In case anyone is interested, FORBES reported the following this morning:
AFX News Limited
Queenco Leisure buys land in Cambodia for 10 mln usd to build beachfront resort
02.05.08, 5:21 AM ET
LONDON (Thomson Financial) - Queenco Leisure International Ltd said it has purchased 9 hectares of land in Sihanouk Ville, a coastal area in the south-west of Cambodia, for 10 mln usd, which it plans to develop as a destination beachfront resort and casino, including hotels and conference centres.
The casino developer and operator said as part of the acquisition, it has also acquired exclusive rights from the Cambodian government for the stretch of beach immediately in front of the site.
'Along with the expansion of Sihanouk Ville's airport, the area is being transformed as a tourist destination, with a growing local economy, as both foreign and domestic investors recognise the future potential of the area,' chief executive Dror Mizeretz said.
Today's announcement follows the company's acquisition of 48 hectares of land in Sihanouk Ville in February 2007,
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Friday, January 11, 2008
Mui ne
Once again, we are beachside. This time, in Mui Ne, on the south eastern coast of VIetnam. After a seven hour bus ride and after a flight ot ho chi min city, we are in a relatively small beach town filled with kite surfers.
we went 'sledding' down sand dunes today: it was hot.
fishing villages buttress the tourist area, here, and apparently where there is fishing there is fish sauce making. people's yards, here, are filled with hundreds of bean bag size baskets. those baskets are filled with fish and then a layer of woven straw and then bricks. the fish are squished and heated by the sun and excrete all their juices into the bottom of the basket. the smell is more horrible than even the most fetid stench in bangkok or ha noi. It is otherwordly. it must also be somewhat alcoholic
our little beach bungalow, however, smells only of the ocean. and we are sad to leave it tomorrow. but we miss the babies soooo terribly, we are also happy to come home. we have been spoiled by the low cost of our budget accomodation (usually 20 dollars or all three of us) but I miss my house and bathroom dearly. and bed. and shower. and kitchen. and i'm excited to see all of you soon:)
we went 'sledding' down sand dunes today: it was hot.
fishing villages buttress the tourist area, here, and apparently where there is fishing there is fish sauce making. people's yards, here, are filled with hundreds of bean bag size baskets. those baskets are filled with fish and then a layer of woven straw and then bricks. the fish are squished and heated by the sun and excrete all their juices into the bottom of the basket. the smell is more horrible than even the most fetid stench in bangkok or ha noi. It is otherwordly. it must also be somewhat alcoholic
our little beach bungalow, however, smells only of the ocean. and we are sad to leave it tomorrow. but we miss the babies soooo terribly, we are also happy to come home. we have been spoiled by the low cost of our budget accomodation (usually 20 dollars or all three of us) but I miss my house and bathroom dearly. and bed. and shower. and kitchen. and i'm excited to see all of you soon:)
ha noi two
Ha Noi:
We got lost twice in Ha Noi; twice, that is, in two days. The first day we proved ourselves silly enough to leave our streetside guesthouse without one of those handy business cards that EVERYONE carries in Vietnam. On our way back from dinner, in a cab, we soon realized that we did not know the street name on which we were lodged. We knew the name of our guesthouse, but as that failed to ring any bells with the Vietnamese-speaking cab driver we were out of luck. That is actually untrue. We were lucky, still, in that our driver patiently engaged in a circuitous ride around our guesthouse, him and I using cavemanlike grunts and gestures until we finally located our abode. It took us so long, and he was so amused, that he took pictures of each of us with his camera phone before we left: We may appear on some Vietnam cab driver blacklist for all we know.
The second time, we lost our way on foot. On foot, and in a very small section of Ha Noi. Vietnam, as by now I know, is famous for copying everything. Hotel names, therefore are repeated by the dozen in a very small area. We had moved to one of six Sunshine guesthouses. One of six within a few blocks. After we went to see water-puppets, an art form thousands of years old and still enchanting (for three dollars), we missed our guesthouse by one street and ended up relying a map on which I had cicled the location of our sunshine guesthouse--however, we were actually staying at one of the other sunshine guesthouses...the one in front of which a cab driver chose drop us the day before. So we were wandering toward the wrong place...and as nora's knees began to hurt, she decided to take a cyclo (bicycle attached to a small bench seat in front). as she pulled away, she handed us the map...and then the cyclo turned in the opposite direction of where William and I thought was correct. W and I found our way home in two steets: Nora, as she pulled away had yelled "if something goes wrong meet me here" as she pointed to the Hanoi elegance hotel. To shorten a long story (since this keyboard barely functions) she failed to come through the doors of the hotel for quite a while. i sent W to the Hanoi Elegance Hotel while I waited at ours...the he came back...then I sent him back again...over an hour went by...i was beginning to really worry. But then Nora called and said she was heading back. she had escaped from the cyclo driver almost immediately and had ended up being driven on the back of a moto to ALL six of the sunshine hotels, none of which were ours...then she went back to where we stayed the night before and found our place online. WIlliam, meanwhile, meandering without female escorts at night, was constantly harrassed by motos filled with Vietnamese prostitutes vying for his attention. OUr marriage has passed yet another test: he decided not to risk (in his words) waking up wihtout kidneys and instead came home to his wife.
oh ha noi.
We got lost twice in Ha Noi; twice, that is, in two days. The first day we proved ourselves silly enough to leave our streetside guesthouse without one of those handy business cards that EVERYONE carries in Vietnam. On our way back from dinner, in a cab, we soon realized that we did not know the street name on which we were lodged. We knew the name of our guesthouse, but as that failed to ring any bells with the Vietnamese-speaking cab driver we were out of luck. That is actually untrue. We were lucky, still, in that our driver patiently engaged in a circuitous ride around our guesthouse, him and I using cavemanlike grunts and gestures until we finally located our abode. It took us so long, and he was so amused, that he took pictures of each of us with his camera phone before we left: We may appear on some Vietnam cab driver blacklist for all we know.
The second time, we lost our way on foot. On foot, and in a very small section of Ha Noi. Vietnam, as by now I know, is famous for copying everything. Hotel names, therefore are repeated by the dozen in a very small area. We had moved to one of six Sunshine guesthouses. One of six within a few blocks. After we went to see water-puppets, an art form thousands of years old and still enchanting (for three dollars), we missed our guesthouse by one street and ended up relying a map on which I had cicled the location of our sunshine guesthouse--however, we were actually staying at one of the other sunshine guesthouses...the one in front of which a cab driver chose drop us the day before. So we were wandering toward the wrong place...and as nora's knees began to hurt, she decided to take a cyclo (bicycle attached to a small bench seat in front). as she pulled away, she handed us the map...and then the cyclo turned in the opposite direction of where William and I thought was correct. W and I found our way home in two steets: Nora, as she pulled away had yelled "if something goes wrong meet me here" as she pointed to the Hanoi elegance hotel. To shorten a long story (since this keyboard barely functions) she failed to come through the doors of the hotel for quite a while. i sent W to the Hanoi Elegance Hotel while I waited at ours...the he came back...then I sent him back again...over an hour went by...i was beginning to really worry. But then Nora called and said she was heading back. she had escaped from the cyclo driver almost immediately and had ended up being driven on the back of a moto to ALL six of the sunshine hotels, none of which were ours...then she went back to where we stayed the night before and found our place online. WIlliam, meanwhile, meandering without female escorts at night, was constantly harrassed by motos filled with Vietnamese prostitutes vying for his attention. OUr marriage has passed yet another test: he decided not to risk (in his words) waking up wihtout kidneys and instead came home to his wife.
oh ha noi.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Hoi An
Unable to cope with the thick, filthy air of Hanoi (actually Ha noi, as the Vietnamese language is apparently mono-symbolic) we caught a late flight yesterday to Hoi An, a one time Portuguese colony with the colonial style plaster buildings and cobbled roads to prove it.
We explored the city aboard rented ancient single-gear bicycles. Markets brimming with colorful vegetables and fruits, as well as a variety of squid and fish (intact) line the streets that border the river. Rice by the giant woven basket and piles of galangal, ginger and dried spices are sold in abundance by women in traditional clothing and conicol hats; small children dart about everywhere playing and laughing and waving and tourists. Bicycling did not return to me in the manner so oft quoted: but I managed not to run myself into anything too painful.
This is a city of dressmakers and shoemakers; and, for the first time this trip, Nora and I have given into the temptation to shop. We are having a few custom articles of clothing made, miraculously, overnight to stow away tomorrow before we venture further south.
This beautiful city is full of color: the plaster walls have been washed a sunny yellow or a mellow turquoise and as they chip and crumble, lichen and moss grow in bright greens and yellows. And, since cars are not allowed in town, only motos and bicycles disturb the narrow streets. It is an altogether different experience than Ha noi. It is a physical and mental relief.
School, looms, however as I wonder how the first day went without me.
We explored the city aboard rented ancient single-gear bicycles. Markets brimming with colorful vegetables and fruits, as well as a variety of squid and fish (intact) line the streets that border the river. Rice by the giant woven basket and piles of galangal, ginger and dried spices are sold in abundance by women in traditional clothing and conicol hats; small children dart about everywhere playing and laughing and waving and tourists. Bicycling did not return to me in the manner so oft quoted: but I managed not to run myself into anything too painful.
This is a city of dressmakers and shoemakers; and, for the first time this trip, Nora and I have given into the temptation to shop. We are having a few custom articles of clothing made, miraculously, overnight to stow away tomorrow before we venture further south.
This beautiful city is full of color: the plaster walls have been washed a sunny yellow or a mellow turquoise and as they chip and crumble, lichen and moss grow in bright greens and yellows. And, since cars are not allowed in town, only motos and bicycles disturb the narrow streets. It is an altogether different experience than Ha noi. It is a physical and mental relief.
School, looms, however as I wonder how the first day went without me.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Ha Noi
Flying from Phenom Penh to Hanoi, we believed ourselves to be aboard a direct flight, but landed instead in Vientiene, Laos. We hoped to find time for Laos this trip, but after it failed our cheap transport test, we reluctantly discarded the idea. Ironically we found ourselves disembarking there, for only one hour. Nora tried to convince the airline workers to let us stay in Vientiene, a supposedly gorgeous city, but from the plane appeared to be a gorgeous village, for one night and leave on the same flight the next day, but they refused. As we waited to board for Vietnam, a plane approached the gate in front us. It was the only plane visible in the tiny airport besides the plane that we just left. And, it was Laos Airline: the one airline that I refused to fly. Our guide book, which readily recommends such amusements as swimming in bug infested waters or jumping from some certain acclaimed precipice, includes a warning not unlike the following: for those who seek to grand stand by flying Lao Airlines, determined by the government and proven by experience to be unsafe, you do so at your own risk, for all others, do so only if you are left no choice in the time of an emergency. I had somewhat jokingly referred to this warning in earlier discussions: now I tried to reserve my amused term while stressing that I was adamant: No way in hell was I getting on that plane. Maybe Nora was going to get her wish to spend the night in Laos, after all. However, after about a half an hour, we boarded the same plane we had just abandoned and off we went.
We drove from the airport into Hanoi past sunset, so the city was illuminated to us only by the rings of streetlights and the outline of windows. But it was quite obvious that this was the largest city in which we have stayed since Bangkok, and, the most developed. There were on ramps and off ramps, not just random pocked crossroads. There were grand elegant bridges, not the heart racing constructions of bamboo and chain we crossed by some foreign God's acquiescence in Cambodia. There were freeways, wide and cluttered with the constant crossing and slowing and weaving and honking and darting of motos carrying perhaps one, two or three people...but not a family of five as we regularly documented in Siem Reap or Sihanoukville. And, there was the unique spectacle of Hanoi architecture: extraordinarily thin and tall buildings in every conceivable style, some lone, most shoulder to shoulder, standing in the night like a long smile of uneven teeth. We passed residential areas more modern and inventive than any I have seen: contemporary structures of glass and steel and sometimes stucco. All only a few meters wide, some seven or more stories tall, stretching back an almost equal distant. Like rows of cereal boxes turned to read the nutrition information.
We have spent the last two nights, now, amidst the origin for this alien architecture in the Old Quarter of Vietnam's northern 'captial'. The winding, narrow streets here were originally constructed around the year 1200, following 36 guilds of local craft and manufacture. The street names still include the name of the guild. And, since the Vietnamese letters are used by us as well, we have been able to find our way around, well, a little. And then, twice, we have failed and become terribly and hysterically lost. More on that later.
The buildings that line the streets are also partially ancient, with numerous revisions and divisions, so that today, many of the stores open to the street are only four or even three feet across. Behind or above are the homes or apartments, also only the width of some Americans and extending up or back some three or four stories. (I'll add more to this later..we have to go)
But,
We drove from the airport into Hanoi past sunset, so the city was illuminated to us only by the rings of streetlights and the outline of windows. But it was quite obvious that this was the largest city in which we have stayed since Bangkok, and, the most developed. There were on ramps and off ramps, not just random pocked crossroads. There were grand elegant bridges, not the heart racing constructions of bamboo and chain we crossed by some foreign God's acquiescence in Cambodia. There were freeways, wide and cluttered with the constant crossing and slowing and weaving and honking and darting of motos carrying perhaps one, two or three people...but not a family of five as we regularly documented in Siem Reap or Sihanoukville. And, there was the unique spectacle of Hanoi architecture: extraordinarily thin and tall buildings in every conceivable style, some lone, most shoulder to shoulder, standing in the night like a long smile of uneven teeth. We passed residential areas more modern and inventive than any I have seen: contemporary structures of glass and steel and sometimes stucco. All only a few meters wide, some seven or more stories tall, stretching back an almost equal distant. Like rows of cereal boxes turned to read the nutrition information.
We have spent the last two nights, now, amidst the origin for this alien architecture in the Old Quarter of Vietnam's northern 'captial'. The winding, narrow streets here were originally constructed around the year 1200, following 36 guilds of local craft and manufacture. The street names still include the name of the guild. And, since the Vietnamese letters are used by us as well, we have been able to find our way around, well, a little. And then, twice, we have failed and become terribly and hysterically lost. More on that later.
The buildings that line the streets are also partially ancient, with numerous revisions and divisions, so that today, many of the stores open to the street are only four or even three feet across. Behind or above are the homes or apartments, also only the width of some Americans and extending up or back some three or four stories. (I'll add more to this later..we have to go)
But,
The Killing Fields
We drove back to Phenom Penh by taxi, early, through the country, through rice-like paddies of morning glory with shanty-houses held up on stilts, through narrow streets lined with food vendors with corrogated metal homes, through the morning and into the city. We left time to visit the killing fields 'museum,' before catching our flight to Vietnam.
What I imagined to be some sort of documented journey through the destruction of the Khmer Rouge (like an extremely scaled down Tolerance or Haulocast museum) actually proved to be a much more raw experience. Much more bare.
The Khmer Rouge killed (through outright brutality combined with policies that caused famine) around 3 million Cambodians: 15 percent of the population. The King, who had ruled for decades, Sihanouk, was going to 'side' with the Vietnamese and the Chinese, in other words, the King was in support of communism during the Cold War. The US government secretly helped the Cambodian military overthrow the King who fled to China. The King, joined forces with a man named Pol Pot and his party, the Khmer Rouge, to fight back against the US supported military coup. When they succeeded, the Khmer Rouge overthrew the King and conducted a Mao-like cleansing of the nation: the year would be forcibly returned to zero. Cambodian 'city' culture would be destroyed. All people with an education, all teachers, all persons wearing glasses were killed. And their families and neighbors were killed. First, they were tortured, then they were killed. Vietnam 'saved' the country by taking control back from the Khmer Rouge. Then the UN took over -- unfortunatly due to the political climate of that time, the UN still backed Pol Pot's regime. Anyway, democratic elections were overseen by the UN in 1993.
We visited, just outside Phenom Penh, one of the camps were killings took place. We walked around an odd structure containing tens of thousands of skulls and then began to walk around the grounds. During the rainey season, each year, the mass graves flood, and new bodies emerge. So as we walked, we nearly stumbled over shiny white emerging bones, all over the pathes. I bent down and picked up a tooth, which had newly emerged from the path ahead of me. I held the little tooth, with its root still attached, thinking that it must have been a young person's as it was so healthy and clean.
We wondered how much longer the experience of visitng the killing fields will remain so raw. We literaly tripped over cloth caught around bone in the dirt: the clothing of victims seeking some final acknowledgment. It was incredibly odd and incredibly sad.
I'll write more tomorrow, and about Vietnam...love to all!
What I imagined to be some sort of documented journey through the destruction of the Khmer Rouge (like an extremely scaled down Tolerance or Haulocast museum) actually proved to be a much more raw experience. Much more bare.
The Khmer Rouge killed (through outright brutality combined with policies that caused famine) around 3 million Cambodians: 15 percent of the population. The King, who had ruled for decades, Sihanouk, was going to 'side' with the Vietnamese and the Chinese, in other words, the King was in support of communism during the Cold War. The US government secretly helped the Cambodian military overthrow the King who fled to China. The King, joined forces with a man named Pol Pot and his party, the Khmer Rouge, to fight back against the US supported military coup. When they succeeded, the Khmer Rouge overthrew the King and conducted a Mao-like cleansing of the nation: the year would be forcibly returned to zero. Cambodian 'city' culture would be destroyed. All people with an education, all teachers, all persons wearing glasses were killed. And their families and neighbors were killed. First, they were tortured, then they were killed. Vietnam 'saved' the country by taking control back from the Khmer Rouge. Then the UN took over -- unfortunatly due to the political climate of that time, the UN still backed Pol Pot's regime. Anyway, democratic elections were overseen by the UN in 1993.
We visited, just outside Phenom Penh, one of the camps were killings took place. We walked around an odd structure containing tens of thousands of skulls and then began to walk around the grounds. During the rainey season, each year, the mass graves flood, and new bodies emerge. So as we walked, we nearly stumbled over shiny white emerging bones, all over the pathes. I bent down and picked up a tooth, which had newly emerged from the path ahead of me. I held the little tooth, with its root still attached, thinking that it must have been a young person's as it was so healthy and clean.
We wondered how much longer the experience of visitng the killing fields will remain so raw. We literaly tripped over cloth caught around bone in the dirt: the clothing of victims seeking some final acknowledgment. It was incredibly odd and incredibly sad.
I'll write more tomorrow, and about Vietnam...love to all!
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Eminent Domain
Last night, while I enjoyed a rather extraordinary Mojito at the bar of our guest house, I noticed sparks flying just beyond William's head. And, yes while sparks often fly when I gaze lovingly into his eyes, these were of the more flammable type. A small bit of the hillside, about 80 meters away, was ablaze. The fire seemed to die down, but soon it re-emerged with gusto. A small group of us gathered, watching it.
One of the sisters that runs our guest house said to the bartender who is Khmer (Cambodian), " Ummm...in London when there is a fire we phone the fire brigade...what do you do in Cambodia?" He replied, "The same, but only if it is a really big fire."
Meanwhile, I sent William to gather Nora from an internet cafe just down the dirt road while we gathered our shoes and passports -- just in case. William thought I was over-reacting, but shoes and passports seemed like a reasonable precaution.
The fire grew in size, and sparks began to gain velocity and height on the wind, which was, luckily, blowing away from us and our abode. The pampas grasses, dry in this season, were easily succumbing to the greedy flames, as the crowd of locals and foreigners watching the blaze grew. Some Khmers began to remove their belongings from the shack across the dirt road from us. Seeing this, I felt more justified in my insistence that William retrieve his sandals.
Nora joined our vigil, and we shot short videos of the blaze trying to capture on her small camera the sound of the crackling fire eating underbrush. As time went on, no fire trucks arrived. Or police. And I began to wonder whether this fire was going to burn its was across the hillside to the ocean some five hundred or so yards away.
However, dark figures became visible against the bright red lights of the flames. Khmer civilians were surrounding the blaze with palm fronds and wide banana leaves. They formed a wide, uneven, circle, beating the flames. We watched with complete incredulity, as this small group of people put the fire out entirely. You have to see our video. really.
Fifteen or so minutes after the fire went out, as we were walking up out of the dirt alley, away from our beach guest house toward the village proper, a red fire truck appeared, lights flashing on the road. The appearance of such a truck must be an extremely rare happening, as it was followed by scores of Khmers aboard motor-bikes, some three or four to a bike (as everyone does here). The fire truck, however, stopped at the top of the dirt road, apparently informed that its appearance was anticlimactic, and retired its lights and sirens.
Sadly, this morning we were informed that another fire had began last night as well. That fire had burned down the town's market. Every local and every foreigner who had spent any time here went into immediate mourning for the people who lost all their belongings and businesses at the market. People lock down their little shops and craft stands each night: all was burned to the ground.
Today, we spent a bit of the afternoon talking to an ex-pat , Chris, who runs a charming indoor movie theater up the ally from us. He told us that his landlord, as well as other locals, believe that the government was behind the fires. The government has been trying to shut down the local market for a long time; but it is a venue beloved by the people here and the sole source of income for many families. The government is selling the land to a U.S. hotel chain. The locals, apparently, believe the government set the small fire near our guest house in order to distract attention, and the only fire truck, from the market blaze which was set soon after.
I guess Sihanoukville is going to be the pet project of the Prime Minister's brother, soon to usurp power from the current governor. The US government has already signed a 99 year lease near here for some sort of military base. And Marriott, as well as some other chains, are soon to erect some resorts in this sleepy thatch-roof beach town.
Poverty, for a Cambodian, is supposedly about 2 dollars a day; but that disguises the reality of things. Some people, it seems could live well on less, if they are in a rural area and engage in some sustenance farming. But in other areas, much more than 2 dollars a day would still only buy squalor and misery.
We can only hope that development in this little town will bring in some much needed infrastructure as well as living wages. I wonder how much of the money sucked in to the Marriott by tourists will be funneled out and away from this country that is so beautiful and still so in need.
We were hoping to find some way into Vietnam from the coast, but it seems that all roads (and even boats) lead back to Phenom Penh. So tomorrow we go back to the capital, and then to Hanoi by plane.
I am so excited to see Vietnam, especially Hanoi which has supposedly retained a good deal of its French architecture. I wonder if my children will ever visit Iraq on vacation... I guess we will see.
One of the sisters that runs our guest house said to the bartender who is Khmer (Cambodian), " Ummm...in London when there is a fire we phone the fire brigade...what do you do in Cambodia?" He replied, "The same, but only if it is a really big fire."
Meanwhile, I sent William to gather Nora from an internet cafe just down the dirt road while we gathered our shoes and passports -- just in case. William thought I was over-reacting, but shoes and passports seemed like a reasonable precaution.
The fire grew in size, and sparks began to gain velocity and height on the wind, which was, luckily, blowing away from us and our abode. The pampas grasses, dry in this season, were easily succumbing to the greedy flames, as the crowd of locals and foreigners watching the blaze grew. Some Khmers began to remove their belongings from the shack across the dirt road from us. Seeing this, I felt more justified in my insistence that William retrieve his sandals.
Nora joined our vigil, and we shot short videos of the blaze trying to capture on her small camera the sound of the crackling fire eating underbrush. As time went on, no fire trucks arrived. Or police. And I began to wonder whether this fire was going to burn its was across the hillside to the ocean some five hundred or so yards away.
However, dark figures became visible against the bright red lights of the flames. Khmer civilians were surrounding the blaze with palm fronds and wide banana leaves. They formed a wide, uneven, circle, beating the flames. We watched with complete incredulity, as this small group of people put the fire out entirely. You have to see our video. really.
Fifteen or so minutes after the fire went out, as we were walking up out of the dirt alley, away from our beach guest house toward the village proper, a red fire truck appeared, lights flashing on the road. The appearance of such a truck must be an extremely rare happening, as it was followed by scores of Khmers aboard motor-bikes, some three or four to a bike (as everyone does here). The fire truck, however, stopped at the top of the dirt road, apparently informed that its appearance was anticlimactic, and retired its lights and sirens.
Sadly, this morning we were informed that another fire had began last night as well. That fire had burned down the town's market. Every local and every foreigner who had spent any time here went into immediate mourning for the people who lost all their belongings and businesses at the market. People lock down their little shops and craft stands each night: all was burned to the ground.
Today, we spent a bit of the afternoon talking to an ex-pat , Chris, who runs a charming indoor movie theater up the ally from us. He told us that his landlord, as well as other locals, believe that the government was behind the fires. The government has been trying to shut down the local market for a long time; but it is a venue beloved by the people here and the sole source of income for many families. The government is selling the land to a U.S. hotel chain. The locals, apparently, believe the government set the small fire near our guest house in order to distract attention, and the only fire truck, from the market blaze which was set soon after.
I guess Sihanoukville is going to be the pet project of the Prime Minister's brother, soon to usurp power from the current governor. The US government has already signed a 99 year lease near here for some sort of military base. And Marriott, as well as some other chains, are soon to erect some resorts in this sleepy thatch-roof beach town.
Poverty, for a Cambodian, is supposedly about 2 dollars a day; but that disguises the reality of things. Some people, it seems could live well on less, if they are in a rural area and engage in some sustenance farming. But in other areas, much more than 2 dollars a day would still only buy squalor and misery.
We can only hope that development in this little town will bring in some much needed infrastructure as well as living wages. I wonder how much of the money sucked in to the Marriott by tourists will be funneled out and away from this country that is so beautiful and still so in need.
We were hoping to find some way into Vietnam from the coast, but it seems that all roads (and even boats) lead back to Phenom Penh. So tomorrow we go back to the capital, and then to Hanoi by plane.
I am so excited to see Vietnam, especially Hanoi which has supposedly retained a good deal of its French architecture. I wonder if my children will ever visit Iraq on vacation... I guess we will see.
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