Breakfast was good, having found sausages, baked beans and HP Sauce for the first time in 3 weeks. From on the roof terrace you could see out over the river and into a selection of nearly homes. I spent the morning eating franks and beans whilst trying to avoid watching a man scrub his frank and beans.
Set off on a city tour of Phnom Penh. By 9am it was 36C and due to the dress restrictions in the Royal Palace we needed to wear full sleeves and long trousers. As usual, us British complied with the dress code whilst our new German and American friends wandered round in shorts and vests. In the palace we had a great guide. Points at a hut: “You see the building that looks like a dining room. That’s the dining room. It’s used for dining”. “This is Italian marble. It comes from Italy”.
Next was the Tuol Sleng genocide museum, the former school where the Khmer Rouge imprisoned and interrogated tens of thousands of their own countrymen and women. Despite the graphic displays of the living conditions, torture methods and photos of the faces of the dead it really didn’t feel morbid. Felt as though it should have given a grimmer view as more of a warning.
Followed the genocide museum by visiting the Killing Fields, 15km outside of Phnom Penh. This is where the Khmer Rouge would truck prisoners to kill them in mass pit graves. It was very poorly preserved as the country couldn’t afford it during the excavations in 1979 so didn’t fully get the message across. Once again some of the Americans in our group didn’t seem to get it.
Guide: “This is the tree they used to beat babies to death against, to save on bullets.”
American Ladies: “That’s so terrible…ooh look, a gecko…let’s go buy souvenirs”.
Headed back to the Russian Market, but avoided the shopping and went for a late lunch in a little French bakery. After a good start seem to have pretty much given up on local food by now – too much seafood for my liking.
Back at the hotel headed round the corner to the Quay Hotel, complete with rooftop terrace, cocktail bar and infinity pool to meet the others before trying the Foreign Correspondents Club. The FCC looked like it used to be an excellent bar but was now rather faded. After a few rounds of pool took residence at the balcony overlooking the seafront and watched creepy men pick up young ladies from the street corner.
My daughter is half Cambodian. Her grandmother and grandfather got out of the city as it was being taking over,two of her sons were killed .it makes me sad that my daughter will never know them or see them.i myself have gone there and seen those places.brings tears to my eye just thinking what those people went threw.to all who died and went threw that bull crap will never be forgotten. I love you all.