Then and Now
Again, I enter a country rolling down a mountain range. It is a nice way to enter. With no need for pedalling, my body enjoys a relaxing break while my mind is free, curiously taking in the first impressions and views of the country that I am going to cross in the weeks to come. The difference to rolling into Lebanon is complete. This is Cambodia, the air is humid, the forest wet and the road dusty or muddy, depending on the rainfall pattern. The language sounds smoother, the people have a distinctive Asian appearance and shout "bye-bye" instead of "hello" - much to my irritation. And the mountain range I just crossed was the only elevation I am going to see for weeks.
If Lebanon and Cambodia have something in common, it is perhaps the fact that both had been heavily influenced by French colonialism; that both are just starting to recover from long decades of external and internal wars; and that military pressure and intervention from a big neighbour (Syria resp. Vietnam) influences politics until today. However, in the case of Vietnam's military intervention in Cambodia in 1979, it was one of the most lethal regimes of world history that was removed from power: Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge, responsible for the death of an estimated 2 million Cambodians.
Embarrassingly, the knowledge I have about Cambodia's history is close to zero as I enter the country. At my first overnight stop, the small settlement of Anlong Veng, I focus my attention on learning a few expressions in Khmer, order food and repair my bicycle, not knowing that this authentic-looking, cosy town was the last stronghold of the Khmer Rouge from where it launched guerilla attacks against the new government until late 1998. It is also the place where "Brother No. 1" Pol Pot died and was cremated.
I continue my way the next day on the bumpy dirt road towards Angkor Wat. The mines warning in my travel guide ("don't stray away from the path!") lets me scan the landscape for the odd circular lakes formed by bomb craters. More shocking are the mine victims in the villages that lost a limb while working in the fields or hunting in the forest. Advertisement panels convey messages such as "we no longer need weapons". In every town and village, blue entrance gates to wooden houses indicate party offices. I read "Cambodian People's Party", "Funcinpec Party", "Sam Rainsy Party" and am not able to put them into context. More bumps, flying dirt and many open questions.
But as the Germans say: Travelling educates. After reading about and visiting the famous temples of Angkor and Tonle Sap Biosphere Reserve, I arrive in the capital Phnom Penh. A visit in the Tuong Sleng museum, the infamous prison S-21 used by the Khmer Rouge for detention and torture, makes the dark past of this horrifying place and the rest of the country come alive. The small cells, the guard's stories, the pictures of thousands of detainees executed or tortured to death illustrate the perversion of Pol Pot's sick regime. I have to fight back my tears. I have seen Dachau and Auschwitz but the Cambodian auto-genocide happened 30 years later. The question "Why? Why?" rotates and hurts in my mind ... it's impossible to find an answer that leaves a lot of hope. Are we eventually learning from history? I want to and buy a book.
Four days earlier. During a cycing break under a sun shelter in the far Cambodian countryside, I notice a group of naked children looking at me from behind a bush, fighting against their own timidity. Curiosity wins and as they dare to proceed towards me, it marks the start of a cheerful non-verbal communication. I take out my small travelling guitar and start to play a few tunes to them (which makes me look like a classical hippie) and I am rewarded with some of the most heart-melting smiles I've come to see so far. One song from my small repertoire becomes their favourite - and I have to repeat it two times: Monthy Python's "Always look on the bright side of life". Aware of the cynism of singing this song to poor children of a people that has suffered for decades, I silently hope that nobody of the two dozen people slowly gathering around me understands a word of English - but the kids just love the song, giggling and clapping when the whistling in the refrain begins. Later, the two smallest, about two or three years old, get up and start moving their hips to the rhythms of a Spanish tune.
It is one of these moments people travel for. And with this picture in mind (it will never get out of there), I can leave Cambodia with the reassuring feeling that there's always hope and joy to find - even in the most desperate situations. It's not a new wisdom, I know. But it feels so much different when you see it yourself.
03.05.2006 11:52h
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