Author: Staff

Penh-Dacity II:Bong James Bong (June 26)

Desmond, an English-language expat in Phnom Penh, has a mission to eject an intruder into his simple over-drinking underperforming semi-occupation. He’s got to get him out of this place, if it’s the last thing he ever does. Luckily, he has friends, or co-conspirators at least. There’s a plane to be caught. Now read on.

In the deep, hot stink of the night, they are gathered, clustered, holding the perimeter around Bong, James Bong. Phany, able first lieutenant and wily tactician, runner of errands, stone sober. Wyndy, the field marshall, strategist, alert as ever, running on cranberry. Desmond, with whom the buck was in the end going to stop, with a steady stream of Dutch courage under his belt and a briefcase in his sweaty hand.

The power outage had lasted long enough to clear the punters out. With effective use of a corner, a table, well-placed chairs and lots of scotch, the captive was not going anywhere. From time to time, Bong, James Bong, himself extremely generously fortified, would wake up and drunkenly wonder why he was not being surrounded by skinny women with long black hair rubbing his shoulders, and would almost attempt to get up and go find some. But then there would be the crew’s assertions that they would make sure they got him safely onto his plane, and he would be lulled back into a passive snooze.

“Where am I?” The shout woke them all up from a brief sleep. “What’s going on?” “Relax, man, we’ll get you to the plane.  Get him a drink, Phany.” There was a rested restlessness in the pop star’s eyes now, blinking and squinting in the dark bar. When Phany returned with a glass and a bottle, Des had an epiphany.

“Phany, you were in the Cambodian space project, weren’t you?” Des asked casually. “Me, bong?” “Yes. You flew halfway to the moon when the King Father died, as a tribute, right?” “Yes, bong. The king love the moon so much.” Bonne’s eyes widened. “You… you… Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded of Desmond. “Highly top secret, old chap. I risk my life just mentioning it.” But Bonne had already turned to start interrogating Phany.

“So were you funded by the US? Of course you were. And what sort of spacecraft, a rocket or, no, it must have been a shuttle kind of thing.” “Yes, bong. Yes, bong.”   And so it went on, so captivating Bonne that he seemed to forget all about his last night, his luggage, his flight, placing his drunken self entirely in the hands of his captors.

And then the dawn started to light the sky; it was time to play put the pop star in the tuk-tuk. The movement prompted him to fall into a fitful sleep in between interrogations, as they zipped through the humid streets. As they jostled past the big scary government buildings on Russian Boulevard, Desmond gestured and made a point of mentioning how their lives were in danger merely from discussing the matter.  As they pulled further and further out from the city, the traffic began to congest forcefully; millions of cars lined up in the opposite direction trying to make their way into the bulging metropolis.

Pulling up at the airport, they all fell out of the tuk tuk and dragged the half-asleep Bonne to Departures. Wyndy stood glowering at a distance while Des made a relieved farewell. “Don’t forget your guitar,” he said kindly, handing it over for the last time.  “David Bowie may want it back some day. Or Chrissie Hynde.”

“It’s not hers,” said Bonne, suddenly sheepish. “Actually I stole it from Rick Astley.  So I’m never gonna give it up…” and he tried a little dance, but it was beyond him and he slumped, exhausted. “And don’t forget this either,” said Desmond, holding out the briefcase. “What’s that?” “Your fee.” There was a pause. “Keep it. Buy yourselves a couple of rounds. Or a couple of girls. Whatever.” And with that, the one-hit wonder turned and went through the sliding doors to suffer the airport administration. A few minutes later they were waving to him as he ascended the escalator towards his future, or heaven, or passport control, or…

So the three waited quietly, patiently, unwilling to relax. The air was thick with expectation. They wandered into the car park and watched the morning sky, and were finally gifted with the wonderful sight of an aeroplane taking off, and at that moment, as a glorious baptism, the rain came, big, heavy, drought breaking drops… and they gleefully piled into the tuk tuk and lurched into the unbelievable traffic.

And ground to a halt in the creeping mass of cars and an uncomfortable silence descended. After a while the rain eased and Wyndy waved down a passing moto. She and Des respectfully shook hands and agreed to cross the street if they ever saw each other coming. Phany joined her, leaving Des alone with the briefcase full of treasure that he daren’t open. So he sat quietly in the traffic, refreshed by the rain while still grainy from lack of sleep and too much alcohol, and started making a long, long list in his head of which debts he should honour and which he could ignore.

But then he stopped. First, he had some texts to read. Finances could wait, now that there was a woman involved. A new adventure in the Charming City.

            THE END 

 

 

One last curtain call

The name Finale seems a strange title for a book dedicated to the funeral of King Norodom Sihanouk (1922 – 2012). But then again looking back at his life he was a man who embraced the theatrical, who thrived on being centre stage, so maybe the title is appropriate after all: a man taking a final curtain call on a life lived large.

And what a life! Chosen to be king in 1941 by the Vichy French, who considered him ideal because of his seemingly singular interest in girls, horses and cinema. A figure who confounded these expectations by skillfully and shrewdly achieving independence for Cambodia a mere 12 years later, an outcome that took Vietnam a further 22 years to achieve and the countless loss of lives. A man who then presided over a golden age of development that encompassed the arts, architecture and public infrastructure, while holding off the Cold War forces that were tearing the rest of the region apart.

An individual who abdicated not once, but twice and who again, twice, sided with the genocidal and decidedly anti-monarchist Khmer Rouge, the same regime that murdered countless numbers of his relatives and friends. And then, in the post-Untac years, who slowly sunk from view as craftier politicians edged him from centre stage.

The King Father was nothing if not a complex, even flawed figure, who nevertheless inspired an incredible reverence in the hearts of Cambodians. Put simply, the likes of him will likely never be seen again on the Cambodian stage. And like many who had arrived in Cambodia in more recent times I was taken aback by the enormity of the outpouring of grief and devotion that came with the return of Norodom Sihanouk’s coffin to Phnom Penh on October 17, 2012. What followed was a carefully choreographed funeral ‘event’ that unfolded across the weeks and months through to February 2013. And it is these events that Jim Mizerski’s book seeks to recount and explain.

Well, sort of.
Finding no up-to-date guides of the funeral ceremonies for Cambodia royalty Mizerski relies on translated records of prior services to illuminate our understanding of King Sihanouk’s funeral. This explains why the book’s title references two Norodoms in its heading. The assumption here is that the consistency of custom and rituals should carry over from the past and into the present.

What we get in Finale, therefore, is not a careful rundown the King Father’s funeral but a ‘funeral by association’, with detail drawn from translations of the description from funeral rituals that accompanied the death of a previous King Norodom, although one who died sometime back in 1904.
Hmmm. It’s an interesting assumption and because I was not around in 1904 (at least not in this life) I’m not in a position to offer a contrary view, so I think we have to take Mr Mizerski’s approach at face value.

Thankfully, for those who might become confused by this move, Finale’s photographs are up to date and provide a comprehensive record of events across the different ceremonial stages of Sihanouk’s funeral.

Regrettably, just as we are deprived of an up-to-date account of the ceremony, we are also deprived of the drama and intrigue that occurred beneath the surface of King Norodom Sihanouk’s funeral. This includes the efforts of the PTB (the ‘Powers That Be’) to capture the public emotion unleashed by his death to polish their own reputations. What this means is that we get a ‘manual’ and no Shakespeare.

As a consequence, anthropologists, historians and ethnographers are likely to be the most pleased with Finale, while the rest of us will find better mementos in our personal memories of those days. A time where, rather than being solemn, the air seemed to be positively charged by human emotion, feelings that could not be controlled or marshaled by any single cliché; an energy, I think, that ultimately inspired decisions made at the ballot box a few months later.

So what are my memories? Two stand out.
The first is being on a deserted waterfront, the road shut from traffic for the funeral parade, all shops closed and shuttered; there being no one else in view except two confused-looking Chinese men wheeling their suitcases down the middle of an empty road.

The second, watching the King Father’s funeral carriage pass and kneeling, together with everyone else, to show my respects. Then seeking to get up but being told by some green-clad military types to kneel back down for the carriage carrying the PTB, and the look of ‘You have got to be joking’ on the faces of the people around me, refusing to kneel and everyone smiling and laughing. And somewhere up there, I think the King Father would have been smiling, too.

Finale: The Royal Cremations of Norodom and Norodom Sihanouk, Kings of Cambodia, by Jim Mizerski, is available for $7 at Monument Books.

 

Last chance to see VII

Continuing our series on the region’s rarest flora and fauna, a nod to the wonderful conservation work of Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy author Douglas Adams, Southeast Asia’s most dedicated conservationists introduce the here-today-gone-tomorrow creatures that excite them most  

Airborne undertakers:
Asian vultures
Beneath the headline Aux jardins de la mort (‘In the gardens of the dead’), on the front page of an ancient black-and-white copy of French journal La vie illustrée, an emaciated man in turban and loin cloth squats in the dust beneath a barren tree. At his feet, only marginally more emaciated, a human corpse lies prone. The entire morbid scene is surrounded by a two-deep ring of monochrome Gyps vultures, hooked beaks straining toward the stench of death.

The skies above Asia were once crowded with these doyens of body disposal, but their numbers dropped by a staggering 95% in the space of just three years in the 1990s. It wasn’t until 2004, however, that scientists finally worked out why: anti-inflammatory drug Diclofenac, widely used to treat ailing livestock, is fatal to raptors who feed on their poisoned carcasses. The risk of extinction is now very real. In a bid to counter their decline, certain birds are now being treated to privileged dining.

“Cambodian vultures are fed by the Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS) and its partners at five ‘vulture restaurants’ in open deciduous forest,” says Dr Hugo Rainey, one of the WCS’ technical advisors. “These restaurants supplement the limited food available for vultures in the wild and allow our monitoring teams to count vultures as they come to feed. We also monitor breeding and each year find between 20 and 35 nests along riverine forest and hilly areas.”

A 2010 survey by the WCS counted almost 300 vultures in the skies above the country, a record high. “By protecting nests and supplementing food supplies, we are saving some of the world’s largest and most charismatic birds,” says Dr Rainey. “Three critically endangered species inhabit the Northern and Eastern plains of Cambodia: the white-rumped, red-headed, and slender-billed, remnants of the large flocks once found across Asia. These all but disappeared as large herds of wild herbivores dwindled, agriculture was intensified and persecution of them increased. Today, the principle cause of death is poisoning as an accidental consequence of local hunting and fishing practices. Now, the only stable or increasing population of vultures in the region is in Cambodia, with a small population in Myanmar.”

Feathered football:
white-eared night heron
Looking not unlike a feathered football, this stout hunchback has something of the night about it. The bird’s eeriness is compounded by its method of hunting: Gorsachius magnificus stalks aquatic prey – fish, amphibians, reptiles, crustacean, insects, other birds and even small mammals – by standing motionless for hours on end in shallow water, then striking with a dagger-sharp bill. Such ‘still fishing’ tactics are critical to the survival of these waders, which can adapt to almost any terrain provided water is on hand. With less than 100 left in the wild, they were believed extinct in Vietnam until a lone bird was spotted roosting in Bac Kan province a decade ago, and have the dubious honour of being included in the book The Fifty Rarest Birds In The World.

Seemingly unfazed by less-than-pristine habitat, they are often found close to human dwellings, a decision not without its downsides. During interviews with the People Resources and Conservation Foundation, notes technical advisor Michael Dine, “local people often commented with mouth-watering relish that in the past they used to gather eggs and chicks – and, if they were lucky, adult birds – from nests to eat. Everyone noted how tasty the bird was when cooked in a rice soup and chased down with a bottle of corn wine. Now they lament that all the birds near their homes have been eaten.” Today, local people are instead paid stipends for nest-finding and the protection of fledglings in a bid to temper their lust for heron soup.

“A member of one of the local ethnic minorities once took me by boat to about 30 metres from a tree with a nesting pair and directed me to look halfway up it through my binoculars,” recalls Dine of his first encounter with this “very secretive” creature. “After 30 minutes of fruitless searching and a very sore neck, I spotted a pair of yellow legs, then a second pair close by, standing deathly still and making no noise whatsoever. I was particularly taken by their brown underside with whitish streaks – camouflage that rendered them almost invisible when viewed from below. What a marvellous adaptation to the environment.”

Stealth hunter:
Indochinese leopard 

Unlike their domesticated counterparts, these cats don’t play with their food: prey is dispatched with a rapid pounce-and-bite combo. Although not yet as far out on the extinction ledge as other species featured in this series, Panthera pardus delacouri warrants a special mention. Mark Gately, former director of the Wildlife Conservation Society in Cambodia, where the species thrives in Mondolkiri forest, nominated the leopard for inclusion because of its incredible ability to adapt to fast-changing environments.

“As people reach further and further into the forest and normal habitat for other species starts disappear, leopards actually do quite well because they’re extremely versatile,” he said. “In India, for example, you see that leopards can live quite happily by preying on dogs next to villages. They can eat everything from tiny shrews to silverback gorillas, although obviously that gets them into trouble sometimes, too.”

Contributing to the leopard’s declining number is the popularity of its distinctive spotted hide among the hunting fraternity, along with that of other body parts such as the penis and testes on the traditional medicine market. In China, the domestic ban on trade notwithstanding, stockpiles of leopard bone are still used by the makers of traditional remedies – often as an alternative to tiger parts – with the full consent of Beijing.

Despite spending years studying leopard populations in Africa before relocating to Asia, Gately has only once been fortunate enough to see one close-up in the wild. “We were heading towards a clearing in the Congo, where I was working at the time, and suddenly saw a leopard about 20 metres away. We just stood there, trying very hard not to move or breathe. You would often see them in the distance, from the safety of a vehicle, but to see one in the flesh, when it’s just you and the animal and there’s nowhere to hide, is extremely rare – and a little unnerving.”

 

Falling on my head like a memory

Sorrow, trauma, apathy, lethargy. A grim roll-call by any standards, but as the wet season descends, surely there can be no better time to turn the eyes inward and contemplate one’s very existence? It’s precisely this type of intense, soul-stirring introspection that’s triggered when gazing too long or too hard at the work of Battambang-born Nov Cheanick  – a graduate of the Phare Ponleu Selpak school of arts and perhaps best known for his life-sized sculpture of a green cow at Phnom Penh airport – in his new exhibition, Rain.

From between form-distorting droplets of moisture, mournful souls peer out at whichever existential storm-chaser faces the painting. Tiny rivulets of colour creep horizontally across canvas, like wind-blown raindrops along the window of a speeding train. Rain, here, is a metaphor; one for that grimmest of roll calls mentioned in the opening par. Nov says sorrow and trauma lead to apathy and lethargy, and this is especially apparent in the Cambodian countryside, where farmers and labourers can achieve little during rainy season and so, in quiet resignation, do nothing at all.

In many of the textured-to-the-touch images, figures sit waiting, partly revealed under the paint splatter of falling rain. In others, the landscape is drenched into obscurity. On smaller canvases there’s the suggestion of clarity, with the portrait of a mysterious man emerging from a dark background, or disappearing into a lighter one. “I don’t want to read any more books of suffering that people have wrote,” Nov says. “Write a new page of happiness; find peace in the dirty place with a dirty life.” Says curator Dana Langlois, from Java Arts: “In this poetic, introspective work, he calls for action – not the storm-the streets kind of action, but the kind of action that transforms the spirit.”

Rain, by Nov Cheanick, is open at Java Café & Gallery, #56 Sihanouk Blvd, now.    

 

Roman noble

Aperitivo marks the latest entry into the capital’s burgeoning echelons of upper mid-market eateries. The small, downstairs bar is drenched in swathes of ochre and serves as a drinking spot and reception area for a larger dining room upstairs. The menu is long and diverse, with entries named in Italian and described in English. There are appetisers, soups, salads, pastas, pizzas, cold cuts, cheeses, mains and desserts. Grappa, too. Everything, really, that a homesick Italian might sell the grandkids for. Appetisers range from $6.50 to $13 or so. The Capesante alla Venezian starter (scallops grating with garlic and fresh parsley) costs $8.50, the Bolognese $7.50, the imported Black Angus tenderloin around $25. Aperitivo Winery & Eatery, #96 Sothearos Blvd.

Guilty pleasures

That most humdrum of discussions had among expats the world over: what do you miss about home?
Perhaps fair enough if you’re posted in beer-scarce Faisalabad, but participating in this sentimental circle-jerk can be particularly tedious in the rapidly burgeoning ‘burg of Phnom Penh, where, really, anything anyone could ever possibly need or want, from spa-and-pool cleaning supplies to spare pulmonary arteries, is nowadays within ready reach. Thusly, we’re subjected to staid stock answers such as family, fresh air or some mundane human-rights hogwash.

And for those long-time exiles living in Cambodia who can no longer function in the West without the threat of inadvertent arrest, the more pertinent question is: what do you miss about your adopted home in the Kingdom when forced to attend a family funeral or some other inconvenience back in your birth land?

It just so happens that I currently have some authority on the subject, being that I’ve been walkabout in Oz this past week to attend the annual Woolamoogoo Kangaroo-Rodeo out woop-woop (where home-town hero Dazza ‘Dicko’ Dickson will be out to defend his four-time world pouch-stuffing crown). From two-bit columnist to foreign correspondent in a few short weeks and so, naturally, in line with this esteemed profession, those things I’ve missed most about Cambodia to date relate directly to smoking, drinking and whoring.

I’m an unabashed smoker and eternally grateful – as you all should be – that I have at least the one addiction that doesn’t drive me to take off my pants in public. I also steadfastly believe that giving up smoking for better health is inherently narcissistic, in that the overarching motivation is to continue hogging all the carbon and tack a few extra hunch-backed years onto the end of one’s increasingly pointless existence. Besides, I look super-hip with a ciggie in hand.

Indeed, smoking has become so uncool in the West it’s almost defiantly cool again. A rebel yell followed by an anarchistic hack, wheeze and cough. But where a pack of Ara golds go for 25c at your friendly Cambodian cornerstore, a 50g pouch of tobacco now fetches a crippling A$136.19 on the Australian stock exchange. Still, if I were to quit, I wouldn’t know what to do with my lungs.

So I continue to sheepishly slink off to the special segregated smokers’ cage out the back of the pubs here to puff away with the other emphysemic social pariahs. The Khmers are far more accommodating toward their fellow nicotine-addicted citz, happy enough to send the baby out to the balcony so as not to inconvenience your indoor smoking. Or should you sadly run dry of ciggies, one of the young neighbourhood tykes will be promptly told to totter off to the shop for a fresh pack and perhaps a sixer of tinnies while they’re at it. And as with most things in life, that leads me nicely to the matter of beer.

Drinking to excess is socially unacceptable in Australia, or so the TV tells me. Certainly, it’s frowned upon in the workplace. But a lack of sobriety in the ‘Bodge amidst the bevy of brain-fried drop-outs is barely noticeable. Cambodian beer, however, sucks. Yet it’s cheap and plentiful and people pour it for you. Those same people also contribute ice under their own initiative. And while the sacrilegious act of adding melt-water to your schooner in Australia would see you drawn and quartered and strung from the Sydney Harbour Bridge as a lesson to the city’s swelling metrosexual sect, in Cambodia it encourages the sort of sustained drinking that allows for continued semi-conscious control of a vehicle.

 

Penh-Dacity II:Bong James Bong (June 19)

Desmond, an English-language expat in Phnom Penh, is babysitting a troublesome, alcoholic ex-pop star through a bar gig and then onto a plane. If all goes well. Things haven’t been going so smoothly lately. Now read on for the latest in our exclusive fiction series by Guillermo Wheremount.

Once Wyndy left, and as Bonne noisily slept, Desmond chose to avoid looking at Sophal’s text messages by chatting with Phany. Or attempting to. “He crazy guy, yeah?”  Phany nodded and polished glasses. “Crazy man. But famous. You really sing that song all the time?” “Yes, bong.” Des let silence descend.

“Two kinds of girl, bong,” said Phany suddenly. “You like bad girl or good girl?” Desmond braced himself. They were going to talk about his little romance with Phany’s cousin. “I like good girl. Like Sophal, she a good girl.” “Yes, she a good girl,” admitted Phany. “But I think you not good man. You no have money, you no have good job. And you go with bad girl.”

“I don’t go with bad girl,” said Des. “Well, just once or twice. But before Snuck bar. No more.” “You go with crazy man and bad girls last night.” There it was: a confrontation, in a most un-Khmer fashion. “No, crazy man try to make me, but I say no.” “Why you do like that? Why you bad with Srey Phal? Plenty bad girls you can choose. Then you can go back your country, be happy, drive big car.”

Shiv, thought Desmond. And I haven’t even kissed her. The tension was broken by two hairy hands grasping Desmond’s shoulders and beery breath in his ear, repeating his name like a lover: the unmistakable voice of a one-hit wonder from deep in the dregs of karaoke DVDs. James Bonne himself.

“Yeah, hey man,” said Des. “All ready for the show?” “Are you kidding man? I’m always ready. Ready to perform for my public, whichever strange corner of the world they are in. $%5#$ hot, isn’t it? Whisky for my biggest fan?” “Um, no. I’ll wait.”

“Well, one for me then. Do you know why I’m always ready to perform for my public, whichever-strange-corner-of-the-world-they-are-in?” Desmond didn’t. “Because, my friend, I have a guitar that simply sings for me. It was given to me by David Bowie. Well, not given. But he let me have it. Or at least, he never asked for it back.”

Bonne roared with laughter that turned into a coughing fit and Desmond disentangled himself from the hands and the arms and the whole pop star closeness. It was going to be a long night, he could tell. Bonne appeared to remember something and he whispered conspiratorially towards Desmond.

“There’s a reason I decided to take up whatsisname’s offer in this strange corner, you know. Because I’ve been adding up two and two and a-coming up with fours all over the place.” He seemed particularly proud to be accomplishing this arithmetic, which frankly looked beyond his intellect at that moment, but maybe that was just the glaze in his eyes. “I’m very interested in this lie about the US government putting people on the moon.”

“You mentioned that.” “I did? OK. Well, do you know who was president when Apollo claimed to have visited the moon?” “Nixon?” said Desmond, remembering a previous irritating conversation.  “Right. And then where did he drop lots and lots of bombs?” “Cambodia and Laos?”

Bonne brightened with a knowing smile. “Right. So there’s a connection. And then I heard that there’s this Cambodian space project…” “Yes, but it’s band. They play music.” “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, my friend. Down in Sihanoukville I met a guy who admitted that he had been with the Cambodian space project, years ago.  And they’d been doing all these experiments and leaving the stratosphere and everything. So don’t go peddling your misinformation, buddy.” And with a laugh, he punched Des jovially in the shoulder, lost his balance and collapsed on the floor.

Come show time, though, Bonne once again let his professional shine come through. Maybe it was a magic guitar after all. Under the stage lights his blank glaze accepted the adulation that washed over him. Patrons were five deep at the bar, and the mini mart on the corner did huge business in cans of beer for those prepared to take a short walk for a shorter wait.

The show built to a climax that gushed forth with the opening chords of the great hit – remember, a one-hit wonder is better than a no-hit wonder – and Sweet Sugar For My Baby Love leaked like treacle out of the speakers, with Sambath arriving in time to stand at the back, beaming at the crowd, nodding his head to and fro in pleasure, casually clutching a black briefcase.

Then as the final note faded, to wild applause, Wyndy appeared at Desmond’s elbow, eyes extra piercing for serious business, and the power went out.

 

Next week: the grand finale

 

Dish: Pizza, vino & the secret of good living

When I tell someone that I am Italian, for some strange reason the first thing that comes to his or her mind is pizza. Taking for granted that being Italian I should be a Queen of Cuisine, one of the first questions they ask is: ‘Can you cook something for me?’ Disappointingly, I am not the master chef that people expect and, surprisingly, I can’t make a pizza but I do know very well what a proper Italian one tastes like.

After taking a stroll near Kandal Market, I find a small pizza and wine shop on Street 136. Unable to resist the tempting call of my culinary origins, I pop in to find out more about this place called Ga.Dò. As I enter the restaurant, an Italian-Jamaican friendly chap called Marco greets me with a smile while I look at the endless showcase of wine bottles with amazement. It feels a bit like a walking tour through Italy, as I recognise wines from all the regions.

Suddenly, the words of Clifton Fadiman come to mind: “If food is the body of good living, wine is its soul.” Here, if I give credit to his opinion, there is certainly a selection wide enough to find the essence of a happy life. Marco, international director of Ga.Dò, explains with pride how he personally designed and assembled the articulated wooden display which presents traditional, premium and class selection wines. Bottles range from $20 for a Bonarda to $100 for a Chianti. They are not cheap, but the quality is assured and certified.

Through a small window I catch a glimpse of the kitchen, where an Italian chef from Florence is making my pizza with tomato sauce, mozzarella, black olives, ham and mushrooms. While waiting, I order a glass of house wine ($3), which turns out to be quite full in body and very pleasant to drink. Food is served by Linda, who is also a sommelier and can explain the 50 shades of taste of their nectar of the gods.

I leave Bacco and Dionisio for a moment and finally taste my pizza capricciosa ($9). The original version is with green peppers, but I’ve asked for black olives instead. The preparation doesn’t take long and this steaming, mouth-watering pizza has an irresistibly thin, crunchy crust and a very rich flavour which reminds me of home. The chef reveals the secret: traditional recipe, fresh ingredients directly imported from Italy and a good stone oven.

Here they don’t bring you ketchup or crazy sauces to pour on top of the thick dough which in some places they still call ‘pizza’. If you are a true lover of the ultimate Made In Italy dish, you won’t be disappointed. Fancy a dish of pasta? Choose between spaghetti alla bolognese; with tuna and lime, with garlic and parsley and alla carbonara.

While eating, Adriano Celentano’s songs create a relaxing atmosphere with a touch of Italy, without excessive stereotyping or the old over-listened-to O Sole Mio, or even Sarà Perché Ti Amo. The pizzeria is cosy, but the long wooden table at the centre of the room provides a sense of conviviality. One more thing: Ga.Dò is probably the only place in Phnom Penh to sell Lemonsoda and Oransoda, the famous Italian refreshing drinks made with flesh of the fruit combined with lemon and orange juice.

Ga.Dò, #110 Street 136; 097 5477010.

 

Last chance to see VI

A female-only lizard species which reproduces by cloning and was only discovered after a scientist spotted it on the menu of a Vietnamese restaurant was among more than 200 new species identified in the Great Mekong area in just 12 months in 2011. Spanning Thailand, Cambodia, Myanmar, Vietnam, Laos and China’s Yunnan province, it is of the world’s most bio-diverse regions and has produced hundreds of species new to science over the past decade. Their discovery, often the result of increased human activity, is a double-edged sword, according to the World Wildlife Fund: while building roads opens up remote habitats to scientists who can then venture into previously unexplored areas, it can also result in greater exploitation of the land which destroys these fragile ecosystems. Continuing our series investigating the plight of the region’s rarest fauna and flora, a nod to the work of British author Douglas Adams, Southeast Asia’s most dedicated conservationists describe the here-today-gone-tomorrow creatures that inspire them.

Forest fool: Tonkin’s
snub-nosed monkey
This extremely rare skull-faced primate, Rhinopithesus avunculus, has yet to be seen alive by any Western scientists. Captured on camera for the first time in 2011 by wildlife photographer Jeremy Holden, who works with Fauna and Flora International, this Old World monkey’s stubby snout has a peculiar side-effect: when it rains, the water falls straight into the creature’s upturned nostrils, triggering convulsive sneezing fits.

The species photographed by Holden, first discovered in Myanmar and known locally as mey nwoah (‘monkey with an upturned face’), spends most of the monsoon season with its head tucked miserably between its knees. Sadly, rain is the least of its problems: of the estimated 300 in the wild, the only scientifically observed specimen had been killed and eaten by local hunters by the time researchers found it. Holden also spotted them with their young in the remote mountain jungles of Kachin, on the border with China.

“I still have a vivid recollection of the first time I saw them in the wild,” says Michael Dine, of the People Resources and Conservation Foundation. “The survey team had stopped for a break. A group of four passed directly overhead through the canopy, allowing us to see this wonderful animal close-up. Due to extremely high hunting pressure, such a close encounter is extremely rare and we thought ourselves most fortunate.

“Tonkin’s snub-nosed monkey is an intriguing and unusual-looking animal. It could be described in the same breath as most beautiful and incredibly ugly, but I prefer the first adjective. This is in particular due to its unique facial features, which include a small upturned nose with the tip nearly reaching the forehead, pale blue around the eyes (think somebody has given them black eyes without the swelling), and bluish-black around the mouth, with large, juicy red lips. It’s the monkey version of the clown.”

Gentle giant:
Asian elephant
Although revered by many Asian cultures, the Asian elephant – Elephas maximus – is today tusk-to-tusk with extinction. “Asian elephants were previously found across 8.6 million square kilometres of southern Asia, from Iran to China south to Indonesia, but recent reviews suggest they are now only found in 10% of their original range and only a small proportion of that range is adequately protected,” explains Dr Hugo Rainey from the Wildlife Conservation Society.

For thousands of years, domesticated Asian elephants have been used in traditional ceremonies, to haul felled trees, for milling during harvest season and even as weapons of war. They boast the greatest volume of cerebral cortex available for cognitive processing in the animal kingdom, ranking their intelligence alongside that of the great apes when making and using tools.

Eating as much as 136 kilograms of roots, grasses, fruit and bark every day leaves little time for sleeping and these gently lumbering behemoths are almost constantly on the move. Herds are matriarchal: the dominant elephant is female, usually the oldest, largest or most experienced, and they communicate via low-frequency rumbles that can carry distances of up to 16 kilometres.

Their numbers, warns Dr Rainey, are rapidly dwindling. “The situation in Southeast Asia is particularly acute because large agro-industrial concessions are being developed rapidly in forested areas. Strategic planning of economic development rarely takes into account the needs of elephants for large contiguous areas of forest and wetlands which provide them with food, water and shelter throughout the year. For example, elephants may feed in open forest in the wet season when plenty of water holes and lush vegetation are abundant, but they may retreat to dense evergreen forest in the dry season where permanent water is found.

“Cambodia has probably five remaining populations of elephants scattered across the country and only three of these receive effective conservation protection. These populations are small, but they are some of the few remaining in Southeast Asia and should be saved to maintain Cambodia’s natural heritage.”

Leggy alarm clock:
giant ibis
Cambodia’s national bird is a relative monster. The giant ibis, Thaumatibis gigantean, stands a towering one metre in height, yet despite its imposing size it is rarely seen in the wild, where only 100 breeding pairs are thought to survive. So it was with much excitement that Wildlife Alliance announced in 2012 that a camera trap in Cambodia’s Koh Kong province had successfully captured an image of one ambling nonchalantly past the lens – the first definitive record in Koh Kong since 1918.

Found mostly in northern and eastern Cambodia, giant ibises are extremely sensitive to habitat disturbance and hunting – key factors in the declining population. The bird has a distinctive, alarm-like call and its preferred habitat includes marshes, pools, wide rivers and seasonal water-meadows in open lowland forest, generally at least 4km from the nearest humans.

Kampong Som valley, where the most recent image was captured, is an amazing ecosystem of flooded grasslands, wetlands, small lakes and a wide river mixed with regenerating deciduous and semi-evergreen forest. The area has been protected by the Cambodian Forestry Administration and Wildlife Alliance for the past 10 years in a bid to restore the corridor link between the western and eastern forests of the Southern Cardamom Mountains. The next steps for conservationists are to determine the size of the population and whether the bird photographed by Wildlife Alliance indicates the presence of a breeding population and, thus, new hope.

“The giant ibis shuns people,” Jonathan Eames, programme manager for BirdLife International in Indochina, has previously noted. “It’s a magnificent bird that, with its evocative call, will only be saved from global extinction when more people recognise that the economic values of the dry dipterocarp forests of Cambodia extend beyond cassava plantations and poorly conceived biofuel projects.”

 

Street sounds

It all started with the pagan ritual marking summer solstice. In 1976, Joel Cohen – an American musician and expert in French and English renaissance music – hit on the idea of staging an all-night musical celebration to mark the moment the Sun reached its zenith. He pitched his idea to his employers, French radio station France Musique, and six years later in Paris the first Fête de la Musique finally took place. It has since spread so far and wide it’s now known as World Music Day, a time when amateur and professional musicians alike take to the streets to give free concerts across the globe. Here’s our pick of what’s happening across Cambodia during this year’s festival, the theme for which is Urban Sounds: