
Flag courtesy to World United Formosans for Independance, and my Aunt Jean that posted it to me. This is for all of us.
Fly away to Baronessland with me

There were traditional Khmer dances which were just pure cute and enlightening, but also most poignent for me was the story of Srey, which is a true story of one of the students which she wrote herself - of the story of being born to a drunk father and gambler mother who makes them go through the rubbish dump and pimp for money. They get robbed by gangsters but finally gets sent to Scott's school where they found sanctury and education. It was a truly moving story because the actor/director/writer actually cried real tears on stage and made the rest of the childre and rest of us cry on the spot. All the children share pretty much the same story and they have been in really dark tragic places I could never imagine in my entire life. A lot of the girls barely 13 or 14 has been forced into prostitution and many many of them had not gone to school for a day before they went to the CCF.
Their generosity was so overwhelming - after the performance we got to mingle a bit with the kids & teachers. They were really curious about where we were from and what we did, etc etc. THey dressed in simple and clean uniforms and held our hands and asked our names. I had twenty kids one time surrounding me wanting to climb onto me. I let them play with my camera and they took some crazy photos. They tought me some Khmer like how to count and names of fruits. We shared a fantastic evening of dancing (break dancing & acrobats from the kids) they gave us lei leis of jasmine and orchids, it was just so warming.
There's so much hope here, so much happiness. I have overwhelming admiration for not just Scott but the many many people - Cambodians and foreigners making a difference here. 18 months ago most of these kids were pretty much living just like in Srey's story - on the streets in a dark corner wishing that they weren't there.
are empty except for a bed, bench or a few instruments used for torchering, to remind the visitors of the horrid emptiness of a victim''s existence - nothing but yourself, your pain, the sound of your own body being cut apart, and the laughter of the perpetrator. There were still splatters of blood on the ceiling that was not able to be scrubbed away. Being in here, in the rooms and walking the corridors makes the hair at the back of my neck stand up. This place glooms with death even after 30 years.
Other rooms displayed the mugshots of the prisoners that were once detained in S21. Many of them are Khmer Rouge's own supporters. You can tell the high ranking ones by the clothes or scarves they wear. Some pictures are of dead bodies that have already been torchered to death. The KR take their pictures so that they can find their escaped families and persecute them later. I found it so disturbing that most of them looked much younger than I am. Pairs and pairs of eyes stairing at me, in dispair, disillusionment, hopelessness. There are other rooms that offered more sense of hope - artists that have experienced this create their own impressions of their pain, but also forgiveness and recovery. Those that have tried to move on from this dark past tells of their road back to peace and teaching their children about the past. In the last room there was a shelf displaying many skulls. A loop of paper cranes folded by Japanese students like the ones that I saw at the peace dome in Hiroshima hangs on the handles, wishing the Cambodians long lasting peace. I burst out crying when I saw this - why can't people learn from anything??? How could people do such things to each other when they have flesh and bloody themselves?
We traced the journey of a prisoner that would have been executed - after walking through the former torcher rooms and prison cells, down the stairs that the prisoners would have taken, we drove through leafy villages and to the Choeung Ek village, the so called "Killing Fields" where the remains of thousands of people have been recovered from mass graves - except we haven't been torchered and starved for weeks, we sat on an airconditioned bus and not bound to other bloodied prisoners on the back of a truck, we saw the day light and was not blind folded, and our lives was not so easily disrespected and disgarded.
The so called Killing Fields lie just 15 minutes outside of PPN - but in fact there were killing fields all over the country - mass graves were first discovered and recovered 10 year ago, but many of them out of the main centres are still being found. Now there are village children playing around the mounds. I wish that the children buried underneath could be doing the same. During the wet season the area gets flooded and after this bones still surface every year. Some bones is right next to the surface and you can see its outline on the dirt. Clothes that the victim wore are still half in the dirt and half out on the surface. There is a good number of plots that have been cleared out, but there are actually many many others behind the closed off area that the Cambodian gov hasn't got to - they think that these few are enough to remind the current generation of the mistakes of the previous, and because they do not want to disturb any more graves - or is it because they simply don't want to have to remember any more?
It is such a leafy city - much smaller than I thought it would be, not very many high rises and lots of open spaces and wide roads. Its obvious that it is a lot more impoverished than Thailand. Laos was "poor"in the sense that they didn't have great hunks of material wealth, but not the sense of desperation shown here in Phnom Pehn - housing is really really fun down, and environmental degredation is so widespread. Every corner there is a begger, mainly children who says in English "Need One Dollar for School" and points at the food you carry. They stay out till late at night, often 12 or 1 am still out looking for money and food. Some of them just simply sleep on the streets. The tuk-tuk drivers too, they even sleep in their vehicles.
The local markets were not crowded but much more basic than those in Thailand. but I was really pleased that many of them spoke better Mandarin than English, so I was able to communicate quite well, to Emma and Jo's jealousy. It is a circus here but a different circus - meat and fish is diplayed in the hot sun, and so is ïnteresting"cuisine such as barbequed snakes, cooked giant black hairy spiders, cochroaches and grasshoppers.
On Christmas eve, Emma and I met up with Jo and Rachel, two JETS from japan who are also in BKK, and Malin the Swedish chick I met in Lao. The evening started with singha beer and a collection of weird snacks we picked up at the markets - rice caramel crackers, fish cakes, roasted broadbeans coated with chilli powder, fried dough, etc etc. And that crazy drinking game the kiwi chicks form halong bay taught me.
The rest of the night was debaucherous mixture of 7-11 beers, crazy Thai pop music and toilet ladies telling you that you've gone into the men's toilets. And a bit more of being mistaken as Japanese. I've heard enough of AISHITERU for now.
We ended the day with, you guessed it, KAREOKE! To my surprise, the Thais aren't really that into kareoke, most of the clientele are ex pat Japanese. But thanks to Jib who is also a kareoke junkie we found a fantastic place in Asoke, and just drowned ourselves in song
for the rest of the evening. i really missed doing kareoke with Emma, we just know each other too well - we are like kareoke soul mates - the words and the melodies just gel and together amd belt out like poetry. We created a big monster that the Asoke residents (particularly those with children) would be glad to see the back of.
Bangkok is slightly on the mad side. The first thing I saw hopping off the bus was an elephant in the middle of the street performing some sort of elephant trick. Unable to find my guesthouse I asked a motorbike-taxi driver for directions - he cut me a cheap deal and offered to take me there. I stupidly hopped on with my 17kg backpack on the back of his very very small motocycle, thinking that it would be just down the next ally way. Instead we went on a little excursion through the main street circling around cars at the red light and running right through it!! Then he wedged between two gigantic buses in the narrowest space with my huge backpack (I thought that if one of the straps was caught on something we would both be meat pies right now) but phew cutting it fine hasn't killed me just yet.
Floating Markets

Siam Square
On Friday 16th December I hired a guide/translator from a nearby village called Boun Pone, a gorgeous soft-spoken tiny young man half my size for 25 USD a day. We set out from Luang Prabang on boat, and went up the Mekong for about 20 mins, starting our trek (or tramp as we know it in the Sth hemisphere) from a small low land Lao village. The landscapes changed dramatically as we ascended towards the Puluangdai Mountain. First it was all rice paddies and grass, but then the bush became thicker and larger vines grows about.
kids, on a break playing. Boun Pone knows the teacher (in fact he know every body) and I was able to mingle with the kids a little and that was pretty fun. One of them had to bring a baby brother to school, maybe cos her parents have to work during the day? I've seen this all on Global Village but when I am actually here it is really quite gob smacking seeing how little they have and get by with. They didnt' have any paper and the kids used chalk and blackboard as their school books. There were these buffalos that just walks into the playground in the middle of the day. Not all the kids in the village went to school - one 4 or 5 yo was helping
his grandmother carry a bunch of firewood home. In the villages there's no electricity, and the water is from nearby stream. They have hundreds of animals running around, mostly poultry, pigs and dogs. Doesn't seem like there's much to do there or at least not this time of the year after all the harvesting's done - most of them are sitting around the fire having a chat, its pretty easy going.
Late in the afternoon we finally arrived at the top of the mountain - I was about to die of exaughstion by then. It was intriguing to find these two huge villages on the top of this mountain in the middle of no where. Why they chose to live up there at the first place was a mystry to me. But they've been doing it for thousands of years and they seem find it fine. Out of my request Boun Pone organised for us to stay at a smaller village where there's less chickens and ducks - with the chief's (or Big Man, as BP calls him) family. The Big Man is called Jueh and his Hmong tribe village is called Mopblai village - over looking thousands of layers of mountain, protected by the jungle. There were vine gates preventing wild buffalos from intruding into their tribe land and tampering with their sticky rice.
Some of the women were in traditional Hmong outfits, but most of them just wore simple clothes like the Laosians. The only thing that had "electricity" was this rice shelling machine powered by diesel. The housing was simple straw houses - on the ground, not like on stilts like Lao or Vietnamese. The Big Man had 12 kids and quite a few grandkids, they share a bigger house that had an enclosed bedroom with a huge board where the entire family sleeps together - how they manage to have sex is quite another matter... My bed was a "storage" area above a whole bunch of pumpkins and squashes. Boun Pone brought dinner material with him and cooked seperately to the Hmongs - not quite sure why but I thought I'd ask later rather than being insensitive. But the Hmongs gave us some of their food as well that was pretty plain but nice. The Big Man smoked a big bong (opium??) and played a fun instrument which i'll get a pic of soon. They were quite happy for me to take photos, and upon seeing the image in the camera they break out in surprise and laughter.
I had a chat with the Big Man via Boun Pone about his village, what they do etc etc. Next week is Hmong New Year (damn im missing it) where they will probably slaughter quite a few pigs and dogs for the feast. New Year is the one and only time of the year you can chose a partner and get married - harsh! Big Man tried to marry me off too - he says he'll find me a nice Hmong boy. I explained to him that I already have a boyfriend and anyhow I don't think i'll be getting married any time soon, I'm too young (25). Big Man chuckles and tells me that Hmong girls get married when they are 14 or 15, but if they are not good looking they don't get married till they are 30. Sarcasm exists in Hmong??
Laos is a breath of fresh air - literally!!
I am quite enjoying my last night in Hanoi.
The locals really have grown on me - I have already set my sister up with the night time receptionist - she doesn't know yet, he's sending through the diamond ring in the new year.. The day time receptionist is a cool lady called Lan who majored Russian at uni, but ended up using English for her jobs instead, she took me to this corner store for noodle soup for brekkie and is just a big sweety..Last night the guesthouse host The took me out for Kareoke,
I mean, how could I refuse? It was a complete sensation the Vietnamese are just so into their ballads its not a joke. Seems to be less reserved than the japanese particularly with the dance move add ons - without being particularly drunk. My kareoke binge the night before on the boat had been dominated by West Life and Jeran Jeran(?) so when I talk about Sinatra I mean it. This mad photo they took of me hoarding the mike with the locals reluctantly drinking away. Actually feel a bit sad to leave these crazy folks now. But certainly not the Taiwanese Mafia, hope they rot in hell.
It really was sensational, World Heritage Listed sites do not lie. Beautiful and endless islets and bamboo boats fills the water. Every islet was a different size and shape. Its quite cold and cloudy, so there were different layers of islets with differnt shades, and just adds to the mystry of this place. Halong means descending dragon. Legend has that this female dragon descends to earth for a visit and fell in love with its beauty, and decides to stay forever. So it flapped its gigantic wings and tail and created thousands of channels and holes as she slows down into the sea. I feel like I've come home to NZ - the serenity, calmness, the breeze. Yet this is so Asian, and got this really ancient feel to it. Certainly a huge contrast to my last big sail on the Rainbow Warrior where the wind was at 40 something knots and 5 - 6 meter swells.
Left wondering around Hanoi alone, checking out every caucasion face I come across (ever 5 mins) hoping I could find them. Hanoi's Old Quarter is made up of criss crossed narrow streets full of small shops and street stalls selling everything imaginable. Most of the building are 2 story french looking ones, beautiful plants hanging out the sides. Its almost Vietnamese Tet (new years) so lots of lanterns and red envelopes and special food on display. Motorcycles, bikes and cyclos hooning by at the speed of lightening, beeping horns like mad making it a chaotic ensemble of air pollution and noise pollution. Was offered a bike by the lovely guest house ppl (who gave me lunch cos I was almost in tears) but I turned it down, perhaps wisely. How could I compete with these naturals? I feel like I am being run over by a thousand Road Runners and Kayotes chasing after each other. Found asylum at the Hoam Kim lake with the Tortoise pagoda. Apparently giant tortoises has lived in there for hundreds of years, and only rarely pops up for a breather in the autum. And has the habit of doing so on Vietnam's national day (2 Sept, day that Ho Chi Minh passed away) So its quite auspicious to spot it when it does come up. No such luck today.
In the evening I attended an elaborate and fascinating Water Puppet show (traditional vietnamese theatre which puppets "perform" on a stage made with water) its scenes mainly of folk stories and show cases traditional agrarian life and Vietnamese wild life. Go the mating bird dance!! After returning to the guesthouse I finally got hold of Michaela. It appears that we have all been completely and utterly scammed by this con artist who posed as the guesthouse manager when she and Celia arrived late the night before. Saying that the guesthouse is full he took them to another family run guesthouse(with a on the spot commission) and promising that he will give me a message saying where they are. Yeah right. But only till Michaela got my distressing email later in the afternoon. God I am so pissed off right now!!!!!!










