Liz French travelled to Cambodia and experienced firsthand the work of the
Tauranga-based Cambodia Charitable Trust, meeting her sponsored child and learning about the brutal history of this beautiful country.

Words Liz French

It’s an emotional moment when a 16-year-old high school student weeps with gratitude for the difference you are making in her life. Sear Sun Nary attends Ang Rokha Secondary School in the Takeo province south of Phnom Penh. My $60 per month, less than I spend on lattes, not only helps her but takes the pressure off her family, who live in a home smaller than my lounge, without running water or electricity. Dad farms their couple of cows, two pigs and a few chickens. Mum is a vendor, a precarious job at best. 

Our Cambodian experience began in Phnom Penh. We took a tuk-tuk from the airport to our city hotel, the first of many rides in these rickshaws with open sides pulled by a motorbike, or with the engine incorporated in the more sophisticated ones. We soon discovered that if your group has more than one tuk-tuk, it becomes a race. We shot through frenetic streets full of scooters and a surprising number of late-model cars, all vying for road space in the chaos. 

It’s a culture shock to arrive in a seething city, winterised bodies hitting mid-30s temperatures. The White Mansion, a former American Embassy residence, provided just the oasis of respite we needed, with large air-conditioned rooms, a cool pool and superb breakfasts, all for around NZ$100 a night. Mid-range accommodation is amazingly reasonable in Cambodia.  

The next morning, we hit the markets. The Toul Tompoung, or Russian Market, harks to its popularity with Russian expats in the 1980s. It’s a labyrinth of stalls and sensory sensations where freshly skinned poultry hangs near stands of cheap clothing, trinkets, machinery components and cosmetics. The Phsar Thum Thmei (meaning New Grand Market), better known as Central Market, was completed in 1937, and fans out from a high art deco dome. More of the same in a slightly more salubrious and orderly setting. 

The rarity of old people in Cambodia reflects the way Pol Pot virtually wiped out a generation. You cannot visit Phnom Penh without acknowledging this harrowing history. The Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum (referred to by Khmer Rouge as S21) is a former school where, between 1975 and 1979, thousands endured torture and the exacting of false confessions before death. Rooms that held hundreds are now sparse spaces with subtle suggestions of the horror. Boards display photos of victims, one a commemoration of Kerry Hamill from Whakatane, who was plucked from his yacht off the coast and eventually executed. I felt I held my breath the whole time I was there. 

It was a privilege to visit schools with Denise Arnold, founder/director of the Cambodia Charitable Trust. An immeasurable difference has been made by asking what was needed and delivering just that, by improving teacher training, and supplying basic needs like libraries and toilets. Her (and by default our) welcome reminded me of the way Sir Edmund Hillary was revered for his work with the Sherpas.

I was particularly taken with the children, who seemed equally fascinated by a little white lady. I was mobbed by primary kids on break and trailed by preschoolers, all in pristine uniforms, when visiting one of their homes reinforced their subsistence existence. Travelling with someone who has been there many times meant interesting off-the-beaten-track places, like the homestay where we were hosted overnight and saw their thriving cotton weaving cottage industry.  

I was distressed by the proliferation of single-use plastic. But what can you do when the water is not fit to drink, when life in a third-world country is tough enough without worrying about the state of the planet? We even cleaned our teeth with bottled water. Plastic is strewn along the roads, and when we went to the top of a hill to see some ancient ruins and rural views, we climbed hundreds of steps littered with debris. It seemed that to be clear of rubble you had to be a regal or religious site. The Royal Palace grounds in Phnom Penh were a pristine vision; temples were tidy.

Our travels took us to Kampot, an attractive town with a sprinkling of French colonial architecture where an English woman owned our hotel, a cleverly converted cinema, and a Dutch expat ran our favourite riverfront restaurant; then to Sihanoukville on the coast where it was nicer to see the sea than the effects on the skyline of huge Chinese investment. It was a relief to hop on a plane to Siem Reap.

For many tourists, Cambodia is Siem Reap. They pour into the modern airport, take wide tree-lined streets into the bustling centre, stay in one of hundreds of hotels (ours was jaded but had a resort-quality pool), and eat cheaply in restaurants galore, many on Pub Street. Cocktails for a couple of dollars? Another one, please! Though it was quiet on the tourist front, we saw more Europeans here than the entire trip to date.

Angkor Wat is the drawcard. Angkor Wat means City of Temples and is said to be the largest religious monument in the world. This UNESCO World Heritage Site of over 160 hectares was built in the 12th Century, the work, our guide told us, of 6,000 men and 4,000 elephants. Endless wall etchings depict bygone battles, and restoration work is never ending. There are several areas, so it pays to have a local guide and a tuk-tuk. The clean, green jungle setting is a balm to the soul. 

I left my soul with the children of Cambodia, with their joy in education and the love and appreciation they showed for these visitors from a far land bringing them a brighter future. Nary, who I sponsor, wants to go to university and have a career. I will support her all the way. 

To sponsor a child through the Cambodia Charitable Trust, visit cctnz.org.nz