The Bats Of Battambang (#6 in series)

The bats...departing their cave.

  

Battambang is Cambodia’s second most populous city and was the type of working-class place that I was looking for.  Despite its size, it has that small-town, walk-to-everything feel.  Additionally, it boasts more statues than almost any place I've ever seen!

 

Ah yes, the Battambang statues -- every circle, every park, every plaza sports a statue or carving.  While this is hardly unique to Cambodia, here they've taken it to a new level.  Animals, mythological creatures (some in obvious sexual excitement), divinities, you name it, if someone can carve it or cast it you’ll probably find it in Battambang.

The most famous of these is on the main road and is of an ancient Khmer king holding up a magic stick used to fight off foes. 

 

Statue of the ancient Khmer king.

The name of both the province and the city, Battambang itself means "lost stick" or "disappearing stick" or some such thing, referring to the club wielded by the legendary king.  But to me it'll always mean "place of the flies."

Known as the rice bowl of Cambodia, Battambang is surrounded by abundant water and rich reddish soil -- and livestock and their refuse.  Accordingly, it has bustling farmer's markets as well as every type of insect, it seems, on god's green earth.

Almost my entire time there, I was slapping, swishing, cursing at some kind of pesky winged creature.  Some so tiny that I could barely even see them.  After a while, my legs looked like they had been hit with birdshot I'd been bitten so many times.   

Flame-up while sautéing vegetables -- normal for this type of cooking.

The delicious result.

In one of those ironies, all the insects make possible one of Battambang's greatest attractions -- the bat caves, a short distance outside of town.

In yet another irony, a terrible one, the Khmer Rouge used some of these caves to deposit bodies during their purges during the late 1970s.  On top of a hill called Phnom Sampeau, in proximity to Buddha shrines and statues, they executed scores of people and dumped them down in.

One of the infamous killing fields, Phnom Sampeau was typical:  Doctors, lawyers, teachers, writers, monks, anyone of the intellectual, anyone even wearing glasses was rounded up by the Communists and marched out, never to return.  Altogether, about two million people were dispatched at such sites around the country.

Eventually, after the regime was deposed, the bones were retrieved from the caves here, at Phnom Sampeau, and placed in a memorial display...

From the "Killing Caves."

This was a hard one, a hard one to stomach.  Just hearing or reading about it was one thing, but seeing the remains of all those murdered people...and done in the presence of Buddha statues yet.

(Some of the skulls were small and poorly formed, I'm told, as the killing squads chucked even babies into the depths.)

Thank goodness for the bats.  They live in the same labyrinth of caves and exit at dusk by the hundreds of thousands, some say millions.  Swirling counter-clockwise, to relentless zillions of wingbeats, they snake out for hours to feed on insects.  They were a sign of life, after the remnants of so much death.

                                                                            

Yours truly, inspecting rolling stock on the so-called bamboo line.

Like all good visitors to the area, I made my way outside of town to see the bamboo train.  The term "train" being used loosely here -- a rickety bamboo platform set atop axles and wheels; powered by an 8 hp or so engine, the type you might see on a go-cart or riding lawn mower.

(When you meet a car coming the other way, you just pick up the platform, plop it down atop the other car's axles, and away you go.)

It was used to haul freight and passengers, but is mainly a tourist thing now.  It takes you from an abandoned terminal building off through the jungle to some villages and then back, for $5 U.S.  The best part was seeing the countryside; you get a look at the way rural Cambodians live.

Claudine and Kim off for a ride.  Note engine behind them.

All things must come to an end, and this was the end of the line for me, as far as Cambodia.  Traveling through the Kingdom and Lao beforehand was rewarding in ways that I can't describe.  Sometimes it takes me weeks and months to process it all, it's so much.

But it was also rigorous travel and taxing on the mind and body.  I was making silly mistakes again and getting testy with people, as I tend to do when I get road-weary.

In short, it was time for the Land of Smiles -- Thailand.  The country and the culture (and the roads) are step up in many ways, much easier to take.  And it's such a fun place to boot.  I'd head over there and veg-out for a while.

[PART SEVEN TO FOLLOW NEXT WEEKEND]

Coming Into The Kingdom (#5 in series)

 

The "ghost crossing," the Lao/Cambodian border.  Where are all the people?

Our driver had warned us -- the road down into Cambodia was "much rough."  As most of us in the van had just been through Lao, with its awful roads, this didn't arouse much concern at first.

Then we got to the international border.  Guards and customs officers were lounging in white tees, playing cards or computer games in the heat, their uniform shirts hanging up nearby.  We disembarked the vehicle, about ten of us, and looked around in wonderment.

Usually border crossings are beehives of activity.  Vehicles are backed up in both directions at the gates; buses and taxis lined up nearby, drivers trying to entice you into a fare.  Vendors hawk everything from carvings of the Buddha to rice wine.  Yet this one was practically deserted.

Soon enough, we found out why...

The "road" down into Cambodia.  

$35 U.S. for this, my tourist visa.

Minutes after clearing customs and procuring our visas, we were sliding open the side door of the van and a few of us ejecting to push us out of a mudhole!  And they kept coming, these mudholes, every so often for hours.  Meanwhile the air conditioning went out; some people got sick and had to bolt the vehicle and throw up (I wasn't one of them this time).

Well, you get the picture.  Kind of a rough ride.  Eventually we made the city of Stung Treng and a little terminal run by the transport company offering food and drink.  The city lies along the banks of the Mekong and, as much as the mound of rice topped with pork and egg, seeing the Mother of Waters again bucked me up.

As dusk fell, it was on to the city of Siem Reap and one of the great archaeological wonders of the world -- the temples of Angkor Wat.  Fortunately for all concerned, a new road there had just opened, so this leg was relatively smooth.  We were able to doze as we sped on into the night.

The main temple of Angkor Wat, with the famous five spires.

A Hindu shrine within.

Climbing up into a spire.

The largest religious monument in the world, Angkor Wat is a complex of temples and temple compounds extending for miles. It's often mentioned in the same breath with the pyramids, the Taj Mahal and the Mayan cities in Central America.  Called a masterpiece of composition and balance, it's the equivalent of a good-sized city.  In fact, the name means great templed city.  

It's so overwhelming that I decided to spring for a day tour with a group and guide, rather than undertake it on my own.  Sometimes this is the best course, I have found.

While as many as a million people lived there, a lot of it is now overgrown with vines and tree roots, populated by monkeys and squawking birds.  At some structures the building blocks have toppled into piles or are teetering with only vegetation holding them up (seemingly).  I hesitated at entering because of this, but eventually did.

 

Our guide -- explaining some carvings.

A courtyard in Ta Prohm, the jungle temple.

The five spires of the main temple have become a symbol of Cambodia; appearing on its national flag, the national beer, the national currency, etc.  All in all, it's the country's prime attraction for visitors.

As impressive as that may be, herein lies the problem -- the visitors themselves, lots and lots of visitors.  In fact, the city of Siem Reap, which lies about four miles away and exists as a base of support for the site, may be the biggest tourist trap I've ever seen.

I must admit though, as touristy as it was, I liked Siem Reap.  Despite all the hawkers selling tee-shirts and statues, the Seven-Elevens, which are on almost every block, the restaurants with WILKOMMEN, SAUERBRATEN glowing in orange, the place exuded character, I thought, and a touch of the exotic.

Your correspondent, at the jungle temple.

Fellow coconut lover.

Barbecued pork on rice ($2 U.S.), in Siem Reap.

For Americans, a big plus is that Cambodia uses U.S. dollars.  The national currency is something called the Riel, but in my two weeks there I barely used it.  Almost all prices are in U.S. dollars, most Cambodians prefer dollars, and some ATMs dispense solely dollars (although most offer both currencies).

This was nice as I didn't have to expend brainpower figuring exchange rates every time I went for a mango/banana smoothie (3,000 R or 75 cents).  Nor did I have to keep track of two currencies. 

I must admit, by this time in the campaign my brain was getting a little frazzled.  There's so much stimulation on these trips, so much banging around on buses, boats, etc., so many people trying to scam you that it grinds you down after a while, or at least it does me.  Especially after you've been road-sick a few times.

For this reason, I decided to cut short my time in Cambodia.  I'd do one more town in-country, explore more area.  Instead of a rollicking party zone beset by the international jet set, I'd do a working-class burg and see how the home folk lived.

It should, I concluded, be quite a contrast.

[PART SIX TO FOLLOW NEXT WEEKEND]

Been There, Don Det (# 4 in series)

Making for Don Det.  Note rain clouds forming.

As our boat motored out toward Don Det Island, traveler's luck was with me once again.  The weather was on the cusp -- the steamy monsoon, marked by afternoon downpours, was ending and the dry season beginning.  It hadn't changed over yet, but refreshing breezes boded of more comfortable days to come.

All this by way of saying, it was still "low season" there -- generally sweltering, but with prices low and very few people.  If you wanted a good look at the locals and their culture, this was the time.  Come December, backpackers and the like would be descending on the place en masse.  

Located where the river widens and forms into the 4,000 islands, it's in southern Lao, almost as far as you can go in the country.  The Falls of the Mekong and the international border with Cambodia lie just beyond.

Some of the 4,000 islands.

At this stage, I was four-weeks-plus into the trip, more than halfway through.  I had come almost the length of Lao, including the lowlands and the Bolaven Plateau, where it was so chill and rainy that I needed a jacket.  I had spent time with the hill tribes and in the capital of Vientiane, with its French-inspired architecture.  Now it was time to meet the islanders of the Mekong. 

Rice harvesting, Don Det Island.

You get away from the strip by the boat landing, with its bars, eateries and tourist agencies, and you step back in time...to when people in conical hats scythe down rice and pile up the bundles, to when farmers pull the teats of cows by hand (ever hear the sound of milk squirting into a metal bucket?).

In short, you land on Don Det and you enter into a sort of time warp.  A Lao version of the Twilight Zone.  It reminded me of the farm life in Choconut, PA, back in the Fifties/Sixties.  After a few days, it seemed that I was back there, back in time, when I was milking cows and piling up bundles of grain myself.

The whole island was enveloped in tranquility.  Almost like a gigantic bubble had settled over top of it.  Sometimes I sat on the guesthouse balcony, watched the river go by and just took it all in.  It was like popping a doctor-prescribed med or nerve pill, just by breathing in the air.

Lest I get too idyllic here, let me say that the quiet often was shattered by the usual motorbikes blatting through, and I (and my camera) did get drenched in the occasional downpours.  Once I was huddled in a goat shed for two hours, soaked to the skin, waiting for it to end.  As I mentioned, it was still the monsoon.

Generally though, I was there at the right time...before the crowds.

The view from Mr. Mo's guesthouse and restaurant.

 

Lao noodle with egg and vegetable, at Mr. Mo's.

In a sense, the whole country is along the lines of Don Det Island.  It's largely rural, bypassed by a lot of technology and advances, and seemingly not overly concerned about it.  The scenery is beautiful, yes, but Lao's greatest asset may be its people.  The fastest smilers I've ever seen are in Lao, fastest smilers in the East.  

Time after time, I would nod in a traditional bow or say "saibadee," the greeting here, and the person would burst into a grin -- and not just with the lips; expressed with the eyes, the cheeks, the whole face.  If that's any sign of happiness, of contentment, then these people have it, regardless of all the gadgets and "advances" that they don't have.

And this is a country that's had a rough time of it, not just with poverty but with war.  People are still being maimed or killed by "bombies" dropped by the U.S. in the Vietnam War.  In addition, Loatians, a lot of them teens, are hauling in bomb fragments and parts of wrecked aircraft for scrap.  It's a thriving business here, forty years after the end of hostilities.

Monument in Vientiane to victims of the bombings, made of pieces of U.S. ordinance.

  

Wrecked U.S. helicopter, Army Museum, Vientiane.

But these people are not complainers.  Belly-aching seems to be against their religion, so to speak.  Dare I say it?  They seem glad for what they have and grateful for it.  Sometimes I think that we Americans should study some of these countries, as far as mental well-being; we have a lot to learn from them.

However, a lot of them do like a good toke on something.  Cigarettes go for about 50 cents U.S. a pack.  Because this is expensive for many Laotians, many roll or concoct their own, and you see people with various kinds of rollings -- bark, leaves, paper, etc. -- protruding from their lips.  God knows what's in it.

This is especially true among the hill peoples.  Up there, many walk around with pipes or else chewing on roots, nuts, etc.  I saw a woman with a child in one arm and a bamboo bong, like a military mortar tube, in the other -- surrounded by a cloud of smoke.

At any rate, onward and upward.  Thank you, Lao, for everything...It's been a helluva time.  Tomorrow it's off to the boat landing; then back to the mainland again and on to Cambodia.  Who knows what adventures await there?

 

[PART FIVE TO FOLLOW NEXT WEEKEND]

(This post is dedicated to Peter S. from Australia, who played the "mouth harp" so beautifully up in Vientiane.  He's a reminder that genuine talents are not always up on-stage somewhere, but at-large among us, revealing of themselves when least expected.) 

Fireboat Festival! (#3 in series)

 

Wayward creature that I am, I didn't realize that travelers luck was shining upon me that first night in Luang Prabang.  The next day happened to be Oct. 9, the date of the full moon.  A fortuitous coincidence for someone just off the slow boat, as that means one thing this time of year -- Fireboat Festival!

It gave me a day to rest up and get my bearings.  And good thing that I did, because about dusk the next day the floats were rolled out and the festivities began...

Boan Lai Heua Fai as they call it here.  The motif was boats or more accurately, dragon-like boats aglow with lights, torches, candles or the like.  

Followed by scores of gas-fired lanterns wafting up into the night sky.  Followed by people setting tiny palm floats, topped with incense and candles, off upon the river.  So many that the Mekong was practically a-twinkle that evening, my friends, with candles drifting off into the distance. 

My favorite was the fire dancers.  When the parade would back up and stall, they would dance at center-street, a circle of onlookers gathered around.  Turning to each of the four directions, they ejected fire out of their mouths like a human flamethrower.  I was a good fifteen paces away, yet the heat singed my eyebrows!

Offerings for people to light and set afloat.

Even the monks turned out.

The climax was river boats, festooned as well with multi-colored lights, parading by the shore, followed by a spectacular fireworks display.

Many such events in this part of the world are "lunar" or keyed to the full moon.  This one supposedly is to celebrate the end of Buddhist Lent, when the monks end their annual three-months of study and retreat.  But it's as much about Mother Mekong herself, the life-giver for much of the area, as far as I can tell.

Launching a sky lantern.

Speaking of the monks, Luang Prabang is famed for them.  They arise before dawn and troop the streets in an olden ritual, where people present them with alms, or shall we say in this case, breakfast.

The monks then return to their "wats" or temple compounds (they must be back by sun-up) where they eat one of their two meals.  The other is at 1130.  After noon, they eat no more solid foods the rest of the day.

They can drink liquids later such as tea or juice though, and sometimes, depending on the policy of the wat, Coca-Cola.  Indeed, one day I saw cases being hauled in.  How about that?  Even the monks of Luang Prabang have a taste for the stuff!

"Tak Bet" or alms-giving.

 

Regarding this practice of giving alms, I roused myself pre-dawn and did it once myself.  A local woman had taken me under her wing.  She handed me a woven bamboo tray with clumps of sticky rice, monkey bananas (small) and bags of sugared crackers.

Don't speak to them and always give them two items, I was instructed.  So I hunched down to my knees as the first group approached and proceeded to do just that.

Soon after, I was a busy little beaver...Sticky rice, banana...sticky rice banana...sticky rice, crackers... handed out as each one filed by and presented his pot.  The way it worked, that first group came from one particular wat..the second group from another...and the third from yet a different one.

In fact, there're wats or shrines all over the place in Luang Prabang.  Practically everywhere you look.  Often referred to as a holy city, the place is changing, though.  It's as much a tourist town now.

These days, you can wash down your croissant with a cappuccino freeze at cafés.  People with big-barreled cameras and French, German or English accents swarm the night market in search of silk and souvenirs.  An extension is being added to the runway at the airport.

In spite of this, the city seems to have retained its spiritual character...at least so far.

 Sacred Ho Prabang, on the grounds of old Royal Palace.

Paying homage at a jungled shrine.

328 steps to see the Buddha--and the view--atop Phousi Hill.

One final note about my experience of alms-giving:  As I was hunched there, sticky rice at the ready, it was exciting somehow.  As these men in saffron/orange passed, close enough to touch, they brought with them a certain energy, a certain aura that I had never felt before.  It was both calm and calming, and left me with a pleasant glow within.

The monk way of life produces this, I believe.  I couldn't help but think -- back in the U.S.A., where monasteries and such are practically gone, if we haven't lost something...something intangible but valuable in its own way...a reservoir of such energy.

Anyhow, amen on that for now.   

Seal of the King, atop the old royal palace.

Over my budget at 70,000 KIP ($8.75 U.S.) per night, but I was seduced by the beautiful wood.

I was sorry to leave Luang Prabang.  It was touristy yes, but such a nice place to visit.  But I had used up almost half my time and money, and still had a long ways to go.  As I've written in here before, to accomplish travel goals sometimes you have to keep movin'. 

Another reason I was sorry to leave, next came the bus ride from hell down to Vang Vieng, when I had to grab for barf bags more than once because the switch-backs were so relentless and awful.  For seven hours through the mountains, we didn't traverse a straight stretch of more than a hundred meters.  It didn't bother some passengers, but sure did me!

As things turned out, it was worth it to spend some time farther south at the 4,000 Islands, one of the jewels of the Mekong.  More on that in my next report.

    [PART FOUR TO FOLLOW NEXT WEEKEND]

                                   

Slow Boat To Luang Prabang (#2 in series)

Loading up to head downriver.

"Sah-bah-dee" as they say here (greetings), once again.

Lao at last.  On the 7th of Oct. I crossed the Mekong at Huay Xay, cleared the international border and picked up a traditional longboat heading downriver -- along with about 30-40 others.  Most of them were felongs or white foreigners, along with a dozen or so Lao people who sat in the enclosed back of the boat, apart from rest of us.

Mekong River longboat.

It was a daily 1100 departure carrying passengers and cargo.  The itinerary?  Two days down the Mekong...past pyramid-shaped peaks coated with green, past Matterhorn-type protrusions somehow supporting timber drooping with vines...though, for some reason, practically devoid of wildlife...to the old imperial city of Luang Prabang, in northcentral Lao.

To my disappointment, almost every animal along the way was domesticated:  a few gaggles of pot-bellied pigs; lots of water buffalo; a group or two of elephants with handlers; a few white birds of some type...Otherwise it was like a chapter out of Silent Spring.

Lots of buffalo, but where's the wildlife?

As it turned out, the most wildlife on this excursion was on the boat itself.  Most passengers were more interested in the alcohol service in the rear than anything else.

After four or five hours underway, the "partying" was reaching critical mass, and it was truly an international cast -- alcoholic Australians, inebriated Eurotrash, carousing Koreans, chortling Chinamen -- all roaring it up like pirates after a good plunder.

As the journey went on, some were hanging over the side, heaving or barfing; some dropped 640 ml BeerLaos onto the deck to dull thunks of shattered glass and suds...

And this bunch was not about to be shut-off:  With the party animals stomping their feet and banging the hull with their empties, at least four times the boat pulled over to shore.  The Lao lady who minded the bar troddled a path up from the riverbank, disappeared within a wall of green vegetation, and returned a few minutes later with a yellow case of BeerLao on her shoulder.  Party on, as they say.

(Just what was up there those times, beyond the vegetation, I don't know.)

Overnight here.  The only way in or out is by water. 

Local woman, near Pak Beng.

Street in Pak Beng.  Note Communist flag at top-left.

The boozers didn't have to skip a beat when we disembarked at Pak Beng, the river town where we overnighted -- a smiley little man was handing out cups of the local brew to all visitors who passed by.  Evidently the custom there.  Later at the restaurants, a complimentary shot was served along with all food orders.  Again, the custom there.

What did it taste like?  Well I can tell you this:  After my order arrived, I slid my shot across the table to a guy from South Korea.  The jaunty type, he held it up in a toast, then downed it...Shortly after, his body was spasming in revulsion, followed by coughing and gagging.

By the way, Pak Beng was the first place I ever saw water buffalo on the menu.  This is common throughout Lao, I discovered, but my first time.  (It was tough and stringy and made my jaw sore I had to chew it so much.)

What a tabletop!  At one time, big timber sprouted in these parts.

Now a few words about traveling the river itself:  First off, this was not the poke-along ride that I thought it was going to be.  The Mekong through these parts is a-movin'.  A relentless, swirling flow.  You jump in on one side and try to swim across, you better be a strong or it'll sweep you way on down, if you make it at all.

Second, the river runs wide for miles, then narrows into numerous canyons, often strewn with rock formations.  More often than not, these canyons acted like wind tunnels, perhaps even generated their own wind because before our boat entered conditions were calm. 

Some of what we had to negotiate. 

The wind, the current, the rocks -- for these reasons Mekong River boats here are long and flexible.  They're made to be maneuverable, to swerve around hazards, which can be unnerving if you're not used to it.

For example, you enter into a canyon strewn with rocks...The current picks up, you zag past whirlpools big enough to swallow a dog.  The captain is working up a sweat -- whirling the wheel left, then hard right...The boat bends and creaks and groans beneath you, flexing into each change of direction.  Sometimes you swear that the thing is going to break apart under your feet! 

Then a gust of wind impacts, trying to rotate the boat crosswise...The captain clenches teeth and rips the wheel hard some more...

This is not entirely hypothetical -- similar instances happened on the two days going downriver.  It was scary until I figured out that the boats were so-designed and could take it with ease.

Shrine on bow of longboat--invoking of safe passage.

Had trouble with this...Spent an hour marooned on a sandbar as a result.

 

Population-wise, the numbers in this part of the world go something like this:  Neighboring Thailand has a population of about 55 million people, while mainly rural Lao chimes in with only about 5 million.  All this by way of saying, we didn't encounter many crowds en route.  In fact, aside from a few villages, we saw very few people. 

As dusk fell on the second day out, however, that was about to change.  In the distance, glowing up into the gathering darkness, the bright lights of civilization.  Just around the bend, the city of Luang Prabang at last.  Said to be the nicest city in Lao.

  

As it so happened, more by dumb luck than anything, the timing of our arrival was superb.

[PART THREE TO FOLLOW NEXT WEEKEND]