Pensive in Phnom Penh

Due to a series of unfortunate events, I wasn’t able to update this blog, so this entry is about five days late. We are now stuck in Laos, and have all the time in the world to just laze around. Our interesting (to say the least) story about Laos will come later. For now, let me talk about Phnom Penh.

The Limousine Ride

Our trip to Cambodia was pretty straightforward. Okay, so we cheated and asked our hotel in Saigon (Nguyen Kang Hotel---highly recommended) to book us a tourist bus to Phnom Penh (for USD12 each), a big beautiful limousine bus, which was, well, big and beautiful but not a bit limousine like. The ride was uneventful as the stewardess took care of everything, including filling out our departure cards. No sweat.

The border was pretty neat; the Cambodian side looked wealthier with casinos and posh establishments dotting the border highway. And I thought, So much for Saigon. Phnom Penh is the place to be! I swallowed my words when we got to a dock where ferries transported buses across the Mekong River. Trash was everywhere. Beggars were trying to get into the bus, and hawkers insisted on selling us what looked like fried snakes and cockroaches. I could almost hear my nephew Basty screaming, Eeeeeewwwwww! A child even tried to snatch my last bite of doughnut from my mouth, only to jab her tiny hand against the glass window. Poor kid, maybe she was too hungry to see the glass.

The big and beautiful limousine bus moved on, into the center of Phnom Penh. Cambodia prides itself as the Kingdom of Wonders, but I could barely see the wonders therein because of the dust blanket that covered the city. What a shame.  

All bus journeys are supposed to end in a bus station, a proper bus station. Ours ended in a marketplace, with pushy tuktuk drivers to boast of. Good thing, the hostel we booked (Capitol Guest House---basic, cheap, great for backpackers) was just a block from the bus stop. So we maneuvered our way into the crowd and traffic, my myopic eyes failing me as I was almost hit by a motorcycle as I was crossing the street on green light. The good thing about not speaking and understanding the local language is that we don’t figure out right away the insults thrown at us by angry drivers.

Phnom Penh’s Heartbreaking History

A visit to the Killing Fields replaced my negative impression of the city with a feeling I can’t really put my finger on---a feeling that will haunt me for a long time. I’ve learned about Polpot and the massacre of millions of Khmer people, but what I read in books never truly captured the brutality and inhumanness (if there’s such a word) of the Khmer Rouge.

While the Cu Chi Tunnels in Vietnam tell a story of hope and survival, the Killing Fields depicts despair and death. Entering the gates instantly gave me an eerie feeling. After all, it was a burial ground of hundreds of thousands of souls---ordinary Khmer people, political figures, foreign diplomats, innocent children---who were transported from S21 prison (formerly a school, now the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum), tortured, slaughtered, and dumped together like animal carcasses in shallow graves. Babies’ heads were allegedly smashed against a tree trunk while mothers watched in despair. All these things happened while loud music was played to dampen the moans of the victims before their final breath. 

During the liberation in 1979, the graves were discovered and the corpses exhumed. The skeletal remains of the victims now lie in a commemorative stupa in the compound. 

Our next stop was the Tuol Sleung Museum, formerly primary and high school which was turned (in 1975) into the S21 headquarters where prisoners were detained, interrogated, tortured, and killed. The unusual thing about this prison, though, is that photos were taken of the detainees and their “confessions” documented before they were silenced forever.

On January 7, 1979, the Cambodian government collected all the evidence in S21 such as photographs, films, prisoner confession archives, torture tools, shackles, and 14 badly decomposed corpses of 14 victims. These evidences (except for the corpses, of course) are now on display in the museum as a reminder of the anguish and suffering that the evil Polpot regime brought upon the once-peaceful land.

More about Polpot and the Khmer Rouge here.  

Seeing the City in Style

Okay, let’s lighten up a bit. After a heart-wrenching day at the Killing Fields and Genocide Museum, Pinky and I decided to shake the sad vibes off by seeing the livelier side of Phnom Penh. We hired a tuktuk for 2 USD to take us to the downtown area, a picturesque spot along the Mekong Delta. 

The charming scene provided a great backdrop for our vanity photo shoot. Hehe. There was really nothing much to do while waiting for the Royal Palace to open at 2:00 p.m.

Now about the Royal Palace. How can a self-confessed civilized lass like me not know that royalties frown upon skimpy shorts, sleeveless shirts, and short dresses? I was refused entry because I was dressed so unglamorously like this:

But hey, there was hope; I had a very stylish ticket to the palace. Three dollars poorer later, I was admitted with my million-dollar look:

I swear, the other tourists were just drooling over my fashion sense, as they kept throwing me jealous looks as if I were Halle Berry. Sa masuya lang. Hahaha!

So I toured the Royal Palace compound in jaw-dropping style. 

Claustrophobic at Cu Chi

If you close your eyes, you would think you’re in the actual battlefield. The sound of AK47s firing filled the air, and at one point I actually jumped in fright at what sounded like a grenade. I did close my eyes for a few seconds, and when I opened them they were met by the image of our tour guide who insisted he’s the Vietnamese version of John Wayne, though, in my honest opinion, he doesn’t even come close to Jackie Chan. But he was hilarious with his confused mixture of Vietnamese, Aussie, British, and American accents paired with the Pop-eye quality of his voice.

Who says he doesn't look like John Wayne?

"Follow me to the tunners!” His shout would send a platoon of twenty tourists (including Pinky and me) scrambling towards him. “These tunners are built through the sweat of Vietnamese guerrillas who bravely fought against the Americans during the Vietnam war. You can find guerrillas everywhere in Asia. I don’t know about you”---he turned to the whites---“I’ve never been to your countries. Are there guerrillas there?”---he paused and smiled---“Maybe you’re the gorillas.”

Only Pinky and I and another Asian guy laughed. Okay, so that was not very funny and quite insensitive, I must say.

Anyway, John Wayne took us through the “jungle” where the war actually happened, with the remnants of bomb craters lie among hidden tunnel doors and bobby traps. There were also mannequins depicting the life of the guerrillas. I used to watch Vietcong movies when I was a kid, and who would’ve thought I would actually be in the place where they fought for real. It was a surreal experience, especially with the sounds of firing guns in the background.

A closed tunnel door.

An open tunnel door. Fits petite sizes.

A booby trap. 

Pinky with her guerrilla friends.

The tour properly started with a documentary film-showing of how “mercilessly the American bombers ruthlessly decided to kill this gentle piece of countryside . . . Cu Chi, a land of many gardens, peaceful all year round under the shady trees.” The film ended with “The Americans wanted to turn Cu Chi into a dead land, but Cu Chi will never die.” I looked around and quite thankful to see there were no Americans with us.

To me, the Cu Chi tunnels tell a story not of anger but of hope, not of revenge but of survival. While the war was taking place over the land, underground men, women, and children tirelessly dug an intricate labyrinth of tunnels that became a little village, where the villagers spent their days eating, sleeping, studying, working, and only going out at night to tend to their crops, so the guerrillas can eat while they try to defend their land. Thinking of the sheer determination and willpower and ingenuity of the Cu Chi people gave me goose bumps.

American soldiers tried to flush the guerillas out of the tunnels through grenades, gas, or water to no avail. These tactics were no match for the tunnels’ clever design. The commandos also tried to crawl into the pits only to find out the tunnels became narrower as they go deeper, leaving them stuck. Hamburger-eating soldiers were not supposed to fit into those passageways, which were also set with booby traps.

I don’t really know how the Vietnam War ended (I have to brush up on my history), but our tour concluded with us having a go at navigating through the tunnels, with emergency exits at 30 meters, 50 meters, and 100 meters. I went for about a meter and turned back. Claustrophobia---my usual excuse. The lair was not only hot, stuffy, and narrow, it was also zigzagging so one cannot see what’s right ahead. So much for the saying “there’s light at the end of the tunnel.” Oh, and Pinky didn’t go more than a few steps too. And one macho guy. So I wasn’t too embarrassed. Wink*

Let me out of here . . . with a smile.

And yes, they gave us snacks after the tour. A meal of boiled cassava dipped in a mix of sugar and spice, and a small cup of cold tea---the food the Vietnamese ate inside the tunnels. I guess it’s the Vietnamese’s way of telling us, “Life is not a piece of cake, so eat your cassava.”

Sweet Saigon

The Backpackers’ District

Sleepy Saigon woke up at 5:00 a.m., giving us the cue to start looking for a place to stay.  A rather expensive airport taxi—we paid 10USD each, but hey, we’re millionaires remember?—dropped us at the backpackers’ district (District 1) at Pham Ngu Lao Street. So much for online bookings, hotel hunting was a walk in the park. In just a few minutes, we found our haven right among the row of hostels in a narrow alley that teemed with backpackers in all shapes, sizes, colors, and fashion sense. It was just a few minutes past six, but the alley was a sight to behold.

We observed that there are four types of backpackers:

1.    The Groupies: They go roaming around like a flock of lost sheep being led by their ever-proactive shepherd (a.k.a. tour guide).

2.    The Lovey-doveys: They walk together, eat together, sleep together, get lost together.

3.    The Indie Travelers: They are either looking for their lost souls or their better halves.

4.    The Wannabes: Need we say more?

Shall We Dance?

Right put forward, then the left, lean back, then forward, right foot backward, two steps to the side and one and two and three, and glide, glide and hop!

That’s the Vietnamese version of the cha-cha. A skill all foreigners need to perfect if they are to survive the streets of Saigon that breathe out motorcycles like a dragon exhales fire. While we were busy trying to fend off a nervous breakdown while plying the treacherous zebra crossings, the moto drivers just went about their business of organized chaos. As if the motorcycles were not enough to give us a heart attack, blind people and old men leisurely crossed the streets, unmindful of an impending brush with death. I wonder what the road accident statistics look like in this city.

Organized chaos

Gastronomic Delights

Ah, ah, ah! And who says food won’t take you to heaven? For the certified gluttons (like me), Saigon is the ultimate culinary purgatory.

Okay, so our first meal were actually a quarter of a pomelo and a packet of Vietnam Airlines brownies given to us by an uber-friendly Vietnamese woman in the airport. We devoured the goodies with gusto at the park while we were waiting for our hostel room.

The first real meal consisted of an herbal soup with bits of chicken, shrimps sautéed with veggies, and chicken in some sweet, sour, herbal sauce, plus all the rice you can stuff into your mouth. I’m really sorry I forgot the names of these meal wonders, because they are enigmatic sounding, and well, they’re just too good they make you forget about the world.

Then there was pho, a very yummy and filling soup made of rice noodles served with beef or chicken and may be eaten with lime, bean sprouts, pepper, and some leafy stuff I have no idea about. It’s something I can consume copious amounts of and still clamor for more. In fact, Pinky had to drag me out of Pho 24 (a Vietnamese noodle restaurant chain).

And let’s not forget, the famous Vietnamese spring rolls---the best in the world! I am not a reliable food critic but if my mouth waters before I even see the dish, then that is something. If I were to fall in love with food, the object of my affection would undoubtedly be my sweet darling Vietnamese spring rolls dipped in spiced vinegar. Ohhhh!

And then, there’s the coconut rice. Not so tasty as I expected, but good all the same. The thing I like about Vietnamese food is that they fill you, but then you still feel light afterwards, if you know what I mean. If you don’t, come to Saigon. Enough said. 

Does this count? I swear, it's the best corn I've ever had . . . or maybe I was just really hungry. 

Finally We Fly

Chapter 1: Surviving Immigration

The species that I fear most on Earth are clad in black nautical-type uniforms. They are called Immigranses officialis. A vicious breed of blood-sucking, flesh-eating, bone-munching predators that thrive on their prey's fears and naivety. The more you fear them, the stronger they become. This, of course, was not my first encounter with them. In the past, I managed to survive their deadly gaze unscathed, only to live and endure another near-death experience. Not only are they sharper, they have mutated into questioning machines. Man, they can grill!

Why Vietnam? Who invited you? Where are you staying? How many days will you stay? Are you going to work there? What’s a transcriptionist? Do you have a company ID? What’s a holiday? What were you doing in Ethiopia? Your visa was issued in London?

The magic word, I figured, was London. Passports stamped!

Chapter 2: The Window Seat

“The early bird catches the worm,” they say. Very true. Pinky and I can attest to that. We were the earliest birds, checked in even before the counters opened (okay, a few seconds after the counters opened), and got our boarding passes—no fuss. In our case, however, the “worms” were seats at the rear of the plane—and I mean the “lastest” row. And I was thinking, No worries, I got the window seat anyway. So upon boarding, I sauntered to my window seat . .  . without a window.

These budget airlines are funny! They must have pushed the seats forward to make way for an extra row at the back (hence, no window because the last row isn’t supposed to be there).

Anyway, I got claustrophobic, and when this happens I become an actress. I successfully pulled off my infamous I-can’t-breathe-I’m-going-to-die act, with Pinky as my supporting actress with her effortless constipatingly confused look. The stewardess, however, didn’t think it was worth an Oscar. Thankfully, the gods heard my gasps and uprooted a family of three off their seats (God knows where they went), and I got my real window seat at last!

Chapter 3: The Speediest Game Ever!

Okay, so Cebu Pacific is known for its tradition of having “superfun” (their word) games onboard. (I heard about the dancing crew, but wasn’t lucky enough to see it.) So the game was called “Show Me.” The mechanics: the stewardess calls out an object and the first passenger to produce it gets a “majestic” (their word) prize.  

So in the spirit of fun, Pinky and I decided to participate and listened intently to what she was asking for. But before we could even blink, the game was over—yes, after 48 seconds.

Show me your passport—10A wins!

Show me your boarding pass and a pen—21 D wins!

Show me your e-ticket—15F wins!

Tak! Tak! Tak! Game over! I’m dumbstruck until now and dreaming of that “majestic” bag with the ever-smiling Cebu Pacific mascot. What more can a traveler ask for?

Chapter 4: Millionaires in Saigon

We’ve touched down finally, and like real tourists we went straight to the money changer to have a few US dollars changed into the local currency (Vietnamese dong). As luck would have it, we’ve become millionaires overnight! Really cool! Now how to spend my millions. Suggestions, anyone?

The millionaires are, however, stuck in the airport and sleeping on the floor because they haven’t booked a hotel (if you read my previous post, you’d know why). Now we’re waiting until it gets light enough to begin our search for a place to stay. Good thing, there’s wi-fi here, and although I can’t access Facebook, I can still blog.

The things you do in the airport at 2-5 a.m.

The heat is on in Saigon! Yeah, baby, yeah!

Bloody Booking!

It's only two days to the much-anticipated trip, and my excitement is already waning---thanks to this bloody online hotel booker, who's giving us a panic attack, and we've not even set foot in the promised land yet. 

A few minutes ago Pinky (a.k.a. Ruby) received an e-mail from hostelbookers.com, saying our booking for Me Them Bed and Breakfast---which we booked two months ago---had been cancelled because the bloody hostel has changed its business. They could have come up with a better excuse, you know. Change business? As in they suddenly wanted to sell breads and beds and whatever? Who buys that crappy excuse?

Anyway, this hostelbookers.com has offered to refund the reservation fee we paid through credit card, and one can only hope they will. Now, we are frantically looking for alternatives---fast. It wouldn't have mattered if we haven't booked ahead, if only our flight is not arriving half past midnight. I wouldn't fancy two non-Vietnamese-speaking female backpackers loitering the streets of Saigon in the wee hours of the morning, would you?

My apologies for starting this blog on a negative note. But no worries. With my ranting done, my excitement has now increased a tad bit. Yeheeeey!

And the Adventure Starts Here

Once upon a time in a land far, far away, two kindred spirits embarked on a journey in search for their lost souls. On the way to Shangri-la, they met a talking zebra who willingly took them on his back and led them to the path of enlightenment.

Of course, I made that up. I just wanted to make a really good introduction for this blog, a really catchy one. Not like, "Two bored girls found cheap flights to a country in Indochina and went on a backpacking adventure . . . blah, blah, blah!" Not very romantic. 

So yeah, we are going on a backpacking trip for 21 days in Vietnam, Laos,  and Cambodia. Quite exciting really because although we've been to different places before, neither of us know anything about backpacking except to spell it. Aren't we daredevils? (That's supposed to come out as cute.)

We are Reiza and Ruby. Sisters by chance, friends by choice, travel buddies by necessity. Join us in our little adventures!