I was really happy yesterday evening when Thornin said we had to be downstairs to go to breakfast at 7am and then Vuth suggested 8am. I loved the idea of a longer snooze. It didn't go that way though. I hadn't realised my window was open so I had a double dose of the cockerels doing their cock-a-doodle-do from 4am. I tried to sleep but I finally got up at 6am, which happened to be around the time they stopped making their noise. Once I'd got over the shock I didn't mind as I was able to write my diary for Saturday.
While on my bed I checked my messages and found one from yesterday. It was from my friends inviting me to go out for porridge. They were meeting at 10pm! I'm glad I didn't see the message. They'd been eating almost non-stop for the entire day and now they were off again for another session.
There was nowhere on our street to have breakfast so we asked a couple of boys who were playing on their little game machine. They pointed up and down the road but kept trying to focus on the game. Thornin and Vuth had a good laugh and we walked off. "We asked them which was the best way to go and the lads said, 'It's up to you!'" We found a nice, clean place and I had bbq'd pork ribs with rice, pickles and a bowl of soup. When I get back to Canada there's no way I'd have that for breakfast but here it seems quite normal.
The road to the top of Bokor Mountain rises 1,100m from sea level. Luckily it's a good road, full of twists and turns, that was built by a company that was given a concession to develop the mountain. According to the papers they were going to spend $1 billion over 15 years to create a city. I honestly don't know how it would work unless they plan on including shops, hospitals etc as it's a long way up from sea level. As we climbed higher the weather changed and we ended up with a chilly wind blowing at gale force and clouds; one minute we were in sunshine and the next in the clouds.
The area has an interesting history, being abandoned frequently. It was a French colonial retreat for those wanting to escape the heat of the lowlands - a bit like the British in India with their hill stations. They abandoned it in the 1940s and later, in the 60s, it was re-opened. Then the Khmer Rouge war started and it was abandoned in the 1970s. During the Vietnamese invasion and occupation it was a stronghold of the Khmer Rouge and they were even occupying the place in the early 1990s.
Nowadays one can wander around looking at the abandoned shells of colonial villas. There used to be a post office but that's long gone. There's also a Christian church, a pagoda, casino, royal residence. The palace has just been converted into what may be a luxury hotel. We couldn't go inside so I peeked through the window and saw the restaurant, with immaculately laid out tables, but nobody sitting at them. The knives and spoons were, by British standards, sitting upside down on the table. That's the French way of doing things. Apparently, the French put the family coat of arms on what I'd call the back of the spoon and fork. As they say, "To each his own".
We didn't fancy eating outside in the cold and wind so we went into the enormous cafeteria. We sat at table number 64 but there were only two other tables occupied. One part of this outreach programme is to have a time of reflection with the participants. Today, because they were all university students, we asked them about their life during 2018 and what they hoped for 2019. Some spoke of having to improve relationships with their families, finding time to balance two jobs and family needs.
On our way back to Phnom Penh we stopped in a town and found a seller selling Durian - the delicious but smelly fruit. In Malaysia there are signs on the buses declaring that you can't take Durian onto the bus. I suppose it's equivalent to the Western smelly cheeses that have to be wrapped in layers of plastic to keep the smell away from sensitive noses. In Bali we'd unknowingly been standing under a Durian tree. The locals told us to move because it would be dangerous if the fruit fell and hit us. The fruit reminds me of those maces that knights of old carried - the metal ball with spikes carried on the end of a chain. The spikes on Durian are sharp and deadly. The Bali Durian weighed about 1 kg; our seller had some for sale that were over 7kg. Imagine that hitting you on the head!
My friends pointed at certain fruits that were picked up the seller, who was wearing gloves. She tapped the fruit with a knife handle and sniffed. Sellers here always want to make sure you have the best so they don't just give you any old thing. They were weighed and priced. I bought one to give to my neighbours; it weighed around 2.5kg and cost $16. They were then cut open and the seeds, coated in a thick, creamy, yellow custard were then put into containers for us to take home. Most of what we bought was consumed on the spot - around $30s worth. Cambodians love Durian. I like it but I get fed up with the constant burping I do afterwards as I can taste the fruit for hours.
There are many things I don't like about Cambodian driving and traffic. So many people get licenses without taking a driving test and I don't think anyone reads a rule book. Motorbike riders are deadly as they weave in and out at great speed. Traffic jams are endless. It wouldn't be so bad if people stayed in a straight line but they don't. Some bright person decides he doesn't want to be at the back of a long queue so he ventures forth and forms a new queue. Then a third queue forms and then a forth. When the traffic finally starts to move, it's chaos. Suddenly, the road ahead is clear and I've no idea what caused the problem.
Nowadays, we also have weddings to contend with as it's the season for them. All year round it's the season for funerals. Generally, these involve enormously long marques, stretching down the road and taking up one lane. Then you have all the cars of the guests parked everywhere. You can have 1,000 guests so it's a lot of cars and motorbikes. My chest throbbed as we drove past the stage with its 15 or more speakers stacked high and the inevitable singers and dancers.
Vuth said he felt like a taxi driver as he drove around the city dropping off his passengers; Thornin was doing the same with his carload. I didn't feel guilty as I get out when Vuth does. It was 9.30pm - 12 hours since breakfast. I was glad to be home and to be able to flop.
