I’m all templed out, and red as a lobster from the remorseless sun, so decided today to go to the Siem Reap landmine museum.
Cambodia is the nation with the highest number of disabled people, and the vast majority of disabilities are caused by landmines. Cambodia was heavily mined by the USA, Vietnam and the Khmer Rouge during its recent bloodlettings and, when the ceasefire was declared, nobody told the landmines - so between five and ten million of the devices just lie there in the jungle and in farms, waiting to be stepped on. The International Campaign to Ban Landmines reports
In 2005, there were 875 new landmine/UXO [unexploded ordnance] casualties, maintaining the daily average of two new casualties since 2000.
The landmine museum was started by a Cambodian gentleman with the Japanese-sounding name of Aki Ra. As a child, he was forced by the Vietnamese to lay mines, and later worked for the United Nations de-mining. With the money he earned, he set up a small museum where he houses paintings, photos and lots of empty landmine shells. (Photo gallery)
He continues to voluntarily defuse mines that people alert him to, and claims to have made 50,000 safe. Using the $1 museum entrance fee and donations, Mr Aki Ra and his wife take in orphans and children who’ve been disabled by mines, housing them in the museum grounds where they teach them a trade so they don’t need to beg.
Here’s a impressionistic 30 second video taken today of Ta Phrom in the rain, a landmine-crippled Khmer band playing outside Ta Phrom and the Terrace of the Leper King.
Stinky, wonderful Bangkok is the exception, but generally if I’m in South East Asia and travelling in a town for pleasure, I use open vehicles rather than enclosed, air-conditioned vehicles.
There’s something about the smell of South East Asia that I love, particularly in rainy season: a mix of mud, moist vegetation, decomposing garbage and car fumes, cowshit and coriander, all in that sauna-like humidity. You might mock, but that smell defines the region for me.
So, to travel round to the temples, I’ve chartered a tuk-tuk for the last couple of days. My driver is named Nhan (pronounced “Nyen” or ”Nee-en”), and the hotel use him to pick up guests from the airport, so I figured that if they trust him, I can. He’s seems a good guy; he’s genuinely enthusiastic about the temples and artefacts, he drives safely, he’s on time, he quotes sensible prices and he’s pretty mellow about not always trying to sell me stuff.
Sure, he’s tried; he understood my disinclination to go to the shooting range, where you buy a live cow and rent an AK47 to kill it with (it’s apparently very popular with Americans, so I just said, “I’m not American” and he accepted that). He probably thinks I’m mad that I didn’t accept his offer of taking me for a “boom-boom massage”, particularly when he’d already gleaned that my wife is in a different country. I can’t blame him for trying, though; in a country where the average annual income is hundreds rather than thousands of dollars, commerce is commerce.
Nhan’s quite a character. He giggles to himself and points every time we pass western woman with huge breasts, which is most of them in comparison to the very petite Cambodian women. It’s tricky not to warm someone who chuckles with glee at the sight of enormous ladybumps, and you’d think the novelty would have worn off by now - there’s lots of tourists in Siem Reap.
Another great thing about Nhan is his motorcycle helmet. I liked that he had one and wore it, as any man who actually wears a helmet cares about his own personal safety, and as I’m on a small vehicle being towed behind him, it means that I too will hopefully benefit from that care.
While staring at the back of it as we bumped down some entertainingly-surfaced track, I noticed that it was branded ”Space Crown”. I immediately felt massive respect for the anonymous marketing manager in some South-East Asian helmet factory, for he had done to me what every soap-powder advertiser dreams of: he’d made the mundane exotic.
I’d been thinking of boring motorcycle helmets, but those two words ”Space Crown” made me think of exotic, heavily-armoured royal headgear worn by warring intergalactic emperors. I tried to think if I could devise a similarly exciting brand-name that might make me a crash helmet millionaire on my return to the UK.
All I could come up with was ”The James Bond Bionic Time-Travel Tiara” which should be even more thrilling, but I feel its potency is diluted by all those syllables.
Phew. My first day in Siem Reap, Cambodia is coming to an end. Up early to see Angkor Wat, Bayon and finally Ta Phrom has exhausted me - five marvellous hours wandering kilometers in 30+ celcius and humidity.
The tumble-down temples are breathtaking - and perfectly, albeit ironically, exemplify the buddhist idea that everything is impermanent.
Then a massage followed by food and some live apsara dancing - and just time for beer before bed and doing it all again tomorrow.
I’m glad I hadn’t announced it, as I’ve just discovered that my scheduled public appearance at the Rock for Peace concert in Pyongyang, North Korea, is off. Not because I’m crap, either, but because the whole concert is cancelled.
The call
It all started when I stumbled upon a website called Voice Of Korea, which was a site glorifying North Korea run by a UK-based gentleman called Jean-Baptiste Kim. There was a call for musicians to play at the Rock For Peace contest (“the 2007 version of Woodstock rock festival in 1969 but in a different location and with different goals”), so I emailed him expressing my interest, and was delighted when Mr Kim mailed back telling me “At this time, I do not see any problem on you and your members”, which is always nice to hear.
The song
There was one problem: as an ex-punk rocker, I worried that I might not have enough original material that satisfied Mr Kim’s lyrical requirements:
Lyrics should not contain admirations on war, sex, violence, murder, drug, rape, non-governmental society, imperialism, colonialism, racism, anti-DPRK (Democratic People’s Republic of Korea), and anti-socialism.
A quick look on wikipedia and I discovered the text of Kim Jung Il’s speech of April 14 1965, On Socialist Construction and the South Korean Revolution in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea in which the basis of the Korean philosophy of Juche was outlined. No-one could object to lyrics taken from The Great Helmsman’s speeches, so I wrote back to Mr Kim:
My band have a song called “Juche - OH YEAH!” which we feel would be great to open the concert with (or close it). The audience sings along with the chorus, which is:
For political independence:
JUCHE! OH YEAH!
For economic self-sustenance:
JUCHE! OH YEAH!
Self-defence in national defence
JUCHE! OH YEAH!
Would that be appropriate?
Mr Kim was gratifyingly enthusiastic, responding:
Thank you for your proposal.
“Juche ! OH YEAH!” can be the opening song of ROCK FOR PEACE and I very much appreciate it.
But I’d like to advise you that ROCK FOR PEACE should not be too political supporting DPRK politics and its system.
ROCK FOR PEACE is an international event where everybody from each different country plays about, sings about the peace without war and the humanity without imperialism or anything they wish.
I am worrying about the criticism of western countries that they might say “ROCK FOR PEACE was just a tool of propagating DPRK and it has really nothing to do with the peace in fact”.
Therefore, your “juche ! OH YEAH!” will be more than great if it tells people the importance of the independence which is also important for others, not only for DPRK.
But it will be just horrible for other international people if it only propagates DPRK without giving importance on freedom in the diversity and peace in the diversity.
The Juche ideology is the philosophy of the freedom and peace in the diversity that admits every nation is different, just like every person, in their own history, traditions, and culture. The juche is, therefore, against the imperialism which forces other nations to follow the way of imperialists. The juche is not the ruling policy but is the philosophy of how to exist for a nation.
ROCK FOR PEACE will be largely participated by international medias such as BBC and AP, therefore, your “juche ! OH YEAH!” will be judged by them. You need to remember this.
I will take “juche ! OH YEAH!” as the opening song if you wisely arrange all these. Thank you.
The disappointment
My wife, Nongyow, showed me once again why she’s the best wife in the world by saying that she absolutely supported my going to North Korea, even though all we artists had to find our own airfare to Beijing.
My excitement mounted, until I logged on to Voice of Korea to see what progress was being made and read that Mr Kim was giving up organising Rock For Peace, and has given up supporting North Korea:
For last ten years, I have done my very best to serve DPRK in great passion … The current regime is not the leader of people but the royal family rules over the people. This should be converted into democratic elections and should give the freedom of speech and thought. People’s lives must be chosen by people’s favours, not by the dictatorial system … I regret my life with DPRK government for last 10 years but will not repeat the same mistake again in future … I also need to announce that ROCK FOR PEACE will be suspended along with myself.
I’m glad that Mr Kim has renounced being an apologist for the horrifying regime in North Korea, but confess to being disappointed; singing Juche! OH YEAH! at the opening of the first rock concert in North Korea would have been something to tell the grandchildren.
As I have in-laws in Oslo, and it’s school half-term, I decided to leave the cold, damp, grey skies of the U.K. for the cold, damp, grey skies of Oslo for a long weekend.
Here’s everything you need to know:
Oslo’s a very good-looking city, not too high-rise, well-kept, well-planned, with pretty environs that look like Narnia.
No wonder the Vikings were such good sea-farers; Norwegians seem impervious to scurvy - at least, I never saw anyone eating anything that looked like it might contain Vitamin C. My wife has been there half a dozen times, and has seen no evidence that citrus fruit is actually available in Norway. Although she did observe three people sharing one banana.
It’s an extraordinarily expensive place; a beer is about £5 a pint; a decent but unexciting meal in a restaurant cost £50 a person.
Norwegian women have the most spectacular breasts in Europe. However, as they’re so tall and statuesque, they’re more aesthetically fascinating than sexy. (The word they refers to the women, not just the breasts. Obviously.)
Norwegian people have no sense of personal space, and barge past you without apology, even when there’s no crowd. It don’t think it’s rudeness, but they’re culturally unconcerned with keeping that buffer around them. Which is odd: you’d assume that in a country the size of the moon but has the national headcount of a Staffordshire village that everyone want lots of personal space.
Everything works properly in Norway. The trains are clean, punctual and fast. You can pay for everything by credit card.
Don’t believe any nonsense about Norwegians being environmentally conscious. They heat their homes and offices like saunas. So, when you walk into a building from the cold, instead of just taking off your coat and gloves, everyone spends about 45 minutes removing earmuffs, gloves, boots, scarves, vests, undervests, seal-fur underwear, heated pants, goggles etc. I calculate that, on average, Norway loses 38% of the working day to dressing and undressing. That’s probably why everything’s so expensive; it takes so much longer to produce.
I was expecting Scandinavian people to be grumpy and terse - a bit like Germans with less bodymass and bonus fjords. Instead, everyone I met had an easy, relaxed sense of humour with a ready, infectious laugh.
Oslo rocks. Sell your house, and you could go for a week.
In Nongyow’s home village, Moo Baan Farm, like any other Thai village, there’s no such thing as privacy. People walk in and out of each others’ houses from dawn to dusk. (And, if they’re still there after sunset, will very possibly sleep there, too.)
Consequently, you never eat on your own. In the village, people rarely say “hello”; they greet each other with “kin khow reu yang?” (”Have you eaten yet?”). If the answer is negative, you sit down and join the host.
So when I rashly promised to cook traditional English Christmas dinner for the family, I knew that I was probably cooking for an unknown number. Should you ever find yourself in a similar situation (and you never know …) here’s an illustrated guide on how to make roast pork, stuffing, potatoes, boiled vegetables, and Christmas pudding for an indeterminate amount of people on a two-ring gas burner.
When I lived here, I thought Bangkok at Xmas was nice and cool - and would wear a long-sleeved shirt instead of short sleeves. Actually, it’s monstrously hot and humid. So, after a day seeing old friends and getting our bodies used to the time zone, it was off to Hua Hin to the beach and some cooling sea breeze.
We’re in a lovely hotel that we always used to stay in; it’s impeccably clean, with a lovely pool and it’s a five minute amble to Hua Hin beach.
The days go like this: get up, 7.30. Breakfast by the pool at 8. Kids in pool at 8.30. Join kids in pool at 9.30. Drag kids out of pool for lunch at 12. Lie down in room 12 - 1.30 (sun too hot) then down to the white-sand beach. Showers at 5pm, then out to eat spicy seafood dishes at 6 (the food here is enough to make a grown man cry in happiness).
Then, to help recover from the exhausting schedule, we go out for massages (both Marina and James fall asleep during theirs) and finally put the kids to bed at 9.30, after which Nongyaw and I drink beer, read, chat and watch the moon above the mountains from our balcony overlooking the pool.
Almost three years ago, I wrote a short blog post about The Balloon Man of Kovallam, an American who worshipped the setting sun by blowing up balloons, whom I met when travelling round India. I’d often wondered about who he was, what his story was, and where he went afterwards.
So I was amazed and delighted to read a comment from his son, posted two days ago, with more information about this mysterious gentleman.
It appears that there’s been a (so-far) bloodless coup against the Prime Minister of Thailand. (Bangkok-based independent news site.) While it’s a shame that it’s happened, it’s an over-reaction to mourn the death of democracy in Thailand.
Thailand was never really democratic. When I lived there (1996 -2000), elections were rigged; bribery and intimidation commonplace. “Influential figures” (whose names everyone knew) were totally above the law, controlling the drugs trade, illegal teak logging and trade with Burma. The millitary controlled the state-run TV, censorship was common and government corruption and patronage not just ignored, but regarded as legitimate behaviour.
It is also no loss to Thailand that Thaksin Shinawatra has been removed as Prime Minister. He approved a campaign of extra-judicial murder of 2,500 alleged drug dealers. His stupidly crass comments when 78 Southern Thai muslims died in police custody of asphyixiation (”they were weakened because of Ramadam fasting”) fuelled disquiet in the muslim southern states. He attempted to intimidate the press, expelling journalists from The Economist, and earned the rebuke of the much-revered King for elevating himself too high. He was becoming more and more authoritarian, and dangerous.
It is to be hoped that democracy will be restored (instituted?) soon. But I can’t help feeling that it’s good that Thaksin has gone.
