Books, read harder 2017, Reviews

Read harder: The Bully and the Body Horror and The Tour

The Secret Race

I’m doing the 2017 Read Harder challenge from Book Riot. For each book I read in  the challenge, I aim to write a short blog post about it

Read: The Secret Race Daniel Coyle and Tyler Hamilton

Task: Read a book about sports

Completed task 5/24
The best sports stories aren’t really about sport, are they. Sport is a great lens on something primal and tribal in people. For other sports, it’s the finesse, or the team unit, or the sheer bloody skill. Here though, it’s terminator like grit coupled with a shadowy conspiracy story coupled with physical horror, and that’s super interesting.

And the book is horrifying, it really is. There’s episodes here of pure body horror. Not just the race stuff- though Hamilton’s statement that he needed 11 crowns after grinding his teeth so much out of in-race pain from a broken collarbone is scary. It’s the out of race stuff. The injections. The blood bags. The testosterone pills. The training- Hamilton said he got down to a gaunt 60 kilos by fasting, and moved like an old man, and couldn’t walk very far. All to compete in the big races.

There’s a part of the book where he describes a bad blood bag. Halfway through the tour, he’s blood doping – getting transfusions of what should be his own blood. The doctor who runs the scheme is shonky as all hell, and his assistant keeps mixing up the code names they apply to each rider. Hamilton talks about getting a transfusion and becoming nauseous, and pissing blood. It’s ultimately how he got busted- tested positive for someone else’s blood.

I don’t know about you, but pissing blood signals to me that it’s time to probably stop doing what you’re doing. The sections where he describes all of this stuff are kinda terrifying the lengths that he and others went to to compete in an environment that was fundamentally warped by EPO and dodgy doctors.

Hamilton talks about clandestine meetings, and codenames, and smuggling blood and drugs through borders, and it’s almost spy-novel levels of subterfuge. Of getting secret transfusions in other countries during the Tour de France, and suddenly coming back, a couple of weeks into the biggest race in cycling fresh and full of energy. Riding rings around the competition. You can almost, almost feel why they do it.

And then there’s Armstrong. He comes off, in this book, as a petty narcissist. A bully. A colossal tool who uses people so he can achieve glory, leaving broken people in his wake. He feels he’s untouchable, and endlessly self justifies his behaviour. Winning at any cost and to hell with anyone he has to tread on to get there. I can’t really understand this mindset- I guess I’m just not driven enough, or competitive. Or sociopathic enough. There’s something operatic about all this- the champion with dark secrets, being undone by his own hubris. I don’t know what it’s like to be Lance Armstrong, but he’s really a wretched figure, now shunned by most.

So, the book itself. It’s super compelling- Hamilton is very candid, and the journalist he co-wrote it with has gone out of his way to verify everything he can. The writing is clear, and the text is interspersed with attributed quotes from other cyclists and figures providing context or extra information. For someone like me, that’s not necessarily a cycling fan, this was extremely helpful.

There’s a bit later on, after all the revelations have come out about doping, where Hamilton goes back to riding a bike casually after several years. A free man, unburdened of his guilt. Cruising around his home town, just riding for fun. That bit I get.

Books, read harder 2017

Read Harder: The politics of Urban Fantasy


I’m doing the 2017 Read Harder challenge from Book Riot. For each book I read in  the challenge, I aim to write a short blog post about it

Read: Vigil Angela Slatter

Task: Read a Fantasy Novel

Completed task 4/24

It’s a compelling idea, contemporary urban fantasy. Somewhere, out there in the very streets we walk on, is a hidden realm, a world where the magic, or the divine clash, and save the world, and it’s all out of our view. Urban fantasy sets up this hidden world, usually with some sort of “masquerade” and covenant to keep it from the eyes of us muggles.

It’s an interesting idea, and when done well it gives a new perspective on our familiar cities. Why, in our sleepy neighbourhoods, there could be magical people living among us! That weird neighbour of yours, maybe he’s actually a vampire in disguise? Or mabe (and this goes double for Adelaide given our inherent weird-shit quotient) all those weird and inexplicable crimes have another explanation, it’s totally elves! It’s fun to think about.
That’s an interesting idea, but in some ways isn’t that a kinda weird metaphor? That in our very suburbs there are threats to our very existence? It’s almost similar to some of the discourse around ethnic and cultural minorities in our own communities, and I think by placing it in a fantasy context we’re eliding some of the nastiness that comes with that, rather than tackling it.
Now, this post is spurred by Angela Slatter’s Vigil, which is set in Brisbane and deals with Sirens and other fantasy races (known here as “The Weyrd”). The weyrd live among us, hiding their non-human traits through shapeshifting or glamours, and they could very well be just down the road- that weird hipster cafe, or in a local church, or that house with the nice but secretive neighbours. Good stuff. As a concept, it’s pretty close to a number of other urban fantasy series- The Dresden Files, Sandman Slim, Vampire: the Masquerade (an RPG) and even something like Buffy the Vampire Slayer or especially its spin-off, Angel. That’s not to say these are same-y, the execution is different. Nor is it to say that I don’t enjoy this stuff- I smashed through the Dresden Files a couple years ago and eagerly await the new one, I love Buffy, and I quite enjoyed Vigil. A lot of them follow the old pulp noir convention of a rogue investigator (Verity in Vigil is a general troubleshooter for the authorities of the Weyrd, Harry Dresden is essentially “Wizard, PI”) taking on a crime or a series of crimes.
In all of them, there’s usually something rotten within a particular sub-set of the magical community. In Vigil, it’s to do with Sirens (and I won’t spoil further), but in the Dresden Files it’s alternated between werewolves, rogue wizards, and the Fey. Other works have dealt with vampires near exclusively, and still others have hit all points inbetween. Often the general formula is that someone of *insert fantasy race/faction* has gone off the deep end and is doing something bad/killing something/trying to bring about a change in the order of things, and our intrepid hero must stop them. At one point they will go and speak/interrogate/beat up some member of *insert fantasy race/faction* to get information, and *member of fantasy race/faction* will either withhold information until later or have a crisis of conscience and give intrepid hero the information to help. The fantastical ne’er-do-well will be found, their plan thwarted, and the social order of the world/existence of the world will be maintained.
Isn’t this kinda the way sections of the media talk about minority communities? That these communities have customs and beliefs incompatible with the “normal,” and that these things are dangerous? And that the “members of fantasy race/faction” will withhold information that could save people? Isn’t this just the canard that “minorities will protect people from the authorities and therefore shouldn’t be trusted?” Because “fundamentally they are not like us normal, good people and they’re up to something?” We see that rhetoric all the damn time, whether it’s the latest panic about Islam, or immigrants, or any number of other minority groups.
It’s kinda troubling to see that sort of rhetoric applied to fantasy.
I may be over-reading here, and I’m absolutely sure that all of these authors aren’t explicitly trying to draw that parallel. It’s more likely they’re drawing from the word of noirish crime fiction, where this is all too common, or cop shows. How many cop shows have you seen where a particular ethnic minority protects a member of their own, and if only they’d come clean with the police sooner all this trouble would have been avoided? If they’d seen something, why didn’t they say something? This, of course, never applies to straight white people, because racism.
I just think it’s unwittingly a metaphor for right wing anxieties about minorities that have no basis in fact. Now of course, all these authors offset this- they point out that characters are making generalisations, or that they are jumping to conclusions, or that most of the magical community just wants to get on with life. All good stuff, and I trust that it is not the Author’s intent, and this is just one reading so disagree with me as you like.
As a society, we “other” people far too often, painting some folk as less than human. In Urban Fantasy, the other is literally the “Other,” and is already non-human, and that makes it palatable.
I think it’s something that needs examining.
Books, read harder 2017, Uncategorized

Read Harder: My friends, the books


I’m doing the 2017 Read Harder challenge from Book Riot. For each book I read in  the challenge, I aim to write a short blog post about it

Read: Phantoms on the Bookshelves Jacques Bonnet

Task: Read a book about books

Completed task 3/24

I’ve been surrounded by books for my whole life, in one way or another. My parents had a bookshelf when I was a child that I remember, filled (at least at my reaching level) with large format books and photo albums, with more books up higher. I remember my grandparents’ bookshelves (which still stand in much the same orientation), and looking through what was on there quite early on as well. I’ve always loved books, and I’ve always been a reader. Continue reading

Books, read harder 2017

Read Harder: Colloquial Geography

I’m doing the 2017 Read Harder challenge from Book Riot. For each book I read in  the challenge, I aim to write a short blog post about it

Read: Goodwood Holly Throsby

Task: Read a debut novel

Completed task 2/24

Theres something very true that Holly Throsby captures in her debut novel here, and its something that’s definitely a country town thing: the colloquial geography of the town.

What do I mean by that? Goodwood takes place in a little town in country New South Wales, on the shore of a lake. It’s a small, tight knit community of probably less than 1000 people, and one of the things that I noticed as someone who grew up in country towns was the way that people talk about place.

Every small town has a set of local landmarks that might be impenetrable to someone from out of town, but is known in town. In Goodwood, it’s nicknames like The Wicko, the Bowlo, the Horse, Woody’s- places the locals know and all call by those names. I think what’s unique in country towns about these things is that they’re universal nicknames- everyone knows them, and no one calls them by a different nickname.

Where I grew up, there were any number of these names. The Rollercoaster. Rawady’s deli, which remained so after the titular family sold it. The Pines. Which pub is the Serge, and which one was Puffer’s. These are all locations that any local could pinpoint exactly, but to an outsider always needs explanation. It’s not really a measure to put off outsiders (and in the case of Kapunda, I was that outsider once) but it is a hyperlocal dialect thing that takes adjustment.

I’m not saying cities can’t have local landmarks, or it’s own nicknames. Most people know about the Men in Black on Cross Road, for example, or even something as famous as the Malls Balls (actually entitled The Spheres) which everyone knows. What a city doesn’t have is a universal application of these names, nor a consistency- the pub that my friends sometimes call the Avocado is not universally referred to as such, and the lack of assumed knowledge of these nicknames means that you have to always clarify these things. Individual suburbs and schools and subcommunities in cities may very well have their own versions of these things, but that’s kinda the point- a place in a city sits at a venn diagram of multiple possible titles.

It’s a texture of place, a little detail that feels super true. Throsby apparently grew up in a suburb, but she’s done her homework.

Books, read harder 2017

Read Harder: on Superspies

I’m doing the 2017 Read Harder challenge from Book Riot. For each book I read in  the challenge, I aim to write a short blog post about it

Read: Black Widow: The Finely Woven Thread Nathan Edmonson (words), Phil Noto (art)

Task: Read a superhero comic with a female lead

Completed task 1/24

Superheroes occupy an interesting place in most tellings- they do a lot of their work in the open and outside the law. In comics, this relationship with the law is an interesting one- it goes from being actively hunted (the Punisher ) to tacit endorsement (Batman and his bat signal- in a recent storyline, Batman was even a police sanctioned superhero). This makes superheroes sit strangely with other parts of the government as well, and it’s here that super-spies like Black Widow have to sit.

It is an odd position.

‘Real’ spies, of course, aren’t like Black Widow. They aren’t James Bond,  they’re George Smiley. Maybe. We don’t know. We don’t know names, and they won’t tell us. Hell, if you work for ASIO here you can’t even tell us. That makes a spy who, in-universe, people know by name and appearance as an Avenger especially weird. Black Widow is a more or less household name in the Marvel universe, and splits her time between being… an Avenger fighting crazy aliens and monsters and robots, and also doing super spy work for hire. Can’t they call someone else? Why would you use a spy everyone knows on sight? 

Super spies in comics have a long history, and Black Widow is a surprisingly long runner- she debuted in 1964 as an Iron Man baddie, before switching sides and being redesigned into her current appearance more or less in the early 70s. That’s a very different era for a spy. Being an ex KGB agent now helping western superheroes is very different to now, where her origin is a bit murkier. There’s less clean ideological difference, no Cold War to resonate with the character. It means Black Widow as a character is unmoored from the giant conflict. In this collection, she’s working to atone for her past actions, but what they were and who they were for isn’t as clear cut.

She works for international spy agency SHIELD and as a freelancer, but even that’s an odd thing. SHIELD has always had a bit of a strange relationship with espionage and governments. Who precisely does SHIELD work for? Kinda…everyone? Who funds them? Also…uh…kinda everyone? It’s like U.N.C.L.E. I guess. It’s all very weird. Even the Marvel movies hasn’t quite articulated it right, with SHIELD working for an ill defined national council but based in Washington.

I kinda prefer the spy agencies in the DC universe, who have a clear purpose and work for a clear government. A.R.G.U.S, the agency thst crops up most often as the agency responsible for the Suicide Squad, has a pretty clear role as an American intelligence agency and a clear remit.

So super spies have no basis really in reality, but they definitely have a basis in spy cinema. Look at this page from Black Widow 

You can almost see Harry Lime in the background. It’s here perhaps, that Black Widow needs to sit as a concept. In a heightened Marvel reality, maybe the only spies that can exist are ones that we know. Ones that can tangle with Iron Man and turn up on pages with shield wielding super soldiers. Perhaps, in a universe where you can seemingly run into international terror organisations on your morning commute, the spies need to be visible as a deterrent. They need to be Bond, James Bond.
Or perhaps Widow, Black Widow

South East Asia

The country, the coast and the king: Chambok, Sihanoukville and a return to Phnom Penh

After a free morning, we departed Phnom Penh for Chambok. Chambok village is a small community deep in the hilly region of southwest Cambodia. This village, we would find out, was one of the villages that had been abandoned during the Khmer Rouge resistance, after the regime fell, and had lain fallow for a time as it was land mined. After being cleared, an NGO had assisted the village in finding new sources of income, and suggested ecotourism as a source of money, which the villagers had gladly embraced.

We wound down the highway for a time before detouring through a town and out onto a dirt track. despite tropical rainfall, we made good time and arrived at the community just before sunset, and in we were able to check out where we’d be sleeping for the night.

The traditional Cambodian house is essentially a room on stilts, used only for sleeping. The family all sleeps in one room, though a girl undergoing puberty usually gets a partition. There’s no queen beds here- a 2 person mat on the floor and a pillow under a mosquito net are all you’re going to get. Having inspected the digs, we continued to the village proper.

Chambok has set up a common eating area in the centre of the village for visitors, so shortly after arriving we were seated and fed with simple local curries and rice, a little different to the restaurant quality stuff we’d been eating but still pretty nice. After tea we were led over to what during the day is the classroom, but tonight would be the performance space.

The local children have been trained in several traditional dances, including the fisherman’s dance, several greeting dances, and what’s apparently the kids’ favourite, the coconut dance. For a bunch of small children, they were very good, and we were thoroughly entertained. The host, another local with excellent English, said that performances like these were used to keep the traditional culture alive, after it had been so thoroughly ravaged under Pol Pot.

After the performance, it was time to head to our sleeping quarters for the night. We had 2 houses, 8 people to a house, and after thoroughly dousing ourselves in mosquito repellent and using the happy loo (I dodged the bullet, but apparently a fairly happy squat toilet) we settled onto our sleeping mats for a night’s rest. I actually slept pretty well, once I’d settled in. It was hard, and I was a little stiff in the morning, but it was OK.

We were woken up in the morning by the assorted farm animals; it’s easy enough to ignore roosters, but cows at close range are a little more difficult to ignore. I went outside and down the stairs in a cloud of DEET to say hello to the family.

Cambodian families are very large and very young, and the family here had at least 4 children under 7 that I spotted. In the early morning they were all up and about- in the absence of mains power the family rises with the sun. After chatting to the kids and families we headed back to the village centre for a morning waterfall trek. Following a local guide and accompanied by the village dogs, we headed up a leafy green path near a stream to the local waterfall, a multi stage jungle fall that eventually waters many of the village’s crops. After taking some pictures and a brief stop for some of us hikers to swim, we headed back to the village for a breakfast of fresh baguettes, omelettes and bananas.

We left Chambok and made our way to Sihanoukville. Sihanoukville is one of Cambodia’s major ports, expanded greatly in the 50s with French and American money and used as a staging area for South Vietnamese aligned forces in the Vietnam war. During the Lon Nol regime Sihanoukville was used heavily by the Americans to stage in Vietnam, but that of course all changed during the Khmer Rouge. Following the establishment of the current government, Sihanoukville has resumed its role as a major port.

It’s also a beach town and backpacker haven. While I thought the main beach in the town was crowded and a bit rubbish, there are many, many beaches along the coast and on the surrounding islands. The beach near to our hotel, Occheuteal beach, is lined with bars and restaurants, and at night it’s pretty much a club strip, as I found out that evening.

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The next morning we boarded a boat to cruise to a couple of the nearby islands. Our first stop, Preas, was a small rocky island, and we jumped off the boat for a quick dip in the ocean and snorkel if you desired. After a lovely bob in life jackets marred only by a couple of misplaced feet standing on sea urchins, we headed to our next stop, Ta Kiev.

Ta Kiev is a lovely secluded beach about an hour’s cruise from Sihanoukville. It’s been set up with beach shacks, which are apparently super cheap, and the shore is dotted with beach chairs and hammocks that could be rented for 50 cents for the whole day. I rented a hammock and lay there for a while, but the water was too inviting. The shallow beach was lovely and sandy, and the water was a perfect temperature, able to be waded out a fair distance with minimal current or temperature variation. Over the 3-4 hours we spent there I probably spent 3 hours in the water (too long, foolishly sunburnt) because it was that good, and we threw a Frisbee and a volleyball around in the shallows as the sun moved across the sky.

Close to our predetermined leaving time, we could hear a rumbling in the distance, and the wind picked up as we left. The night before in town it had bucketed down, torrents of water turning the streets into canals, and we weren’t eager to be in a boat if that repeated itself. Despite a sprinkling of rain, the weather held enough for us to get back to the town, and we walked back to the hotel along the beachfront.

Life’s tough.

The next morning we rose early for the public bus back to Phnom Penh, and we arrived back in the city around 1:30 pm. After a brief (as Ly calls it) Nana nap and a leisurely lunch we decided to walk the short distance to the Cambodian royal palace.

The current King of Cambodia is King Norodom Sihamoni, who succeeded his father, Sihanouk, in 2004. A ballet and classical dance teacher (who according to his father “loves women as his sisters,” whatever that means) Sihamoni has been a strong advocate of Cambodian culture and generally a reasonable head of state, though most of the power lies with Hun Sen and his corrupt cronies (I’m typing this in Vietnam so I won’t have my door kicked in for saying so). Some sources say Sihamoni is a near prisoner, performing his official duties under close surveillance by Hun Sen loyalists, and his existence is apparently fairly solitary and controlled, which is quite sad for someone most people identify as a gentle soul.

The royal palace was built in the 1860s, and has been the centre of royal life since then. It’s very opulent and grand, and inside the throne room it’s covered in gold and crystal, with elaborate chandeliers and a throne that is only used on coronation day. The palace complex contains a number of treasures, especially on display within the temple of the emerald Buddha. The temple contains many jewelled statues and crowns, including one giant Buddha with over 2000 diamonds worked into the Buddha’s robe.

Not bad for a religious figure known for giving up his worldly possessions.

Kayla and I had this discussion- for a country so poverty stricken (and it is even visible within a block of the palace) what value does a golden statue have? Apparently Sihamoni is reasonably modest, but you wonder if some of the resources used to support the royalty could be better spent. On the other hand, we and the hundreds of other tourists who entered the royal palace all paid in our foreign dollars for the privilege, so maybe like the crown jewels (or, to go back to my last trip, the silver altars and paintings in the Cusco cathedral that sat in an area of subsistence farming) the real value of them is in their tourist value. Like the ecotourism of Chambok or the bars on the beachfront, foreign tourist dollars are perhaps the best direct way to alleviate some of the poverty in this country.

Stray observations

-Ly is a pro. On our way out of Phnom Penh, our original bus’ air conditioner had died, which, in tropical heat on rural roads would have been hellish. Within a quarter hour of realising this, Ly had rustled up a replacement bus and driver to not only drive us to Chambok but to sleep there overnight and get us all the way to Sihanoukville. We tipped the driver handsomely.

– Our bus driver at one river crossing on the way to Chambok got out of the bus and checked the stability of the bridge. A pessimist would worry about driving across such a bridge. An optimist would say at least the driver checked first.

– the house we slept in in Chambok wasn’t a guest house- we actually turfed a couple of families out for the night. Seems unfair, but apparently it is a roster system amongst 300+ families so the load is spread out. Still had all sorts of posters and things that were a personal touch.

– Power: the family had a generator, but most of the stuff we saw was running from car batteries, including the lighting and the fan in the house. I asked Ly if solar power was used, and he said not for powering the entire house, but that small panels were starting to appear to charge the batteries. 10-15 years and I imagine the story will be very different

-Chambok is a collective, governed by a local organising committee, and all of the profits are sunk into community projects including education, infrastructure and environmental management. Great model.

– Chambok villagers take their environmental responsibility very seriously, and I had a chat with Leng, the local guide, about their sustainable forestry and the challenges of climate change on both his and my countries.

-Kayla didn’t come on the waterfall walk. She said she had a lovely conversation, albeit in limited English, with a Buddhist monk who lived in a local monastery.

– One of our Canadian tour members is deathly afraid of spiders. He has managed to find spiders in every location we’ve visited, but he thought he was safe in the ocean. Of course, when we stopped at Preas, he turns over a floating coconut, and SEA SPIDER! The fact that it was later revealed to be a crab was a mere detail

-If you want to see Ta Kiev in its current state, be quick: apparently Chinese developers are planning a 5 star resort for the beach front.

– all this bus travel has given me a great chance to catch up on my reading. I’ve read most of The Dresden Files series on assorted buses as we’ve gone along

– A Ly-ism (and there are several): if something is not going to take long, he says it’ll take him one minute and twenty four seconds to do

Next: we farewell Cambodia and enter Vietnam

South East Asia

A cultural wound: The Killing Fields and Tuol Sleng

This will not be a pleasant read. I promise the next entry is much nicer, and if you go back to the last one there’s a lovely picture of a bridge. Trigger warnings for everything.

We left Kompong Cham in the morning for Phnom Penh, arriving at about lunchtime. After a nice lunch (I’ll talk about that later) we boarded a bus for our tour to the killing fields. To understand this, we need to talk about Pol Pot and King Sihanouk, and do a little bit of history.

Cambodia was a French colony, like Vietnam and Laos. Like many colonial regimes, it was oppressive and cruel, trying to destroy local customs and languages, and the French influence is visible everywhere. Finally, Cambodia became independent in 1953 as a Constitutional Monarchy with a western style parliament. It was corrupt, and torn between competing American and North Vietnamese interests, and turbulent politically.

Pol Pot was a teacher, originally. Born as Saloth Sar and from a decent family, he was educated overseas in Paris in the 50s and while there him and his contemporaries became committed Maoists. A crap student, he returned to Cambodia and taught French Literature and history, all the while spreading and converting people to Maoist ideals. Pol Pot would travel to country areas with cash from foreign backers and claim they were the spoils from communist countries, and that only through communism could Cambodia prosper. The country people were poor, and poorly educated, so of course they believed him.

Sihanouk was the King of Cambodia, also very educated. In 1955 he abdicated in favour of his father and ran for Prime Minister, running an anti-western campaign and succeeding, so for a while one family controlled all of Cambodia. Sihanouk’s mistakes, according to our guide, was trying to have his cake and eat it- he accepted aid from the Americans and even let them build the main road from Sihanoukville to Phnom Penh- then let the Russians move military hardware along it. Sihanouk repressed opposition and was unpopular but powerful

Eventually there came a regime change. In 1970 an American backed coup installed a new government, the Lon Nol regime. Saloth Sar fled to the countryside, amassing a force and controlling districts along the Vietnamese border, which would act as test beds for several of his regime’s programs. Sihanouk lived in exile in China, biding his time and entering an alliance with Saloth Sar to overthrow Lon Nol. The regime branded the communists in the north as enemies of the state, and these “Red Cambodians,” these Khmer Rouge, must be destroyed. Many of the peasants supported Sihanouk, not communism, and his imprimatur caused the numbers under Saloth Sar’s command to grow massively

So, come 1975, Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge took Phnom Penh. Following the takeover, very quickly they called the residents of the city to meetings. They told the people that Americans would bomb Phnom Penh in retaliation, so it’d be much safer to leave the city for just three days until it was over. Of course, the people were never allowed back, sent to labor camps and work farms, no belongings left. Separated from families. Work or die.

If you were suspected of being disloyal to the Pol Pot regime, you were imprisoned. Also, if you were suspected of being educated, you were sent to a reeducation centre, ostensibly so that you could be given training to better use your skills in the new regime. Of course, these centres, such as Tuol Sleng, were certainly not for education. Once there, you were interrogated and tortured relentlessly. Electrocution. Fingernails. Heads immersed in sewage. Beatings. Men and women- women were raped and their babies threatened, their breasts mutilated. You were kept in a tiny brick cell and hosed down once a week.

Our tour guide for this tour worked in the forced labor farms. As a 5 year old at the time, he had to scare birds from the crops, and go to sessions with the officers every week for brainwashing. He’d get a few spoonfuls of rice, while all the crops they’d farmed were eaten by officers or officials or exported. Our guide remembers that the youths at his camp genuinely believed that if they joined the army they’d get fed, and have a better life- they believed the propaganda. These child soldiers had to swear loyalty above all else. Some had to kill their own relatives as a test of fealty.

So, the Killing Fields. When you had outlived your usefulness from interrogation, when you had been “reeducated” as much as you were ever going to be, you were loaded on a truck and taken to the fields. They told you this was where you’d get your new job, now that you’d proven your usefulness You were held in a shed, and then the officers at the fields took you to the edge of the pit. They played games. They raped the women. They dashed the skulls of babies against trees, in front of their mothers. Then they killed you. They didn’t shoot you, waste of a bullet. They beat the back of your head in. They cut your throat. They disembowelled you. Then they threw you into a mass grave, and if you weren’t already dead you died there

They weaponised the trees. Theres a palm tree that grows near the fields with a serrated edge to the fronds. For a laugh, they’d use that to kill you.

Today the fields are a quiet place, covered in grass. Many of the mass graves have been excavated, but of course the remains are impossible to match to specific people. The Chuong Ek centre, where we went, one of many, is a small area. Everywhere you walk, there are pieces in the soil- bones, clothes. They’ve excavated many of the pits, but the Prime Minister has stopped the process as he states that they’ve dug enough and bringing up more won’t help the nation heal. You walk through this place and feel the grief. It’s sad, and moving, and mundane- like much evil, it’s banal and mechanical in its efficiency.

At the centre of the Chuong Ek centre there’s a stupa, containing many of the remains. Some of the skulls are fractured. Some of the legs and wrists are still bound in wire. Young. Old. Men. Women. Children.

There is one grave separate from the others. All the bodies within were headless. In Buddhist mythology, a spirit cannot rest if the body is not whole, and the spirits must wander restlessly until they are reunited or hopefully pass on themselves. All of the bodies in this grave are for Khmer Rouge, perceived traitors or dissenters or “lazy” or those that had simply outlived their usefulness. The heads have not been found.

We left the Killing Fields for Tuol Sleng. The Sleng is a poisonous native nut, and Tuol Sleng is therefore poison hill. The name predates the Khmer regime, and indeed so does the building- it was originally a school. Following the evacuation of Phnom Penh the building was repurposed, walled with barbed wire and began its new life. Across the four buildings, over the course of the Khmer Rouge regime more than 17,000 people were processed in this centre. Not just locals either, international prisoners including an Australian journalist were held and accused of colluding with the CIA.

The Pol Pot regime ended in 1979, when a Vietnamese backed force assisted by Cambodian generals invaded the country. They reached Phnom Penh on Christmas day, the Khmer Rouge forces withdrawing from the city. About nine days later, several Vietnamese journalists attached to the invading force were scouting the cleared area when they noticed a barbed wire fence. Investigating the abandoned building, they discovered on the ground floor, in the “VIP” section, the final victims of Tuol Sleng, executed during the evacuation and left to rot. They called the Vietnamese forces, and they secured the facility.

And found survivors. Hiding in the kitchen were 5 children, including two babies, who had survived the withdrawal. The babies were adopted by German couples, and most of them are still alive today. One even works at the facility.

Other than the children, there were 7 other survivors. The withdrawing Khmer forces took 7 prisoners with them who they deemed useful. This squad was intercepted by the Vietnamese forces, and freed. Of those seven, two survive today. One, Bou Meng, was an artist who was forced to paint propaganda pictures, and Chum Mey. Chum Mey was a mechanic, and had worked in a western factory before the regime. Brought to Tuol Sleng in late 1978, he spent 2 months at the facility before the fall, being beaten and interrogated. Following the fall of Phnom Penh, Chum Mey and the Khmer Rouge officers had a chance encounter with Mey’s wife and fourth son, who were added with others to a prison. Following two days march, they were marched into a field and the soldiers opened fire.

Mey survived. His wife and child did not.

We met him. Now an old man, Chum Mey supports the museum and runs an association to help the people who were imprisoned, and has testified in trials of Khmer Rouge officials. I bought his book, autographed, but I’m not convinced I have the strength to read it.

Following the Vietnamese occupation, Pol Pot and his senior leadership fled to the Thai border, attempting to fight a rearguard action and consolidate his power base. Pot received support for this from the Chinese and the Thai and, indirectly, the west, who wanted them to check the power of the Russian backed Vietnamese and stop a “red tide” sweeping through Thailand and further south. All those countries of course decried the killings, but still.

The Vietnamese occupied the country until 1989, when UN peacekeepers took control and oversaw the transition to the current democracy. Sihanouk, having been used by Pol Pot as a puppet and a prisoner and had fled in 1976 to China, assumed the throne again in 1991, his role written into the constitution. The Cambodian general, Hun Sen, who had lead the forces that unseated the Khmer Rouge and had been administrating the country on behalf of the Vietnamese, was elected deputy prime minister (though really controlling all of the power) and then Prime Minister outright in the following election in 1998.

He is still Prime Minister today. His rule is corrupt, he surrounds himself with essentially a small private army, and the elections have been plagued by allegations of fixing, to the point where the previous election he lost, but his corrupt control of the electoral agency meant he “won” a large number of seats and strong-armed another party into letting him form minority government. He brutally represses protest and dissent. His time is, one hopes, nearing an end- with a large number of Cambodians coming of voting age before the next election, he will not be able to cheat his way in again. What happens to his corrupt system though is anyone’s guess.

Sihanouk died 3 years ago, having abdicated in his son’s favour in 2004.

Pol Pot died in the western area of Cambodia in 1998. The Prime Minister declared a general amnesty to former Khmer Rouge who would join the government, and many of the prominent figures in the government today were former Khmer Rouge. Our guide said that one of his neighbours was a Khmer Rouge official, living openly over his back door. He said that he and his neighbours had been angry at finding this out, and had plotted revenge…but where would it stop? It is not the Buddhist way.

5 senior Khmer Rouge officials have been tried for crimes against humanity. One, Khang Kek Lu, nicknamed Comrade Duch, was the chief administrator of Tuol Sleng. He had been a mathematics teacher. He was convicted and is now in prison. 2 have escaped trial, as one died of a heart attack and another, his wife, is suffering severe dementia. The remaining two have received life sentences but are still under trial for other charges.

Bou Meng and Chum Mey testified at Comrade Duch’s trial.

The total cost of the trial, largely foreign aid backed, is over 200 million.

Millions dollars were also found in the bank account of dead Khmer Rouge officials, so who knows where it all is now.

Over the course of the four years of the Khmer Rouge regime, between one and a half and three million people died. If not directly executed, they died due to starvation or illness.

So that’s the killing fields. It’s horrible, and unpleasant, and really fucking upsetting.

It’s also important, and should be remembered, and never repeated.

Stray Observations

-Lunch in Phnom Penh was at the Friends restaurant, another charity run restaurant supporting hospitality education for orphans and supporting a couple of orphanages, including one next door to the restaurant. They serve a number of great dishes, I had the ant dish I mentioned in the previous entry, and on our second visit to Phnom Penh Kayla and I went there again. They also have a charity ship selling handicrafts, several of which we bought as souvenirs. Total guilt free purchases, given the cause.

– The history here is of course brief and simplified. Any errors are mine alone.

Next: a remote village and a tropical beach.