flood of purple bourgainvilla brightening the entryway.

We were transported to the party by fishing boat. It was Mark's idea and a very good one as it meant we wouldn't have to suffer use a shuttling system on Martin's motorbike to get us there and back in the dark. It also meant that we would be able to watch the fireworks that Hugh, one of the Australians, was planning on shooting off to celebrate the New Year. When the time arrived for the fireworks display we had the fisherman move his vessel further towards the jetty to try and get us out of the line of fire. We could hear Hugh at the edge of the water preparing the rockets, then one of them leaped dramatically away from the river bank and made a fiery arc across the water, exploding in a shower of light. The boom echoed back from the tin roofs on the other shore and everybody cheered. He lit the second - whoosh, boom, cheer. When he lit the third, we suddenly heard him yelp "Oh! F**k!" and scramble back hurriedly. There was an incredibly loud bang and a great flash of white light.
"Hugh, are you okay?" someone yelled.
There was a moments hestitation, then "Yeah! But the bloody PVC pipe is f**ked".
He had a spare tube and before long sent another firework over the river. Several of the following ones raced out of the tube erratically and all of us on the boat started to wonder just how safe our position really was. Then another malfunction occurred sending a firework right into the water by the boat. We'd seen one hit the water earlier and instead of going out it had sprayed an umbrella of colored fire up into the air. As a group we flung ourselves down on to the deck causing the hull to tip away from the line of fire. There was a huge bang but fortunately the firework must have sunk far enough toward the bottom to prevent a disaster. Hugh deemed it wise to stop the show and we all drifted back into the party.


A Side Trip to Kep
Martin asked me if I'd like to go to the beach at Kep. He described it as being unspoiled and very relaxing. We put on our boots and climbed on to his dirt bike for the twenty mile journey. He warned me to wear sunglasses to keep the bugs out of my eyes and apologized for not having a helmet for me to use. He put his own on, a sturdy Western model, and we took off. The rural scenery along the road, dry paddy fields and rugged, jungle covered hills, would have been very meditative and restful if my mind hadn't been reeling with thoughts of Khmer driving habits. Fortunately Martin is in the habit of driving very defensively and before long I settled my thoughts and began enjoying the ride.

We got the first inkling that the beach ahead might be busier than we'd suspected when we ran into long line of cars sitting under the baking sun at the wrong side of a river crossing. The bridge had collapsed long before leaving the Khmer's no choice but to build a makeshift, wooden plank affair until such time as it can be reconstructed. That was when the bike came into its own. With expert hands and feet, Martin guided us around the traffic and across the wobbling, temporary bridge. It was plain sailing after that.

We ran into a second lot of traffic where the coastline started. "I've never seen it like this," Martin gasped. All along the shore there were thousands upon thousands of people milling about or lounging under temporary shade structures. The braver ones had paddled into the water fully clothed and were joyfully splashing about in the surf. Once again Martin guided us through the snaking lines of cars eventually pulling over by a concrete shade structure.
"I'm not sure I want a stay here," he moaned. I was of a like mind. Despite the disruption to our plans it was nice to see the Khmers enjoying themselves like this. In this country the recent history is never far from one's mind and thinking how impossible this scene would have been a dozen years before gave pause for reflection. It also showed that the shattered economy is picking up, even it is marred by the constant menace of corruption. According to Martin, Cambodia has gone from communism to opportunism without a pause in between. But the long and short is that people do have more expendable income than they've had for many yeara and are now able to afford a day at the beach.


Off to the Woodpile
Last night we went to a riverside restaurant for supper. We had meant to go to Bodhi Villa where the quality of the food is excellent but that was out; their second go at fireworks had proved even more disastrous than the first one. One of the yahoos staying there had tried to set off one of the big fireworks himself. It had sprayed out a waterfall of fire on to another lot of fireworks, setting them all alight. Everyone had dived for cover. They were incredibly lucky not to burn the place down nor have any injuries. Apparently some of them did in fact shower the inside of the building.

The restaurant was about a ten walk from the lodge. That was too far for Mark, Jasmine and Martin; they preferred taking the motorbikes. Jasmine had been working hard all day cleaning up the lodge in preparation for the Tuesday opening. She was tired and after dinner became so sleepy it was deemed wise for her not to ride the motorbike back. Mark had been her passenger and felt he didn't have enough recent experience to manage the machine. Like a fool, I said I'd try. Martin gave me quick tour of the bike, showing me where and how the gears and brakes worked, then started it up and made a little circuit of the compound to make sure it was running properly. ThenI mounted the bike, stepped it in to first gear and revved up. It jerked forward more quickly than I'd imagined. I tried finding the brakes but forgot to take my hand off the trottle. The bike and I raced in a straight line into a woodpile.Everyone burst into laughter. I was lucky the woodpile was there otherwise I would have run straight into the wall. I didn't hurt myself but there was some minor damage to the bike. I'll have to pay for that. Fortunately it won't cost much as labor is astonishingly cheap here.

Accidents are fairly common in Cambodia. There are so few rules. When something does happen the last thing you want is getting the police involved. They are basically state sanctioned thieves. There is also no proper system of justice set up to deal with blame in the case of accidents. When any two groups get involved in one it is invariably the one with the most connections who is in the right. I've been told many stories of well-positioned Khmers breaking all the rules of the road resulting in the deaths of people. The end of each tale has the perpetrator walking away suffering no indemnities. If a foreigner is involved in an accident he or she is always deemed in the wrong and has to pay the damages. Martin told me one of his stories. He'd been pulling out on to the road when a kid on a motorbike raced out of an entryway without looking and ran straight into him. Using his cellphone the youth called his faher. A Mercedes quickly arrived and a general got out. It didn't matter that his spoiled son had obviously been the cause, Martin had to pay. The general was irate and wanted $1800 for a new bike despite the fact that the only damage it had suffered was a few minor dings. When an English-speaking Khmer tried to help out by providing translation, the general told in no uncertain terms that he would be killed if he continued. The translator blanched and quickly disappeared. Fortunately another English-speaking Khmer happened by. He wasn't as easily cowed as he occupied a higher position in society and finally it was decided that Martin would only have to pay $50 for being the victim of an accident.

2 Comments:

At 4:14 PM, April 22, 2006, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Good reading. Keep up the good work. More photos?

 
At 6:47 PM, April 25, 2006, Blogger Ubiktwity said...

To the woodpile young man!

 

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