DAY OFF @ KEP BEACH, CAVE TEMPLE,
PHNOM PENH.
Finally, a day to sleep in. Everyone is relieved. The itinerary today is short. Visit Kep Beach, visit a cave temple, then head into Phnom Penh. "A" still has his work cut out for him since he has to shuttle us everywhere. But today is a sightseeing day, and a food day. No serious stuff. Just pictures and stories.
You can tell Kep beach area is commercialized based on pavement. The road before Kep beach is a two-sided single lane road without painted dividers. When trucks and cars overtake each other they do so via the dirt road surrounding the paved ones. As soon as you get to the roundabout indicating a turnin to Kep Beach, the road becomes nicely paved. You start seeing more resorts along the way trying to capitalize on one of Cambodia's two famous beaches (the other one being at Sihanoukville). But, as soon as you get to the beach market, the hustle of Cambodia outstrips this construction 'decorum.' It's bustling, and alive.
The team gets to work. Today we're having seafood, which is what Kep's known for. We're eating two kinds of seafood: steamed crabs, and octopus cooked with Kompot Pepper, named after the neighboring province, known (if you recall from December 6th) for their peppers. Today would be the first time I could see the peppers used in cooking.
First stop is the crab. D and T approach the ladies selling crab up at the beach. They catch all the crabs in a woven wooden basket with a small opening at the top, baited at the bottom. These cages are floating along the beach and are pulled in by the workers. By the time they open the cages there are many crabs in there, maybe around 60 or 70. They pick up the crabs to touch for a bit to test the quality. To do this, they take the underbelly of the crab and press alongside the triangular plate on their 'stomach' shell.
The team knows their foods. They know their way around what's good, and most of them know how to cook to take care of themselves. K, the guy who invited me to his aunt's house, is probably one of the most knowledgeable on this matter. He told me when I spent time at his house that he used to cook quite often. He was taught by his mother, who was taught by her mother, who also taught her other daughter (K's aunt) who cooked for us that day. It's funny, because while D and T were holding the crabs gently, K's inner chef came out. I trust his instincts. He grew up in the village and knows his way around food: how to prepare it, how to find it. He really dug into the crab cages and picked up the crabs fearlessly, one in each hand. He used his thumb to press the stomach. He wasn't looking to see whether it broke or not upon pressing, but rather, like a seasoned cook, he was looking to the degree of softness, the degree of fleshiness. The crab pincers did not intimidate him. He went in and fiercely began chatting with the ladies selling the crab, asking them about the quality, about the taste. D and T laughed and said they'd leave it to him, then. So, K spent the next few minutes picking out the two kilos of crab meat. When the lady measured, he unleased a harsh "eh??" sound and looked at the scale, as if he already knew how much the crabs should weigh. He pointed to the scale, showing that the pointer was actually ticked 0.2 kg higher to charge a higher price. He said something fiercely to the lady that made her tick back the pointer 0.2 kg so it would be tared at 0.00 kg. He then put another crab in, and it came to a perfect 1 kg. Two bags, and we were good to go.
Kep is arranged into stations. We buy the crab at the beginning, then take it over to other ladies to steam them. We pay for the whole process but the preparation is broken down to different horizontal units. It's kind of fun, actually, having people prepare various parts of your food as opposed to all at once. It forces you to socialize and see the process of "farm to food." So far, most of my meals (like, yesterday's meal) were just literally backyard to frontyard. So, while the West is trying to figure out the process from farm to factory to processing plant to market to plate, in the Cambodian countryside, it's subsistence agriculture, and so what you grow is what you eat. It's the embodiment of "farm to food." The crabs are also immediately "farm to food," and the preparation is all on the beach area.
The lady who steams the crab is shouting to a lady who is waist-deep in the water completing her fishing. I walk around the market at this point and it's absolutely heaving with people, locals and foreigners alike. There's a section doing high heat stir fries, there's a section selling traditional medicines. It's all harvested right there on the beach, and it's all fresh. Navigating it is overwhelming if you don't speak Khmer, but luckily our team does it nicely. When the crabs are done, someone else picks out the octopus. I'm not sure who, but they take it to the preparation board and people begin gutting and chopping the octopus. This process takes about 10 minutes and is highly intricate. They make all the necessary cuts and gutting to make it edible. I just watch and take a few pictures on the shore. Some people are still near the banks of the ocean, waist-deep, managing the crab cages.
When the octopus is gutted, one man who was gutting them also chops the Kompot pepper and stir fries the octopus for us. The total process from sea to finished product took about 15 minutes. For the crab, about 10. In total, the meal came out to 22.5 USD. Albeit this was a slightly pricier meal, it is unparalleled in terms of freshness. We buy some spicy sauce in a bottle and some rice, then decide to head out to have a picnic. Along the way, we see durian and everyone urges me to buy a small one to eat for myself. I'm a bit intimidated by the task to begin with, as I've had durian before, but I was wrong. Cambodian durians are a different variety from the Malaysian ones we get in Singapore. This one was so delicious, and not slimy at all. In fact, the flesh was a little crunchy and had a very strong sweet flavor to it, not the kind of mushy oniony flavor of the Malaysian ones. For the first time, eating an entire small durian was not a difficult task, and for the first time, I could say that I actually enjoyed it. Still though, by the end, it does get dense since it's so caloric. Cambodian durians are really something else (from Kompot region too, if you recall, the one known for durians). D shares a story saying that the kind of Brunei always has his durians shipped in from Cambodia. "I hope you will be like the King and enjoy it as much as he does!" Bon appetit, sweet durian, may you enter my mouth again soon.
When you're out on a public day, you see Cambodians hanging out on picnic blankets much like you see the domestic workers at Lucky Plaza (Singapore shopping plaza known for Filipina workers) on Sunday. Everyone and their grandmother and grandmother's cow are sat on the floor with their blanket eating together. Families, friends, all congregate under the shade and partake in meals. I never thought much of it before, but now I realize it's almost an essentially part of Cambodian culture. Why else wouldn't you sit down with your friends in the shade and eat together? Why does it always have to be a table, why does it always have to be clean? I love the openness they have towards socialization and the lack of propriety they have when it comes to dining conditions. It emphasizes the eating experience, not the dining one. Nothing in a fancy restaurant. No sterile environment. Just the nice Cambodian sun and community. So we do the same. We ignore the ladies asking for a parking price and go way far down the beach. The guys in the group know of a nice big tree with a lot of shade. We plant our asses, and finally dig in.
K, the one who picked the crabs, peels his effortlessly and shows me how to do it. Since the crabs were boiled for a long time, and rather small, their shell breaks easily with mild force from your teeth. It's not like those giant crabs you get in Chinese restaurants; these are smaller but have a high flesh-to-shell ratio. I never quite get the peeling right, fumbling through the shell and where to pull out the pieces. I like that K is totally village style and doesn't really care about what other people think of his lifestyle. He's one of the most carefree people I know. The way he eats that crab, it looks like he's in his happy place. I've never seen someone deshell a crab so quickly (or, negotiate for crab so quickly at that).
When the team finishes, we go take a look at the old bridge that leads into the ocean. It's a loading point for boats to take off but has fallen into disrepair for a new model that was built just 0.5 kilometers off in the distance. You can see the new bridge while standing at the old. The old bridge, if you imagine, is like a bridge with the middle bit chucked out. And so, you can still walk all the way to the water on both sides, but the middle bit is missing. The only thing in the middle are concrete walls that run perpendicular to the walking direction of the bridge, so as to offer additional support for the bridge structure. The width of these walls is about maybe 6 or 7 inches, and so you can use it to walk across to both sides of the broken bridge. However, if you fall, you'd be hitting the water.
As you walk further down the bridge, it begins sloping until the walkway merges into the sea. D is bent over near where this happens and picking up some of the small plants that are poking out from the water. He tries to analyze the genus and species but is unsure as to what it is. He rubs the plants between his hands, and then uses the fingernail of his thumb to dent into the chlorophyll. He puts the thumb to his nose to get a whiff of the plant. His conclusion? "I'm unsure as to what this is."
When I turn around, I see K also perched atop one of these connecting walls. His arm is long enough so that when outstretched, his entire arm past the elbow is covered in the water. I see him trying to use his hands to catch some of the fish that are swimming in schools among D's unidentified plant matter. He tries this several times but ultimately gives up. What I like most in the moment is how K just goes for it. What would seemingly be a trivial activity, K made something out of it that kept him entertained. He's such a country kid, and I admire every aspect of that. He told me that he also used to play hide and seek in the fields, flick marbles with his friends, and catch insects when he was younger. He hasn't really lost that kind of fun, youthful spirit. And so while D displays a mature scientific intelligence and curiosity to learn more, K also shows a curiosity in a first-hand, carefree experience of the world.
We leave, and the next stop is the cave temple. It's tucked under a Karst stone formation, the type of mountain that D mentioned on my first day in Cambodia. Seeing it up close really makes it all the more impressive. He tells me to look off on one of the slopes of the formation and he asks if I've ever heard of dragonfruit. "Yes", since it's one of the fruits you often see in Singapore but not in the west and has a certain peculiarity to the texture and taste. "Well, I bet you've never seen a dragonfruit tree!" He points. There aren't even any dragonfruit on it, but he can tell just by looking at the leaves and the tree.
When we get there about four children circle us. They are holding flashlights and asking whether or not we want to go into the cave temple. Turns out, they are going to be our tour guides for the day. So, we walk through the cave temple with about 5 kids surrounding us, and one of the girls leading the tour and another kid also following nearby. This girl can't be more than 5 years old. She wears her hair in a messy ponytail with a split down the side, and wears a deep sea green colored soccer shirt. She also wears a pair of jeans. She's rather scraggly, looking a bit dirty after climbing through the caves. Although she is 5 and giving us a tour with confidence, there is a hint of shyness and modesty to her demeanor. Still, she carries through with the tour. She shines a light and shows us all the rock formations that look like animals. She hears that I am foreign and so she switches so naturally to English. "This here is the elephant rock." She shines the flashlight against it. It looks a bit like an elephant. "This one looks like a turtle." Her accent is so cute, I keep thinking, and I'm just blown away by her fluency. "This one is the "lost commander's boot." Yes, it looks a bit like a shoe. This whole time I'm looking down at this 5 year old give a tour in Khmer then English. She smiles and keeps going. "This way. This way, please."
The other kids are following us but are jumping and running around the temple. I don't know who they belong to, or if they belong to anyone. But, they are there among the monks, and the monks, despite chastising them occasionally for their boisterous behavior, welcome them. When we go to the darker parts of the cave, with pockets of water tucked into the crevices, the kids, all barefoot, stroll casually through the water. The sound of their feet wading through the cold water echoes against the cave and so does their laughter. I love the fearlessness and how in-touch they are with the cave, with the earth. They don't fear falling or tripping, and they don't fear what's in the water. It's an unhindered spirit you often see in kids but seems to disappear as we grow older. When there is a rock formation, they will climb onto it and play with each other, chatting endlessly in Khmer with their high pitched voices. They laugh and tease each other, and their voices also carry in surround sound to the cave temple.
The cave is oriented as such: you first walk into an underground section ("Here is the elephant rock!"), and it naturally opens up into a large, outdoor space in the middle. If you look above, there is direct sunlight passing through the hole overhead, illuminating this spot in the cave where you stand. Surrounding this spot is other inlets of cave you can explore, and not even the sunlight penetrating through the center can light the darkness of the cave. It is in this lit spot that the Buddhist temple is built. You can make a few loops around on the other side, but all parts end back into the central 'heart' of the cave where the temple is. "This is the drum rock." the little girl says, banging her hand against a thick stalagtite that has calcified over the past hundred thousand years. It makes a hollow sound like a bongo but is remarkably drum-sounding. She bangs it a few more times, smiles, then keeps walking. We are in another part of the cave now.
When we emerge, the kids emerge with us. There is a single vine, maybe about 10 centimeters in thickness, hanging from the top of the cave down, with a little bit touching the ground. It looks sturdy, and I have no idea how it is actually suspended and in the open area from which we emerge. To the children though, that is irrelevant. Each one of them take turns to climb the vine, kind of like in gym class where you were made to climb a rope suspended from the ceiling. They climb up with their lithe bodies and agility. There's a swiftness to their movements that make them appear as monkeys climbing up vines. After they finish demonstrating to us, I joke with K to give it a go, but he refuses, laughing. We then walk back to the the central part of the cave.
Just about 1 minute ago, one of the kids was climbing this vine suspended into the air. The next thing I know, when I come out from the covered section, this same kid is now on the tinned roof of the temple, with a large witches broom. He's being instructed by one of the monks to sweep the dried foliage off of he ridged roof structure. The broom, made entirely of tree branch and twigs, is as tall as he is and he is half sweeping all the leaves down (half playing with the room). It's so Fiddler on the Roof with a Khmer flare, I can't even do anything but take a few pictures. They're such free spirited... creatures. In fact, something about the fact that I find it so strange that a kid is being, simply, a kid, tells me something about the societies and spaces I grew up in.
The kids do this for the money, of course. Even in the developing sphere labor doesn't come free -- it just comes cheap. We drop some money off to them then are on our way back to Phnom Penh. "A" says that because it's the weekend we can now relax. He takes a cassette tape out from the storage right underneath the player, and he puts it in. Traditional Cambodian music comes on, and it's in a romantic, classical ballad style, like much of Teresa Teng's Chinese music. Although I don't understand a word, there's a charm in the voice and the instruments. D leans over to tell me that this stuff is pretty old, and it's traditional music that he used to listen to when he was a lot younger. T is in the corner singing along, and W slowly feels comfortable enough to hum a few bars. From the talent in the car, it seems Cambodians are quite good singers. Even traveling around so far, I've heard many Cambodians humming along a few lines to themselves or singing them out loud. It's like the Philippines.
Yesterday was a busy day. The long hours and late nights suddenly hit us on the drive back into the city. Z reclines her chair back, and W leans his head against the window in front of me. Behind me, T is plugged into his phone and watching his dramas, while simultaneously humming to his own beat. He clashes with the cassette player. D is still chatting with A, and I am sat here looking out the window in the countryside. A white cow grazing.. a farmer picking up rice.. two siblings on a bicycle.. Khmer music in the background. Then I knock out.
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I awake to us not moving in the middle of traffic. From the airpot to the city center, it takes about an hour due to congestion, with a distance of only 7km. Welcome to Phnom Penh.
I get dropped off at my hotel which is just a 2 minute walk to the Tonle Sap riverfront. It's not the Mekong River, rather, it's a small offshoot of the main stream. I get dinner with my uncle, who has worked in Phnom Penh for the past 7 years and has seen Phnom Penh grow from a developing city with little infrastructure to the now thriving international tourist destination that it is. We chat and catch up, as I've not seem him for three years. His eyes look worn out and his spirit a little sapped, but he's still the same guy I remember when young. Under a hard exterior, he is caring and generous. In the bustle of the city, he hasn't lost those precious traits.
There's something about rivers in cities. People congregate around them so easily. Even if the activity is mundane, like sitting, something about staring into the banks on the opposite end eases you. The movement of the Tonle Sap is pretty to watch, and occasionally some old fishing boats would float by, dimly lit with people working on them. It reminds me that although Phnom Penh is a big city now, the backbone of the country is still firmly agrarian. I love watching the buildings and their lights scatter on the ripples of the river in front of me; the ripples made from the flow of the river and the churning of the boats.
I love watching people along the river. A lady is selling canned drinks and street snacks. Over further, a group of 5 Korean tourists are sat smoking and chatting casually to each other. A lone Khmer woman texts. The children of street vendors run around and play with each other, while their parents are hard at work. I pulled out my camera to capture the variety of people I saw that night, and I'll leave you with a few pictures. I walked around for 1.5 hours just photographing people. Cambodians have such a nonchalance about them, and moreso, it's not a forced attitude. As such, there are some unique characters, and they are naturally photogenic subjects.