Cambodia

Cambodia feels a world apart from Taiwan. There’s an intangible glamour to this sweaty, scruffy country in the heart of Southeast Asia. The capital city, Phnom Penh, has an energy that can’t be felt in the metropolises of Taiwan, China or Japan.
People here don’t subscribe to the same traditions and beliefs of prim and proper East Asia. Here, the people are loud and colorful–if you upset a Cambodian, you’re going to hear about it.

Phnom Penh’s riverfront bustles with tourists and Cambodians.

But this humble country is a vortex of positive and negative energy, metaphorically akin to the classic struggle between good and evil. One of the oddest things about being in this country is knowing that so many of the people you meet and see have survived an unimaginable hell, and yet here they are, trying to make the most of what life they have left. I find myself wondering who among me was a child soldier, or who supported the mind-blowingly genocidal propaganda of Paris-educated Pol Pot’s regime. Do I pass former soldiers on the street? Were any of these people responsible for the mass killings?
On the other side of the suffering, it’s too easy to picture today’s Cambodian children starving, their bloated bellies round with air and skin dripping from malnutrition. (Reading first-hand accounts of survivors from the Khmer Rogue reign, a wild Communist faction that destroyed Cambodia from 1974-1979 hasn’t helped my imagination.)
The fact is that everybody here over a certain age lived and suffered through the Khmer Rogue and the nearly 30-year civil war that followed. Accounts vary, but it’s widely accepted that some 2 million out of Cambodia’s 7 million residents were killed in just four years during one of the most murderous regimes the world has ever seen. Many people survived by fighting for the bad guys.

Mehak Sokhom, a 25-year-old Cambodian who lost his family and his left arm to a landmine 10 years ago, lives in dismal poverty, unable to get a job because of his disability. He spends his days speaking to visitors of Siem Reap’s relatively unknown War Museum about the underground war still raging against Cambodia’s farmers.

What makes Cambodia unique in the encyclopedia of political experiments gone awry is that the bloodshed here is so real and raw, the stains still drying, and yet Cambodia is one of the few places on earth where the past is so closely intertwined with the present, like a dream you can’t quite rip apart from reality. Tuk tuk drivers paste their rickety carriages with advertisements for rides to the Killing Fields, a ghastly mass grave of thousands of men, women, children and even foreigners just outside the capital city limits. Laundry crusts in the dust from Tuol Sleng, a hellish elementary school-turned-prison that served as the epicenter of the Khmer Rogue crazy. Cambodia’s current president lost an eye as a high-ranking general for the Communist party. He spends his time trying to stall a joint United Nations/Cambodian war crimes tribunal attempting to prosecute his former comrades.

A 13-year-old girl selling books to tourists along Phnom Penh’s shabby riverfront poses for her friend, who took control of my camera for the night. The ubiquitous children hawkers speak excellent English and are ready to make friends with anyone who will spend time with them.

Unsurprisingly, none of this has stumped growth. Cambodia’s tourism scene is surprisingly developed, and Phnom Penh, Siem Reap and party beach towns like Sihanoukville are cities on the rise. There are only a few buildings more than five or six stories tall in all of Phnom Penh, but the Koreans and Japanese are moving in quickly with grand plans for heavenly skyscrapers. (The Japanese actually own the Killing Fields, charging tourists an entry fee in exchange for paving the roads from Phnom Penh.) Whatever the price, Phnom Penh will soon be the Paris of Southeast Asia, they say.
The growth continues outside the capital. Siem Reap, an outpost near the Thai border sprouting out of the massive Angkor Wat temples, is finding its footing again as a haven for counterculture. And waves crash against strobe lights in hip clubs along the Gulf of Thailand in Sihanoukville.
All this suggests Cambodia has far better days ahead than behind. It’s clear its people have made a collective decision to move on, perhaps because it’s the only thing they can do. Like the dawn breaking on a sleepless night, there’s no choice but start the day. The ghosts from too-recent atrocities live peacefully with the good people here now. Like yin and yang, Cambodia’s horrific modern past balances out with the passion of its people alive today. And life goes on.

The sun sets on boats moored in the Gulf of Thailand on Serendipity Beach in Sihanoukville, a busy stretch of sand with beach chairs and drinks galore.

　　柬埔塞跟台灣完全是二種不同的世界，雖位居東南亞的中心但破舊且髒亂，然而在首都金邊卻有一種能量是在台灣、中國或日本的首都所無法感受到的，也使得這國家有種無形的魅力存在。

這邊的人民不認同與東亞相同的呆板傳統及信仰，這裡的人很愛說話也很活潑－若你傷害一個柬埔塞人，很快地，你將會聽到有關的傳聞。

但這個簡陃的國家又有著正面及負面的渦流，近似的比喻的話就是典型的善與惡之間的爭鬥；其中最怪異的一件事是生活在這個國家，你清楚地知道很多你看過的人都在無法置信的地獄裡生存著，然而他們還努力試著讓生活有價值；我開始懷疑自己像個少年士兵？又或者像是支持鼓吹受巴黎教育的波布政權(歷史的獨裁者，曾進行大屠殺)的一員？我是否在街上曾經跟過去的士兵擦身而過呢？有任何人該為這大屠殺負起責任嗎？

Suggested reading list on Cambodia’s recent history:

For an emotional read that can put any of your problems in perspective, check out these excellent books on the Khmer Rogue reign of Cambodia:

First They Killed My Father by Loung Ung–firsthand account of a well-to-do Phnom Penh family turned upside down by the Khmer Rogue.

When the War Was Over: Cambodia and the Khmer Rogue Revolution by Elizabeth Becker–A former war correspondent for The Washington Post (and current New York Times reporter) who was one of the few journalists allowed back into the country before the Khmer Rogue’s fall analyzes the United States’ involvement in the war.

Stay Alive, My Son by Pin Yathay with John Man–Yathay was a former engineer for Cambodia’s Ministry of Public Works when his country descended into hell.

Amber Parcher is an American journalist living in Kaohsiung. She writes for The Washington Post, Monocle Magazine, Taiwan Business TOPICS, Waakao.com, and, of course, GuanXi.

Faux Formosa – Lonny Knapp (Repat)

When I returned home to Toronto after a couple of years living abroad, my friends and family couldn’t seem to recall where I’d been.

“How was Thailand,” they would ask.

I’d tell them that while I enjoyed many trips to Thailand, I’d actually spent the last two years living and teaching English in Taiwan.

“Oh Taiwan,” they would say thoughtfully, “Were you there for the tsunami?”

I had that conversation, or one like it, many times, and eventually I stopped correcting people. It’s not that my friends and family are ignorant buffoons that failed high school geography. Save for a
select loveable few, the people in my life are well-learned and cosmopolitan city folk. I can’t blame them for knowing little about Taiwan.

The island doesn’t boast the unbeatable beaches of neighboring Thailand, it’s certainly not a media hog like it’s big brother China, and doesn’t wield the pop-culture prowess of Japan. With so much to
see and do in that small corner of the globe, Taiwan is easily overlooked.

Nevertheless, for those lucky enough to have spent substantial time there, that wee island in the South China Sea reveals itself in surprising ways.

That’s why every year at the end of the summer I head down to Toronto’s Harbourfront to attend Taiwanfest.

 Launched in 2008, the three-day event promotes Taiwanese Arts and Culture in Canada through live performances, attractions, and pavilions provides a snapshot of traditional culture, and modern life
in Taiwan.

The thing I miss most about Taiwan is the food, and each year I beeline for the food pavilion. While there is nowhere near the selection of delectable eats available throughout the streets of Taichung, the food fair does a fair job of recreating the staples and serves the finest oyster omelet this side of Tainan.

This year the event highlighted the philanthropic work of The Tszu Chi Foundation., a volunteer–run Buddhist group whose many charitable projects include up-cycling landfill bound plastic bottles into
synthetic fabric used to produce blankets donated to disaster relief projects around the world.

Along side traditional music concerts, the ubiquitous puppet show, this years event showcased the diverse pop music emerging from Taiwan, and a line up of bands plucked from headlining slots at Spring Scream.

Apahsia, an instrumental heavy metal band, Go Chic an all girl electro-pop band , and 1976, the Brit-poppers that won accolades when it was tapped to open for Oasis in Taipei, proved once and for all
that musically speaking, Taiwan has more to offer than Karaoke.

On the side stage, Toronto boy and long-time Taichung resident Nick Fothergill offered up some local flavour and confused passersby by introducing his original country ballads in flawless Mandarin.

Each summer, literally hundreds of street festivals overrun Toronto. Compared to massive events such as Carribana, a two-week party celebrating Caribbean culture, and Pride Week, the world’s second
largest gay pride event, which attract scores of tourists, Tawianfest ranks with the country it celebrates: easily overlooked.

Still, each year I see others like myself milling about the festival grounds. Like a veteran recognizing a comrade in arms, I can easily pick out former English teachers in the crowd. They are the ones
sitting in groups under the watchful eye of the CN Tower wistfully sipping bubble tea and reminiscing about barely sober scooter rides and sticky ball games.

It’s funny, how time smooths rough edges. In my memory, it’s always sunny at People’s Park, those tin cans of Taiwan beer are always cold and refreshing, and that megaphone equipped blue truck that was
permanently parked outside my window announcing god knows what for hours at a time is more charming than irritating.

Despite its many imperfections, Taiwan retains a hold on me. More and more as I find myself chained to my office cubicle, I wonder why I left paradise to return to the ‘real’ job in the ‘real’ world.

Taiwan is a half-a-world away, and with so many places yet to discover, I realize, I’ll probably never return. It’s sad, but this little festival on the shores of Lake Ontario, is perhaps as close as I’ll come to finding my way home to Formosa.

RePat Poem – Amanda Fiore

When I came home from Taiwan I missed
deep fried chicken feet like
the way a person misses
to-go cups. like
toe nails soaked in oil
‘til soft.
purple-white, tentacle-suction-cups
draped like jewelry across
pink plastic buckets
the automated voice that
sings
to the swish and ding of
7-11’s
whiskey bottle, cigarette-soft porn.
(swish ding swish ding)
Coming home was like
loosing every shattered part.
like your smoke-stained, red wine fingers
pressed to my knees
in the shape of lips.
like each bing-lung splattered
fish-lined back street
protesting.
raised in silent, clenched fist.
now all of this is
someone else’s
to miss.

RePat – Mike Leznoff

Remembering Taiwan:

So much fun, such good friends.
Riding a scooter to 11,000 feet and camping above the clouds before the most mighty sunset and sunrise ever seen. Plantains on the road to Sun/Moon lake.
Exquisite Buddhist monasteries, giant bugs and great gyms.
The hunt for food – the little sushi place in Dong-hai.
The pool. I’m rambling……

I wanted a new start: adventure, money, excitement, independence, a chance to see for myself who I was without constraints.
Beware what you wish for.

Taichung: The easiest place to make friends in the world.

White-water rafting in the mountains with Taiwanese Aboriginals – a culture that spans 10,000 years and populated the islands of the Pacific!
I wish I had explored that aspect of the island more.
I wish I could have immersed myself in the language and the culture more.

I can tell you that when you leave, you will light up at the opportunity to talk to fellow Mandarin speakers wherever they are – and they are everywhere. In Cambridge, in Vancouver, in Cardiff! It was an opportunity to communicate with others that I did not develop and which I regret every day.

Watermelon juice – it does not exist anywhere else in the world.
All-you-can-eat hot pot on a cold winters night? Only there.
Need a bike helmet? There’s a stand on the corner.

I miss it. Maybe I’ll come back, as I often fantasize.

Let’s all go south and camp on the beach at Kending in the off-season, when we can have the whole place to ourselves.

I have never heard Fur Elise the same way again, and will never again be hit in the face-shield by a flying fist-sized cicada. Can you send me some temple incense? Thanks. I miss you Taiwan,

Love,
Mike

懷念台灣：

樂趣如此多，如此的好朋友。
騎著摩托車前往11,000英尺高山上，並在可以欣賞日出及日落美景的雲端前露營，而通往日月潭的道路兩旁則是種滿了香蕉樹。
精美的佛教寺院、大臭蟲、大體育館。
尋覓食物 – 在東海的小壽司店。
泳池畔，我漫步著… …
我想要一個新的開始：冒險、金錢、興奮、自主性，有機會看到自己在沒有限制下的以前的我。
小心你所冀望的東西。
台中：世界上最容易結交朋友的地方
在山間與台灣原住民激流泛舟－住在太平洋的一個島嶼的人民，其文化已橫跨了一萬年！
真希望當時我曾更深入地探索這美麗的島嶼。
真希望我能夠讓自己更沉浸在台灣的語言及文化中。
我可以告訴你，當你離開時，無論在哪你都將有機會跟說中文的人種談天。即使是在劍橋、溫哥華、加的夫，他們無所不在！這是一個與人溝通的機會，然而我卻一點進步也沒有，而這也是我每天感到遺憾的原因。
西瓜汁 – 世界上只有台灣特有的飲料。
在寒冷的冬夜享用吃到飽火鍋？只有在台灣找得到。
需要一個自行車頭盔？街角就有一間店。
我想念台灣，也許有一天我會回來，因為我經常幻想。
在旅遊淡季時，我們一起去墾丁並在沙灘露營吧，沒有人擠人的困擾，讓我們感受整個大自然之美！
我再也沒聽過從垃圾車播出“給愛麗絲”，也不會再度被拳頭大小的蟬擊安全帽蓋，你能寄給我一些寺廟的香火嗎？
謝謝，我想念你，台灣。

愛，
麥可