Like most things in Asia, the night bus is not built for people over 5'6". The bus is arranged not with upright seats but something resembling a lounge chair, but you can neither fully recline or sit upright. This allows there to be two tiers of beds and accommodate more people, however they length of each bed-chair is cut a little shorter than my body likes. So the night is essentially spent trying to squeeze into a small space and find any shred of comfort that doesn't threaten to wrench my back. Once again I'm reminded of the low standards for comfort in Asia. I recall the boy in Burma sleeping facedown on a wooden bench with his legs folding back over his body. Why can't I do that? Why do I need a bed of my own, or a room of my own? They seem to have no problem stuffing people into the smallest places here.
But this is only temporary for me. I don't foresee a time in my life when I'll be without the comfort of ample space, not for any prolonged period. I don't mind the discomfort in retrospect, but that's probably because I know it's temporary, that I have a nice, comfortable place waiting for me no matter where I go. They cater to our higher standards here, but mostly only foreigners can afford it.
Phnom Penh is relatively clean. The downtown area is on a simple grid layout and it's not too difficult to traverse by foot. We are greeted by some nice thunderstorms which drizzle on us throughout the day, keeping the temperature down and the mood pensive. Nicole and I walk around to see a few monuments and parks, making note of restaurants to check out later.
We spend one evening with new friends, Vaclav from Czech Republic and Marcus from Germany. Single serving friends! Vaclav is geekish like myself and we chat excitedly about computer games. We both worked in similar tech environments, but hearing about Vaclav's experience certainly made me appreciate the lackadaisical vibe at DMDC that much more. In his job he was mostly anchored at his desk to answer support calls, and it occurred to me that the freedom to get up and walk to the office of my customer is a luxury in a world where most tech support jobs are outsourced. Even with remote controls to tap into a client's workstation, sometimes the job would just be easier if I could make a diagnosis in person. Also, I got way more out of the personal interactions I was able to have because of this. This really made the environment feel familiar and consequently somewhere I didn't dread going day in and day out. Vaclav, on the other hand, was truly feeling the wall of the dead-end job. I could tell he was beyond relieved to put that behind him and go on a solo Southeast Asia adventure.
One morning we team up with Marcus and visit the infamous Killing Fields, which in actuality is just one of hundreds of mass graves like it. Our entrance fee included an audio tour guide so we spend a few hours listening to the stories and associating them with the various remnants of this horrific place. On the surface there isn't much left to indicate what exactly happened here. Even long after the genocide, this particular grave remained undisturbed until a farmer excavated some stench-ridden limbs instead of potatoes. It wasn't until the early 2000s that Choeung Ek (the name of this one mass grave) was discovered. In fact, it was decades before the people responsible for these murders were even convicted by the UN. The leader of the Khmer Rouge himself, Pol Pot, lived out his days with his family until he was placed under house arrest. Even then, he parted from this world peacefully in 1998, almost ten years before his compatriots were tried in court.
I walk around at my own pace, just listening and watching. Most of the structures are long gone: the holding cell for prisoners, the tool sheds that held the various artifacts used to carry out the executions, the barracks for soldiers. The graves have been excavated, appearing now as a series of tiny rolling hills along the field, the remains sorted and placed into a large memorial stupa erected in the center of the site. Our audio narrator turns our attention to a small tree called the sugar palm, the fronds of which are jagged and sharp. I feel the edges and they are rigid and smooth like some sort of plant-like obsidian. This is one tool the soldiers used to cut the throats of the prisoners. The irregular teeth of the palm frond make for a ghastly image and I find myself rubbing my throat to quell the thought of it.
Other implements were gruesome in different ways. They used various farming equipment like hoes or things like hammers, machetes, unknown blunt objects. Bullets were too expensive. I imagine that most of the prisoners were not even killed before they entered those pits, left to bleed out as their brothers fell on top of them. Some graves were filled exclusively with women and children. Infants were easily disposed of by dashing their heads against a nearby tree and tossed inside the pits. Each grave held a few hundred bodies, but some were much larger. They were covered with a chemical called DDT to diminish the stench.
Prisoners wouldn't be held very long before execution, usually occurring at night under the noise of generators and speakers blaring patriotic music to mask the screams.
This grave is in a very idyllic, quaint area. You wouldn't assume it was home to such gruesome events. Even today, it feels so tranquil. Any place can be beautiful or terrible, and this one is an eerie and fascinating combination of the two. There's something poignant about the rain washing up the teeth and tattered clothing of the dead, or the bracelets marking the spirit houses and trees. Even the scars heal slowly, but they are not covered up.
We still have several days until our visas for Vietnam go into effect on July 20th, so we head to the beach town of Sihanouk Ville.
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