Buddha Baby (Phnom Penh, Ko Chen, Oudoung, Cambodia)

On Thursday morning, we arrived in Phnom Penh but there would be no tourism, dear reader, until the authorities had face-checked our passports. Following breakfast, we adjourned to the lounge for our face inspection. What I thought would be a fairly time-consuming process turned out to be brief and efficient. We presented our passports, with Cambodian visas, to the official, he looked at the passport picture and compared it to our facial reality. A smile. A nod. We were done.

On reflection it may not have have been a smile, but a smirk. Imagine having the job of checking everyone's unsmiling likeness on their passport. Could you do it without smirking?

A weather report is unnecessary, but for the sake of repetition: hot and humid. The temperature is above 30° and the humidity is higher than 70%. Soupy, we would say at home.

There was the usual shock as we walked from our air-conditioned world to reality. It was short lived because it was straight onto the bus which dropped us at the street entrance to Koh Chen, the silversmith village. Our endpoint was supposed to be over 1km through the village; it didn’t seem that far and the pace was leisurely.

A stupa in Koh Chen.

We ran the gauntlet of the pedlars, waiting for us to disembark the bus. We were warned not to speak to them at all. Engaging in conversation is tantamount to an agreement to buy from them. Despite being ignored by everyone, they were persistent and refused to go away, just like Scott Morrison and Tony Abbott.

A silversmith at work.

This particular village of silversmiths is 200 strong but they are all that is left of this trade community, after Pol Pot. They made the decision to stay together and to continue the traditional methods of silver work. They also work with copper, brass and silverplate. We went into one workshop and were able to see the smiths at work. The female proprietor showed us how to tell the difference between genuine silver and silver plate. It’s easy if you carry polish with you. The silverplate rubs off.

A giant brass pot.

After a futile attempt to purchase Jayne a silver turtle for her Pandora and finding nothing else to spend my money on, we walked across the road to get into our tuk tuk that transported us back to the bus. It was a much more comfortable ride than the cyclo, physically and emotionally. I wasn’t concerned for our driver because he had a motorised vehicle.

The line of tuk tuks.

Next stop was Oudong, the former capital of Cambodia and the site of the largest Buddhist temple in the country. En route we had some of the vagaries of Buddhism explained to us. This site, aside from having the temple with its monks, also had accommodation for priests and nuns. The nuns and priests are below the monks in the pecking order and do not have to commit to as high a level of devotion, in terms of following the precepts of the Buddha. It's pretty full-on, Google it dear reader. It was too strict for me, no alcohol, no sex, no bad language. WTF? The nuns and priests dress in white and they reside in accommodation on the grounds, having their meals provided by donation from the surrounding community.

The temple.

Our guide termed this arrangement to be akin to aged care or retirement living in developed countries. For example, a woman who cannot provide for herself, or needs respite from the demands of the world, or who has health issues, mental or physical, can expect to be welcomed into this haven for a short period of time or for life, whatever meets her need. It comes at a price though, austere life, shaved head - good times in your later years.

There are levels of accommodation ranging from pretty basic one room huts up to substantial buildings that have been constructed by women’s families.

Basic accommodation.

Not so basic accommodation.

The temple precinct is quite expansive and some of the garden areas are beautiful and tranquil, designed for people to be still and meditate. The one drawback was the stray cats and dogs that were everywhere. The Buddhist belief in reincarnation makes it problematic to remove them.

The view over part of the gardens.

The monks are forbidden to eat after 12pm and we were scheduled for a blessing just prior to this. A blessing can take up to 90 minutes, we had the discount version. It was supposed to be 15 minutes, but was even briefer so the monks could have lunch. I hope our souls are OK.

Murals on the walls and ceilings.

The temple itself is massive and as imposing as any Christian cathedral or Jewish synagogue, but without the same excess. There wasn’t the same level of opulence, for instance, the gold wasn’t real. The space inside was vacant except for a giant statue of Buddha, the Siddhartha Buddha, not the fat, laughing one. The walls and ceilings were covered with murals of the Buddha’s life.

Buddha watching over proceedings.

Feeling blessed, it was back to the bus and eventually the ship for lunch. We had some free time which allowed me the opportunity to find an ATM and get some American dollars, the preferred currency. The only challenge here was the need to cross the road. There was slightly less traffic than Vietnam, but it moved more quickly. It was a public holiday, so the roads were busy. No sign of a pedestrian crossing or a break in traffic. I did what any Redfern boy would do, waited for a half break and made a run for it. Money safely pocketed, I sprinted, oh alright, moved very quickly back across the road to safety.

The market entrance

The first bus to the central markets left at 2:30pm. This market was the only one permitted to operate during Pol Pot’s regime. It is quite expansive and navigation can be an issue if you are attempting to cover every part of it. The central market is a dome and there are five arms radiating from it. Each of these arms leads to an outer ring, although it’s not quite circular.

Stuff.

More stuff.

If you are in the market (see what I did there?) to purchase something, you’ll find it here. Clothes, material to make clothes, watches, rings, jewellery, sunglasses, electronics, kitchenware, tableware, flowers, cosmetics, underwear, the aisles went on and on. It is the place to buy “genuine fakes” in Cambodia and the locals shop here because the quality is good and they can’t afford name brands. So we were told.

Pretty.

Mmmm. Yum.

The air inside the dome is oppressive and there are times where it seems to be non-existent. Almost sauna like except it’s still humid. It has the effect of hurrying the haggling. We bagged some name brand ‘bargains’ and continued our circuit finding more and more arms of the market to explore. The fresh food section was interesting. Fish, prawns, chicken, beef, frogs, all laid out for purchase, and something that was alive but unidentifiable, in a pot of bubbling aerated water.

Our time was nearing the end and we made our way back to the bus area searching for one more bargain. And there it was, a Louis Vuitton Pikachu t-shirt for $10US. Seriously, for a knock-off, no way. $5 said Jayne. “No, no,” was the reply. So, we walked. She didn’t follow. No deal. Sorry Dave.

Pre-dinner that evening, there was a student performance of traditional Cambodian dancing. It comprised of four different dances. The traditional dance of the girls, a story told in dance about the monkey king, the coconut shell dance and that really dangerous dance where you can have ankles broken between two very thick poles.

The best dance of the night called for audience participation. Thankfully, I was not selected, but Jayne was … centre stage with the girls doing the special hand movements. A photo dear reader? Yes, I have some, but I'm not stupid enough to post one here. I like living. However, for a small fee ... DM me.

I was scared. One false step.

Then it was cracker night. Ok, ok, fireworks. Independence Day celebrations go for three days here and we were well positioned to see the fireworks from our mooring. It was first real excursion to the upper deck. There was a breeze but it was still quite warm. Fireworks don’t hold any great fascination for me. I am uncertain whether the root cause is age or the overdose of fireworks we get in Sydney.

Cracker night.

Regardless, it was dinner time. Back to the restaurant for another lovely meal. Then upstairs to see the “American superstar”. I was expecting some Elvis impersonator, but no, it was an American guy, late 70s, with a guitar, singing ‘classics’. Well they are if you’re my age.

Oops, almost forgot to reference the title. It is, of course, one of my favourite Australian groups, Leonardo's Bride. Buddha Baby. Enjoy.

Until next time.