Education is the answer to structural and sustainable improvement of people’s living standards…and so have I. At the same time as Nareoun was going through his ordeal a young Cambodian girl, Neang, was going through the same ordeal and ended up in the same orphange and both of them went through uni together. A long lasting friendship developed. Neang is married and lives in Phnom Pen but they have joined forces again to help their people. Neang came back to Cambodia after Pol Pot was displaced and ended up being the Private Secretary to Norodom Sirivudh, Supreme Privy Counselor to His Majesty the King and Parliamentary Member. Norodom Sirivudh was appointed King but declined, believing he could do more for his people as an MP. His nephew was appointed King and Norodom does advise HRH. Later on during the trip we had afternoon tea with this man courtesy of Neang. Norodom had heard of our project and wanted to hear what we had to say and likewise, wanted us to hear what he had to say. More on the smoko with royalty later. We met Neang for the first time at the BBQ and if ever a project was graced with a class act then Seang was it. Motivated, compassionate, educated, gracefull and an integral part of the ruling class of Cambodia she was obviously going to have an impact on whatever happened. On the trip down we had been promised a BBQ at Nareoun’s place on the river with transport provided in the form of a traditional Cambodian river boat, a cow on the spit and plenty of local beers. It sounded good and turned out to better. Our first sunset in Kampot we waited on the river bank for the traditional Cambodian boat to arrive the traditional Cambodian way – an hour late. We waited at the Rusty Keyhole Bar and developed a taste for Beerlau while waching the sun set over the river. waiting….waiting….waiting The boat duly arrived and after some fuel feed problems we were underway. The boat stopped at a local house to pick up more partygoers and I noticed a small dog scrambled on board. The dogs owner noticed it as well and picking it up nonchalently through it overboard….not invited! The boat took off and the dog was last seen swimming in circles looking for a landing point. We went upriver through magnificent jungles and eventually Brian points out Nareouns house on the river banks. The boat kept going. After some hundreds of metres I asked whether he knew if the boat ‘Captain’ knew where he was going. The question was raised; there were initial language difficulties to overcome but eventually it became apparent that the ‘Captain’ didn’t know where the hell were going and ‘Yes, they would now head back towards Nareoun’s place’ It’s reasonably dark now and we are headed for a landing that we can see by virtue of a light at the end of a jetty. What the light didn’t shine on was the Lantana bush that the ‘Captain’ unerringly targeted as we approached land. We alighted with some difficulty as the jetty was approximately 1.5 metres below the level of the bow and it all had to be done through the lantana. Woman and children first….many helping hands and then the men had to lower themselves down by their arms to reach dry secure land. We had arrived at the BBQ and it turned out to be a significant start to our visit. We met all the local players, expats, others with a dream to reinvigerate Kampot Pepper and still others who for different reasons have an impact on what happens in Kampot To be continued…..
Well, that’s what it seems like. Now resident in the Grand President Appartments, Sukhumvit, Bangkok, the appartment is decidedly presidential after the last eight days in Cambodia. Welcomed also is the front page of the Bangkok Post announcing “Ruthless Aust win back Ashes” All I need to make it a great day is a couple of Poms at the bar tonight
Cambodia – Day One.
We flew out of Bangkok just over a week ago with Bangkok air and had a very good short flight to Phnom Penh. Picked up at the airport by our Khmer contact we drove to Kampot in a Mercedes Van thus heralding my reinsertion into Asian culture. It was a hot insertion as well as the traffic can be best described as chaos in motion. Mitsibishi vans with 15 people inside, three 150cc Honda bikes on the roof and three other people hanging onto them. We watched amazed as one guy transfers from inside the van to the cooler upstairs seats (read roof) and we then pull out to pass a truck to be confronted by 10 Hondas coming straight at us. Everyone merges…against all apparent odds (to a western eye) and we get back into the comparative safety zone of the right hand lane. If the van had seat belts they were not apparent which would’ve gone some way to calm my fears as we risked head-on crashes at a frequency of at least 20-25 per kilometer.
We book into the Sen Monorom Guest House and get used to life at a different pace. The French have a lot to answer for in South East Asia but surely the legacy of their plumbing has to top the list. A bidet is the local answer to hygiene and the bathrooms are unusual to say the least. 2.5 metres square; a toilet in one corner, a hand basin in another, the shower on the wall with intermittant hot water; all with a drain hole on the floor in the furtherest corner from the shower head. This guarantees the floor and your clothes are always wet unless you strip before entering.
The Guest House looks good from outside;
but on closer inspection the painters could’ve used a tape measure;
and maybe R&M could be given a higher priority.
Notwithstanding all the above the staff were very friendly and helpfull and the rate was only $20.00US per day. We went down town and had lunch at a local food/drink bar. Food is good and very cheap while Beerlau costs less than 1.00 a glass and became the preffered drink for the group.
We are in town, fed and watered and ready to start. Through the afternoon we rest up in preparation for meeting the Khmer and expat players at a BBQ at a locals riverside house. We are promised a cow on a spit, plenty of local refreshments and transport to the event on a traditional Khmer long boat.
More tomorrow. I can hear some Poms in the bar and I need to chat to them. I might start the conversation by saying straight face..“We’ve been bush in Cambodia for a week…do you know how the last test went?”
Today I commence a journey to Kampot in Cambodia with a view to help bed in a programme that will eventually see a small local village become self sufficient. More on the project after I spend some time on-site. I am looking forward to this weekend in old Bangkok where I spent time during the Vietnam war. Should be fun but not too much fun if you get my drift.
Monday we fly on to Pnom Penh and then to Kampot. I will hopefully be able to blog from there with my take on Cambodia with pics and details of the project. In the new year I will set up a website to publicise and help gain support for the project. Those old South East Asian hands who spent their younger days blowing this part of the world to pieces may consider putting up their hands to help rebuild a small part of a nation shattered by communism. There is more than one way to fight the bastards even if it is remedial rather than preemptive.
Must go…plane to catch.
One of the reasons we are driving to Adelaide is that the Sydney-Adelaide trip has a height restriction on vehicles of 1.57m which doesn’t say much about our national infrastructure. How does the ADF move heavy vehicles from Sydney to Adelaide?Two nights and three days on the Indian Pacific, a week in Perth attending a Regimental reunion, then south to Albany, the home of my fathers, to visit family including my nearly 87 yr old Mother and then back home via Broome. Broome itself is 3,000 km (1,900 miles) north of Perth and is a cosmopolitan town born of pearl diving.
Established as a pearling port in the 1880s, Broome has a romantic and often flamboyant history. It was populated by people of many nationalities – mainly Europeans, Malays, Chinese and Japanese, as well as Australias indigenous people – who flocked to the shores of Roebuck Bay in the hope of making their fortune from the pearling industry. The influence of the pearling industry, with its cultural melting pot, has helped to create the distinctive character and charm of Broome. South Sea Pearls are recognised as the best in the world and pearling remains one of the towns major industries due to the cultured pearl, which revived the industry after its near demise in the late 1950s.From Broome it is a mere 3,700 kms (2,300 miles) to Cairns along the Savanah Way through the Northern Territory, the Gulf country of NT and Queensland, up onto the Atherton Tablelands and then down the range to Cairns. Cairns to Brisbane is only 1600 odd kms (995 miles) No big flash caravan or mobile home, just a good four wheel drive, a tent and two swags. Should be a breeze.
I am involved with a boys college in Brisbane that offer a Cattle Club for extra carricula activities for country and city borders and day boys. The club has an arrangement with ‘Chudley’ a red Brahman cattle stud just north of Gympie, Queensland. I am a member of the club as an adult volunteer and mentor and yes; I do have a blue card. Coming from the land myself I have some understanding of cattle and can generally make myself useful.
This “Showing” cattle is no small deal. We are talking about boys as young as thirteen and cattle as big as 800 kilos. To be able to groom, lead, control and show cattle takes a lot of knowledge and a lot more courage.
This weekend we concentrated on introducing the novice boys and young cattle to each other. With both parties nervous and in unfamiliar circumstances there was ample opportunity for things to go wrong…and they did.
I was standing in the cattle pens trying to soothe a young bull and at about the time when I thought we had developed a meaningful relationship two young calves with small boys in tow skidded past, just behind the flanks of my new friend.
Cattle are lowing, boys are yelling and instructors coaxing. “One Eye’ the cattle dog is trying to direct 20 head in four pens and a yard all at once with the head stockman yelling ‘get in behind, you bitch” and I’m left with no where to go as I’m penned in with a lot of young and not-so young Brahmans.
I turn back from the mele to see the young bull, the same guy I had a meaningful relationship with only minutes ealier, rising up on his hind quarters with evil in his eye.
For a quadraped weighing about 4-500 kilos he showed amazing speed, dexterity and determination and accurately head butted me on the left side of my face. I was stunned and showered with about a litre of saliva and whatever in my hair, on my face and shirt. My reading glasses went flying and landed under the hooves of three other young excited Brahmans giving rise to my first note of alarm. The glasses were only a month old as my previous pair had been eaten by my young black Labradour pup and stirred on by visions of having to spend another $400.00 plus I leapt to save them.
Glasses saved, my superannuant budget secure and my hat back on my head in a matter of seconds I look to my physical needs in response to everyone panicking about how hard I might have been hit. Everone but me had seen that whereas the bull headbutted me, what he was trying to do was rake down my chest, and ……mmmm, lower, with his front hooves.
A sore neck and slight headache was a small price to pay for not controlling my space so the day went on. That night we had a country band in residence and we sang along with Slim Dusty, Johnny Cash and others untill almost midnight. The wife of the guitarist/singer had her own home brewed bourbon and this, along with some 4X helped to relax my stiff body.
Of course the bourbon and beer produced a hangover that pretty well replicates any symptons of concussion so it wasn’t until today that I can say the only thing hurt was my dignity.
The boys have a “bush Poets” society at school and during the evening one young lad recited “Turbulance” If you haven’t heard it or read it, go read it now. Light hearted and very ‘Outback’ ish it’s a story of a Rodeo rough rider handling the turbulence in a aircraft.
The young bull is now living in a fools paradise as he thinks he and I have battled and he won but the last thing I saw before he hit me was his yellow NLIS tag number (2156). I now have a trace in place on this number and the day he is converted to beef, I’m going to the town where it happened and shout myself a bloody big Brahman steak.