{ my pseudo racecar }

Photos from this weekend’s excursion are at the end of this post if you are one who prefers picture books to the real ones.

Our two-day galavant up to Poipet and back amounted to a lot of time on the road and what I hope to be some valuable footage of the casinos in no-man’s-land between Cambodia and Thailand, and of some of the seemingly endless number of street kids around the town.

On the drive up, we stopped at a temple that Geof knew would provide some good photo opportunies. At every wat in Cambodia, as I understand it, the statues of Buddha all face the same direction, except for this particular place, where they all face the opposite way for some reason. Also, there was a confusing (disturbing?) array of statues here, including a progression of four, which depicted first a healthy monk in his saffron robe, then as a shirtless man walking hunched over with a cane, then as one sitting on the ground dying, and finally as a dead one lying flat on his back while the birds eat away at his intestines. What they are trying to communicate about the life of a monk, I am not sure, especially considering that elderly monks are highly respected in this culture.

Geof had some business to take care of for a friend in the town of Sisophon, so I went walking through some temple grounds, past a cow, and out to the river where pop music was being pumped really loudly and a couple of kids were flipping over their bicycles into the water while others sat by watching and singing along in English with songs they did not understand. While walking through the temple courtyard, I had a nice chat with a monk who introduced himself as Sohka. I told him I knew someone in Phnom Penh with that name. Conversation, you know. Monks, in my experience, are quite friendly and eager to practice their English whenever they can. They normally start things off by asking where you are from. Then they ask how long you are in Cambodia, which allows for some discussion about what you are doing and all. Then, if they sense a lull in the conversation they might ask, “How are you?” This kind of question is supposed to happen at the beginning, but I try to cut them some slack. I asked Sohka some things as well, about the name of the temple and if he lives in that big house out back with all the orange robes draped over the balcony, and then, trying to get a feel for the life of a monk, I asked what he was doing today. “Praying in temple,” he said. I guess that pretty much sums up the life of a monk.

Poipet, as I mentioned earlier, is not thought very highly of. The armpit of Cambodia, many say. Kind of like what West Virginia is to America, or on a smaller scale, what Erie is to Pennsylvania. With gambling illegal in Thailand, many wealthy Thais come to Poipet to part with large quantities of money, so the town is trying to reinvent itself as a sort of Asian Vegas. The casino area in no-man’s-land between the borders seems entirely out of place, with its many huge buildings of glimmering neon and perfectly manicured gardens, especially considering the surrounding area. The Lonely Planet guidebook advises against staying in the town, suggesting that doing so would be “masochistic.” Sure, the town is dirty and depressing, but our hotel was great, and for the most part our stay was not overly painful. What I don’t understand, though, is why the road to Poipet, a major border crossing with Cambodia’s biggest trade partner, is one of the worst “paved” roads ever. We probably averaged 15-20 kph for the hour and a half stretch between Poipet and Sisophon (you’ll have to do the math, as I don’t think in miles any more). You’d think a major trade route would be a highway worth maintaining a little bit better than this.

Geof’s daughter had lived in Poipet for five years or so, technically living with her uncle, but effectively watching her own back on the streets and crossing the border to beg from foreigners. As we walked around she said she used to know all the kids in the town, but now, three years later, she didn’t recognize anyone. It was good to visit, she said, but very good to leave.

OK, the photo version.

Temple with the crazy statues.