Travelblography by Jason Ricks

Looking forward to my next trip...

Favourite Moment - Hanoi

This picture stands out in my mind. It's everyday in nature and yet very unique; a pure visual dichotomy of sorts  and one that illuminates for me what it is to be human. Calm, contemplative and engaging in an everyday activity that if it weren't on the side of the road, amongst streams of flowing, heaving traffic, wouldn't seem out of sorts. It's the indulgence in this likely everyday habit and custom that interests me. Cultural customs aside, for me the image has a broader application as to how we structure our own reality. How we selectively dicipher what to take in and what to let go. How we can watch the whole world pass by and resolutely stand focused on our own routine....and although we get caught up in mass generalisations and become anaethetised to the little things, through all the noise, all the fuss, all the hype, all the confusion, all the marketing, all the dross, if we really look close enough, we can see through it all, we can see each other for what we are. Individuals.

Brief Reflections - Cambodian Genocide

I'm currently sat in seat 35D on a Vietnam Airlines flight to Hanoi, Northern Thailand. Never having mastered the art of sleeping on any form of transport, I long ago surrendered to the fact that despite my love of sleep (and it actually being a long held favorite pastime), for whatever reason if I'm not horizontal, preferably sprawled out, its not happening. In addition, my seat appears to have been designed for people with slightly better posture than myself, kinda bending in then out again just at the base of the spine, a little like the smooth curve you'd find on a shoe horn. My attention has just been turned to the half pint of milk I've been given for my tiny cup of coffee. ..and so in any case, a welcome opportunity to read, write and reflect on the past several days in Cambodia. So much has been written about the recent bloody past of Cambodia and the tragic events that surrounded the installation of the Pol Pot regime that it's easy to quickly become engulfed by the huge quantity and variety of books on the subject. However, one I would highly recommend is Surviving The Killing Fields, The Cambodian Odyssey of Haing Ngor. It's a chilling and personal account of life before, during and after the Khmer Rouge. Interestingly, my own initial introduction to the consequences of the horrific events that unfolded and their residual bloody stains on modern day Cambodia didn't come by way of reading one of the many books that litter the city's bookstores. Rather by way of conversation with my taxi driver 'Polly', charged with taking me from Siem Reap airport in to town. Polly's story, albeit briefly recounted for me in the space of ten minutes, is, I have no doubt, indicative of the suffering, upheaval and loss suffered by thousands of other Cambodians during the time of the Khmer Rouge. At a very young age and with both parents murdered by the Khmer Rouge, Tam Pally as he was known then, fled to the Northern territory of Cambodia, on the border with Thailand. He was taken in by a Thai family and afforded the nickname 'polly' and adopted the family surname in order to better integrate within the community. There he spent several years both at school and then college, the period of time during which his native country Cambodia was being torn apart by civil war and the systematic annihilation of thousands of his fellow country men and women by the Khmer Rouge. Having returned to Cambodia after the fall of the regime, Polly started a family, which he now looks after by making ends meet with taxi work and acting as a tour guide. The way he stated so matter of factly that his parents had been killed by the Pol Pot regime, made me wonder how deep we have to bury such grief in order to go about our lives as 'normal' as possible. Cambodia's recent history doesn't make for light reading. The well documented atrocities of the Pol Pot regime and indeed the events leading up to the military coup in 1974 will forever leave a bloody footnote at the bottom of any informed social commentary regarding modern day Cambodia. Wherever you seem to go in Cambodia, you're confronted with the stark consequences of such blind sighted violence; men, women and children without arms and legs are a common sight and serve to bring home the difficulty of leaving the past behind. The war maybe over, but the suffering continues, be it physical or worse, psychological; I can't even begin to imagine the mental trauma of losing family and friends under such brutal circumstances. It's a violence that grips you hard around the jugular and shakes you to the core; it leaves you dispirited, depressed and upset. These people are in every sense worse off than before, much worse off. This in turn must exacerbate the frustration, anger and loss that Cambodians feel when trying to piece back together their fragmented lives and get on with the everyday business of just survival. A brief visit to The Killing Fields was a poignant part of my own understanding; it wasn't so much the mass graves that hit me hard, more so the items of clothing that you could still see poking through the mud and dirt. These were worn by people who likely knew their time was up; worn by real people just like you and me, men, women and most likely lots of children who had found themselves, through no fault of their own at the end of the line. Mercilessly tortured and executed by soldiers barely into adolescence, with little or no understanding as to the 'whys' and 'what fors' of their actions. This is a point to re-emphasise; many of the soldiers of the Khmer Rouge regime were no older than 12 or 13 yrs old; from the countryside, with little or no education and thus providing the perfect fodder for cold blooded indoctrination and manipulation on a mass scale. Estimates vary as to the exact number of lives lost during the 1974-79 Cambodian genocide, but it's accepted somewhere in the region of 1 to 1.5 million people. Such a tragic and pointless waste of life that I'm actually a little lost for words. As I Ieft The Killing Fields, for me a place for reflection and contemplation, my mood was sombre. I was asking myself what lessons could be learned from such a tragedy. Any? Or was this just another bloody event in the ongoing cycles of civil war and unrest we have witnessed so often in the past 100 years, more over in the past 50 years of so called 'peace time'. I don't have the answers, lots of unanswered questions, but not the answers. Does anybody? I was startled out of my morose thoughts by a question from my taxi driver that both surprised and angered me " did I want to go to an artillery range and shoot some AK-47's?" it would seem this was considered part of the tourist tour. The bitter irony of such a remark given the nature of the site and all that it represented needs no expansion or explanation; but it did leave me wondering, was this just a cheap and dirty opportunity to cash in on tourists hungry for a bit of full metal jacket, or did this represent something deeper in the Cambodian Pysche, a penchant for violence that has been deeply ingrained into their societal ethics?

Boarding the Bus to Ninh Binh, Vietnamese Style

It was now 8.30am and I hailed a cab and crawled into the back two seats; pulled out the Lonely Planet and pointed at the bus station on the map, followed by my best efforts at pronouncing 'Giap Bat' in Vietnamese. The idea was of course to be taken to the bus station and board one of the hourly departures for Ninh Binh. I'd decided on using this initial destination as a base for exploring the Central Highlands of Vietnam. It would seem my taxi driver of choice had other ideas regarding manner of departure. As we approached what from a distance slightly resembled a bus station, we started to slow down. A quick glance up and the driver was now waving frantically at the other side of the road. "Yes, yes" .." I said matter of factly, "bus station please, drop me at bus station". To no avail, the taxi river kept shouting, pointing and was now beeping his horn. Strange I thought.  What happened next I can only describe from the viewpoint and memory of someone who was reeling from utter confusion as to what was actually unfolding before my eyes. It quickly transpired that my driver was in fact point at a local bus that was screaming its way from behind and to our left, gradually drawing level; as it leveled with our vehicle my driver began exchanging quick shouts with a man hanging out the door of the bus. From an initial once over, I saw the was bus destined for Ninh Binh. That's all well and good I thought, however this isn't a bus station, its a three lane highway with unfathomable amounts of traffic bombarding the asphalt in both directions. Happy with my own rationale for rejecting this preposterous idea, the driver seemed to calm down and pull back into lane. I assumed we were now trailing the bus either back to the bus station where I could promptly board or to some designated stop at the side of the road. I was wrong on both counts. No sooner had they exchanged a few sharp shouts from across the highway, I found myself sitting in a taxi that was no longer moving, but stationary, but still in the middle lane of the highway. Whilst I was floundering around in the back of the cab watching approaching traffic like a lame duck the back door swung open and I found myself being half dragged half encouraged to get out the car and board the bus. Aside from the little issue I had with dismounting a cab in the middle of a full motorway in order to board a bus (that was still moving along, I can only presume the driver thought this would somehow encourage me to look at the task ahead as some kind of action adventure stunt), I still hadn't paid for the cab. Given multi tasking isn't a forte of mine in the first place, I felt paying for a cab, dismounting a vehicle whilst lugging my rucksack, avoiding the traffic and then boarding a moving bus was a little beyond my reach.

However, as soon as I'd sorted the fare, the traffic began to slow down, offering me a fair chance of completing the task. With a quick gesture of the hand from my taxi driver, the makeshift bus conductor moved into action and between the two of  us, me moving through primal survival instinct, him, I suspect  slightly bored of waiting for me to get out the car, we made haste towards the bus and boarded safely.

I once again found myself at the back of the bus and once my heart had been given a few moments to stop racing and the adrenalin rush had subsided, I took the opportunity for a brief nap. Ten minutes into the snooze I was awoken in an alarming manner; by being lifted clear of the seat, still in the horiziontal position, and then dumped back down. It would appear that neither the road nor the suspension on the bus were up to any good.  The bus conductor approached and gestured for payment for the fare; I gave him 40,000 Dong (£1.5) and waited for the change, which wasn't forthcoming and instead he indicated he needed more money. I knew this wasn't the case and so requested the help of a guy sitting top my left. He was listening to music on the new apple phone; which I found a strange sight.  He spoke English and was only to happy to help out. Fare sorted, change given, we were closing in on Ninh Binh and I was beginning to feel early morning hunger rear its ugly head. As we started to approach the edge of town, a young lad boarded the bus and made a warm smiling gesture in my direction. I guess this was his door opener to conversation; he offered to show me his hotel and by way of credibility showed me a recent write up in the lonely planet. Sounded great. I later discovered the man who'd helped with the translation on the bus had called ahead to his friend to let him know a tourist was coming into town. It worked out really well and saved me the usual 30 minutes of wandering around as new town looking for a room.

Portraits from Mai Chau - Central Highlands, Vietnam