JIPP'S WORLD | …….The World Without Borders

Hello Again Phnom Penh!

Posted on July 25, 2015 by jipp

If there was one country that I wanted to go back to – and this time with my mom – it’d be Cambodia. My mom is very much into history, especially those related to humanity so I decided it had to be Cambodia. It was more like a family trip this time – with two of my eldest siblings tagging along.

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So I traced back the route that I took when I went to Cambodia for the first time back in 2011. I touched down at Phnom Penh, took a bus to Siem Reap and returned to KL from there.

We stayed at a hotel called Pandan Boutique Hotel right in the middle of Phnom Penh. I didn’t really like the location but it was located in a rather quite area of the city, surrounded by other hotels and posh apartments and I did see good restaurants within the vicinity but they were more like for the tourists so I didn’t go to any of them. The hotel was good and the hospitality was superb despite the fact that most of the staff looked very young as if they have just finished secondary school or something. Priced at some USD38 per night on Agoda, the room was quite comfortable, spotlessly clean and very spacious. I couldn’t really ask for more.

My sister is an avid traveler – or rather a tourist – because she is more into tour packages so she was very excited about joining me and having her very first taste of traveling without subjecting herself to a tight schedule and restricted movement offered in tour packages. In fact she was the one who was so eager to taste just about every weird food that we came upon on the streets of Phnom Penh and later in Siem Reap.

My brother is a house builder – and in almost total contrast to me – is one of the handiest persons that I’ve ever known. So coming to Cambodia really made him excited especially for the fact that Cambodians are famous for their craftsmanship that traverses back to the time when the Angkor Wat was built. He was so amused when he first saw a Tuk Tuk outside of Phnom Penh international Airport that he actually took photos from just about every angle of the 3-tyered vehicle. “I could make this back in Sabah” he said confidently. Knowing him all my life, I actually believed him.

Phnom Penh really has changed a lot from the last time I went there. There seems to be more people and the number of vehicles seems to have doubled and it is much more busy and noisy and bustling now. It is so difficult to cross a road during peak hour that there were times when we were left stranded on the side of the road so we had to ask any of the policemen that we saw around to take us over to the other side of the road. The traffic really can be so scary and very intimidating.

The Independence Monument

Of course, traveling with mom on a Sunday means I had the extra chore of finding a church that we could attend before anything else. After a lil bit of googling, I managed to locate St Joseph’s Catholic Church on the east part of Phnom Penh. The church looks very much dilapidated from the outside and it was actually quite nice and well-maintained on the inside.

The church compound is a combination of a beautiful school building of European architecture (probably Dutch) and probably built during the colonial time. Co-joining the school building itself is the church where the local mass is held. I was there just in time to see how the mass was performed in Khmer (national language of Cambodia) and I couldn’t help but seeing a significant influence of Buddhism even in its decoration. They even had incense sticks placed at the altar – the kind that they burn at temples.

Mom at the entrance to St. Joseph’s Catholic Church in Phnom Penh

The English mass that we attended was not performed there but at another building which was more like a rundown half-concrete and half-wooden 3-storey. I could only assume that the reason why the local mass is performed at a different building is the need to take off shoes which is not a necessity when attending the English mass – and probably the exclusion of those Buddhism-influenced deco and rites.

So, after having lunch at one of the restaurants that overlooks the mighty Mekong River, we dared the blazing hot sun and the dusty air of Phnom Penh to go to the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum. I found it quite difficult to explain about the genocide to them in the beginning due to its complexity so I just led them to the tour according to the numbering provided on the brochure.

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I later found it wasn’t quite a smart move because they wouldn’t see anything interesting in those empty rooms without really knowing what exactly happened in those rooms during the genocide. I should have brought them to those rooms with those exhibited photos and illustrative paintings to fastidate their understanding of what really took place right there during what is considered one of the worse genocides in the modern era.

Just as I was, they seemed to be so much disturbed by the mug shots of those who were cruelly prosecuted at the Tuol Sleng. My mother was especially affected by the mug shots of children who were killed in the name of ambition and power. She couldn’t help but thinking of her grands. She couldn’t imagine if some of those in the photos were actually her grands. By the time we made it out of the compound again, they were all quite, probably trying to chew in whatever that they had learned from that rather brief but very eye-opening tour.

Then from Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, we headed out of the city towards the Killing Field where most of the mass prosecution had to be carried out during the night when the number of prisoners at the Tuol Sleng was too big for them to handle. That was when all of a sudden a very heavy downpour suddenly took over from what appeared to be a very hot day earlier.

It was so heavy that it felt almost like a thunderstorm but the Tuk Tuk driver seemed so adamant about pushing on. In fact he kept assuring us that it was very normal – which was actually evidenced by the fact that vehicles were still galloping by – but then it was the ladies who couldn’t take it any longer. I had to ask the driver to stop and he stopped at a marble slab manufacturer where we took cover behind a parked car. It really was a raging rain.

Brrrr!

We continued over to the Killing Field when the rain slowed down and it was still drizzling when we reached the gate. The most significant improvement at least through the eyes (or rather ears) of a Malaysian like me is the availability of audio guide in Malay. My mom and siblings seemed so immersed in the audio as we traversed along the path of the tour across the killing site that in the past had witnessed some of the darkest history that the world has ever seen – or rather not seen since what happened in Cambodia during the genocide where 3 million Cambodians were killed within a very short span of 3 years was largely unknown to the outside world.

By the time we arrived at the last stop of the tour – which was the multi-level racks where dozens of dug-out skulls of those who were prosecuted at the killing field were placed in – my mom seemed quite so stressed out, and angry especially for the fact that Pol Pot – the man who was responsible for the genocide had never been prosecuted and actually died a happy man (and with a young wife) at 90.

“God will punish him anyway” she said, in a very church-ly way.

“I don’t think they were smart enough. 3 million people could fight back if they were smart (enough)” said my brother when I told him how Pol Pot targeted the intellectual Cambodians who he thought could pose a threat to his ambition.

Needless to say, the genocide became our topic of conversation for much of the rest of the day.

We ended our tour in Phnom Penh by going to the Central Market – something that I didn’t get to do when I came to Phnom Penh 3 years ago. They were jumping in excitement as they discovered more and more things at the market. Of course what made them really go wow was the sight of exotic food, especially the fried tarantula. I bought a stack, supposedly one tarantula for each of us but I ended up being the only one who didn’t eat. Huhu.

Shopping started quite early especially for my sister who was all over to buy whatever she thought was interesting enough to buy. She only stopped when I assured her that there’d be more to buy in Siem Reap. I mean, we had a bus to catch anyway.

It would be our last day in Phnom Penh and we returned to the hotel to prepare for our bus trip to Siem Reap. A van came to pick us up at the hotel about an hour before the departure time at 12.30pm. BY the time we pulled out of Phnom Penh, it was almost 1pm. My sister kept saying how her wish to see the Angkor Wat in real since she was 17-years-old would finally be fulfilled.

I mean, there’s always something so exciting about fulfilling a dream and wish even though it is not even ours.

Posted in Traveling | Tagged Cambodia, Family Trip, Phnom Penh, SEA | 2 Comments

The Quake

Posted on July 4, 2015 by jipp

I have never been emotionally involved in a tragedy ever before – more than I was when the earthquake with a magnitude of 5.9 struck a big part of Sabah – which I thought was not serious at first – until the news of casualties at Mount Kinabalu reached me. The final number of those killed – 18 – came to me as a shock; in fact, it devastated me more than I had thought it would.

Mount Kinabalu is not just another mountain. It is a mountain that means so much to the people of Sabah. I remember how I’d climb up to the rooftop of my family’s house in Keningau just to take a glimpse of the mountain almost every morning. It had to be morning, because it’d usually be obliterated by clouds when the sun rose further away from the horizon.

Source: http://www.theantdaily.com/Main/The-face-of-national-heroes-shine-on-Mt-Kinabalu

I first climbed Mount Kinabalu when I was 14 years old, together with my group of schoolmates and teachers from Sekolah Menengah Kebangsaan Keningau. I almost didn’t make it to the peak because I was down with sickness on the night before the summit attack – which I learned much later in life was a form of altitude sickness. I remember how I didn’t even take any photo up at the peak because I was the last one to arrive and everybody else was starting to go down so nobody had the time to take even a single photo of me. Uhuks!

Then I climbed again with a group of friends when I was studying at the University of Malaya. That was one of my best climbs because I really enjoyed it very much. I remember how we brought a guitar with us so we’d stop every now and then to sing in front of other climbers. Some of them would even sing along. I remember how a group of excited tourists from Korea danced Sumazau with us when we sang a local Dusun song.

Then my next climb happened when I was working in Sandakan. I went with a group of my ex-colleagues so it was more like a re-union for us. I remember how I was struggling so much that I almost didn’t make it to the peak. It was very cold – probably sub-zero – because I remember having ice beads on my cap. I couldn’t even talk because my mouth was so numb and my saliva was freezing and my noise just wouldn’t come out. I did make it in the end but I’d remember the struggle for a very long time.

During my very first hello to Mt. Kinabalu, long long time ago.

Then my last climb happened about 2 years ago. This time, I was quite confident that I had the stamina to do a one-day climb. In order to be allowed to continue to the peak, I needed to reach Laban Rata before 11 am, or 11.30am at the latest. We started off quite late because we didn’t book one day in advance as we were supposed to, so they had to find a mountain guide who was willing to be taken in at the very last minute.

By then, I had already become somebody who could always call himself a marathoner (ehem!) so I was quite in my tip-top condition. I ran my way up – literally – so I did make it to Laban Rata at about 11am. Too bad, my climbing buddy was not quite up to it and she only managed to arrive Laban Rata more than an hour later. Needless to say, the mountain guide wouldn’t allow us to continue so we returned to the base of the mountain with a little bit of disappointment. I vowed to return again sooner than later.

But that ‘again’ would seem to have to wait a little while longer. The earth-quake struck right underneath the mountain, damaging most of the trails and changed the landscapes of the mountain forever. Perhaps, the most outstanding one is the chipping off of the Donkey Ear. The quake sent rocks and boulders galloping down the mountain, obstructing parts of the trails. Many parts of the trails were damaged by landslides which were later worsened by fleeting rain and a series of aftershocks.

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Perhaps, the most tragic part of the whole tragedy was the loss of lives of more than a dozen climbers and four mountain guides. It really was devastating. I got emo every time I read about how the families and most people of Sabah (and beyond) reacted to the tragedy. In a way, it was devastating, but in another, it brought the people of Sabah closer together. We never experienced anything like it before. Perhaps, the closest to something like it was the intrusion by a group of militants from the Southern Philippines but that was a different story altogether.

There are still aftershocks happening every now and then and it’s been almost a month now. The worse might be over but the sorrow is still very much felt. Things are recovering and I heard the trails are being rebuilt and expected to be re-opened in September although I have a little bit of doubt on that. Some of the routes would have to be altered which is actually quite exciting because it will give climbers the opportunity to see the mountain from new different spots.

Mount Kinabalu might be full of scars all over its body now (mostly due to landslides) but I believe it will recover – even faster than most of us think. Many people believe that Mount Kinabalu is not only sacred but it also has a soul and that soul is in pain now because of the scars. I mean, something like that. I am not really worried or saddened by the changes of looks in Mount Kinabalu unlike some other people because for me it was nature who did it and whatever is done by nature is part of a natural process. I believe Mount Kinabalu had been changing from time to time right from the beginning of its existence.

I mean, we’ll just have to trust nature. She knows what to do and believe me, it wouldn’t be long before all the scars are covered by layers of moss and plants and everything that you wouldn’t even notice that they were once there.

Mount Kinabalu has lost its ‘halo’ ? You gotta be kidding me. It just went through a little bit of transformation as part of a natural process so no, it has not lost the slightest bit of its halo or glory or whatever you like to call it. Majestic, breath-taking beautiful and mysterious – Mount Kinabalu will always be there to capture our hearts and imaginations. In fact, I can’t even wait for my very next climb to this beautiful mountain – whenever that may be.

Posted in Events | Tagged Beautiful Sabah, Mountains, Sabah Quake, Tragedy | 1 Comment

My Mom’s Birthday

Posted on June 4, 2015 by jipp

One of the best things that I did when I went back to my home town for the recent Harvest Festival holiday was celebrating my mom’s birthday. Instead of taking her to some fancy restaurant to probably have some fancy spread of food, I took her to a little hike across the village – the village that bears so much memory and significance to my life. It was there that I spent much of my childhood and it was there that my mom taught me so much about life way before I knew how to learn on my own.

I mean, whatever I did and went thru there played a big part in shaping me into the man that I had then become. Being in a struggling farming family, it was there that I learned about the hardship of life. But I would not exaggerate. The thing is, when you are a kid and you know nothing about whatever the world could offer to you out there, you really don’t really look at whatever you are going through as hardship. When I think of it now, I was actually happy with all that I had and all that my family had at that time.

AND believe me, they were true when they said – when you are content with all the things that you’ve got, happiness will be yours. When you make yourself aware of things that you don’t have in life, then that’s when you are beginning to have all kinds of regrets, discontent, dissatisfaction and eventually unhappiness. I really believe that now because that’s exactly what I went through as a kid. I didn’t have to think far ahead but instead I put my focus wholly on the current, on-going moments – something that I’ve been trying to do as a grown-up but always to no avail. Uhuks.

So, back to that little hike with my mom, we were actually both excited. My mom had not been to that part of the village for quite a long time, probably even longer than me. Of course, she was still aware of things, especially those that held so much memory to her. Every now and then she’s stop to take a look at a plant or a tree or simply a piece of the landscape and she’d tell stories out of each of them, mostly on how they are related to her personal experiences in the past.

I never get tired of listening to her stories especially when she was still a kid. Both of her parents passed away – first her father and then her mother 1 month later -when she was merely 5 years old so you know how hard it was for her move on from there, being parentless and passed from one family to another. I’ve read and heard a lot of real-life stories but the stories that my mom told me about her personal experiences in the past never failed to give me a goose-bump. And they still do.

The farming areas of the village have changed a lot from the last time I went there – which was long long time ago. They are totally different from how I had expected they would (still) be. I remember how the whole stretch of the land used to be occupied by expansive paddy fields for as far as my eyes could see and the beauty of the scenery when the paddy fields turned into an array of gold stayed in me up until now. The turning of the paddy into gold would also mark the beginning of harvesting season which was very much anticipated because it wouldn’t be long before the festive season of Harvest Festival begins.

Looking at those largely abandoned pieces of land which are now covered by thick and overgrown grass, I couldn’t help but choking with a lil bit of emotion. I mean, most villagers especially the young generations would no longer want to do the heavy labor of farming under the scorching sun. They prefer to work somewhere else, mostly in the township areas where they can earn more money to meet the demands of the modern life. I wouldn’t blame them though.

I mean, one of the things that motivated me into striving hard while pursuing for betterment in life (aisheh. LOL) back then was that – I didn’t want to go back to the farm and do all the hard labor and literally burn myself in the process. I decided to leave it there in the past although there are times when I really miss farming. I guess it’s the memories that I had carried with me from all the times that I spent farming with my family. Those memories that I could never experience ever again. Uhuks.

The irrigation was still there. I remember the excitement that ensued when it was first built. We’d go there right from school and spend hours playing submerging and catching fish which was quite aplenty at that time. That very irrigation holds so much memory to me that I could probably build a monument right across it.

The routes had profoundly altered and we had to ask people for directions. There were times when the trail that we were walking on suddenly led us to a dead end and we had to march on through the bushes knowing that it was still leading to where we wanted to go next.

Pegalan River was the name and I remember how beautiful it was back then. The river had shifted from time to time, leaving behind it a trace of beautiful grassland with clusters of bamboo scattered here and there. There were birds – those that dig their way deep into the soil and build their nest in there to avoid predators. I remember how the entire youth community of the village would march down to the river to do a weekly picnic every Sunday afternoon. It was during one of these picnics that I learned to swim, but not before I got (almost) drown and was actually floating upside down within a circle before somebody pulled me up by the hair and brought me back to the shore. My life could have been cut short right there – at the tender age of 5. Phew.

The whole landscape has now changed. The grassland has now been turned into a wide spread of farm, with foreigners from neighboring countries seem to live comfortably and away from the radar of the authorities. The beauty of the place that I had been carrying around with me all this while had to be crushed to pieces that day. It would never be the same again.

So, yeah, despite all the disappointment that I had to swallow knowing that those places that held so much of my childhood memory no longer look the way they used to, I still had fun with my mom. Lots of fun actually. We had a very simple lunch under the tin roof of the wooden hut that my late uncle had built to store the paddy crop in. Even the hut seems to have been left abandoned for so long, probably since he passed many years ago.

So, that was how I celebrated my mom’s birthday this year – by taking her to a little hike across the village, because in the end the time that we spend together is the best gift that I could ever give to her.

Posted in Hiking Adventures, Lifestyle | Tagged Beautiful Sabah, Family, Home | 2 Comments

Hello Again Phnom Penh!

The Quake

My Mom’s Birthday

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