Agent Orange

This morning I returned to the War Remnants Museum, to see the exhibitions I missed on my previous visit on Thursday. I went straight to the Agent Orange exhibit, which featured photographs of second- and third-generational effects of the chemical defoliant used by the US Armed Forces in Vietnam. At least 7.2 million litres of toxic chemicals were sprayed across Vietnam, particularly in the south and central regions, between 1961 and 1971, including 44 million litres of Agent Orange. These figures come from the US Defence Department; other figures have higher estimates of the total volume of chemicals used. A study from the University of Columbia states that 2.1-4.8 million Vietnamese were directly affected by these chemicals, although the figure is usually cited as three million. Countless more, however, have been indirectly affected, through traces of Agent Orange transferred through breast milk, from the food chain within a contaminated environment, or by augmented DNA molecules that have been passed down to younger generations. The effects on new-born children are varied and devastating, including brain damage, paralysis, stunted growth, missing limbs, fingers or toes, missing eyes or blindness, skin augmentations, tumours, cleft palates and other deformities such as two elbows in one arm, or two knees in one leg. Cancer and other diseases can be developed as a consequence of the presence of Agent Orange in the body.

This girl was born in 2008

The substance within Agent Orange that causes these deformities in humans is dioxin, recognised universally in the field of science as the most harmful and toxic chemical ever discovered by mankind. I personally feel that the American chemical companies that supplied dioxin to the US Armed Forces in full knowledge of what it would be used for, and the effects it would have, are complicit in the crimes of war that the US government are accountable for. To see the effect that these chemicals have had on generations of Vietnamese people is truly appalling and inexcusable. This sense of injustice is perfectly encapsulated in a wonderfully-expressed letter displayed in this room, sent to Barack Obama in 2009 from Tran Thi Hoan, a Vietnamese woman born in 1986 with no legs and only one hand.  In her letter, she asks Obama for recognition and compensation for the Vietnamese children suffering from the effects of Agent Orange, in reference to a public letter the president wrote to his daughters, sharing his dream that they, and all children across the world, would have every chance “to learn, dream, grow and thrive”, with no limit to their ambitions. Hoan writes about her personal story- the distress of her parents at seeing her at birth, and how her dream to become a doctor was never realised because she wasn't accepted into medical school with her condition. There is no social security in this country, meaning that those who are born with disabilities can face very real difficulties surviving. This is why so many of the people begging on the streets have stunted growth, missing limbs or facial deformities.

Upstairs was an exhibition called Historical Truths, which briefly mapped the course of the war through photographs and brief descriptions, from Ho Chi Minh’s Declaration of Independence of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam, to the attempts of the French to re-establish control, the increasing financial and material involvement of the USA, US escalation following the Geneva Accords in 1954, and finally coming to a crashing end with the tanks of the  North Vietnamese Army rolling over the gates of the presidential palace and taking Saigon. This room does not provide a full explanation of the events of the war and the reasons behind them, but the photography collection is interesting for somebody who already understands the general course of the war. This room should probably be viewed first when visiting the museum, then working downwards. Finally I looked at an exhibition called Requiem, a collection of photographs taken by press photographers who were killed during the course of the war. These included images of warfare alongside countryside scenes, and snapshots of rural Vietnamese life, giving a larger sense of place and dimension than other exhibitions in this museum, which focus solely on the gruesome and shocking images.

My conclusions of the War Remnants Museum from my two visits are that it is a very interesting place to visit, although information about the course of the war is thin. Reasons for the development of the war such as ideology, power and historical context were not given anywhere, as far as I could find. So I wouldn't recommend this museum as a starting point for learning about the Vietnam War. But I would recommend it for the well-crafted, if partisan-to-the-point-of –propaganda exhibitions, and some of the unique exhibits, such as the American planes and tanks in the grounds of the building, banners from demonstrations across the world against US involvement in Vietnam, and the jars containing foetuses stillborn due to the effects of the dioxin in Agent Orange (although some people may prefer not to see the last one).  As somebody who’s really interested in history, it’s great to be able to be in a part of the world where I can visit a museum about the Vietnam war, and particularly interesting that it is presented from the communist perspective.

Peace statue on the top floor of the museum

Education in Indochina

I spent the day at home today. It's difficult finding things to do on a Monday as most museums, swimming pools and other public places are closed. As I worked on my tedious university application, I remembered that my grandma had asked me to find out a little about education in Vietnam. I have been doing some research online into education across Indochina.

In Vietnam, schooling follows the Confucian model, with a high emphasis on the role of the teacher, and few opportunities for pupils to participate in classroom debates and discussions. Primary education is compulsory, and 96% of 6-11 year olds were enrolled in 2006, according to figures from a Vietnam General Statistics Office survey, although this figure drops to 61% for ethnic minority children. This could be to do with poverty keeping children out of education, cultural or language barriers within the mainstream system, or the scarcity of schools in rural areas. After primary education, intermediate and secondary education is not compulsory, and there are high drop-out rates at this point. Another problem is underfunding, as only primary education is partly subsidised by the government, covering 50% of tuition costs. There are further teaching and funding issues at Vietnamese universities. Degrees from Vietnamese universities are not universally recognised, adding to the problem of graduate unemployment that already exists in Vietnam.

Nonetheless, 2005 figures from the CIA World Factbook show that literacy rates for over-fifteens in Vietnam are high, at 94%. These drop to 74% and 73% respectively for Cambodia and Laos, both of which also have greater disparity between male and female literacy. Across the three countries, school life expectancy is consistent at 9-10 years. In Cambodia and Laos, education was originally only available to young boys at wats (Buddhist temples), but during the French colonial period, education was expanded and a French model adopted. Between 1975 and 1979, education in Cambodia came under attack with the arrival of the Khmer Rouge regime. Schools were shut down and educated people were particularly targeted. The education system is still flawed, particularly due to low teacher-pupil ratios, a lack of funding and the scarcity of schools in rural areas. Poverty also contributes to the low enrolment rate at secondary level (40%). Similar problems prevail in Laos, where education follows a Laotian curriculum since the Pathet Lao overhauled the education system and aimed for universal primary enrolment, a goal that has not yet been realised.

A hindrance to the education systems in Indochina, particularly in Cambodia and Laos, seems to be the high number of ethnic minority groups with their own languages and no formal education system of their own. Cultural or language barriers exclude these children from mainstream schools, meaning that they miss out on education. Moreover, poor national funding for education means that schools in rural areas are few and far between, and poverty keeps many children, particularly girls, out of education. This is unsurprising in developing countries. But as Vietnam has one of the fastest economic growth rates in Asia, greater interest should be taken in education and more money invested in this crucial area. As it stands, those who are able to will continue to send their children overseas for their education.

Weekenders

I was happy to see Jessica return on Friday evening- for the first time in a week I had a proper companion! On Saturday morning we had breakfast together and and planned our weekend.

Around midday we called a taxi to take us to the Saigon Pony Club in district two. The journey took almost an hour. This was partly due to the driver taking us on an extortionately long route to district two, and the because he didn't know how to get to the pony club. You don't need many qualifications to become a taxi driver in Saigon, besides being able to drive a car, and so I have often found that drivers have poor knowledge of the city. This can be very frustrating as the driver will not admit that they don't know where you want to go until the very end, after they have already worked up a large enough fare from driving around and around. We later learned that the journey should only have taken fifteen minutes. There was further inconvenience when we finally found the pony club. The place was deserted besides a cleaner, security guard, and mother and son looking at the horses. It transpired that it was still closed over lunchtime, and the owner was not there. We couldn't have known any of this as the website had no information about opening times, and the only contact number given didn't work. We had decided to turn up anyway to see what was available on the day. After another hour waiting around, the director, Amaury, turned up. He was a large, red Frenchman who welcomed used by bellowing "Everything is going WRONG!", complaining that his phone wasn't working and so he hadn't picked up our messages, with no apology for us having had to wait around for so long.

Eventually we got our riding lesson, along with another girl who was a little older than me and had more experience than Jessica and I, both beginners. I was given a well-behaved pony called Caramel. I mounted the horse and sat watching Jessica struggling with her pony Flame, who looked as though he didn't want to be there. He wouldn't stay still as he was bothered by the flies, and twisted his neck and backside so he could chew his knee, throwing Jessica off-balance. He spent much of the lesson stomping his foot like an angry child. Of course, this was hilarious for me. When my sister and I were small and we spent our holidays in Asia, our Aunty Jessica was the most fun person we knew to play with and irritate. Funny things would always happen to her by chance, such as falling into a ditch filled with cow poo, which I remember vividly. Mostly because we had led her blindfolded to the edge of the ditch. So seeing her screaming on this horse brought back happy memories from my childhood.

The lesson began with warm-up stretches while sat on the horses. I found this very hard because I very rarely do anything to stretch my body, being such a lazy, slouchy person. The warm-up was also hard because of one particular move, named 'torture', in which the director and teacher Amaury would throw us over one side of the horse and make us stretch for our toes, with only one leg hooked over the horse's body to stop us falling off. Amaury didn't appreciate the trouble I had getting back on the horse from this uncomfortable position.

After the warm-up, we practised walking, and then trotting, around the yard. "Amy, sit up straight!", Amaury shouted at me, and once I heard, "trot or I will whip you!".
"What, me or the horse?", I joked.
"You!", he replied.
Meanwhile, Jessica was being told-off for not kicking the horse enough. We were told that riding a horse is like riding a bike; you have to keep pedalling or you will stop. "People think you just stick your arse in the saddle and go", Amaury shouted, "But NO! This is the hardest sport in the world!". In fact, it was more physically demanding than I'd expected, and since then Jessica and I have suffered with strained inner thighs that make it difficult to walk properly!

After the lesson we went for a swim to cool down and to cleanse ourselves from the sweat and muck of pony-riding. Jessica has access to a set of apartments in district two that has a pool, so we had a quick dip before going to have our hair washed. We dined at Bahdja, an Algerian restaurant in the city. It was quiet when we arrived, and owner gently and carefully explained the menu through to us. The food was lovely and the service was brilliant. I enjoyed the conversation Jessica and I had over dinner; on the topic of love, marriage, and the qualities to look for in a man. She explained the 'three Ps' that she would look for in a potential suitor- provision, to be financially independent and able to support her, protection, to be strong and courageous, and pride, in that she can be proud of him. I protested that these three qualities would not guarantee love, and that she could fall in love with somebody who doesn't meet her requirements. She told me, "But if somebody doesn't have these three qualities, I couldn't even like them! How am I meant to love them?!" It was a fun day, which we ended at the Saigon Saigon rooftop bar in the Caravelle hotel, watching the in-house Latin-American band perform and eating ice-cream.

This morning I was woken by a text from Jessica. It read, "Today we Taiwanese have the national day celebration in Taipei school, if you are up, ride your bike and come join us!". The Taipei school is one of several international schools in our neighbourhood, a short journey on a bicycle. I got out of bed to go join Jessica and "we Taiwanese", to see what was happening. At the Taipei school nationalist music was playing from loudspeakers as a parade marched around the playing fields. Children in red shirts waved the national flag amongst the on-lookers. I later learned that the national celebration was being held at a school, and not a public place, because Taiwan is not officially recognised by the Vietnamese government. There is no Taiwanese embassy in Ho Chi Minh City, and celebrations such as this one have to be kept low-key.

As I looked for Jessica a man approached me and asked if I'd like to have a healthy breakfast with Herbalife. I had no idea what he meant, but found myself agreeing and being led off to a stall. Instead of being presented with my breakfast, however, I had my height, weight and age noted down, from which a series of measurements were taken. Another man sat down next to me and explained that I needed to lose 7.3kg, that I have the body of somebody three years older than me, that my fat ratio is that of a thirty-year old, or a woman who had had several children, that I need to drink more water, and numerous other complaints. At first I was bemused, but as he continued I got very irritated by his diagnosis, and became very defensive. He told me that the scales I was weighed on were 'very scientific', and able to measure body fat and water content. I was still cynical about this as the measurements were probably twisted in favour of a marketing campaign. Nonetheless, I couldn't help feeling hurt about how fat and old I supposedly am. To add insult to injury, there was no complimentary breakfast, and I refused their ugly-looking soy shake, as I would not give them any money now they had offended me. I soon found Jessica, and she was very amused by my story. She bought me a sausage on a stick and two lollipops to cheer me up.

In the afternoon we joined a rowdy bunch of ex-patriot running enthusiasts for the weekly Saigon Hash House Harriers. Described as the world's most eccentric running group, or the running group with a drinking problem, the Hash now attracts people all over the world and there are groups in 185 countries, according to the official world website. The premise is a chase, whereby runners and walkers follow a trail of shredded paper laid by the 'hares', often with dead-ends and false paths to add to the fun. At the end of the run, beer is drunk and songs are sung copiously. In all, it is a whole day's activity. In Vietnam the Hash works particularly well because there are large areas of undisturbed countryside to utilise, and of course there are no countryside codes limiting access to certain places or enforcing certain pathways. We arrived by bus from the Caravelle, and found ourselves in a quarry area, being watched by workmen.

Today happened to be a special event- the red dress run, so men and women alike were dressed in red, ideally red dresses. Jessica found me a red Chinese-style cotton shirt to wear as my red dress. We had decided to walk the route as our legs were still aching from the pony-riding. Besides, I was happy to take it easy as I could fully appreciate the beautiful countryside scenery and the smell of Jasmine from the woods. At the end of the 7km route, the group re-convened for cheese sandwiches and beer. Next were the obligatory 'down-downs' of beer, for 'virgins' such as myself, (although I could have contested this, having participated in the Saigon Hash once before, at the age of seven), and 'returners', which included Jessica. Finally there was a special competition to crown Miss Saigon, from the assortment of tarted-up men in their red dresses. It was good fun, although the drunken silliness dragged on a bit, and with this, and the long bus journey to and from the site, it was a lot of time to sacrifice for a relatively short walk. Even so, it seemed to me to be an easy and accessible way to go for a walk in the Vietnamese countryside, something that would be practically impossible for me to do by myself.

It has been fun having Jessica back again, and it's certainly been an entertaining weekend.

A selection of the Miss Saigon participants. The winner, deservedly, was the elegant blonde in the middle

Memories of American war crimes

This afternoon I went to see the War Remnants Museum, one of Ho Chi Minh City's most popular museums. It once had the cruder, and in my opinion, much better name of the Museum of Chinese and American War Crimes. Of course, the name has wisely been changed, but the propagandist intentions of the museum are barely concealed.

Unfortunately I only had time to see a small portion of this great museum. I took an unnecessarily long route and ended up with only an hour to see the museum before closing. Jessica had given me some warning about what to expect at closing time in museums in the city, so I wasn't surprised when a drill rang out at 5pm. An attendant came round the galleries to usher the slow people out, and the lights were switched off and doors locked the moment everybody was out. Visitors trudged down the stairs as though it were a fire-drill and gathered in the grounds in front of the museum. Like most other people, I took this chance to look around the American tanks, helicopters and air-crafts that were parked in front of the museum, but we were soon asked to get out. Abrupt but efficient. I liked their style.

In the time I had I saw the first floor and half of the second floor, and will be coming back to see the rest of it soon as it was so interesting. The ground floor was dedicated to global expressions of support for Vietnam and in protest of the US invasion. These included solidarity posters from French, German, Swiss, Japanese, and other communist, socialist or democratic parties worldwide. I was impressed to see photographs of mass protests and strikes against the US invasion, from every continent of the globe. A section of the ground floor was devoted to US protest of the war. This suggested to me that the museum had come round to a slightly more open perspective and not just unconditional anti-Americanism. My guide book, which is a 2001 edition, had mentioned that there were no images of the Kent University protests in Ohio, at which four students were shot dead by the National Guard on 4th May 1970 for protesting US presence in Vietnam. In fact the museum now displays the John Filo's famous image from that day. Other exhibits of this section were details of three self-immolations that occurred in November 1965 by American citizens protesting US entry into Vietnam- Norman Morrison outside the US defence department, Roger Laporte outside the UN Headquarters in New York, and Sili Jonekowski, in Indiana state. I had never heard of self-immolations of American citizens during the war years, and was very shocked and moved to hear that these people had sacrificed their lives as a statement of protest whilst being so far away from the scene of conflict. Other examples given were Captain Michael Heck, the first US army pilot to refuse to go to combat during the war, on 26th December 1972, and Hugh Thompson and Lawrence Colburn, two US army helicopter pilots who had saved at least ten Vietnamese citizens during the My Lai masacre on the 16th March 1968. The massacre at My Lai in South Vietnam was one of the defining moments of the war, as between 300 and 500 unarmed civilians were murdered across three hamlets suspected to be Viet Cong territory. Most were women, children and the elderly. Only one person, Second Lieutenant William Calley was convicted for his role in the massacre. He was given a life sentence for the murder of 22 people, but served only three-and-a-half years under house arrest...

A peasant being tortured

On the second floor I looked around a room demonstrating American 'war aggressions'. The room was introduced with an excerpt from the American Declaration of Independence, 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with inherent and inalienable Rights; that among these, are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness'. There followed several walls of photographs showing crimes of war committed by American GIs against Vietnamese civilians and prisoners-of-war- torturing peasants, burning down villages, dragging prisoners to death behind tanks, and two grainy black-and-white photographs that supposedly show a prisoner being thrown out of an American helicopter.

Ex-Senator Bob Kerry

Further photographs show the burning and blinding caused by napalm and phosphorous bombs, including on children and babies, and casualties of mines or B52 raids. There were details and images of a particularly gruesome attack on Thanh Phong village in the Ben Tre province, on the 25th of February 1969. Led by Lieutenant Bob Kerry, US Seal Rangers cut the necks of an elderly couple, before stabbing two of their grandchildren and disembowelling a third. Fifteen civilians were shot, there was only one survivor in the village. Kerry went on to be a US Senator, and only confessed to his crimes internationally in 2001.

Of course, the museum was one-sided and only focused on US war crimes, with no mention of those of the Viet Cong. In fact, while researching Viet Cong war crimes I found out that there had been a massacre of seventeen people in Chau Doc, the town I stayed in for a night during my trip through the Mekong Delta last week. It was part of a campaign by communist insurgents targeting South Vietnamese officials, and the seventeen had been tied up in a bar and killed by machine-gun fire.

I was cautious of this one-sidedness but for me, the museum was a haunting testament to the horrific barbarities that soldiers are capable in a war environment. The images of protests around the world made me despair at why such a bloody war was fought in a country out of America's radar, for no gain and only huge, devastating destruction. I am disgusted by the popular ideas that led to and maintained the war; the crazed anti-communism of McArthy that became mainstream ideology, fervent nationalism in the run-up to elections, and the need to stretch America's power and influence worldwide. All the while, American citizens were struggling with the economic collapse brought on by insane military expenditure, and African Americans were still struggling for equality while being drafted to war. Meanwhile, Vietnam was a tiny country far away repairing itself from centuries of colonialism, only to be invaded and occupied once again.

Read part two of my review of the War Remnants Museum

Feedback from our meeting with the students

I arrived safely home in Ho Chi Minh City this afternoon, and am considering what to do with myself for the next few days until Jessica returns.

A few days ago I received a forwarded email containing a letter sent by Vy, a student I met last week who is being sponsored to study by Jessica. ( please see: http://ayearinindochina.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/a-visit-to-some-vietnamese-students.html ) 

We visited Vy as well as some fellow students who are being sponsored by Jessica and by Nguyet. Nguyet is a friend of Jessica's who is now retired and spends her time co-ordinating the sponsorship of students in Ho Chi Minh City. After our meeting Vy wrote a moving letter to Jessica and Nguyet, which was translated into English. She has suffered from an undiagnosed illness for many years of her life, and is able to study at university because of the support of Jessica and Nguyet. I also received some more photographs from the meeting, which Nguyet had taken. I will post them both here.

Tu

Nguyet with Trung

Vy's letter:

Dear Jessica and Mrs Nguyet,

Last night was a memorable night not only for me but also for all of my friends who had met you in that night. I have many words to say but It’s hard to begin. When I rode the bike on my way back to the room, I still had deeply impression of our appointment. I was moved when I met you and Mrs Nguyet, I could meet and talk to you as well as I received the advices from Mrs Nguyet. You are so pretty and friendly, you always smile like sunshine, especially you also have 2 dimples like me. I wish I could talk to you more but I know my English is not good to response you in English, I can understand your questions but it’s so pity that my vocabulary is not enough to tell you what I want to tell. I will do my best to learn English so that I can communicate with you in English later on.

I was introduced to 2 ex-students like Ms Tue and Mr Pho. Both of them are really good and hard working. I was impressed by them especially Ms Tue because I had chance to share with her more. I heard about her difficult situation when she was a student, she had overcome many periods in university, in life and she also received the help and sharing from Mrs Nguyet. Now she becomes a successful engineer and good at English. Thanks to her interpretation, you understood my messages. It was 10 PM and now 1 AM already, time is flying. I had many things in my mind but it seems not enough to tell. In this world, whoever was born in their own way, we can’t change whoever we become but we can change our life. It depends on us. If we are strong, do our best to overcome all the difficulties and never give up, do not let the destiny beat us, I believe all of us will have a brighter future. All of my friends whom I met in that night had a very hard time in their life but they did their best to fight with it, to overcome it. We must face it, do not give up easily because If we can win one difficulty, we can continue to fight with next challenges in our life and our mind will become stronger and stronger. Keep moving ahead with a strong heart to reach the better future is our aim. All of my friends are people of spirit, even they have a very strictly life. I saw the disables, who were affected  by the consequence of the war, agent orange, did their best to prove that the physical and spirit pain can’t stop their steps.  I am not exception, after many serious difficulties have passed over, I am writing to my supporters to thank to you for your help and sharing. Without your help in the pass, I won’t be here typing this email to you. My hands are shaking and I have pain on my eyes due to my sickness, it also make me painful inside my body as well as other parts of the body, but I try not to give up to keep my dream and desire alive in my mind. Once Buddha doesn't provide us a perfect body, he will compensate other good things. I was affected by my friends in Tu’s room last night. I was really moved to see that Phu has no arm but he still can write and even write very beautifully, he can do everything else like a normal person. Other friends also have their old difficulties but they always smile, keep trying in their life. They are really good for me to follow. It is so ashamed to see other people who have 2 arms and 2 legs, think of giving up if they face a challenge.

I wasn’t lucky enough to have good health as others. I just wish I am a healthy person, my mind is conscious, comfortable and easy going in one day but I get familiar with my life in the pass and continue up to now. I accepted it and continue to take medicine to maintain my life. I know I can lose my life anytime, this feeling make me worry but I am lucky to have my parents and you, Mrs Nguyet besides me. I feel so sorry to my parents that they have to worry for me everyday, every time the pain comes so that I try to handle my pain, keep silence and not to tell them. I cry in the night when thinking of the sadness I bring to my parents. They work very hard to support me.  I promise to myself to try, to study hard and never give up the fight with my destiny and succeed because of my parents, my brother and your support. I admire sister Tue and brother Pho, I want to succeed like them. Last night I received from Mrs Nguyet the sponsor of 1.2million VND for 2 months. I am really thankful to you for your support. From the bottom of my heart, I appreciate your help as well as Mrs Nguyet’s. I know there are a lot of challenges coming but I strongly believe that I will overcome them because I had been through many bitter feelings in the life. Life is a glass of black coffee, you just taste it, you feel bitter but then you will feel it become sweet gradually. I wish you and Mrs Nguyet always happy, healthy and I think you will be very happy to see our smile.

Love you so much.

A taste of Khmer cuisine

I had booked a cooking class for this morning to learn how to prepare a typical Khmer (Cambodian) dish. Classes are organised by the staff of Frizz, a restaurant that I dined at last night. I arrived at Frizz at 9am and joined a group of five other people. From here we were taken by tuk-tuk to an outdoor food market to pick up the ingredients for the class, and to be given an introduction to the basic ingredients used in Khmer cooking. The market was filled with smells, some pleasant and others not so. Live fish squirmed around on metal trays and every part of a pig was on display for sale. The heat made it uncomfortable, but I was told that the smells would be far worse in the afternoon as the produce had been sat in the heat all day.

We didn't return to the restaurant, but to the site of the cooking school, a beautiful rooftop terrace that we reached by walking down an alley and up the tight staircase of a small building. It was a half-day class and we were preparing two dishes; spring rolls and amok, a classic Cambodian fish curry. I had enjoyed this dish a few times in Phnom Penh, including at Frizz restaurant last night, so I knew I would be making amok to the same recipe as the one I ate last night- a good way to measure how well I'd done!

Firstly, we made the spring rolls together. This involved a lot of preparation of the taro root, the principle ingredient in the filling. Taro root is a pale-coloured root vegetable that is 'tickly' on the throat and stomach if eaten without preparation. It was shredded, mixed with salt and squeezed thoroughly to bring the starch out, and then washed. The prepared taro root was added to grated carrot and peanuts, and seasoned. Then the mix was shaped into spring-roll shapes and rolled into rice paper, before being deep-fried for around seven minutes. Tasting them, I was a bit disappointed. The taro root became a flavourless mash when cooked, and although the flavouring was very nice, it could have done with some more ingredients in the filling, such as beansprouts or cabbage, to add some crunch and colour. Similarly, the shell was not crispy enough for my liking, perhaps because of the type of rice paper used, which was quite thick, or because they were deep-fried instead of shallow-fried. In all, they were a bit too stodgy. However, the accompanying sweet-and-sour sauce that we also prepared was very nice. It was a mix of two spoons of sugar, six of fish sauce, the juice of three limes and a spoonful each of finely chopped chilli and shallot. Very simple to prepare, but with a lovely fresh, sour and spicy taste.

The main course was much better. To begin with, we were each given a pestle and mortar to crush a slice of kaffir lime rind, lemongrass, chilli, garlic, tamarind and galangal. This was hard work. Next, a spoonful of chilli paste was added. In a seperate bowl we mixed fish sauce, sugar palm syrup, peanuts, kaffir lime leaves and, most importantly, coconut milk. This was added to the paste, along with a handful of sliced raw tiger-fish. The curry was cooked and served in a banana leaf basket, made from two circular pieces of banana leaf that had been steamed to soften and then pinned into a cup shape with toothpicks. The amok was poured into this basket, and cooked by floating in a covered pan of boiling water for fifteen minutes. When the amok was ready, it was garnished with a spoonful of coconut cream and strips of kaffir lime leaf and chilli. We sat down to eat our meals with some rice, and it was really delicious.

Slightly wonky but  I am still very proud!

At the end of the session we were given a booklet of recipes which outlined the main ingredients of Khmer cooking: prahok, a preserved fish paste, lemongrass, palm sugar, galangal, a root similar to ginger, tamarind and kaffir lime and leaves. I have really enjoyed the Khmer cuisine I have sampled so far, and would recommend this amok recipe to anybody who has the ingredients available to them. As the recipe given in the booklet is slightly different to the one we followed, I have had to describe the recipe as best as I can remember from the class and I think it is fairly accurate.

In the afternoon I went for a walk to Wat Pnhom, a hilltop Buddhist temple which was built in 1373. The name translates as 'temple of the mountains', but the 'mountain' is really a measly 27m man-made hill, so it was a very easy climb to the 'summit'. The altar inside the small main temple was dazzling. A large gold Buddha was surrounded by dozens of smaller ones, flowers, incense and candles. I walked around the hill, which was a small island park that served as a roundabout. People were having their toenails clipped and two monkeys were sat in a cage. It was a strange little place but there was not a lot to see so I moved on. I thought about going to see the National Library, but when I couldn't find it easily I headed back in the general direction, or so I thought, of my hotel. I found myself on a main road parallel to the one I should be on, so I went up a street hoping to get back on track again. But this street took me into a little neighbourhood with a dusty track and kids playing on bikes. It suddenly looked as though I were in one of the villages I passed through on the way to Choeng Ek yesterday. After walking quickly and nervously for a while through several of these endless streets I decided it would be best to accept a moto ride back to the hotel. It turned out I had been walking in completely the wrong direction, as we passed Wat Pnhom and continued on the other side. A lot of the time I have an excellent sense of navigation and can wander in the right direction until I find my destination. Other times I am overconfident and get it all wrong.

In the evening I had a delicious meal at an Indian restaurant on the riverside. I will be returning to Saigon by bus tomorrow and I'll be sorry to leave Phnom Penh. I've really enjoyed my time here- the friendliness of everyone I have met, the brilliant food, the relaxed and cheery atmosphere of the city and the beautiful sights such as the Royal Palace. It's made me keen to learn more about the fascinating history of Cambodia, and I hope in future trips I can start to get a better insight into Cambodian culture, including how the hideous recent past still lingers in the modern day.

In the footsteps of the Khmer Rouge

It was a painful day. I had hired a tuk-tuk driver to take me out to the Choeung Ek Genocidal Centre on the site of one of the Khmer Rouge 'killing fields', and then to the Tuol Sleng Museum at the former S-21 Security Prison. I wondered if it was a good idea having so much misery in one day, but after leaving the killing fields I was in no mood to do anything fun and so the Tuol Sleng museum was appropriate to continue learning about the Khmer Rouge war crimes.

On 17th April 1975,  after years of civil war, Phnom Penh was taken by the Khmer Rouge, an extreme Maoist group with a vision of a peasant agrarian utopia. The entire population of Phnom Penh were forced to march out of the city and into the countryside to be forced into labour in camps known as the killing fields. Denise Affonco's To The End of Hell is a very vivid memoir of her experiences of three years of forced labour, seeing her daughter die and husband disappear to be executed. Choeung Ek was one of these camps, fifteen kilometres from Phnom Penh on the site of a former graveyard for the local Chinese population. Here, 17,000 people were killed between 1975 and 1979, with a total of 3 million people killed across the country. As the population of Cambodia at the time was only 7 million, this was the most large-scale genocide of a population in history. The regime sought to destroy all remnants of the pre-revolution past, renaming 1975 as Year Zero and executing those who had held senior government and military posts under Lon Nol. The urban population were labelled the 'new people', even those who had recently fled to the cities from the countryside to escape US bombing from the war with Vietnam, which had spilled into Cambodia. Anyone who could speak a foreign language, wore glasses or had soft hands were particularly suspected. The Khmer Rouge figurehead Pol Pot saw no value in the educated urban class, only in the traditional peasantry, or 'old people'. 'To keep you is no gain, to lose you is no loss', he once famously said.

Memorial Stupa

The Choeng Ek killing field was discovered after the Khmer Rouge were forced out by the Vietnamese in 1979. At the time, swollen pits filled with dead bodies were everywhere, and the stench of death was overwhelming. All of the structures of the camp were destroyed after the Khmer Rouge fled. Starving, desperate and angry former-prisoners tore everything apart, taking every piece of food or material that was available. In 1988 a memorial stupa was built in memory of those who died here. Inside are around 8,000 human skulls as well as other bones and scraps of clothing that were dug up from the 129 mass graves on the site. Walking around, you can see scraps of clothing, bone or teeth that have been brought up through the soil by the rain.

The centre provides an audio headset for a very moving and personal-feeling tour around the grounds. Visitors sit or stand in silence listening to the recording. Firstly, sign posts mark the sites where buildings once stood. There is the truck stop, where twenty to thirty people would be delivered several times a month, blindfolded, starved and beaten, with no idea where they were or the fate that awaited them. In 1978 this increased to daily deliveries of up to three hundred people. Most of the people who were brought here were executed immediately. This was done by beatings with cheap tools at the edge of a pit. Bullets were considered too expensive to be wasted. But when there were large deliveries of people and the slow process of one-by-one executions could not keep up, new arrivals were detained overnight in a wooden windowless building with double-thick walls, meaning that nobody inside could see each other, and sounds were muffled. Next to the detention building there once stood a chemical store room. Chemicals such as DDT were thrown onto the mass graves to cover the stench of decaying bodies, and to finish off those who were still alive.

Another horror of the site was a sugar palm tree, the stems of which were used to slit throats. I could touch the stems to feel how hard and rough the edges were. Perhaps the most saddening part, however, was a mass grave once filled with around one hundred women and children. The women had been stripped and possibly raped before being thrown into the pit. Next to this pit was a tree known as the killing tree, which Khmer Rouge guards used to kill babies against. The audio guide also provided statements from former guards, as well as some very harrowing accounts from survivors of the killing fields. One woman was unable to prevent her eight-month old son dying from starvation as she was forced to work in the paddy fields every day. Another was beaten and raped by ten to twelve men. And finally a man who had been forced to beat a child before being being beaten himself, had been made to eat excrement and had watched a woman being beaten to death.

It began to rain heavily and I walked to the end the site which was marked by a lake. Walking along a dyke above the lake, I looked out at the drowned paddy fields on the other side of the barbed wire perimeter fence. At one end a one-legged man was begging through a gap in the fence. I had a strange feeling that I was at the end of the world. I walked back through the muddy path in the rain, between depressions in the land that marked dug-out pits. At the end of the audio recording a sample of Khmer revolutionary music was played, mixed in with the humming sound of a diesel engine. The narrator suggested that these were the final sounds that many people heard before their deaths here. Music was played from loudspeakers hung from trees at night, to drown out the sounds of screams. Listening to this and walking past the mass graves in the pouring rain was unbearably upsetting.

Bracelets left at the 'women and children' grave

Block B of the prison

In the afternoon I went to the Tuol Sleng Museum of Genocidal Crimes. I recognised quite a few faces from Choeung Ek and it seemed that I wasn't the only one doing the 'horror tour' today. I was lucky to arrive just in time for a film screening, which was held in one of the rooms that would once have been a prison cell. The film was a short black-and-white silent clip of footage taken by Vietnamese journalists when Cambodia was invaded in January 1979 and the Khmer Rouge fled to the hills to the West. Tuol Sleng was discovered, and inside were the corpses of fourteen people who had been tortured to death just before Phnom Penh was liberated. They were buried in tombs in the courtyard. The film showed graphic images of these bodies, starved, shackled to their beds with blood and mess all over the floor. There was also footage of the prison building at the time of its discovery, and scenes of five children who had been rescued from the prison alive by the Vietnamese. A guide explained afterwards that one of these children died shortly afterwards of starvation, and two others were adopted overseas. The final two are still living in Phnom Penh today, of course now grown-up. It is thought that between 14,000 and 20,000 people were executed here. The number of survivors is not well documented, as there are only seven known survivors. Neither could I find out from anyone whether this seven included the five children or not.

The building was once a high school, but under the rule of Pol Pot all educational and religious institutions were shut down. This concrete 1960s building was turned into the most secretive of 196 prisons in Cambodia under the Khmer Rouge, used for detention, torture and execution, primarily of ranks of the Khmer Rouge who were accused of treason, along with their families. Nobody who entered the prison were told what they were accused of, but signed false confessions after being tortured into submission. Usually they declared themselves to have been working against the revolution in one way or another, or claimed that themselves, family members and colleagues were CIA or KGB spies. Copies of such confessions can be seen in the museum. There are also wall after wall of black-and-white photographs of inmates on arrival, and many of beaten corpses next to number signs, as documented by the regime. Most were imprisoned and tortured for 2-4 months, although political prisoners were held for 6-7 months. Walking through the buildings, you can step inside the rooms that once held prison cells. Each is furnished with an iron bed-frame and other objects, perhaps a bowl, a pair of shackles or tools used for torture. On some of the walls are photographs of the rooms as they were first discovered, with dead bodies sprawled across these same beds. The dirty yellow and white tiled floor, the dark, stained walls and cracks and chips everywhere show how relatively untouched the building is from how it would have looked when it was a detention centre.

Tombs of the fourteen corpses found when the prison was discovered

On my way back to my hotel I noticed a sticker on a passing tuk-tuk, which read 'I support the KR trials'. It reminded me of how close to the heart the events of the late 1970s must remain to many Cambodians. Indeed, many would have memories and experiences of the Khmer Rouge from within their lifetimes, may be grieving the loss of their families, or still searching for loved ones who had been separated from them. Throughout the years of horror, the Khmer Rouge were accepted as a part of the United Nations and received support from the US, the UK and Australia amongst others. As the borders with Vietnam and Thailand were closed and lined with landmines, there was little international knowledge of what was happening inside the country. Indeed, some foreign nationals in Cambodia were also captured and killed by the Khmer Rouge. Justice is coming too slowly for those responsible for the atrocities. Only in 2003 was a body established to organise trials for high- and mid-level leaders of the organisation, and to date only one person has been convicted. Only ten individuals are being tried and prosecutors have announced that they will not pursue any more suspects. A lack of funding to the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC), and controversy surrounding particular cases, are hindering progress. Meanwhile, Pol Pot continued to be the leader of the Khmer Rouge for a further twenty years and died at the age of 72 of unknown causes.