Phnom Penh to Saigon

“It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.” - Frederick Douglass

Phnom Penh is the capital of Cambodia, located on the Mekong River, and where the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge took place in the mid 1970's. Visiting the killing fields and the S-21 prison camp outside of town is a heart breaking and soul crushing experience, but one that is important to see. However, I don't recommend loitering, as it is a painful thing to endure for long. I visited for a day and was done with it, and relied on the good nature of the modern people to shock me back into readiness; their synchronized exercising in particular. In fact, seeing Asian synchronized exercising is the only cure for it, I think. Perhaps there are others, but this was the remedy for my case. The spectacle is beyond any humor I know. It is usually summoned in public parks and common areas, but this one set itself up on the boardwalk next to the Mekong. Now, I did not stop and gaze for long, as doing such a thing as this should be considered disrespectful in most cultures; presumably this one, but long enough to nearly spit my Sumatra iced coffee all over the sidewalk. It is the outfit - yes, it is the headband - yes, it is the music - yes, it is the facial expression – yes, but it is the motion that loosens my screws, mostly: slow, coordinated, swaying reaches to the sky followed by counterclockwise rotation and a repeat cycle, of course. If one is lucky, he may hear some grunts in Khmer (Cambodian) too. If it were only one or two people performing, or even a handful, it would not stimulate the laughter as effectively, but it is the large gathering of people that completes the circus.

On to Vietnam, and Saigon; only a six hour, relatively and surprisingly painless trip; especially considering it was a border crossing into a socialist country for an American. So goes it. Now, Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) is a place of high importance to the recent history of the world, and certainly has a past worth a long read, but not here. The city today is the Asian city one thinks about when he thinks about that sort of thing. It is crowded with more motorbikes than should ever be counted, and the buildings are full of neon lights and strange characters which may never be understood by a westerner. Crossing the street here is taming all your natural senses telling you not to, and throwing yourself into oncoming traffic, hoping the mass of small vehicles avoids you. It does work; it is beyond me how, but it does work. I would liken it to a school of mackerel in the ocean avoiding an oncoming swordfish – every pulse of movement is felt by the group as a whole, and they dodge the trouble well enough. The analogy is not a great one, as in this case the swordfish is the one scared shit-less; but it will give an accurate scene of what goes on here. Very well, I spent three days soaking up both history and humidity. There are so many places to see and things to do, that it can be overwhelming if you don't take a minute to breathe once in a while.

By and by, I found myself outside the city about 30 miles at the famous Cu Chi tunnels which were heavily bombed during the Vietnam War. I explored the areas massive bomb craters and intricate tunnel systems, even some of the booby traps designed to trap or kill American soldiers. Everything was fascinating; from the will and determination of the Vietnamese soldiers who lived in tunnels for 18 months with barely enough room to turn around, or swat a fly; to the elaborate, and somewhat prehistoric weapons they used in fighting a much more advanced enemy. Our guide was good, perhaps a tad over anxious about referring to Americans as Godless Devils, but he was thorough enough and his English was acceptable. Certainly I learned things I never knew, like the damage Agent Orange had on crops for years after their use, and how temporary weapons shelters were set up in the middle of jungles to facilitate faster arms output. No doubt, I enjoyed firing the AK-47 at the shooting range, too. I had but one bullet, and I tried to make it count, so I took my time in missing the target. 

I am finding it increasingly hard to shop in Vietnam, and Southeast Asia in general. Let us start with the milk situation; in short, there is none. The only time I have found it has been in convenient stores where they sell it in containers not much bigger than a juice box. To ask for a gallon of milk in Southeast Asia would be to ask for a gallon of soy sauce in the States, indeed, you would get the same look, and no result. And, in the market, shopping for clothes is like entering the Colosseum. One must be prepared or never come back out. As a general rule, do not make eye contact with a marketer, for if you do, you will surely be hassled. I'm not so sure they realize they are all selling the same exact products right next to each other, and even if I did buy a thing from one stand, I would not walk three paces and buy the thing again at another. If they had it their way, I would enter the market with no “Authentic Vietnam Lighter” and exit with twenty-five. And only about 12 of them would work. No matter, it is all part of it, I suppose.