Suffolk Sauntering : Day 4 - Southwold to Halesworth

1.
It had been a cold night, the tent was wet with condensation, there was sand everywhere and after three days without a shower things in my tiny tent were getting a bit grim.  I rose early and packed up, keen not to be discovered in the dunes by inquisitive dogs and their owners.  Arriving late and exhausted hadn't given me the opportunity to look around Southwold so I decided to head into town.  The first person I met that day walking his two dogs offered a clipped but friendly 'good morning'; I decided he must be a retired major or some such.  Southwold was fairly empty at this time, the eerily perfect village greens and chocolate box houses lent it a Portmeirion fell.  I imagined myself as Patrick McGoohan from the Prisoner, and the spooky perfection made me want to deliberately transgress just to see what would happen.  I briefly considered pitching my tent bang in the middle of the green to see if the big bouncing white ball would appear to squash me; more likely it would be the busy body old lady and the 'major' who run the town council who would tell me my sort weren't welcome here and ask me to move on.  I briefly admired the Adnams brewery buildings - they were already alive and buzzing, the forklifts buzzing around the town centre delivering raw materials from one part of the brewery to another.  This must be one of the few British breweries which is directly in the middle of a town, and as a result Adnams have been able to capitalise on tourism with brewery tours etc.  Unfortunately, they weren't running at 7am.  Southwold is a beautiful place, but to me it had the feel of somewhere which has been loved to death and is no longer real - full of wealthy retirees, and London stockbrokers on holiday.

2.
Making the detour around the mouth of the River Blyth to cross on the footbridge restored my confidence in the area a little; the boatyards, chandlers, local fishing boats and quayside fishmongers had none of Southwold's gloss and the place was a hive of activity.  I decided to follow the River Blyth upstream.  A lovely walk through marshes and woodland took me to Blythburgh where I stopped for a break at the local church which looked particularly grand and it was a real treat.  Like many churches in the UK it was unlocked, with no-one around, and visitors were more than welcome to look around.  The beautiful wooden roof and 'priest hole' were fascinating, the size and ornateness of the building for such a small village illustrate well the wealth which once flowed into this area from lucrative agriculture.

3.
The walk from Blythburgh to Halesworth following the River Blyth upstream was lovely - the small river meandered through lush green meadows, interspersed with native hedgerows and woodland.  The paths here were not well maintained; this was the first time I had walked on regular footpaths and not marked long-distance tracks.  At one point, I became lost and failed to find the riverside path, only to discover further along that it was actually closed due to flooding and damage -  a lucky mistake.  I was feeling very tired and desperately in need of a shower; the map showed very few options walking on from Halesworth (apart from the road); Halesworth had a train station, so I decided to finish the walk and catch the train back to my car at Diss.

4.
I was tired as I walked through fields on the outskirts of the town.  I was surprised to look up and see a large black dog bounding towards me.  I looked at it to try to gauge it's intentions - tongue out panting or teeth bared and snarling ?  It certainly wasn't panting, and whilst it wasn't snarling as such it did look reasonably aggressive so I opted for showing it the foot.  It pulled up and had a couple of cracks at me while I waved my foot around fending it off with some success.  I should say i'm not much of a dog person (although I get along with them fine), but when the owner came up I politely suggested that she should keep her dog on the lead and walked off thinking that was that.  As I was walking along the high street to the station five minutes later, an old pickup truck pulled up.  The driver wound down the window and politely asked me if i'd just been attacked by a dog.  I said I had, and before I knew it the guy entered into a tirade of expletives and abuse.  My two attempts to suggest that the dog should be on a lead and that I had been nothing but polite with (as it turned out) his wife were clearly not getting through and were met with more effing and blinding.  I could see the red mist had descended and there was no reasoning with him, but feeling like I was the one who had been wronged I offered him a two finger salute before walking off.  For a second I thought it was going to get nasty - he was a big bloke and started getting out of the car - but he obviously thought better of it and drove off.  Feeling a little shaken up, I headed to the station only to discover the next train wasn't for 3 hours.  I really didn't want to hang out in Haylesworth any longer than I had to but I bided the time with a pint and the newspaper at the local pub.

5.
So, that was it.  When I set out, I wanted to see the beautiful pastoral landscape of 'Constable country' and learn to saunter with Henry David Thoreau.  Although I had covered more miles than a saunterer typically would, and my body ached as a result, I did feel as though my lightweight method of travelling, bivouacing, and lack of fixed plans had allowed me to really experience Suffolk.  Sure, I had discovered a decent slice of Constable country, and my appetite for green fields and hedgerows, woodlands and songbirds, quaint villages and country pubs had been sated.  But i'd also visited places down on their luck, even in this beautiful part of the world.  Lowestoft and Haylesworth were doing it hard in the recession without a doubt.  I'd met plenty of people on my walk - both friendly and interesting as well as angry and narrow minded.  Of course, at the end I realised that although England "is" beautiful countryside and small villages populated with friendly locals, it is just as much scruffy unloved Lowestoft, and massive industrial farmscapes, and 'loved to death' Southwold, and the man in Halesworth angry at the world and everyone in it.  When all's said and done, I loved Suffolk (warts and all), and i'll certainly go back to explore more.

An Unusual Support Call

Working in IT has a downside, as i'm sure any fellow IT professionals out there will confirm.  Friends and family view you as a free, one stop "solve my computer problem" shop.  Although i'm always happy to offer advice, I try not to get too involved normally; saying yes too often can lead to a serious lack of free time where you come home from a full days work to an evening or weekend of the same, trying to fix someones hard drive crash, itunes library problem etc.  Anyway, since i've been in Phnom Penh and word has got around that I 'know' IT, i've been getting a lot of calls from friends and work colleagues.  As I have time on my hands here, and I know that trying to maintain a computer in Phnom Penh has particular challenges, I really don't mind helping.  Anyway, yesterday the phone rang over breakfast and I had a support call which really floored me.  You might remember I mentioned about the little red ants which get everywhere in your house here, well a mate had woken up to find a colony had set up camp inside his laptop keyboard !  He promised he hadn't spilt anything on it, so presumably they were feasting on the dead skin gunk that collects under keys.  After laughing, and then apologising for laughing, I looked up his laptop model's maintenance guide to discover that dismantling wasn't an easy option, so I recommended a combination of compressed air and a hoover to blast and suck the little blighters out.  I haven't heard back yet on the results, i'll post here when I do.

The Chief

This morning was one of those mornings...you know, the morning after the night before when you wake up and then suddenly remember something.  Neither of us had slept well and the events of the previous night were still running through our heads.  I was just looking forward to a relaxing weekend, trying to forget about what had happened.  Unfortunately, after calling her office to let them know what had happened, Em was told we had to report the incident to the police as it was company policy.

My heart sank when Em relayed this message.  My reluctance to go to the police might seem odd to a reader outside of Cambodia, after all we had just been mugged at gunpoint, but I did have good reasons.  My only encounters with Cambodian Police to date were with corrupt traffic cops, scamming money out of innocent motorists to supplement their meagre income.  I'd heard from fellow expats that the Police are just as corrupt and ineffective when dealing with other crimes, and any serious criminal investigation tends to work on a pay as you go basis ie: you pay, they investigate.  Given that we hadn't lost anything we couldn't replace, and couldn't provide accurate descriptions of assailants or motorbikes there really didn't seem to be much point.  Finally, the request from Em's Khmer work colleague that we meet her first to get our stories straight before going to the police station didn't bode well, although she would be coming along as our interpreter.  As we left the apartment, I remember insisting to Em that I would refuse to pay money to the police if asked.

The police station was just another residential house on a dusty back street of Phnom Penh, only a sign on the gate giving it away.  It wasn't exactly a hive of activity; the yard contained a few moto's, an old ping pong table, and a chicken scratching around in the dirt.  We were intercepted by a Khmer chap (not in uniform) who asked a couple of questions, then led us into the main room.  Five guys were huddled closely around a table laughing raucously at something I couldn't quite see.  There didn't seem to be much police work going on.  Our friend fetched the Chief of Police who asked some more preliminary questions before ushering us into his office.  Plastic canteen chairs were fetched for the three of us.  The interview lasted 45 minutes or so, we gave as much information as we could, and a series of forms were filled out, one of which Em had to sign with a thumb print (many people are still illiterate in Cambodia).

Whilst Em filled out her victim statement, I looked around the room.  It was a small office, maybe 3m squared, containing a desk, filing cabinet and changing room screen.  The walls were covered with gilt-framed pictures of the King, King Father, Prime Minister, Police officials in dress uniform, and family graduation photos.  A random stack of manila files lay untidily on the desk, no doubt where our report would get filed when we left.  Behind the clothes screen was a gun rack with what looked like ten or so AK-47's, loaded but covered in dust.  The room was messy and the building run down, the lack of investment in the police service was plain to see.

The Chief of Police and his colleague (presumably a detective) however, were thorough, courteous and apologetic.  The interview was interspersed with clearly genuine regret for what had happened to us, frank admissions that his service was underfunded and incapable of preventing these type of crimes, and most surprisingly a genuine fear from the Police Chief that he would face retributions from his superiors for the number of unsolved crimes being committed on his patch.  During the interview Em & I had both agreed that we thought the moto's were pretty fancy and the muggers were wearing nice clothes.  The Chief suspected that the perpetrators were likely to be rich young Khmer's stealing for drug money and therefore hard to prosecute due to powerful parents.  My overall impression of the Chief was of a well-intentioned, principled and thorough man, trying his best to do a job in incredibly difficult circumstances, with insufficient funding, training, equipment and officers.  I felt guilt at my own preconceptions, and to be honest by the end of the interview I would probably have paid him some money if he had asked.  We were even asked to stay for lunch with the other officers who were just sitting down to eat rice together at the ping pong table as we left.

So, what's the rub...did we put ourselves at risk with our behaviour ?  We were walking late at night, true, but in our own neighbourhood, and catching a tuk tuk the 200 metres home seems crazy.  Everyone else we know here would do the same as we did, but perhaps in the future we will consider a tuk tuk.  Undoubtedly, my own behaviour when confronted with a gun was foolish and I hope i've learnt from this experience.

Is Phnom Penh a dangerous place ?  There's no doubt it is more so today than yesterday, at least to me.  Despite numerous 'Wild West' stories and high levels of gun ownership in Phnom Penh, we had never been exposed to this underbelly before, and the village atmosphere had lulled us into a false sense of security.  After dark the city does become a different place, the smiling friendly locals on your street replaced by dark shadows and occasionally sinister characters on the empty streets.  These kind of muggings are apparently on the increase, particularly in areas popular with expats, and it seems as though at least in our case, the crime was motivated by drugs and not poverty.

Are the police corrupt and ineffective ?  Maybe or perhaps certainly, but I have to say that I found the police we dealt with to be efficient, courteous and honest.  I doubt they will be able to catch the assailants, but this is mostly due to the complete lack of detail we were able to provide them.  I confess that I have modified my view of the police institution a little, and I think even more strongly now that civil society is being let down by those in power at the highest level, their endemic corruption, and lack of investment in essential public services.

Finally, the reaction of Khmer's to our experience was fascinating - both Em's work colleagues and the police were ashamed, apologetic and unfailingly helpful.  It's as if they feel that our experience here reflects poorly on them personally, or at least their nation and culture, of which they are very proud.  This is just another example of that wonderful Khmer spirit and kindness which makes this place so special, in spite of it's problems.

Stand and Deliver

I should start this post by saying both Em & I are absolutely fine, really.

Last night we had some drinks with friends in a bar just around the corner from our house in BKK1.  We left around 11pm to walk home with a friend who also lives close by; home was about 200 metres away from the bar, across the main road.  It is very quiet on the streets here at night, but this is our neighbourhood which we know well.  We had just said our farewells on the corner and Em & I were walking up the street to cross Sihanouk Boulevard to our apartment and I think we were chatting about what a fun night it had been, when two moto's swung around the corner ahead of us into our street.  What happened next was shocking and all a bit of a blur, especially as we were quite drunk and it was very dark, but this is what we've pieced together from talking to each other, and the police, today....

There were four young Khmer guys on the moto's.  Before we knew what was happening, the passenger on each moto jumped off.  The one closest to me pointed a handgun (maybe a Beretta ?) at my head.  I instinctively ducked and spun around, tripping over my slip-on shoes and leaving them behind as I tried to avoid the gun.  Meanwhile, the other passenger was trying to grab Em's shoulder bag.  She struggled initially, and then let it go.  As I realised Em was still there I turned around and started back shouting "Fuck you!".  Em grabbed my arm and said she'd given them the bag and we should go, but by that time they were already speeding off down the road on their moto's.  We made our way home afterwards, obviously shaken, but otherwise unhurt.

As with any intense experience, we had a sleepless night and have been replaying the event in our heads.  Did we react the right way ?  Did we place ourselves at risk through our behaviour ?  Would they have pulled the trigger ?  After initially struggling to keep her bag, Em kept her head (as usual) and did all the right things.  As for me, by trying to avoid the gun initially and subsequently getting aggressive at the assailants I essentially did the opposite of everything it says to do in our security manual.  All I can say is that having a gun pointed at your head doesn't induce rational thought, and particularly not after a big night on the tiles.  Does my flight response make me a coward ?  Was I shamed into aggression by my initial reaction, protective of Em or just drunk and stupid ?  If I had just stood there frozen, how would it have played out ?  My wallet taken as well I guess, or possibly worse.  In a rational analysis, I know that male pride and bravado are particularly unhelpful in an encounter like this, and the cool, calm, measured response is the right approach, although it takes some not inconsiderable composure to react in that way with a gun pointed at you, and the knowledge that life is cheap here.

Anyway, I suspect it doesn't help to think about things too much.  At the end of the day, Em lost a phone, a pair of glasses and $40, and we're both still here.  We didn't report it to the police until this morning, but more of that in the next post.

...and, we're both fine, really...

A Rat, a Lizard and a Hummer walk into a bar...

So, i've been working the last couple of weeks, hence the lack of posts.  By way of catching up, here are a few random happenings around the hood.

The Rat

I went to put the rubbish in the bin at the front of our apartment the other day, it was dark and as I dropped the bag in I disturbed an enormous rat which jumped out and ran away.  Every city in the world has rats I know but this was a pretty close encounter and gave me a real fright.

The Lizard
There are a bunch of guys who hang out on the street outside our apartment, mostly tuk tuk or moto drivers.  They're usually to be found on the bench by our front door, or in Bong's Tuk Tuk chatting, laughing and sometimes drinking.  Business isn't great here for a lot of people at the moment and so they have more time on their hands than usual.  When I left the front door the other day I was surprised to see a commotion with Bong running down the street pursued by one of his mates who threw a lizard at him.  The Lizard was blue & pink and about 20 centimetres long.  The guys had put a cardboard hood over it's head and taped it up so it couldn't see, I gather they'd put it down Bong's pants or shirt as a practical joke, and I came out just as he'd fished it out and legged it.  Bong is a real joker and I think a lot of the guys use him as the butt of their jokes but on this occasion he looked really upset, not to mention the poor lizard.


The Hummer
The walk home from the office passes an international school.  The parents who send their kids here are all rich and apparently all insist on picking their kids up from school, mostly in their fancy black 4wd.  So, around 5pm every day the narrow dusty street outside the school is pure chaos.  Anyway, on one particular evening, a rich Khmer lady driving her shiny new Hummer to pick up little Johnny tried to take a tight corner with cars parked both sides and succeeded in wedging the Hummer and bringing the traffic to a standstill.  It's much easier for most people to justify owning a 4wd here than in many developed countries.  Most people do live out in the provinces or visit frequently where the main roads are poor, and minor roads are dirt.  Having said that, there clearly is a prestige factor to owning a large shiny Lexus 4wd and in particular a Hummer (preferred colour black).  Considering the cramped dusty roads in Phnom Penh, the volume of traffic and the terrible driving standards, i'm not sure I can think of a less suitable vehicle.

Sunset

Rear Window

Here's a shot taken from our study window of the monsoon clouds rolling into Phnom Penh this afternoon.  The construction cranes on the skyline are South Korean and in the process of building Phnom Penh's first skyscraper - Gold Tower 42 - which is going to be 42 storey's tall and...um...gold.  It's one of the few construction projects in the city which doesn't seem to be on hold as a result of the global financial crisis, and work is proceeding apace.  Here is an artists impression of the finished building which will tower over Phnom Penh, and dominate the view from our study.  Nice...

Suffolk Sauntering : Day 3 - Beccles to Southwold

1.
Waking up in a native deciduous woodland was not as romantic as i'd imagined it to be.  I'd had a great night's sleep as the night had been warm and the forest floor was soft, but the persistent sounds of rain on my tent didn't bode well.  I quickly packed up, scrambled out through the brambles, leapt back over the ditch, and I was on my way munching on a chocolate bar as I walked.  It wasn't long before the drizzle worsened, and it didn't improve the views over the desolate Beccles Marshes which I imagine to be devoid of interest at the best of times.  By the time i'd completed the six miles of riverside walking I was soaked through, particularly from the waist down (due to wading through wet grass and reeds).  My legs were already aching, my blister was worsening, and my spirits were pretty low.  To make matters worse, I didn't really have any idea where I was going - the Angles Way would veer Northwards very soon and I wasn't sure whether to continue on to Great Yarmouth or to walk South down the Suffolk coastline.

2.
With the weather worsening I decided to go into Lowestoft for a break.  Having spent a couple of days wandering peacefully through the Suffolk countryside, the idea of going into a big town was not that appealing.  At Oulton Broad South Station I decided that catching a train the remaining few miles into town would be preferable to walking through suburbia, but to my dismay the train only stopped every two hours and it had just left.  By now it was raining hard and trudging along a main road next to a slow moving queue of cars wasn't my idea of fun.  Walking on your own can be lonely, I hadn't had a proper chat for a day or so, and the first word I heard that day was...

"Tosser!" 

...shouted by a cyclist to a car on a roundabout in the drab and depressing industrial park...

"...they don't mind asking for the money, but you don't have to give it to 'em..." 

...an old lady chastised her friend as they stepped out of the front door of their terrace...

"Hey mate, it's only me.  How much do you want for your elite ?  Dave just asked me if I knew anyone selling an xbox..." 

...asked a man on the phone in the high street, his wife pushing the pram...

Lowestoft was clearly down on it's luck: the local pub advertised a 'credit busting' menu, every other shop on the high street seemed to be a charity shop, and the public toilets charged 20p (until I realised the coin box had been vandalised).  As the steady rain became a downpour I ducked into a greasy spoon on the high street, hoping that a fry up might lift my spirits.  As I stood at the counter, dripping, to order my fried breakfast and coffee (from a catering sized tin of Nescafe instant) I noticed that the owner had a strong accent.  Desperate for some quality conversation I asked where he was from - it turned out he was Italian, hailed from Trieste on the Italy-Slovenia border, and had been in Lowestoft running his cafe for fourteen years.

By the time i'd eaten and chatted with the owner and his waitress (an old lady who insisted on telling everyone that came in that i'd walked all the way from Diss) things were looking up.  It was still raining however, so I decided to wander down to the sea-front tourist information centre to get a weather forecast.  To be honest, I was thinking of quitting and jumping on the next train back to Diss.  The tourist information centre had security grilles on the counter and a large sign advising that the staff should not be subjected to verbal or physical abuse.  Still, it turned out that the weather was due to clear that afternoon and, without really making a decision, I just started walking South down the shabby Victorian sea front promenade.

3.
It wasn't long before I was out of Lowestoft, and following the Suffolk Coast Path which was required to make numerous diversions inland to avoid cliff erosion.  As I walked the weather cleared, and by the time I came on "The Sailors Home" in Kessingland, the sun was shining and I felt my own spirits lifting with a well-earned pint of Adnam's Best.

I decided i'd been neglecting Thoreau and pulled out the pamphlet for inspiration as I walked along a country lane.  "Walking" was published in 1862, and one of the themes is Thoreau's opinion that wilderness, and the future of civilisation lie to the west (or the American frontier).  I was surprised to see a comment on the Australian migration which made me chuckle.  Thoreau says "Within a few years we have witnessed the phenomenon of a southeastward migration, in the settlement of Australia; but this affects us as a retrograde movement, and judging from the moral and physical character of the first generation of Australians, has not yet proved a successful experiment."  I like to think Thoreau would have a better view of Australians if he was writing today.

The walking on this stretch of the Suffolk coast path was interesting and scenic, passing through farmland, woods and small villages.  I was treated to one more soaking for the day as a heavy shower passed swiftly overhead on it's way out to the North Sea.  It was at this point that I started to see signs on the path advising that the imminent "Potter's Bridge Marshes" (hereafter referred to as the bog of despair) were likely to be impassable in wet conditions.  Given the amount of rainfall today I wasn't optimistic.  Still, the bog of despair was now all that stood between me and my goal for the day - Southwold, the home of the Adnams brewery.

The thought of a pint of Broadside spurred me on and I stepped past the gnarled old tree guarding the entrance and down into the bog.  The marsh was low lying and water logged, the reeds grew over head height and a narrow winding path had been cleared through them making it feel claustrophobic.  As I reached the lowest point, the obstacle became clear - the path disappeared into water of unknown depth for at least two metres and the reed walls made it impossible to step around.  I decided to commit and took a very large step forward, fully expecting my foot to disappear at least to knee height in the water.  So it came as a total surprise when my heel skidded on the surface, causing me to lose my balance and fall over into the quagmire.  I quickly got up and brushed myself down, looking around in case someone had seen me.  It turned out there was a wooden boardwalk just beneath the surface - the bog of despair had claimed another victim, or at least my pride.

The final walk into Southwold seemed to take for ever.  I'd covered twenty miles and my aches and pains were making themselves felt.  So, I only managed a cursory appreciation for the town as I walked in, fixated on a pint and a pub meal.  The town's pubs were all incredibly busy but I finally secured a table at the 'Red Lion'.  After eating, exhaustion overcame me pretty quickly so I started out reluctantly on the evening task of finding a place to sleep.  It was plain to see that Southwold was popular with tourists, and a quick stop at the only campsite in town confirmed my fears - it was full.  Unable to stagger much farther, I wandered over the road to the beach and located a reasonably well concealed spot in the dunes to pitch my tent.  Unfortunately, it was still light, so I sat there watching the dog walkers on the beach and the distant lights of the Sizewell B nuclear power station blinking down the coast.  Just before dusk the cold evening breeze drove me inside my tent and into a deep slumber.

Development vs. Human Rights

I've recently discovered a great blog (http://ki-media.blogspot.com) which is dedicated to publishing 'sensitive' information about Cambodia.  In an environment where press freedom is being eroded this is a breath of fresh air.  You might remember my post a couple of months about the development of Boeng Kak Lake in central Phnom Penh - well, KI media has run a very concise article detailing the background of the development as well as the numerous alleged human rights abuses surrounding it (http://ki-media.blogspot.com/2009/10/background-on-boeung-kak-case-and.html).  What I found particularly fascinating reading this was the comments section below the article - it's clear to me that there are a significant number of Khmer followers of the blog and it's interesting to hear their views as it's difficult to get them to talk about politics or sensitive issues normally (it seems there is a legacy of fear from the Khmer Rouge era, and an inordinate respect for power and those who wield it, that makes it hard for people to express their views publicly).  Of particular interest to me are those who are expressing support for development, even at the expense of human rights.  Of course development and human rights don't need to be mutually exclusive but it's clear there is at least some support here for the rapid wholesale transfer of land to, and development by private interests, wrapped up in a sense of nationalist pride in the progress of the nation.