Borders Opening To Four Wheel Overlanders

February 1999
On a
Prosthesis
and a
Prayer
Cambodia’s debut in international disabled games
was an outstanding success. The team won three
silver and three bronze
medals.
Bayon Pearnik
reporter Adam Parker and
photographer Andy Eame s
followed the team down its
road to glory ...
T he morning of departure an excited
team sat in the Pochentong departure lounge alive with chatter. As the
plane taxied for take-off the conversations continued, but when the
throttles opened and the plane
roared down the runway, a deathly
hush descended and fingers dug
tightly into the armrests. Only two
of the nearly fifty team members
had ever flown before.
This was the beginning of an
experience and culture shock for the
team. It would prove to stretch the
expat volunteers’ abilities to the
limit, starting with completing
nearly all the arrivals forms for
Bangkok (as they were in English
and Thai only).
FESPIC officials met the team
in the airport, whisking them
through customs and immigration
with great efficiency.
Facilities at the Thammasat
University complex, home to the
athletes for the next ten days, were
of the highest standard. The canteen quickly became a featured
attraction with unlimited amounts
of delicious food served seventeen
hours a day. The temptation
proved to be too much for one one
wide-eyed athlete who had to be
carted to the hospital after eating
too much.
So the games began in high
spirits with the possibility of medals in some sports, others compet ing to gain experience.
Athletics was the hope for
medals; several athletes qualified
for final rounds despite being
slightly mystified by the use of
starting blocks and a surfaced track.
After further practice with starting
blocks, medals were definitely on
the cards.
The first success was the relay
team of Nok Ratha, Chim Phan,
Sak Oung and Kim Vanna who captured the bronze in the 4x100 metre. Ratha went on to take another bronze in the 800 metre
event.
Chim Phan proved to be
the star of the show, taking a
silver medal in both the 100
metre dash and the 800 metre
individual event.
Others were less successful
in obtaining podium positions,
but did gain valuable international experience. The wheelchair basketball team, drawn in
a group with Korea and China,
two of the world’s best, per-
formed admirably. Although beaten
by both of the former, the team
did, however, give Malaysia a very
tight and fast-moving contest, only
losing by a few points.
The story in the men’s standing volleyball was very different;
hopes were high despite having
never played on a properly surfaced court.
Nervous but determined in
their first match against group
favourites Mynamar, Cambodia
land fell two sets behind and the
crowd started to filter out. Cambodia won convincingly three sets to
zero thereby assuring the team
(Hout Mokung, Leu Youeng, Cha
Hok, Im Vandy, Phat Youy, Som
Chok, Yim Vanna, Keam Sokhea,
Kem Sean) of a silver medal.
While the heroic athletics of
the Cambodian Paralympic team
fort unately resulted in no serious
injury, the same cannot be said for
the expat management. Perhaps it
put on an enthralling disp lay for
the large crowd. Mynamar had a
slight advantage having competed
internationally before. At the end
of three sets, Cambodia lost by
only eight points in total and were
convinced they could have won
given one or two matches practice
before meeting them.
In their next match, Cambodia
whitewashed India, who only managed to score a maximum of eight
points in any one set (25 being the
target for victory).
The last match against Thailand was the most intimidating with
the hall packed with Thai support ers waving flags and banging drums.
The drums fell silent when Thai-
was the excitement of success combined with the strains of management that resulted in team chief
Chris Minko suffering a mild stroke
and shooting coach Barry Ellis who
collapsed. Ellis fully recovered the
next day.
All in all, the event was a huge
success for Cambodia in its debut
appearance and what can only be
described as a very steep learning
curve for all those involved.
The teams next appearance will
be at the Paralympic Games in Sy dney, Australia, next year.
AP
February 1999
English Schools — The Dunny Truth
by Bill Irwin
I must admit, at face value, the mission seemed easy enough. The client
had had our advertising rep over to
his home for breakfast and a chat,
but being overly polite, the young
rep hadn’t closed and deadline was a
day away.
I’ve always reveled in the fact
that when there’s a deal to be
clinched, Rupert and Dirk at
Pearnik HQ always look my way,
even if it is motivated by dread and
skepticism. I quickly formulated my
plan to put together a piece on the
English teaching industry as a
whole, knowing full well that I was
approaching the leading player in
the industry for advertising and my
story would certainly portray them
smelling like a rose.
But as you know, we at the
Bayon Pearnik are the consummate
professionals in journalism. I needed
market research, so I put together a
questionnaire for six leading English
schools. My research turned up
these fascinating statistics:
+ Regent College: 600 students,
12 clean wash-rooms, 2 airconditio ners per class, 11 teachers.
+ PTS Campus 1: 600 students, 6
clean toilets, 1 airconditioner per
class, 10 teachers.
+ Home of English: 250 students,
3 clean toilets, 1 airconditioner per
class, 9 teachers
+ CfBT: 200 on-campus students,
8 clean toilets, 1 airconditioner per
class, 6 teachers.
+ Jay Thavy English School: 300
students, 1 clean toilet (100 Riel per
visit), no airconditioning, 1 teacher.
Armed with my market research
and questionnaire, I headed for the
director of my research sample’s
only non-profit organization feeling
Facilities at the Facilities
Regent College: 600 students, 12 clean wash-rooms, 2 airconditioners per class, 11 teachers.
PTS Campus 1: 600 students, 6 clean toilets, 1 airconditioner
per class, 10 teachers.
Home of English: 250 students, 3 clean toilets, 1 airconditioner per class, 9 teachers
CfBT: 200 on-campus students, 8 clean toilets, 1 airconditioner per class, 6 teachers.
Jay Thavy English School: 300 students, 1 clean toilet (100
Riel per visit), no airconditioning, 1 teacher.
confident that I could assist him in
maintaining this current status.
Having consumed a few pints to
quench my thirst after five rather
taxing interviews, my bladder was
bursting as I entered the administ rative offices. Heading straight to
a door marked “Toilet”, I caught a
whiff of what awaited me inside. As
I unhooked the latch, the door
creaked slowly open. I blindly
searched in the darkness for the
light switch. My eyes began to tear
and my nostrils began to sting from
the acrid stench of urine which
permeated the air. I found the light
switch… but it didn’t work. I closed
the door and shuffled across the
damp, gravelly floor in the darkness to the source of the stench. As
my bladder emptied and my head
whirled, I recalled the words of the
Australian Ambassador to France,
“Australians always do their best to
come to the help of those in need.”
Alas, back in this dark, dank hole,
there was no toilet paper or Asian
style douche-fountain.
As I emerged into the light, an
administrative assistant exclaimed,
“You didn’t go in THERE?”
“Yes,” I said as tears rolled down
my cheeks.
“What are you doing here?” the
assistant enquired.
“I’m here for an advertisement.
You know, to publicize the move
of the school and all. I’ve got a
questionnaire and I’ve already been
to five other schools.”
“You’ve got to be joking! The
school advertise in Boys Only
Magazine,” the assistant protested.
Being a true professional, I
know how to deflect these kind of
stat ements and still make a sale. I
said, “Come, come, now. The director has had our handsome young
sales executive over for breakfast
to discuss the issue in hand. I mean,
like, we’ve opened dialogue already.”
The assistant’s eyes rolled back.
I knew the assistant was bored so I
changed tack.
“You read the Bayon Pearnik,
don’t you?”
“Well, yes I do,” the assistant
admitted, “but only for the cartoon.”
“I like the cartoon too,” I
cooed. “Yup,” I thought to myself,
“This sale is going to be as easy as
shooting fish in a barrel.”
“It, It, It’s him, isn’t it?” the
assistant stammered.
“Who? What? It’s him, who?” I
asked, a bit perplexed.
“Our director. It’s him in the
cartoon, isn’t it?”
“You know, it’s funny you say
that. A lot of people think it’s their
director.”
“No. It has to be him,” the assistant insisted. “Just look at Akimbo.
It has to be him.”
Unfortunately, as the Akimbo of
this particular school wasn’t in, I
had to search him out the next day,
where I found him between Waves
Two and Three of his assault on the
new school. I explained quickly that
I was there for the advert and, in
the interests of our readers, a survey
on school amenities.
He told me that he’d already
briefed our young sales rep not to
call him. He’d call us. I thanked him
and asked my survey questions,
which he kindly answered, although,
when I asked my last question about
the number of bat hrooms, he started
to stammer and his lower lip quivered. I began to see the likeness to
Akimbo that the assistant had sp oken of. Anyway, he didn’t know.
Being the thorough investigative
journalist that I am, I acquired a
floor plan of the new building and
found that, in fact, there were four
washrooms for the 3000 students.
This was two more than had existed
in the previous facility that they
occupied for eight years. They also
have airconditioners in each classroom and 50 teachers wearing identical T -shirts.
So to quote the ACE Director,
“It’s a better facility.” And although he didn’t invite me to the
Saturday opening for tea and crumpets, I’m sure that once he’s read
our promo, he’ll be calling.
February 1999
Catching the
Kean Svay Cobra
A friend had brought up the idea over
a beer, and a few of those sitting
around seemed willing. Those few in
turn mentioned the idea to some
others, and again, a few more agreed.
But when the day came to go,
no one showed up. Like jumping from an airplane, talking
about it and act ually paying for
it are two very different things.
Due to lack of support, the
first two tries failed. On the
third go, a dozen or so people
again agreed on a Sunday morning rendezvous. As it turns out,
getting up early on a Sunday
can be just as daunting as staring at the ground from 15,000
feet — only five of the twelve
turned up.
But five were more than any
previous attempt, so the three
foreigners and two Khmers set
off on Route 1 for Kean Svay
in search of lunch, and the
l o n gest, scaliest cobra they
could find.
Khmers and Chinese believe
cobra blood gives the body
strength, and often drink it
mixed with wine. Others drink the
juice from the gall bladder, also with
wine, for its supposed effect on sexual prowess. Howard Marks, alias Mr
Nice, once said he got a killer
twenty-four hour buzz after plucking
the beating heart from a cobra and
swallowing it whole with a shot of
bourbon.
So with a bottle of cheap Chinese
whiskey we surveyed the lot of restaurants along Route 1. Like any
good seafood restaurant, customers
survey the catch first and choose
from its living form. Snake is the
most common dish, but not the only
exotic animal on the menu.
The first place served bat — fat,
furry be ady-eyed-hanging-upsidedown fruits bats — but no one gave
more than a passing thought to act ually eating one. In another cage, two
silver cobras lay curled together. One
appeared to have some sort of skin
disease. The scales just behind the
head were crumpled, dry and out of
place like the fur on a mangy dog.
The beady-eyed little thing looked
like it might die before someone had
a chance to kill it. Hoping for better
luck elsewhere, we decided to look
around. Only for future reference did
we ask how much.
Perhaps meeting in a bar wasn’t
the best idea. Waiting for the people
who didn’t show up we had already
blown a fair bit of the budget. The
word on the street told us cobra went
for about $10 to $15 do llars per kilogram,
and maybe it does, but half-eaten snake carcasses are a tough sell, and finding someone
to part with just the pumper proved extremely difficult.
Back on the road, we ventured down to
the Mekong. Dozens of restaurants pepper
the waterfront offering exotic menus, panoramic river views and interesting, if unimaginative, names. None looked especially invit ing, but the staff at one place, the 666 Restaurant, answered all our questions.
This time of year, they said, rainfall is
sparse and the river low, making it much
more difficult to trap cobras; thus, prices go
up and quality goes down.
The first restaurant back on the main
road wanted $40 for a snake that looked
half-dead. The 666, with a slightly healthier
group of reptiles, wanted $50. Again we
decided to look around, hoping for better
luck elsewhere.
Down the next dirt road we found a small
but busy market with grilled chicken and
flame-broiled turtle, vegetables and crickets,
fish and fags and beer and beetles, but no
snakes. Further out on Route 4 about twenty
kilometers another village does a health
trade in cobras, but it was already well past
lunchtime and money was scarce so we decided to stay.
The cobra would have to wait until next
season. But as the whiskey faded into the
afternoon and the day passed to the sound
of laughter, chicken seemed a whole lot
better than cobra, even if it was the cheap
stuff.
RS
February 1999
Sharky Bar and the Bayon Pearnik
Pop the Cork on Another Year
Sharky Bar
and
the
B a y o n
Pearnik recently combined efforts
to celebrate
another year
of successful
business in
Phnom Penh.
Sharky’s
celebrated
their
third
birthday with
a beer chugging contest
at their new
circular bar.
Photographer
Martin Flitman took first prize in his class
after swilling a half yard of beer
faster than any of the others.
In the heavyweight-skinny division, former Bayon Pearnik Editor
Craig Mapleston again defended
his unbeaten title of fastest beerdrinker in known Cambodia, convincingly beating all challengers.
Not only spurring the two to
success, the new circular bar has
sparked a new
surge in business
as first-time patrons come and old
ones return to see
the cities longest
bar.
The
Bayon
Pearnik, never one
to miss a beerdrinking opportunity, also joined
the celebration in a
warm-up for their
Big 3rd Birthday
to be held at Martini’s on February
27.
The Big Bash
promises to rival
the long list of
massive parties held in the last
three years.
Angkor Beer and others have
boarded the wagon and will be
vying for the beer drinking public
when they meet later this month
to celebrate, so prices will be extremely favourable.
There’s a
New Hero
in
Town...
Jimmy
Hot
February 1999
Bayon Pearnik Scoop!
The story of a Daytona racer from
the drivers seat. Cambodian-based
Frenchman Phillippe Lenain travels
for a third time to the United States
to compete in one of the world’s
m o s t p r e s t igious motorsports
events, The Rolex Daytona 24
Hour. Starting with day one and
qualifying...
Daytona Beach, Florida, USA
—Thursday 28th January 99
The race opened today at 8.00 am
under bright sunshine. Over 90 cars
are registered to compete in the
Endurance Classic race. After the
qualifying session, 80 will start the
race on Saturday and 10 cars will
pack up sadly and early.
The Broadfoot Racing Team has
done a very good job in the preparation of their Porsche 944 GT
Turbo. They have finally opted to
enter the car in GT3 class, when last
year the same car raced in GT2
class. Says Albert Broadfoot, the
team owner, "we preferred to play
the safe card, we are sure to qualify
our Porsche in the GT3 group.
There is a rule that any car entering
the race in a given category must
qualify with a time within 110 percent of the fastest time of the class.
And this year, GT2 cars are much
faster than last year, hence we
chose to enter the car in GT3". The
flip side of the coin is that there are
more cars competing in GT3, it will
be more difficult to end up with a
good result than in the GT2 where
entrants are more scarce.
Another last minute change in
the Broadfoot Team is the driver
line up. Beside Philippe Lenain
(France) and Neal Crilly (Canada)
who sorted out the car in the practice session earlier this month, the
other drivers are Mike Borkowski, a
very fast American who usually
races Indy cars, and a al dy, Mrs
Carolyne Wright, also from the
states.
From 12.00 to 2pm was the first
free practice session. The Porsche
944 ran smoothly. “I find the car
very much improved since last
year" says Philippe Lenain. "The
engine is powerful, and the power
comes gradually, which is ideal with
a turbocharged engine. The handling
is great too.” At 3pm is the first
Tearing up
the Tarmac
Day and Dark at Daytona: a trackside view
qualifying session. Mike Borkowski
lapped the car at 2 minutes 8 seconds, qualifying easily.
Daytona Beach
—Friday 29th January 1999
Second day of the Rolex 24 at
Daytona, and Philippe is out put ting the car through it’s paces
when a prototype (GT1 class) in
front of him lost a body part,
probably an air cooling scoop that
went flying right under the car. “I
was on the second banking at full
speed. I didn't clearly see the part
until I hit it, then the cockpit was
full of little plastic parts and the
car was shaking like crazy from
side to side. I managed to slow it
down and take it to the pits. Once
in the pits, we saw that our front
spoiler was badly damaged, destroyed along half its length. that's
why I had no down-force and the
car was unstable.”
The team replaced the spoiler
for the qualifying session, during
which Mike Borkowski didn't better
his time of the day before. As the
qualification of the car was sure,
Albert Broadfoot decided to derat e
the turbo pressure to the same level
as during the race to aid reliability.
The start of the race is now 21
hours from now. Everybody is going to take as much sleep as possible. It's going to be a tough race,
and all options are open for the
Porsche.
Daytona Beach
—Saturday 31st January 1999
At 1.00 pm on Sunday afternoon,
flying through torrential rain, a
Ferrari 333 SP crosses the finish
line under the chequered flag, a few
seconds later, the red Porsche 944
Turbo, sponsored by Shell Cambodia, also crossed the finish line with
Philippe behind the wheel. Although
not act ually coming in second place
it felt “almost as good as victory,”
he said.
On his third attempt, he and his
team had managed to complete the
full 24 hours of one of the most
difficult races in the world. The
Broadfoot team had come 37th
place overall out of a field of 80,
and 13th in the GT3 category, out
of 30. The team completed a total
of 560 laps of the Daytona Speedway.
Philippe has been driving the
Shell-Porsche for 6 hours, complet ing alone 5 hours at night between
2.00 am and 7.00 am. “This is the
best drive I had in my life,” said
Philippe after the finish. “Our team
managed to sort out various engine
problems throughout the race, esp ecially with the Turbo that was loosing boost from time to time. I drove
a lot at night and in the early morning, while my American and Canadian team mates were sleeping. I
enjoyed it very much, I didn't feel
tired at any time, adrenaline must
have kept me going.
“From 9.00 am on Sunday morning until the arrival at 1.00 pm, the
weather changed and rain started to
fall, sometimes lightly, sometimes
as real downpour. Many cars went
out of the track, but the Porsche
resisted adversity and finished the
race.”
Following the race Philippe flew
to Paris to meet the young Khmer
go-kart Champion, Oum Saravuth.
Together they will spend 3 days at a
driving school in France where Saravuth will learn to drive Formula 3
cars. With the support of Shell
Cambodia, Oum Saravuth is the first
Cambodian driver to enter international motorsports. Fo llowing the
example of Philippe, Saravuth
hopes to be soon raising the colours
of the Cambodian flag on Circuits
around the world. To find out how
Saravuth adapted to racing formula
3 check out the next issue..
Broadfoot Racing
Team
February 1999
Popularity race?
An ad in the Daily recently has got
tongues wagging. Announcing a class
action suit against a resident here
and asking if anyone wishes to file
with this suit will no doubt open a
can of worms. As the saying goes,
“Those who live in glass houses
shouldn’t throw stones”.
Some wags around town are already
speculating that Bernie Krisher and
Dr Bert Richter may be brothers or
even one in the same (change a few
letters) vying to alienate themselves.
Then another class action suit appears in the Daily against the same
resident but from different people.
Strangely on that day the Daily
carries an advert for a business
owned by the very same resident
(must have paid his bill).
Then a reply from the Daily to a
letter stating that they are “not in a
position to edit, censor or refuse
advertising that meets our standards
of taste and libel”. Well your standards must be low Bernie because
you’re the publisher and the first ad
was yours, surely you can edit or
refuse what you want.
Cant wait for the next installment
when the brown stuff may well and
truly hit the fan.
Casinos upsticks.
The recent decree passed banning
casinos within a two hundred km
radius of Phnom Penh has merely
increased the flurry of activit y
building new casinos out of town.
Cambodia already has casinos in
Koh Kong, Palin and Poipet. One
is under construction on the Viet namese border! Holiday casino will
be moving to Kompong Somme in
July or September. Initial rumors
said it would move into the old
Independence Hotel but negotiations have apparently broken down
and a new site is being looked at.
The logic behind this decree seems
a little hazy. Holiday Casino alone
employs thousands of people directly or indirectly, many of whom
cannot relocate. So the move may
leave quite an economic hole behind. Statements say this order is
to clean up Phnom Penh's image.
Perhaps repairing all the roads,
collecting garbage and stamping on
nighttime robberies would be a
more positive path to take.
Robberies. Take care!
The last month has seen a dramatic
rise in nighttime holdups. This
normally involves four guys on two
motos. They prefer dark streets
and approach from behind with
their lights off. Give them your
money and telephone etc as it is
not worth getting shot over. The
police seem rather ineffective except when asking for money to
complete the report forms (not
that you have any after just being
robbed). Don't pay. A few people
have been unlucky enough to get
pistol whipped but generally just
want your
valuables.
Stick to lit, major roads even if it is
a longer journey.
Pick a moto you know if possible.
Don’t put all your money in one
place. Larger notes in your sock of
shoe etc.
Encourage the moto to go quite
quickly, but not too fast.
Check behind you where possible.
In some cases it is police officers
who are the robbers. In one case it
even involved the PM’s (see next
story).
Mao Tse Toung Mafia.
An American bloke left Martinis
on his own moto with a girl. Near
the Chinese embassy he saw some
guys hanging around with motos.
Going as fast as he could he shot
past them. A few hundred meters
on he looked round but couldn't see
them and slowed. Suddenly a bike
appeared beside them and tried to
knock them off. Avoiding this he
managed to get to the 24 hr petrol
station on the corner of Mao Tse
Toung and Monivong, with people
around,end of problem. Wrong.
The guys came into the station
leapt off the bike and tried to grab
his keys out of the ignition. The
pursuers said they were police
(though not in uniform) and he had
caused a disturbance down the road
and would have to go to the police
station with one of them riding his
bike. Not bloody likely pal at one o'
clock in the morning you just want
to steal the bike, and you're drunk.
A row ensued and a crowd gathered.
Managing to get the girl on a moto
back to Martinis to find his friend
and bring assistance he continued to
argue.
Two PM’s appeared on a bike.
Saved. Wrong. They told him to go
with the drunk policemen encouraging this by gesturing their weapons.
Then the proof it was all a scam.
The Americans friend is a long term
resident here who upon being told
this alerted the owner of Martini’s
as to what was going on up the road.
When he arrived at the petrol st ation with his security all the supposed police fled immediately and
he escorted the guy home.
The following day he tried to report
the incident to the American Embassy but they weren’t interested.
Dancing with the Dengue Twins
Dengue, also know as
“breakbone” and “dandy” fever,
can be caused by any numbers
of four different dengue viruses
trans mitted by the Aedes
aegypti mosquito, which bites
during the daytime.
Travelers and long-term residents alike are both susceptible
to the fever, but incidence tends
to increase with the amount of
time spent in infected areas.
While higher in rural areas, fever
cases, even fatal ones, are not
uncommon to
Phnom
Penh or any
o f
the
other
large cities
in the Kingdom.
How badly
the virus affects you depends
o n
your age and immune
status. Both adults and children
can develop a simple fever without any bleeding. Because infection with one type of dengue
gives partial protection (less
than one year) against the
others, dengue fever seldom
occurs in Khmer adults.
In Khmer children, however, a prior infection — instead of having a protective
effect — actually encourages virus multiplication and the development of dengue haemhorragic
fever.
Simple
dengue fever
is often benign, but it is impossible to diagnose mild
dengue infection clinically,
particularly in sporadic
cases. Sometimes though,
simple dengue can be an incapacitating disease with severe
muscle and joint pains. A
flushed face and later scarlet
rash around the ankles, are
typical. Bed rest, paracetamol
and oral fluids are all that are
required. Medical evacuation
to Bangkok is rarely justified — financial considera-
tions are usually primary in
such cases. Convalescence
may, however, take several
w e e k s
with
tire dness
and depression as major
complaints, so a vacation is
advisable.
Dengue haemhorragic fever
is, however, a potentially fatal
disease, but outbreaks are
more frequent in South America and India than Cambodia.
Whenever there is an outbreak, haemhorragic cases are
far outnumbered by simple
dengue fever cases.
Typically, a child 3-6
years develops a fever with
headache, vomiting and abdominal pain; after a few days
the child suddenly collapses
in shock due to
bleeding. Reversing the shock with i.v.
fluids saves lives. Expatriate children are rarely affected.
Prevention is possible by
eliminating the mo squito breeding sites usually found in stagnant water. Pools of stagnant
water are most commonly found
lying in old tyres, water pots,
and paint cans. Removal of
these items is cheaper than the
use of larvicides and insecticides.
Experts are currently working on a dengue vaccine, but
for now, the best method of
prevention lies in insect repellents and mosquito nets.
by Dr Gavin Scott
February 1999
A Smoking Life
Doctors say nicotine is more addictive than heroin, just not as fun. But as anyone
who’s played with the monkey knows, habits of the tragically hip can be hard to handle, and even harder to break.
After 36 years of life with his own beast, former Cambodian resident James Eckardt
stands face-to-face with the demon weed.
I hate Health Nazis. They wear
silly bicycle helmets and spandex
uniforms. They jog and eat veget ables and goosestep on treadmills
and yearn to exterminate smokers — inferior race! — for pollut ing their pure Aryan air.
We smokers are tolerated in
Thailand, Land of the Free, but in
bastions of fascism like California,
tobacco lepers are banished even
from bars. Soon we'll all be herded
into ghettos and forced to wear
tobacco-leaf armbands.
We're not even safe here. Once,
in the Foreign Correspondents Club
of Thailand, I was accosted by a
female American stormtrooper:
“Would you mind not smoking?” she demanded. “I'm allergic
to cigarette smoke.”
“That's terrible,” I replied solicitously. “What are the symptoms?
Do you break out in hives?”
I should have blown smoke in
her face but that would have been
rude. The great thing about smokers is that we are tolerant of those
who don't. Explaining the pleasures
of nicotine to someone who has
never tried a cigarette is like explaining sex to a eunuch. What's
the point?
“Nicotine is a drug,” writer Fran
Leibowitz once explained. “People
like drugs. That's why they use
them.”
So why am I giving up cigarettes?
I'll get around to that. First let
me take a smoke break…
…Ah, that's better. Nothing like
coffee and a cigarette to stimulate
the typing fingers. It's three in the
afternoon, December 29th, and I
have three more days before I stop
smoking forever.
I'll be breaking a 36-year-old
habit. I start ed at sixteen, along
with the other guys on my Brooklyn street corner, but really got
into it two years later. In the summer of 1965, I was an 18-year-old
Catholic seminarian working in a
civil rights campaign in Birmin gham, Alabama. The priest we
worked for paid us no salary but
we did get room and board, all the
Budweiser we could drink and all
the Camels we could smoke. Unfiltered Camels — top-ranked for tar
and nicotine! — were my brand
Heavy smoking caught up with
me in Brazil. My Brazilian friends
were wired all day to an insanely
strong caffeine-nicotine buzz. I
complained to a laid back American
doctor about heart palpitations.
"Hey," he replied. "Maybe cigarettes are just not your drug."
I discovered a controlled environment in which to quit. I joined a
friend on a sailboat in the Philippines and when we upped anchor in
Manila for a 1,200-mile voyage to
Singapore, I didn't bring along any
“Nicotine is a drug,” writer Fran
Leibowitz once
explained.
“People like drugs, that’s why
they
use them.”
for the next decade. I was such a
tough guy purist that whenever I
bummed a Marlboro or a Winston,
I'd disdainfully pinch off the filter.
I'll take my poison straight, thank
you.
As a Peace Corps volunteer in
Sierra Leone, West Africa, I
switched for a while to a local brand
called Hollywood. A pack cost
twelve cents. The cigarettes contained roots and stems and would
occasionally flare up in your face.
Hollywoods also turned your teeth a
uniform, fetching shade of brown. I
decided there was such a thing as
being too tough a guy.
cigarettes. I was
cured! I uncured myself in Singapore.
In Thailand, I smoked Krong
Thips, which is like gargling with
razor blades. When I had more
money, I switched to Dunhills. I
still suffered palpitations, though,
and my Thai doctor in Songkhla
sternly ordered me off cigarettes.
Like a good Thai, I compromised.
Oddly enough, I don't even like
the taste of a cigarette unless
combined with coffee or beer. So I
gave up coffee. This kept me
s m o k e-free during the daylight
hours. Then I cut back my beer-
drinking to the weekend. Now my
routine was to abstain from cigarettes totally from Monday till
Friday afternoon when I'd plunge
my muzzle into my first mug of
beer and light up my first cigarette.
This was the high point of my
week, surrendering to that most
sublime of pleasures: a cold beer
followed by a hot smoke, the quintessential yin -and-yang pleasure
principle. I drank and smoked bliss.
Each weekend, I'd go through
two or three packs of cigarettes but
on Monday morning I'd quit
again. This was having
my cake and eating
it. For fifteen
y e a r s
i n
Songkhla, I got
away with this
happy routine
of binge and
spew. It was a
healthy life
too:
daily
walks on the
beach, spearfishing, volleyball, running the
Hash, taking my kids
swimming. . .
Then I moved to Bangkok.
Ah, the Big Mango! That giant
speeding heaving swarming pulsat ing roaring omniv orous beast of a
metropolis and in the middle of it
me, Big City Journalist — Associate Editor of Manager Magazine — prowling the streets in
search of stories, scrambling for
interviews, pumped up on stress,
racing deadlines, zooming up tall
buildings, weaving through traffic
jams, breathing in the intoxicating
fumes of urban exhaust. I was also
February 1999
popping cigarettes into my gob as
fast as I could shake them out of
the pack.
For five years, I lived in a seedy
flophouse in Banglampoo whose
beer garden was crammed each
night with reporters, photogr aphers, teachers, grad students and
drunks. At the Manager officer on
Tanom Phra Athit, we all smoked.
It was life in the fast lane.
Life got even faster when the
baht crashed in July 1997.
Manager folded and the flophouse emptied. I sought refuge in
Phuket as editor of the local English language newspaper. The publisher was a neatness freak so I was
reduced to sneaking cigarettes out
in the carport. This did serve to cut
down on my addiction.
Then in March 1998, I moved
to Cambodia and the Phnom Penh
Post. The newsroom here was a
shambles of mismatched tables,
chairs, computers; shelves overflowed with discarded photos and
yellowing newsp apers; wise-ass
comments were taped to the walls.
And everyone had a cigarette in
their mouths. For eight months —
throughout the hectic election
campaign, tumultuous street
marches, park occupations, demonstrations,
counterdemonstrations, — we lived life on
the edge, pulling all-nighters and
putting out special editions of the
newspaper. We smoked a lot.
Then suddenly I'm back home in
Thailand, jobless again, with a wife
and four kids to feed. To econo-
mize, I gave up drinking. This was
easy. I've done it dozens of times
before. But what if I gave up
smoking too?
So on January 1, 1999, I stop
smoking. I've already put the process in motion, buttonholing all
my friends and bragging about how
I shall conquer the Devil
Weed. Stomp that
sucker flat!
Now all I
have to do is
do it...
. . . O n
New Year's
Day,
I
awoke
in
my bed in
P r a chinburi,
skewered by a
deadly hangover, and felt that
I would never drink
again, or smoke, or
breathe. The night before, I had
gone on a cheapo Chang beer
binge with my wife and her
friends, watching as our mob of
kids ran wild to disco. Now I
reached for the only medicine that
would get me through the day: a
good novel. A Suitable Boy is
Vikram Seth's 1,350-page epic of
courtship and political intrigue in
1951's India. This is where I would
live for the next three days as I
suffered nicotine withdrawal.
The symptoms of a nicotine fit
are as difficult to describe as female orgasm. So I'm at a bit of a
disadvantage here. There is a
slight tightening of the throat
muscles, an emptiness in the solar
plexus region, a twitching of the
lips in search of oral grat ification.
This latter need can be alleviated
by sucking on lemon drops. Otherwise you're on your own.
Some smoke junkies depend on
Food began to taste better. I ate
slowly. There was no reason to rush
for that after-dinner cigarette.
On the third day, Sunday, I arose
and got dressed. My wife drove me to
the station for my late afternoon
train to Bangkok. I was almost cured
now: the nicotine was gone from my
blood. All I would have to
fight now was its memory.
The priest we worked
had chosen a bad time
for paid us no salary to Itravel.
The train was
but we did get all
packed solid with people
to Bangkok from
the Budweiser we returning
their four -day holiday. I
could drink and all couldn't even squeeze into
a carriage, jammed into
the Camels we
the bathroom corridor
could smoke.
instead.
Hawking cold drinks
and peanuts and roast pork
and fried chicken and
sticky rice were beefy female vendors who manhandled their way past me.
valium and nicotine gum and skin
Why is it that all these women are
patches. Not me. My Catholic five feet tall and four feet wide?
heritage dictated cold turkey. I was
Many a hoof crushed my foot. Pain ,
guided by two Catholic precepts:
stress, boredom made me yearn for a
1) the Mortification of Flesh and
cigarette. I ba nished the thought.
2) the Primacy of the Will. You
The crowd only began to thin out
m u s t su ffer for your smoking when we reached the outskirts of
sins — all 36 years of them — Bangkok. The punk kid next to me
through a process of Mortification let out a sigh of relief and lit a cigaof the Flesh. You are able to en- rette. Poison! Filth! Degeneracy!
dure this because of the Primacy
Polluting my air! Breaking the law!
of Will. The decision has already
My face curled into scowl. My
been made: you can never smoke
fingers twitched to wrap themselves
again. So stop thin king about it.
around the punk's throat. I raged to
I stayed in bed for three days,
haul him off to the nearest gestapo.
only getting up when my daughSieg heil!
ters would summon me for meals.
February 1999
Something
between the hotel and a bar).
Crowds of locals had already assembled by the side of the road in
all the villages encouraging the
riders through hand signals: their
desire to see ever bigger wheelies.
My partner in crime and Angkor Dirt Bike Tours, Big Ben,
whose foolish idea it had been to
spoil a perfectly fine weekend
drinking with some serious physical exercise, was somewhere up
ahead with the lead pack, or perhaps escorting the support crew
through a short cut via rubber
plantation.
Low and behold, I caught the
support team and the eye in the
saddle became more comfortably
appointed. Then we found our
first major mud bog, no match for
the Land Rovers, but deep enough
to have already ensnared a passing
truck. A nice gentle line around the
edge and Bobs yer aunty, not dramatic enough for Sean the Disaster
Master, a man more
attracted to film footage than a blue bottle to
three-day-old cream
cake. Full bore he enters the quagmire, light
brown sticky mud thrown four
metres into the air, engine screaming, bike bucking, throttle cable
snapping, splash! End of playtime. All onlookers are almost
dying of laughter and would have
been rolling around on the ground
if it hadn’t been completely covered in sludge by Sean. Lesson one
in how not to cross an unknown
puddle. Leatherman (the all singing
all dancing in your pocket tool kit)
comes to the rescue as the broken
throttle cable is retrieved from the
sloppy mess that was once an
XLR and Sean rides away, the
handle
about Mud and Glory
Long, long ago and far, far away,
in a land that time forgot — for
want of a better name the last edition of the Bayon Pearnik — twenty
nine intrepid bikers, three Land
Rovers and two blokes in some
Jap rental found themselves destiny bound for the remote provincial capital of Sen Monorom. It
'twas indeed the fabled tale of the
1st Mondulkiri Rally Raid.
Encouraged by the joint forces
of the Land Rover 50th birthday
celebrations and a Russian-led
movement to warn the populace of
the dangers poised by poisonous
serpents, the trusting group of
expat and Khmer bikers and drivers set forth to where few had
dared venture before. Forces of
nature also decided to take a hand
and Mother Nature sent a terrible
storm to harass the crusaders.
Never before in living memory
had it rained in the middle of the
dry season, the middle of December. The second day of the rally
was already three hours old when
the rain started and our heroes
still faced the dangerous proposition of lunch in Memot, 300 kilometres of man-eating mud and
biker-melting barbeques before
reaching their target.And then
their was the trip to the waterfalls.
And so read on gentle reader,
read on…
Having successfully escaped the
comforts afforded by the Mekong
Hotel and the chill breeze over
the Mekong river at dawn, I had
yet to catch up with the Land
Rover support team, who were
making better time than expected,
and deliver them the unfortunate
French cinecam man who had
been left behind in Kompong
Cham in the morning’s confusion.
I watched in envy as my fellow
riders made best air-time opportunities and wheelie shows on a
100-kilometre-long motocross
track that doubled as the main
road to Memot, and cursed again
my balding froggie burden. It may
have made good footage, but
that’s not what I was here for – I
was here for off-road action, not
to be Joe Le Blinkin Taxi.
But such is life, and the hangover was definitely my doing (as
was the large bruise on my right
leg from the first fall of the exp edition, a spill taken while trying
to drunkenly jump-start a bike
February 1999
bars in one hand and a set of
pliers in the other gripping
the broken throttle cable. It
would not be Sean’s last attempt to die on camera. But it
would be one of the funniest.
A few kilometers later,
Memot is reached, but half
the group (the French and the
Khmers) have not done as
told and waited for us before
proceeding to the next town,
Snoul. We have arranged fuel
to be transported by Total to
the former rubber plantation
headquarters because 29 bikes
and one petrol Landrover
could easily drink one small
village dry. Our hot-headed
buddies have also forgotten
one other small detail — the trailer
being dragged by the unstoppable
Cambodia Astra Motor Defender
90 contains the barbeque, and
more importantly, enough chicken
curry, munchies and secretly deposited bottles of red wine and
Angkor beer to have kept the Ho
Chi Minh trail busy for years
more.
After scattering around a few
thousand Mild Seven-sponsored
snake bite leaflets (warning in
Khmer which of the little blighters
to look out for and what to do if
one bites you
other than die)
and filling up
tank and stomach, we were
off again.
The weather
was closing in
and
the
chances of getting to Sen Monorom were already pretty remote,
so it was head to Snoul and see
where we could break camp. The
road rapidly turned from gently
undulating muck to a 50 km succession of sharp-lipped pools of
unknown depth. Those of fool-
hardy- (Ben),
crazy- (Ben),
nerves -ofsteel- (Ben)
or
short sighteddisposition
(Ben) would
hit these fullbore, hoping the bike would only
disappear up to the handle bars in
brown water and emerge into the
air on the other side accompanied
by a roaring wall of water, akin to
a pelican doing full-throttle take
off, all feather noise and water, and hopefully soaking the
mug behind him (me). Those
of more sensible- (me), delicate- (me) and already-soakedt o - t h e -skin disp osition
(everyone behind Ben) would
pick carefully around the edge
just pulling minor stonking
wheelies off the lip. Excellent
fun.
The Defender 90 and the
Discovery were both taking
the Ben approach and emptying whole puddles with a single launch while the ex-army
light Landrover (designed for
throwing out of aeroplanes)
wasn’t so keen on getting it’s
feet wet and spat the dummy
a couple of times with an overtly
cautious mechanic driving it. Once
the brother of the Defender pilot
got behind the wheel of the light
Landy, it was throttle all the way
and no stopping until Snoul.
The rain started coming even
harder, but Snoul appeared on the
misty horizon. Ben soon had Dantes Inferno going in the doorway
to the guest house and Belinda was
busy with the bags of chicken
curry. We had survived another
day...
Next Issue: The last leg to Sen
Monorom.
February 1999
Uncle Barf’s
After many months wandering the
world searching out the greatest
delights from every continent, Uncle
Barf returns. This month he introduces us to one straight out of the
Boys Own Urban Survival Manual,
the delights of barbequing Texasstyle with Uncle Barfs Drunk
Chicken.
Ingredients
1 large fire, nicknamed Dante’s
Inferno, or to the initiated, a
‘barbie’
1 sober chicken, plucked and ready
1 can of open and preferably undrunk beer, lager or bitter
1 large nob of butter
1 one pot of seasoning or sauce as
found in any man’s kitchen, in this
case peanut butter
1 one bottle of previously opened
traditional recipes
and stale red wine
“Greetings health
fans, this little
number I picked up in Texas in between bouts of wrestling young
steers while dressed as Coco the
Clown—amazing the lengths you
need to go to in the states to get a
job without a green card.”
Method
1. First take your chicken, bought
ready-plucked from Lucky’s for
the busy executive (Homo Briefcaz
et Mobilus) , or recently run down
by a motorcycle-riding drunk
(Homo Hairi Irectus), de pending on
the lateness of your Sunday evening start. Try to keep it in one
piece, minus head, interns and especially feathers.
2. Take a can of your favourite
fizzy liquor and open it. Be careful
at this stage to avoid contact of
the open can with the lips of the
chef as this may necessitate a repeat of number 2. If this problem
continues to occur replace can
handler.
3. Insert can into vacated internals of bird, being careful not to
allow the chicken to move to more
than an angle of 30 degrees, otherwise forcing a return to action 2.
Place bird with can in the standing position on the preheated grill
of the barbie, noting that the temperature of the barbie has dropped
below the point where the paint on
the exterior ceases to melt.
4. Liberally apply butter and
seasoning to skin of bird. Unfort u-
nately, breakfast cereals such as
cornflakes are not suitable as
they stick to both the bird and
barbie.
Use stale red wine to keep the
flames from the barbie down to a
reasonable height Do not allow to
the wine to actually touch the flesh
of the bird.
5.Allow chicken to stand undisturbed above moderate heat for at
least one hour/five more cans
drunk as the liquid permeates
through the flesh of the bird. Once
contents of beer can in chicken is
empty remove from heat and consume.
Result – One succulent chicken
consumed while not interrupting
the flow of alcohol for one second.
See you next month
Uncle Barf
February 1999
On the Gas
Roll on 99... What’s on for the new
year?
Well the year started badly for
those who like a good get down
and boogie, what with the reintroduction of the ‘Thai Boys Band’ at
the city’s favourite down-to-earth
dance club, CASA. Thai tunes to
funk the night away and new
found harassment from those al dies of the night was not exactly
what the regular clientele was looking for.
Something new was needed, so
Dan from the Monsoon bar got
together with the MIB and opened
the Monsoon Underground Club.
Cheap drinks and late night vibes
can now be found every Friday
and Saturday night from 10 till
late. Guest DJs and weekend party
promotions, like the Tequila weekend that started the whole thing
off, will be a happenin’ very regularly. Monsoon Underground, on
St 240, is above the Palms restau-
rant.
Dan is also looking to start a
pool competition, check with the
bar for details.
$$$$
Sihanoukville has also undergone many changes with a flock
of new faces starting new ventures, as well as old faces turning
new tricks. Very favourable reports have come back to the
Pearnik concerning Steve Wornes
latest SCUBA adventure to Condor reef aboard a rented 60’ long
tug boat. “Like dropping into an
aquarium” was how one happy
camper described it, with plenty
of old wrecks and pottery found
on the reef itself and the resting
place of many a vessel. Although
if Condor Reef isn’t a totally
awesome dive site, there is little
hope for the SCUBA scene off
the Cambodian coast, as Condor
promises everything for the adventure diver.
Steve has also moved from
Pet’s Place and opened the
M arlin Bar and Grill along
with partner Peter in the
Sem Sak Hotel.
— The Red Snapper has
opened under Brit guidance —
apparently right in the middle of
town — but when the new proprietor was asked where, he wasn’t exactly sure, although the
phone number is in the ad.
— Sam’s old restaurant (near the
Mealy Chenda guest house) has
been turned into the Melting Pot
where Craig claims to serve a
breakfast “bigger than the Travelers Bar breakie.” Sounds like
fightin’ talk and a Bayon Pearnik
stunster is being dispatched at
once to the beach to defend Tich’s
honour. Read all about it in next
months issue.
— The same goes for the new
Marco Polo guest house and Italian restaurant in Kampot where
the same scrupulous stunster will
call in to test the quality of the
spaghetti and the wild claims of
exotic tours en route from Bokor
Mountain. The stunster will be
scoping the opportunities for an
Angkor Dirt Bike Tour excursion
to the ex-casino on Bokor in
March to coincide with the long
weekend created by International Woman’s Day on March
8th. For more info call Zeman
(012 809 424) or Ben (012 800
884).
$$$$
Back in Phnom Penh, and for
those yearning for mid-week
action and entertainment, don’t
forget that the Walkabout Hotel
(St.51) has a pool competition
every Tuesday with generous
sponsorship from Angkor Beer.
The DMZ holds a quiz—could
be general knowledge, could be
pop, could be movies—every
Wednesday night, with generous
prizes from the bottom of Ian’s
waste paper basket or broom
cupboard. The DMZ is also the
HQ for all things rugby related.
$$$$
Lastly, Rich Garella, front
man for chart toppers SPANK
will be performing live at his
going away party at the infamous Heart of Darkness, 51
street, on Friday February,
12th. Replacement lead singers
for the bands upcoming world
tour should definitely attend as
well as anyone wishing to say
goodbye to Rich.
February 1999
Borders Opening To Four Wheel Overlanders
Relaxed regulations on the
Cambodian frontiers recently
opened the doors to the first
four-wheel overlanders to enter
the Kingdom.
“We were very pleasantly
surprised at how easy it had
been entering Cambodia from
Vietnam, it was a breeze. We
still have the carton of Marlboro’s that were going to give
to the border guards! We didn’t expect to be able to get in
here so it’s a real bonus,” said
Robbie.
Travellers Robbie and
Pauline left Jersey in their
Local Brewery Awarded
International Standard
Cambodia Brewery Limited
(CBL), producers of Tiger Beer,
Anchor Beer and ABC Stout,
were recently awarded the prestigious ISO 9002 certification in
recognition of high standards in
production and service, the first
company in Cambodia ever to
receive the award.
ISO stands for International
Organization for Standarization.
Based in Geneva, Switzerland,
one of the key elements of the
Bayon
award is a continual raising in the
standard of quaility of products
through continuous training, discipline and hard work.
At a ceremony at the brewery
in Kien Svay in late January, the
M inister of Commerce presented
the award to CBL General Manager Peter Ong. CBL has the capacity to produce over 80 million
cans of beer per year after being
established in 1994 with an intial
investment US$50 million.
Pearnik
Volume 3, Number 34 -February 1999.
Published by Michael Haze
Robert Starkweather, driven abroad
Zeman McCreadie, walked abroad
Adam Parker, flew abroad
James Ekhardt, booted abroad
Bill Irwin, back on a broad
Dr Safari, doesn’t go a broad
Chhieng Mol, can’t find a broad
Craig Mapleston, just plain broad
Bayon Pearnik
can’t tell if it’s really a broad
Advertising, Editorial, Distribution and Abusive Enquiries
#187 Street 63 P.O. Box 2279, Phnom
Penh 3
012 809 424 (Zeman),
012 803 968 (Adam)
E-Mail: [email protected]
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www.bayon-pearnik.com
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Copies printed this issue - 5,000
The Bayon Pearnik gratefully accepts any old rubbish,
e-mail, fax, post or paper wrapped round a brick.
m o d if i e d
longwheel
based
Lan drover 110
in July,
1997,
bound
for Austrailia.
They
Robbie and Pauline visit Cambodia Astra Motor
had a moBiggest detour of the trip so
ment of concern entering Vietnam (from Lao) when they saw far? “Deciding not to enter
a sign stating that no right China from Pakistan as the Chihand drive vehicles were al- nese wanted $15,000 for a ten
lowed into the country, Al- week permit because of the
though once at the border, no vehicle. And some people were
actually paying it! I’d prefer to
one seemed to notice.
After a short side trip to wait until China opens up a
Sihanoukville, the couple in- little more and travel for antended to drive their ex-West other year on the money inMidlands Water Authority stead.”
The only equipment not yet
landie to visit the temples in
Siem Reap, then back to Thai- used? “The cooker, food in
land before heading to one of Asia is so good and cheap it’s
the islands for a rest, and onto not worth cooking for yourself.”
Australia.