Crazy has plans to take us out into the villages today to sample rural life in the countryside beyond Battambang but we endure a tropical storm over breakfast and assume that our plans for the day will be curtailed. Crazy dismisses our concerns 'This rain, it's cray-zeee. But it will stop. 20 minutes.' Twenty minutes later the sun is shining and we're on our way. We are joined today by our fellow guest and Crazy compatriot Jacques Fantastique. For him everything is 'fantastique'. He is in his mid-sixties, recently retired and on a solo trip around South East Asia. He's in good shape for a man of his vintage, although it has to be said that his tight bicycle shorts are not a good look. Far from fantastique in fact.
Crazy keeps his own tuk-tuk retainer who seems to be permanently on call. We are taken to a Buddhist shrine at Wat Samrong Knong which includes a monument dedicated to those that perished under the Khmer Rouge. More than 10,000 died in this area and the ground beneath us contains the remains of many who died in this particular killing field.
Today this is a tranquil, spiritual place where the novice monks hang out. Most Cambodian boys will spend time learning the traditions and taking their vows. It all seems fairly informal, a bit like a scout camp and the boys are in good spirits celebrating the start of summer.
A section of the memorial bas-relief with its chilling message
Today this is a tranquil, spiritual place where the novice monks hang out. Most Cambodian boys will spend time learning the traditions and taking their vows. It all seems fairly informal, a bit like a scout camp and the boys are in good spirits celebrating the start of summer.
We move on and stop off at a number of villages where local craftsmen and women (in Europe they'd be 'artisans' but that's perhaps too much of a bourgeois concept to be relevant here) produce a range of goods including rice paper, incense sticks and portable ovens made from recycled tin and clay; we visit a boat manufacturer, a vineyard and a fish products farm where we endure a full-on assault on the nostrils and don't dwell too long. These people are incredibly industrious and innovative. The workshops are mainly family concerns and in some cases there appear to be three generations helping out.
During the day we have long discussions with Crazy who is clearly committed to playing his part in ensuring a better future for his country. He tells us that 58% of the population are aged 17 or under and they are likely to have different ideas about how the country should be run from that of their parents. The current generation according to Crazy have grown up so used to being told what to do that they don't feel they have any control over their lives. The Cambodian Peoples Party has a base in every town and village and there are roadside signs everywhere making it quite clear who is in charge. Although ostensibly this country is a democracy under a constitutional monarchy Crazy claims there is little sense of empowerment amongst the people but as the rump of the old Khmer Rouge leaders pass on a better educated and better resourced new generation will demand a greater say in the country's future.
On a lighter note Crazy recalls some guests saying how they like to party and quite fancy a disco; they've seen the signs around the town and wonder if there's any chance of getting an invitation to the people's party. (We don't know if they were Brits but...)
We are on schedule to get to the Crocodile Mountain in time for sunset. We drive along a track taking us through the ricefields that is suspiciously quiet. We are in fact the only vehicle on the road. We soon learn why. We should be used to it by now but it's heart-in-the-mouth time again as we plough on through the rich red mud. T suggests that 'it was probably like this in Passchendaele'. As we are tossed around from side to side I'm calculating how far clear of the tuk-tuk I'll be able to jump if I leap out before we hit the ground. I'm not sure how, but we do eventually arrive at the foot of the Crocodile Mountain and begin the ascent to the inevitable Buddhist shrine.
On a lighter note Crazy recalls some guests saying how they like to party and quite fancy a disco; they've seen the signs around the town and wonder if there's any chance of getting an invitation to the people's party. (We don't know if they were Brits but...)
We are on schedule to get to the Crocodile Mountain in time for sunset. We drive along a track taking us through the ricefields that is suspiciously quiet. We are in fact the only vehicle on the road. We soon learn why. We should be used to it by now but it's heart-in-the-mouth time again as we plough on through the rich red mud. T suggests that 'it was probably like this in Passchendaele'. As we are tossed around from side to side I'm calculating how far clear of the tuk-tuk I'll be able to jump if I leap out before we hit the ground. I'm not sure how, but we do eventually arrive at the foot of the Crocodile Mountain and begin the ascent to the inevitable Buddhist shrine.
We drive back in the dark, fortunately along a well maintained highway. Crazy et Fantastique join us for dinner at the local Bamboo Train Restaurant. Crazy is keen to have a game of pool so we agree on a Wales v France tournament which Wales wins fairly comfortably. Fantastique admits that he hasn't played the game since he did his national service in the 1960's but any victory against the French is to be celebrated. Particularly after recent events at the Rugby World Cup.
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