Away From the Dust; Borann Lodge

Stay or Not Stay: Stay!

As we turned from the main road to smaller streets and into an even smaller quieter street, I wished that I had chosen lodging nearer the main drag for easy access to a convenience store and places to eat.

The moto driver the lodge had arranged to pick me up at the Banlung bus station a few kilometers outside town deposited me to the front yard of the Borann Lodge.  I made my way up the tiled step to a large Khmer style house.  Checked-in at the reception helped by my English-speaking driver then promptly showed to my room—  stand-alone structure behind the main building.

I opened the door to a big room with a nice big bed.  Hanging from the wall in front was a television set with cable.  The ensuite bathroom was clean and had hot and cold showers.  The only downside to the room was the lack of a proper table so much of my stuff was on the floor.  The place was really big though and during my 4 night stay I would just fling my stuff and still have enough floor space to do a Zumba dance  if I wanted to. This was a fan room and the ceiling fan was strategically suspended very near the bed.  Having a fan also meant I could do a little laundry and dry it quickly. Banlung was really cold at night so sometimes I left the windows near my bed closed.  Being a stand alone like a small cottage, the room had two walls with windows.  The ones near the door opened to a small cemented courtyard with a swing and across a two-level structure with four rooms all facing outside.  Not good though was the steeply sloping litter-filled lot behind the room where laundry was hanging. At least it didn’t smell.

The pink and blue towels had the added advantage of quick absorbing as it was made of the same kind of materials used in trekking towels.

Really really good value room considering it only cost $6 per night!

Borann Lodge is owned by the same people at Yaklom Hill Lodge located walking distance to Boeung Yeak Lom.  I made my reservations through the Yaklom Hill online reservation form at their website.

Just beside it is Adam Restaurant which has good food.  Other places to eat such as Taman Restaurant and Dutch Co which is also a tour agency and a fast internet station Sri Mama is just 10 minutes walk to the street that runs perpendicular.  The internet station on the same street as Borann Lodge totally sucks.

I realized that there is no need to stay by the main road nor the town center which would invariably be noisy and dusty.

Cheng Ho Hotel, Melaka: I Like This Place

Stay or Not Stay: Stay!

Not to be confused with Cheng Hoe Hotel a few steps down in Jalan Tungkul Emas, this little hotel is near the Kampung Kling Mosque.  After spending a night at the overprice and certainly not good value Chong Hoe Hotel, I trooped to this place which had a sign at its front door that announced rooms at RM35.  There was no one in the reception area so I went to the back where a woman was taking some laundry out.

Someone had just a vacated a room earlier and I was invited to check it out.  I went up the wooden steps to the second floor and the nice lady opened the spacious room. There was a large bed across which was a table with an old television set.  On the corner near the window (yup! even if they just opened to the airy reading area, there were still windows) was a small sink with towel hooks on the wall.  Without hesitation, I left my backpack, locked the room, and promptly paid.

The hotel is small but clean.  During my 2d/1n stay there, I only came across 1-2 other tourists but I did hear some Japanese girls talking down the corridor.  It was mostly quiet and there was no one at the common areas on both the ground and second floors.  The common toilet and shower was just a few steps  from my room.

The reading area at the second floor

A small sign at the front read, “Go to the back for inquiries” as there was never anyone there at the reception.  It was great that I was given a key to the front door so I need not knock and bother anyone to open-up in case I stayed beyond midnight.

The forever empty reception

There was a conscious effort to keep the place clean and pretty and people seemed to like it as evidenced by tacked notes on the bulletin board by the staircase commending bother place and staff.  The table also held some tourist brochures and other types of publication. Most helpful was a booklet on Melaka’s famous cuisine including the recommended places to eat the specialties.

I would stay here again.

What I Like:

• Spacious room with its own sink
• Airy courtyard
• Friendly staff
• Clean facilities
• Very good location

Not Worth Your Money: Chong Hoe Hotel, Melaka

Stay or Not Stay: Not Stay!

I was supposed to stay two nights at my friend’s unused condo just outside the city but it seemed so empty as it hasn’t even been furnished yet.  There were just a few mattresses. It would have saved me a some ringgit but I was afraid of the emptiness and feared I wouldn’t be getting any sleep at all. I had joked about ghosts earlier but my friend said I shouldn’t talk about stupid things.  I couldn’t shake-off the feeling in spite of the assurance that others had stayed there before. Knowing that the last one was almost a year ago seemed to magnify its un-lived and abandoned  state.  I quickly packed my stuff and convinced my friend to go back to Chinatown. It was nearing midnight so we sped back to look for a place to sleep.

While walking earlier in the evening, I had seen a row of small hotels at Jalan Tukang Emas in Chinatown.  “Vacant Rooms” a small sign read at the front window.  At more than RM100 it was waaaayy beyond my budget.  They better have really nice rooms a dna good breakfast as it was too steep and the hotel from the outside nor from the lobby didn’t seem much.  The Chong Hoe which  had a sign at the door that announced rooms at RM 35 but it was dark and closed.  I knocked a couple of times but nobody was answering.  The only one open was the Chong Hoe which seemed it was about to lock shop too.

Yes, there was a room available at RM60 (RM55 on weekdays) but I had to decide now as she was about to look up, the Indian women who was about 50-plus years old informed me.  Apparently, hotels in Melaka, at least in Chinatown I think, close at midnight. You would have to inform them if you’re staying beyond that so they can wait for you. It was a choice between a sleepless fearful night or a restful one.  The price was really steep and for a moment I was tempted to just go back to the condo.  The dorm  (Rm 15/bed) was full.  I gulped, brought out my wallet, and paid for the room.  Maybe I was trying to justify my actions but while filling-up the registration form, I told her the story of how afraid I was sleeping in the condo, that there might be ghosts, blah blah blah.

About a half an hour after I had settled in my room, I heard her say to someone in her sing-song Indian accent, “You have to decide if you will take it now because I am closing already.”  Perhaps she was up a little late knowing that somewhere out there, while all the other hotels and guesthouses in Chinatown have long locked-up for the night, a weary traveler would be in search for a room at the inn. Her spiel quickly makes you take the first room offered you.

I was shown to a really really small room with a large bed and a small table.  It was clean but it smelled kinda dank.  The a/c was strong and cold though. My RM 40 room at the Transit Point in KL was so much better.  Down the hallway was the common bathrooms and a row of sinks.  There didn’t seem to be a lot of people staying which was understandable as it was definitely not good value considering the options available around town.  Unfortunately, at midnight, there was no other option available to me.

I was given a breakfast voucher to be redeemed at the Chong Hoe Cafe in the next street.  Breakfast was served from 9am until 6pm! I think that was the only good thing about it.  Entrance to the Admiral Cheng Hoe Museum was at ten percent off the RM20 regular price.  There are a couple of computers at the lobby but you had to pay to use it.

The next morning, I packed my stuff, checked out and promptly checked in at Chong Ho a few steps down which was open and had a vacant room for RM 35.

Rice Balls at Restaurant Famosa

Eat or Not Eat: EAT!

I’ve been to Melaka twice and both times I have  failed to get in.  I have not heard of Restaurant Famosa along Jonker Street but the long lines, strategic corner location, and tantalizing picture menus out front somehow meant that it was one of the best places to eat in Melaka. In a place famous for its cuisine, being one of the IT places to eat means something really good is cooking inside.

If salt had a flavor other than salty this would be it. Flavorful saltiness, perhaps?

On my third trip to last January I was determined to finally eat here and this time I had a winning chance.  Staying in Melaka for three days which meant being able to beat the lunchtime crowd.  Fortunately, Restaurant Famosa opens at 9:3o in the morning.  At 10:30, there was hardly anyone there but the two people in the roast counter were busy packing roast duck meals in styoropore lunch kits. The middle-aged guy in a white boat-hat and apron was busy carving-up the duck while the other packed it with a large cup of steamed fragrant rice.  There must have been about a hundred orders as rows and rows of neatly packed lunch kits placed in large plastic bags lined the tables behind them.

I’m not a fan of chicken rice as the white chicken flesh makes it look so raw.  I settled for the roast pork with 5 pcs of their famous rice balls and a bowl of fish ball soup.

While waiting and since there weren’t much people, I went on a mini tour of the spacious restaurant which was a converted shophouse.  Marble-topped tables and chairs were neatly placed in the common area while an enclosed space with carved windows was reserved for private dining.  At the far corner near the restroom was a row of Chinese royal costumes for rent for a photo-op at a made-up imperial throne and background.

I liked thesquare marble-top tables with wooden legs. They look like the ones in traditional Chinese tea houses.

I should have stayed here so people wouldn't see how much food I was eating.

It didn’t long for my food to arrive.  The rice balls weren’t just any ordinary steamed rice formed into compact balls.  The rice was a little sticky and very fragrant and tasty.  It perfectly complemented the roast pork.

The pork was sliced thinly and had really crispy skin I  could feel it crackling between my teeth while I relished the tender pork meat. It had a salty bite to it that was very flavorsome. If salt had a taste other than salty, that would have been it.  I had yet to finish my entire serving and yet I was already making plans of coming back the next day for more while all the while contemplating of having an additional order of  barbecued pork.

It was too late when I realized the fish balls in the soup were just the ordinary fish balls  and not something more exciting.  The soup was good anyway and came in steaming hot in a large white bowl.  I should have taken the suggestion of the order-taker to try the wanton soup.  The picture of the fish balls made me think it was something akin to a wanton.

My favorite topping is the green one.

And in Melaka, what perfect way to end a meal than with a bowl of cold cendol.  Unlike the watered-down version available in some stalls, this one was quite thick with coconut cream and was heaping with condiments.

I had a really really good meal and thoroughly enjoyed it so much that I went on my last morning in Melaka for brunch before heading to the bus station for the trip back to KL.  Never mind that I’ve already had a Nonya rice dumpling and a popiah at Poh Piah Lwee. I just had to tuck into my taste memory the flavorful saltiness of the roast pork, the fragrance of the rice ball, and discover the barbecued pork.

I went to the much smaller restaurant just beside the larger one.  It was almost 11 so there were more people.  A group of women who seemed to have come from Singapore occupied the next table. While a Malaysian Chinese couple sat across me. I threw all embarrassment to the wind and ordered a plate of roast pork and a plate of barbecued pork. Halfway through the meal, I ordered an additional two rice balls as I was about to finish the five I had ordered. Of course, a cendol ended the meal.

Burp!

Raising the Red Lanterns in Malaysia

No, I’ve since arrived from Malaysia (and before that, Cambodia) last Jan 12.  In celebration of Chinese New Year, I thought I’s post some pictures from my trip to Melaka and Kuala Lumpur.  I stayed at Chinatown in both places which means lots of really good Chinese and Peranakan (in the case of Melaka) food and shops and streets decked in colorful red lanterns and other Chinese decorations.

MELAKA

As one of the homes (the other being Penang) of the Straits Chinese, Melaka is especially fun with its daily evening performances of comedy skits, songs, and dances on a large stage at the end of Jonket Street.

Raise the red lantern!

It’s on special occasions such as these that the sweet sticky rice cake made from glutinous flour and sugar and steamed in round tins covered with banana leaves makes it appearance.

Ti Kuih

KUALA LUMPUR

I’ve always thought that KL was more Chinese than Malay especially when you stay at the close to the commercial district and of course, to Chinatown.

The sign said that it was the biggest artificial cherry blossom tree. It greets you at the lobby of Berjaya Times Square.

Chinatown is the best place to stay for me.  Not only are the sights within easy walking distance, there’s a lot of good cheap food to be had especially in the evening when stalls set-up along the streets.  Though not as vibrant or as Chinese-y as Melaka, a few shops raised the red lanterns and colored the otherwise backpacker area-looking streets.  While having a a dinner of claypot chicken rice, a dragon dance passed by street.

Flowers and lanterns are blooming

Stop… Look… Enjoy… KL. Seeing it again.

This was my third trip to KL and if it were not for my friend, I would have stayed longer in Cambodia or would have stuck to my original plan of going back home to Manila via HCMC.  But I had booked my January 5 Air Asia flight from Phnom Pehn and there was no turning back.

I arrived at the LCCT with a large box filled with Cambodian traditional instruments I had collected from Ratanakiri and Phnom Pehn. ”Ke mana luggage storage?” I asked a female Malay security guard walking along the narrow corridor that connected the domestic and international areas.  She looked up at me from her mobile phone, frowned and said, “Where you from?” then curtly answered, “Inside,” which was the wrong answer as I was to find out later that the storage facility was just outside the international arrival area.  I seemed to have disturbed her texting. It cost more than RM 400 to keep the box for 5 days but it was roughly the same cost of getting to/from the airport on a cab with the box.   I was instructed to have the box x-rayed at the domestic check-in area first.  Got the valuable “Security Checked” sticker on the box, paid the fee, then took the shuttle to Chinatown.

It was past 8 in the evening when the bus finally came to a stop. The flight was delayed which made for the late arrival. It was a 30 minute walk to Jl Sultan and to Transit Point Guesthouse.  It took a while before I was let in and up the flight of stairs (thank god I didn’t have the box with me) as the one-armed Indian guy manning the reception was on the second floor doing some laundry.  A password was needed for the electronic door and first-time guests would have to ring and wait for someone to answer the intercom. I was getting spooked with the homeless guys hanging around so I just kept on pressing the doorbell.  Fortunately, another guest heard me and called the guy.

The single room was clean enough and had good a/c which was what really mattered.

I had some roti with cheese  and nasi lemak all washed down with a glass of rose juice for late late dinner at an Indian food stall in front of the convenience store.  Really good and delicious.

Other than heading to Melakka for the weekend there wasn’t really anything planned on this leg of my trip since my friend ditched me.  A national park was totally out of the question due to costs and time.  KL lay before me and what else could I do but dive in and experience it again.

Make no mistake about it.  KL is a beautiful city with majestic Islam-inspired architecture and modern buildings. It’s a place that wants you to walk, stop, and look.

At the annex of the Central Market

CHINESE BUILDINGS, AND ISLAMIC-INSPIRED ARCHITECTURE

It wasn’t my first time so I had no need for a map and simply took to the streets where my feet would take me.  I like staying at Chinatown as old Chinese shophouses are just a skip and a hop away from KL’s colonial core that sit side by side with more modern structures.

I keep seeing the Moghul-inspired KL Train Station designed by AB Hubbock each time I wait for the train at the Pasar Seni station which is just a few minutes walk from my accommodations.  Beckoned by its beautiful towers, I headed there one fine morning.

Except for being a stop of the KTM Commuter all operations have move to the modern KL Sentral. The emptiness and the silence seems to magnify its magnificence as it sits stoically.  It was a little tricky to get here from the Pasar Seni station as most sections of the walkway were closed.  I went through the POS building and exited to the other side, went-up a car park building, crossed the parking lot and to the walkway linking it to the station.

A HINDI TECHNICOLOR WORLD

A sizable Indian community (descendants of the Indian workers brought by the British) means lots of good Indian food and the wonderful technicolor Sri Mahariamman temple.  Hindi temples are the most colorful of all temples I’ve visited in Malaysia.  The ziggurat-like piece on top of the entry way is people with deities and other personages from the Hindi cosmic world in wildly colorful outfits that look straight out from a technicolor dream.

It is best to see the station across the KTM office

 

THE MAN FROM SABAH AND ZOMBOANGA

I took a cab (RM 8) from Berjaya Times Square to the Kompleks Budayakraf to check out the some handicrafts and hopefully see some artists at work.  I was disappointed as there wasn’t anyone there doing anything.  One workshop where a young woman and a child were making small  batik paintings had a “No Photos” sign.  At another workshop, an amiable guy was working on a large textile.  “Are you from the Philippines?” he asked me.  I smiled and answered, “yes.” He went on to say that his mom was from Zamboanga but left her husband to move to the Sabah where she met his dad.  Ethnically he is a Bajau from the coast of Sabah near Sandakan.  He has changed his name to Jon Bagul to make it more appealing to buyers of his large-scale colorful batik paintings.  He’s also bored and would rather talk to me. I had a nice chat with him to while away the time as it was clear I would see no other artist. He’s now my Facebook friend

His father is a Bajao from Sabah and his mother is a Bajao from Zamboanga.

 

The craft center is big and has a good collection of expensive finely made handicrafts. The beautiful wood carvings made by the Mah Meri of Pulau Carey were at  RM2,500 and up!

More interesting is the two-level museum showcasing the different handicrafts and how they’re made from the gathering of the raw materials to its final finishing.  Exemplary craft masters awarded by Malaysia as national treasures had their profiles displayed together with samples of their crafts.

Most enjoyable were the exhibits at the second level accessed by an elevated walkway.  Large samples of Sarawak’s colorful textiles with their geometric patterns hung from the walls.  I was surprised to learn that a certain textile of a group in Sabah had its origins from the Philippines!

It took me 15 minutes pass the beautifully-restored building housing the Badan Warisan Malaysia offices that bats for preservation of the city’s colonial relics and the Seri Melayu restaurant.

BEARS AT BUKIT BINTANG

These bears represent a particular country and have been traveling around the world to promote world peace. They look kinda creepy though. I still prefer the Care Bears.

 

I wasn’t particularly excited arriving in KL as I had seen most of what the city had to offer but the next following days made me re-think it and by the time I was heading back home on the 12th, I had wished to stay longer.

Another Look at Phnom Pehn and Other Things To Do If You Think You’ve Seen It All

Phnom Pehn is a place that grows on you. Some people stay a couple of days then move on to other destinations in Cambodia.  Other simply miss it while a few just downright hate it.  Sights are few and far in between but like small cities, Phnom Pehn is best experienced slowly just lounging around and enjoying the laid back atmosphere.

Arriving early evening from an 11-hour bus ride from Banlung on January 1 isn’t exactly the best way to come re-visiting (see earlier blog “Surving an 11-hour ride bus ride in Cambodia). And having my friend who had just arrived sleep half the day off then go back home the next afternoon due to a dog emergency isn’t exactly a good way to start off the second leg my trip but fortunately, Phnom Pehn had enough charms to keep me happy.  The 3 and a half days I spent there after my friend had gone back to KL was downtime for me simply relax, re-visit my favorite sights, and simply chill-out with a few adventures thrown in.

The golden spires of one structure in the Royal Palace complex

Phnon Pehn has nice grand French colonial-era buildings. This one is just beside Bright Lotus Guesthouse near the river where I stayed for a night.

 

I like visiting national museums and wandering and I was still in awe with the vast collection of sculptures even on the second time around

 

On the side of the National Museum and the Royal University of Fine arts is St. 178 with its painting and stone carving shops. It makes for a nice afternoon stroll just poking around.

It may not be Angkorian era but these statues silently awaiting takers are nevertheless beautiful.

 

 

Central Market was under renovation a couple of years ago when I visited so only its beautiful Art Deco facade could be appreciated.  It’s open and in full-swing now and the magnificent dome has been restored in all its grandeur.  Less inspiring are the jewelry and souvenir shops.  I bought a couple of stringed instruments (tro) a hand drum (thom) and a pair of small cymbals (chhing) at one of the stalls.  The girl was so appreciative of the sale she had made, she gave me a free bracelet of wooden beads.  The girl selling textiles nearby kept offering me sarong, scarves, and other stuff. I told her I still remember buying a couple of table cloths from her a few years back (which was true).

Krama for sale at the Psar Tuol Tomg Pong

 

Colorful wallets from recycled materials

Cheaper and more varied is Psar Tuol Tom Pong otherwise known as the Russian Market which was a bit effort to go to with the moto I flagged from the street (that deserves a post of its own).  Forever in search of traditional music instruments, I found a couple of stalls that was heart-in-your-mouth moment.  One had all these big stringed instruments while another had different gongs both flat and bossed one. I snagged a set of 5 flat gongs which required a lot of effort going to the owner’s house/warehouse to check the instruments than to my guesthouse to get my atm and withdraw some money for payment then back to the market to secure a 6th gong from the neighboring stall; all this time accompanied by the owner’s daughter who made good company.  Her English was good and she was in law school at the Royal University of Phnom Pehn.  I drooled at the sight of so much stuff for sale at the house whose ground floor had been converted to a warehouse.  The grandmother (who didn’t look very old) was very accommodating and even sold me three old tro for just $30.

Gongs gongs gongs for my taking

 

The best spot in Phnom Pehn is undoubtedly Sisowath Quay thoughparts of it especially near the Tourism Office has rubbish.  I spent a couple of afternoons just watching the boats pass the Tonle Sap.  Nice chill out moment with locals enjoying the cool breeze.  The stretch across Blue Pumpkin and heading to the restaurants makes for a nice walk in the evening.  Arriving on the evening of January 1, I was originally booked at Kha Vi Guesthouse near the Cambodian-Vietnamese Monument but a non-working a/c made me transfer to Narin Guesthouse where I had stayed before.  More expensive but better value and near the riverside.

 

 

Of course, a Phnom Pehn day always ends at my favorite favorite place to indulge my sweet tooth.

I couldn't choose between raspberry or strawberry ice-cream cakes so I took both. The waiter seemed perplex looking for two people who had order it. I waved him over and discreetly transferred the cake to just one plate.

 

So You’ve Done It All. What Next?

Here’s my favorite chill-out moments in Phnom Penh. No rush.

1.  Go through the books at Monument Bookstore in Noridom Boulevard then head to the second floor for some cakes or ice-cream at Blue Pumpkin.

2. If you really like books, then Phnom Pehn’s second hand bookshops are worth a peek.  There are some worthwhile items and makes for a nice diversion if you’re walking from point A to point B under the scorching sun like me.

3.  Watch the world go by at Sisowath Quay.  Bring some snacks and drinks and sit on the ledge.  Perfect way to spend the late afternoon when it’s cooler.

4.  End the day with ginger ice-cream or a cake at the second floor of the Blue Pumpkin front Sisowath Quay.  The huge white sofas are perfect but I’d rather watch the street action on the street below and at the quay across.

 

Ratanakiri Report Part 4: The Death of a Pig and New Year’s Eve

Celebrating the coming of the New Year in a place other than your own is always interesting; more so if in another country and even double more so if in a remote part of another country.  Last year, I was with my eldest sister and two close friends at Hoan Kiem Lake in Hanoi.  There were Vietnamese pop musicians rockin and rollin, fireworks, and a huge crowd.

This year (or more appropriately, last year) I was with a Finnish and a Columbian with our Tompoun guide at the Tribal Hotel in Banlung. But before that, we sacrificed a pig (or more appropriately, a piglet).

I woke up that morning with a really upset stomach.  I had gone to the bathroom around four times at dawn already. I’ve had worst LBM but no way was I gonna risk it with the roller-coaster ride to Ta Veng, more than 50k from Banlung. I barely survived yesterday’s upset stomach.  I texted Yok that I was definitely out of commission that day.I’m quite sure it was the food at Pov Socheat that did it.  The lok lak I had last night didn’t seem to be very fresh.  Kun, who I bumped into at the reception area when I had my clothes laundered,  told me that lok lak  isn’t really cooked very well. That explains why it looked and tasted quite raw. The lok lak  I’d been having at my favorite stall in Siem Reap was well-cooked, perhaps for the tourists.

Spent the morning watching National Geographic and Animal Planet and digging through my stash of loperamide I bought at a pharmacy earlier.

I had lunch at Taman just across Pov Socheat. The large restaurant had heavy wooden tables and chairs and large figures that I guess were for sale.  It seems to be a favorite hang-out of moto-riding locals.  Aside from the standard English menu, there was a Vietnamese one with pho bo and com ga and a shelf-full of Vietnamese coffee and other stuff.  The service from the English-speaking staff was friendly and the food was good, albeit a little more expensive than Pv Socheat.

My stomach seemed to be in full control after lunch so I went to Boeung Yeak Lom with Kun.  Who should I see but Yok buying cans of beer at one of the stall?  Because it was New Year, he insisted that he buy me a Coke.  Matti was on a mat seated and drinking with Yok’s family and friends.  Families  were laying on rented mats around the lake enjoying the cool breeze and the shade.

There was no one else in the trail that wound around the lake.  Nothing really much to see in the surrounding forest.  A few trails detoured from the main trail and led up and away to the surrounding villages perhaps.  It did make a for peaceful and relaxing way to break out into a sweat as in spite of the blazing sun, the climate is actually quite cool with really chilly nights.

Back at the main area, I joined Yok’s picnic. In spite not understanding a word they spoke, I had fun just listening to them and watching.  It was a Tompoun day out and everyone was enjoying themselves helped by all the cans of beer.  Seated beside me was Yok’s uncle incessantly cracked jokes to me.  Kun was seated with a lovely girl all dolled-up whom I assumed was a girlfriend as they seemed to be sweet to each other and left together. Kindly Kun waved away my offer to pay him for the ride to the lake when the party broke and I went off with Yok and Matti for the pig sacrifice.

Pig Sacrifice.  Yok had brought the car he bought earlier.  It was a battered Toyota Camry but a car nevertheless and in far-flung Banlung, it was a step-up from a moto. Later during the night while drinking with Jon, the Columbian, who was heading to Voensai the next day, I kidded Yok that he can now ask his guests if they preferred a car instead of a moto.  Matti sat at the bucket seat and I piled at the back with Yok’s wife and kids.  It’s unbelievable how Yok managed to bring his car to his house along the small trails meant for walking or motos.

At the house, they prepared the stuff needed for the pig sacrifice which Yok said would take place near the forest.  We all piled back into the car this time with Yok’s mom, dad, and the village elder who would do the offering.

On the road leading to another village where we were to get the pig, we chanced on two white girls on bicycles.  Concerned that they might be lost, Yok asked Matti to inquire if they knew their way. “Just going around,” the older one answered.  “We’re on our way to sacrifice an animal.  Wanna come with us?  Just follow us,” Matti replied. It must have shocked them.

Stopped by to buy two jars of rice wine (10,000 riyel each) which I sponsored, then went off to get the pig.  We arrived at a small house where Matti and I waited under the shade of a tree while everyone else went off somewhere.  About half an hour later, Yok came running with a piglet dangling from one hand and gleefully shouting, “Let’s go!  Let’s go!”  We all piled back into the car with a wailing pig.  I really felt sorry for the baby pig was it was really small.  Yok didn’t have enough money to buy a real pig so a $25 piglet would do.  I am really queasy seeing animals about to be butchered and the pig’s wailing increased my queasiness more.  I could hardly look at it.  I had told Yok earlier that I wouldn’t look when they kill it.

We stopped at a cross-roads which to the Tompoun is a dwelling place of spirits. The “magic man” had pointed a place such as this where to hold the sacrifice.  The village elder gathered young bamboo to be made into the spirit house.

WARNING: What is described in the following is not the for the queasy.

This poor piglet gave up his life so that someone else may live.

I kept my distance as no way was I going near that wailing piglet and the fate it was going to befall him/her.  Yok’s dad got a heavy twig and started the beating the piglet with it! I thought he was just slapping it to keep it quiet as the piglet had stopped wailing.  He hit on the body and on the head again and again then dropped it on the ground where it lay squirming until it blew its last breath. I had been witness to its death!  Yok would later explain that slitting the throat is for mature pigs while smaller ones are beaten to death. I don’t know which fate is worse.

Making the spirit house.

When the pig stopped squirming, Yok’s dad picked it up and collected the blood oozing out of its mouth in a small plastic bad. The spirit house was finished by this time.  The village elder had put on a ceremonial headband of white strings wound into a thin band.   He took some rice wine and mixed it with the blood in a plastic receptacle.  I was horrified thinking that it was going to be passed around for everyone to drink!  By this time, my curiosity was an anthropologist was being overcome by my queasiness as an ordinary queasy being. I heaved a sigh of relief when the elder offered it to the “spirit house” while saying some prayers after sprinkling it.

The plastic bag with the pig's blood and a sprinkling of dried leaves. The village elder lights up a twig to "smoke" it.

The now-dead piglet was roasted on a fire made from dried leaves and branches collected in the nearby forest.  It little piglet that had been wailing its heart out just a few minutes earlier was now so dead.   A piece of roasted piglet flesh was offered placed at the spirit house to offer to the spirits.

The village elder and Yok’s dad drank from the rice wine jar then Matti and I were invited to sip.  The roasted pig lay beside the jar and I tried really hard not to look at it as I sipped.  The wine was sweetish and didn’t seem to taste very potent unlike the one we had at the Jorai village the day before.

The sacrifice was over.  I congratulated Matti for his first pig sacrifice.  Yok’s mom stayed in the car the whole time as she was not allowed to be part of the sacrifice which was performed for her.  The village elder had asked the spirits not to let Yok’s mom get sick anymore so she could return to her village in Lumphat.

You can now proceed reading.  The queasy part is over.

Back at Yok’s house, the other jar of rice wine was waiting.  Yok’s wife chopped the pig into a million little pieces and cooked it.  The village elder in the meantime, tied a piece of white string around Yok’s mom’s wrist, said some prayers, then cut it with a knife.  The ceremony had come to a final end.

That evening, my gung treng maker arrived with the instrument he had made for me plus a flute.  He was really drunk this time but still managed to sing while playing the gung treng.  I took a few bites of the pig meat with scoops of rice leaving the rest to Matti to finish. I gotta give it him for being such a sport.  He was genuinely interested in everything and anything.

It was past 8 when we bade our goodbyes and Yok brought us back to Borann Lodge.  He was to meet Jon, the Columbian, and explain to him the treks.  We were accompanied by Yok’s wife and youngest boy who wanted to make sure that Yok wouldn’t be drinking and a friend of his.

Singing “Auld Lang Syne:in Banlung.  Jon arrived a few minutes later and we all headed to Tribal Hotel where a small crowd was gathered at the patio restaurant/bar.  I hardly had anything to eat but I didn’t want to offend Yok by eating at the buffet ($6 with a can of beer) which had roast meat in skewers, fried rice, and spring rolls, among other eats.

I had a Beer Lao and Matti filled us up with rhum coke.  I met Jhared, a PhD candidate from the Univ. of Wisconsin who had been in Cambodia for 5 years and in Banlung for 1 year and a half. Previously, I had only corresponded with him through the Lonely Planet Thorn Tree Forum where he was known as ‘rasheed.  Big tall guy, nice and friendly.  I envied him for being in such a fascinating place where he was doing his thesis on the lines of minority tours.

Yok’s wife who had been waiting in the car came to get him.  We had earlier expressed concern about she and the little boy waiting but Yok said they were used to waiting up for him and they could sleep in the car.

At the stroke of midnight, we left our tables and gathered at the small garden where the restaurant staff set-off a few fireworks and toasted some champagne that were all handed to us.    Led by a couple of English girls, we formed a circle, held-hands, and sang “Auld Lang Syne.”  I knew the song but it was my first-time to sing it on NYE.

Back to the patio for more drinking where 3 Finnish girls Matti had met earlier joined us. One who was seated at the corner beside me and Jon looked particularly wasted and we both asked, “Are you all right?”  She snapped, “Yes.  Why?  How do I look that’s why you’re asking if I’m all right.”  We both smiled and turned our attention somewhere else.  The one seated on my left had gone to the Philippines before and it was heart-warming to listen to her say how she had a really great time at Palawan and how she had made so many Filipino friends and that she had a lot of heart for the Philippines and the Filipinos while holding both her hands over her heart.

It was past 1 in the morning when Jon and I stumbled back to Borann Lodge.

Ratanakiri Report Part 3: To Die a Jorai

Gita had left for Kompong Cham in the morning enroute to Siem Reap for New Year’s Eve.  But as luck and Do Yok’s popularity would have it, another traveler joined me to the trip to Andong Meas to visit the Jorai cemetery.  Tall and bespectacled Matti, had arrived in Banlung the previous night and had contacted Do Yok for a 50day trk on the recommendation of his friend.  Since Yok was still “mine” for another 2 days, he opted to just join me in my trips while finished Yok’s services with me.  Again, I had someone to share the $20 boat trip downstream to the Jorai village which would significantly help lower the cost of the trip.

We picked-up Matti at his guesthouse along the main rode at 8 in the morning.  I rode with Kun this time.  He was more appropriately dressed this time with Crocs-like slip-on rubber sandals.  Yesterday, he was in a long-sleeved shirt (well, which Khmer isn’t in long-sleeves), wool trousers, and leather shoes!

Like all the roads out of Banlung, asphalt soon turned to dirt.  The dust on the way to Voensai was nothing compared to what we encountered heading to Andong Meas.  Back at the lodge in the evening, my brown trekking pants had taken on an orange tint.  By this time, I had long given up on laundering my own clothes and submitted to having it laundered instead.  No way was I gonna trouble myself washing all that dusty from my clothes.  It was hard enough soaping yourself clean.

We stopped at a village to see a long house and a boy and girl house that was built by the village for themselves and not something built for tourists.  The cries of a little girl greeted us.   Apparently, her right foot had caught on the spokes of the moto wheel she was riding.  Ouch and super ouch!  People huddled around her while her mother held her in her arms.  I couldn’t bear to look as the guy wiped the wound clean with a piece of cotton dipped in some solution. It all seemed quite professional as he had on a face mask, rubber gloves, and a scissors-like gadget to hold the cotton ball.

It's a long longhouse

The longhouse is old and derelict and hadn’t been used for a long time. There were holes on the ceilings but the plank floors were still sturdy.    On one side of the longhouse were several small rooms all accessed by a wide corrider running the length of the house.

Yok explained that the girls’ rooms were at the far end near the door so if a boy should come visiting, he wouldn’t disturb the others.  It seems that pre-marital sex is accepted in Tompoun culture.  That became evident when Yok explained that should someone want to sleep with a girl in the village, he would have to ask permission from everyone so that should the girl become pregnant, everyone would know who the father is.

This is the girl room beside one of the entrances.

Also interesting were the boys and girls houses built just outside the longhouse.  More of a room really than a house, these separate facilities are for single boys and girls where they come to meet and apparently, per Yok’s story, mate.

Boys on the left and girls on the right

Yok and I bought some nicely decorated gourds from some women resting underneath the house.  The gourds are water vessels and have pretty designs on their bodies.  It really is a tradition of incising designs on the gourds and is not just a tourist thing.   I would have wanted to buy the one that had designs depicting the dead and the funeral rites but it might spook people back at home.

Kun was surprised when I went to the moto to get my wallet from my backpack.  He told me that I shouldn’t leave my bag just lying around especially if I had money in it.  I dunno but I have it in my head that no one in a village such as this one would steal anything .  Maybe I’m just too trusting with these people.   I wouldn’t leave it lying around in Banlung that’s for sure.

Yok drinking fro a gourd he had taken from a villager who had just refilled some vessels from the river.

We stopped for lunch at a small eatery along the road.  “Toilet?”  The guy manning the counter topped with pots of food shook his head. Yok and Kun pointed to the dirt lot behind the eatery and said I could piss there.  I was too embarrassed to tell them I was going to more than piss.  I had began to feel the first pangs of an upset and churning stomach.  It was probably the lunch at Pov Sochey yesterday.  Fortunately, there was a modern gas station just across.  “Toilet?” I asked and was promptly pointed to a concrete row of relatively clean squat toilets behind the main building.  Now, pooping on a squat toilet especially if you have knee issues isn’t exactly easy.  What more if you’ve got a bad case of the runs.  Imagine . . .

The others were done with their lunch by the time I emerged from the toilet all smiling and good to go.  A loperamide pill did the trick for the rest of the trip.

Lunch was quite good, by the way.  The Chinese eatery had pots of cooked food but I chose a hot stew of fried pork cracklings and vegetables warming on a large cauldron over a fire.  The soup was especially tasty but all that pork cracklings made it greasy.

Gems from the ground.  From the main dirt road, we took a left up a small dirt road to a small gem mining area in Bokheo.  Tattered tents were erected over small holes bored through the ground.  A few men and women squatted in enormous mounds of soil patiently sifting their hands through the dirt.

Everything was done very crudely.  It was obviously hard work as the men had to dig a hole several meters deep into the ground then burrow horizontally sending buckets of dirt up to be sifted for gems.  Kun explained that people worked as families as a high-degree of trust was needed.  You wouldn’t one anyone running of with your gems from all that dirt you gathered from beneath the earth.  We were invited to go through the dirt though I wouldn’t know a gem nugget if it hit me on the head.  A woman came along and showed us some cut gems that sparkled in the noon sun.  They were all very colorful and shiny but who knows if they were just colored glass.

From Bokheo, it wasn’t far to Andong Meas where we alighted and parked the motos at a small house cum store that was renting-out a boat.  We had to wait a while for the boat to be ready.  We crossed a short concrete bridge then followed a path by its side down to the river.  The boat ride  upstream to the Jorai cemetery for about 45 minutes.

To die a Jorai.  I had read at Lonely Planet that the cemetery had been badly damaged by typhoon Ketsana a few years back.  This was evident as most of the graveyards seem to have been thrown apart.  Compared to the Tompoun cemetery in Kachon, this one was more simple and less colorful. There weren’t much carved effigies.  What makes Jorai cemeteries unique though is that as much as six people are buried together in a single graveyard.  A couple of young kids followed us and we paid them the 5,000 riyel admission.

Back to the boat and we crossed to the other side to the village.  A vendor had arrived there with his moto laden with tools such as knives and lots of toys. Mostly everyone had gathered around him checking out his stuff.  The houses look similar to that of the Tompoun except that there’s just a single house rather than having a separate kitchen and a rice barn.  I joined Kun and Yok at a gathering of men and women who were all drinking rice wine.  Matti had drunk several cups already and offered me a sip.  It was so strong! Inquiring about instruments, the villagers said they had none.  One man offered to sell his gong set for $500.  I politely told him I would rather pay to hear him play it.

Gold in the river.  Back to the boat for the ride downstream and to the Lao and Chinese villages at Andong Meas.  Enroute, we stopped by the banks to watch women and kids panning for gold in the murky waters of the river.  It was pitiful to watch really small kids under the blazing sun scooping up ground and panning them hoping to see that gleam that would indicate gold.   I watched silently as they went about their work.  Suddenly one small girl looked up at me then went back to her work.  I still remember her round beautiful eyes accentuated by the krama wrapped around her head to keep the sun out.  At that moment, I felt extremely uncomfortable.  I was a spectator to her hard life.  Like so many that had gone and watched before me, I would simply see then go back to my own comfortable life.  I went back to the boat, gingerly stepping around the bowls that contained some black sand that Kun said contains gold, mindful that upsetting the bowl would be upsetting their hard work and the future that clings on it.

Back to Andong Meas and back to the moto. On the way back, at the highway to Banlung, Yok had a flight tire so Kun and I went ahead. 

Ratanakiri Report Part 2: Around Beoung Yeak Loam, Riding an Elephant, and Dinner with the Tompoun

A Tompoun meeting house just across the road leading to Boeang Yeak Loam

December 29.  Today was an easy day as Gita and I decided to head our own ways and stay within the vicinity of Banlung. Personally, I needed time for my butt to rest from the previous day’s excursion.  As of last night, Gita hadn’t yet decided if she would extend her stay or depart for Siem Reap in time for New Year’s Eve with a stopover at either Kratie or Kompong Cham.  We both were going to see the waterfalls and the crater lake albeit at different times.

Yok picked me up at the lodge at 7:30am and we headed to the Banlung market as I wanted to see the minorities selling their stuff.  It looked way better than the pics I saw posted at the internet.  There main market was a covered area and seemed relatively orderly.  The garbage behind the market was unsightly, though.  I should have worn my closed rubber sandals as the floor was wet.  Yok pointed to one area in the market which had been allotted to the people coming from the mountains to sell their goods, mostly live chicken (free-range perhaps?) and different vegetables and root crops.  If it not for their baskets they would have blended seamlessly with the local Khmer.  A bit queasy about seeing butchered animals, I tried to look away whenever I passed stalls with dressed chickens, their heads dangling from the table, and cow and pig parts strung up on meat hooks.  It wasn’t quite easy as some of the meat stalls were mixed in with the dry goods stalls.  At one point, I had to take a long route around the maze-like market just to skip one particularly distressing meat stall that had some organs displayed.

There really wasn’t anything special about the market if you’ve been to other Southeast Asian markets before.  Perhaps the big difference was that everything was for purely local consumption and I didn’t see a single store there selling tourist stuff.  The only exception was one store fronting the parking lot which was selling a small selection of baskets , gourds, and other things.  Too bad there was no musical instrument.  I bought a small gourd instead.

Crater Lake.  It was still early when we made it to the Boeang Yeak Lom so there weren’t much people which made for a peaceful outing to this beautiful lake.  Unfortunately, I could only enjoy the water from one of  the piers dotted around the lake as I still didn’t know how to swim.  The Tompoun who “own” the lake and live in small villages around the area believe that this near-perfect circle lake is sacred and home to strange creatures.  Do Yok say told of a story of someone who got sick as he cursed the lake when he was unable to catch some fish.  They believe that one should never say anything bad about the lake lest the spirits who inhabit it get angry.

Been here picture. So touristy. Heheheh.

Small but interesting was the Cultural Museum a few hundred meters from the start of the trail which circled the lake.  Having Do Yok explain the exhibits made it all the more interesting not to mention helpful.  Impressive were the gongs displayed Beside it was a small shop where I was able to buy some stringed-instruments.  Having Yok, again, was very helpful as he identified the instruments to me.  They looked like the real thing and not made specifically for the tourist market which was largely selling textiles and some handicrafts.  At the one of stalls at the lake I bought an auntup (loin cloth) in the traditional black and white color for $8 and 2 necklaces of small white beads (samul) for $2. I took a video of Yok tieing the cloth around him so I’d know how to use it.

A set of 8 knobbed gongs

From the lake, we proceeded to a turn-off from the main road to a leafy village where Yok lived.  We stopped by the main house to inquire about the gung trang (10-stringed zither with a gourd).  The musician was out but Do Yok asked his mom to make one for me.  Yehey!  We followed a short small trail which led to his house.   He actually had two houses both connected with a short walkway.  The second one isn’t finished yet but it is usable as it has a floor, roof, and three walls already.  His two little kids, his wife, and his mother were there.  The latter had just come home from the hospital for what I suspect was a really bad case of indigestion.  Yok had been unable to find the medicine the doctor prescribed from any of the numerous pharmacies we had visited.  There didn’t seem to be any modern pharmacies here as the one’s we went to were just small simple stores that had a stock of medicines.  I gave here some domperidone with instructions on how she should take it.  I figured that even if it weren’t indigestion, the medicine wouldn’t do her any harm anyway so she might was well try it. I get indigestion a lot and from what Do Yok told me  it sounded like a really bad case.

Yok's house

They were about to have breakfast of rice and some green leafy vegetable that had been boiled.  I politely turned-down the offer to join them. It was 10 am so I was surprised by how later breakfast is.  Or maybe it was really early lunch.  Or perhaps the Tompoun have their version of brunch.

The weaving village of Panom was nearby so we decided to drop by to look at some weaves and see if I could get an anchew the women’s traditional wrap-around.  The small village had a smattering of houses placed around a dirt field.  No one was there except a few women weaving on looms under the shade of their stilt houses and children playing.  I bought a wrap-around in red and black for $7.5 and a runner for $3.5.  The wrap-around still had to be cut and sewn so Do Yok would have to go back for it the next day. A young man offered to make me a gung treng for $15 which Yok would also need to come back for the next day.  It was better deal than that offered by another man Yok had met on the junction of the lake that had informed Yok that the guy in the village was too drunk to make an instrument and that he was willing to sell his own gung treng.  Too expensive, Yok said.

We had lunch at Pov Sochey.  I had a bowl of coconut soup which was sourish soup with pineapple and pork with vegetables while Yok had fried rice.  The food was plentiful and tasted good however it would be the cause of my upset stomach the next day.  I don’t know if it was the food itself or the tea that was in the tea pot and had been standing there since god know when as I would have another upset stomach the day after having dinner there on another time.

We headed to Ka Tieng to see the waterfall and ride an elephant, something that Yok said he hadn’t done since the time he was a kid and the elephant he was riding on got scared and started running. He almost had the cold feet as when we were on the elephant and just waiting for the other elephant to get going, he turned to me and said he wanted to get off.  I told him I would get off too.  I’ve only ridden an elephant once, at Ayuthayya in Thailand, and I can’t say I’m really comfortable with it, both with how the elephant is treated and how the elephant would treat the ride.  I imagine the elephant turning balistick oll of a sudden and throwing-off the people behind him.

I was told that the pair of elephants always go together even if one had no one riding as it was a mom-and-daughter team. How sweet, I thought.  On the other hand, I was quite sorry for them as it meant it was a family doomed to elephant slavery.  The mahouts treated them well, though.  Much much better than the ones in Ayuthayya who would hit them in the head with a sickle especially if they stopped too long to grab a bite to eat.  The teenage mahouts would simply prod them with words and by digging their feet on their sides.  I was initially shocked when I saw the large sickle they had and I wanted to get off as no way was I gonna be a party to any cruelty inflicted on them. But the sickle was never used on the elephants. They were there to cut-off some branches or put some marks on trees.

The elephants were stopping by and grabbing some overhead branches as they were so hungry as the owner had gotten drunk the afternoon before and had not let them graze.  The mahouts let them be only prodding the daughter elephant which we were riding on when she was taking too much time trying to ensnarly some bushes with her trunk.

We rode through the main dirt track and some smaller tracks in the forest for about an hour.  It was more of the experience of riding an elephant rather than sight-seeing as there wasn’t anything to see.

The waterfall was beautiful and could be accessed by some rickety and slippery wooden steps down. Do Yok had earlier told me that the water was polluted due to the waste coming from the rubber plantation upstream.  “It’s okay.  They don’t know,” he whispered when I pointed out a few white tourists who had just come from their bath.

On the way out, Yok told me that the woman collecting the entrance fee had just been recently widowed.  Out of sympathy, as she is also Tompoun, he gave her some money for her child.  I was touched by this considering that out of the $15 I payed him today, he pays Borann Lodge $5 for the use of their moto after giving up owning one after two robberies.  He also  refused to reimburse the 2,000 riyel entrance fee which he paid for me after I forgot.

O’Chmey

I had read at a website about the villages along O’Chmey. Yok took me to a Tompoun village which he said was famous for its group of musicians. Unfortunately, the instruments weren’t there and there were no musicians either.  I had expressed my interest earlier in buying a small pipe the kind that I have  seen a lot of Tompoun men and women and even kids smoking.  I had wanted a used one rather than a brand new item that could be purchased cheaply at the market.  Approaching a woman smoking by her doorway, he asked to see it and possibly buy it!  Unfotunately, it was broken.

The meeting house was nice though especially as the walls were in traditional Tompoun designs.

The Stone Fiel

Yok stopped his moto under the shade of one of the trees ringing a flat plain.  “Field of Stones,” he said.  I was disappointed as I envisioned a large field dotted with mysterious stones, even monoliths.  But what lay before me looked no different from a bare field that could be used as a parking lot.  But looking at the vegetation around, you realize its mystery as nothing really grows on the field.  Even more interesting is going to a small mound, Yok lifts a heavy rock and slams it down.  A deep “thud” ensues.  The ground is hollow!  I try it myself and another “thud” echoes.  Now, I’m interested!  A short path leads to the entrance of a cave that Yok dares not enter as he says one can get slip down.

Dinner with Do Yok

From the waterfalls, Yok told me that he would take mo to his mom-in-law’s house so in case I am unable to contact him, I could go visit his mom-in-law, a Khmer, ask his whereabouts.  The  village was close to Banlung town proper.  The houses were in the Khmer style—wood and in stilts— and were built close to each other.   The house is fairly large with a spacious front area.  An uncle who serves in near the Vietnamese border has come visiting after more than 10 years of absence and he is seated in front together with the mom-in-law.  She doesn’t seem too surprised seeing Yok arriving guest.  I was to learn later that Yok had lived in the house before he finally went back to his village.  He had also had some guests he had been guiding stay at the house before.  They don’t mind, he told me.

The main living area

I relished the chance to set foot in a real living Khmer house and I enjoy it.  The wooden floor had been polished smoothly with years of use.  A door on the left side led to a bedroom while on the main area were two mattresses on the floor.  A middle-aged Khmer woman in a green blouse and  sarong stood combing her curly hair in front of a mirror.  There was a small kitchen and dining area with a round table and round stools made of solid wood.

Leaving the house, our next and final stop was Yok’s house again as he invited me to eat with his family.  Who wouldn’t pass-up this chance?  We motored to the market while Yok bought some stuff while I sat at the moto guarding it.

Back at his house, I played ball with the two cute kids while his wife prepared the meal.  A little later in the afternoon, the guy from the village who was supposedly drunk arrived with the gung treng! Unfortunately, Yok’s wife had given his beautiful gourd, a souvenir from his trip to Laos, when the guy came calling looking for a gourd to put on the instrument.  Yok was a little shocked when his wife told him over the phone while we were at his mom-in-law’s house but he wasn’t really upset.  I just told him that he might as well keep the gung treng  for himself so he would at least still have his gourd even if it’s top had been chopped off.  The guy could always make me another one.  I watched him as he took the strings that Yok had bought, patiently unwound them so there would just be single thin string, and put them on the tuning pegs and on the instrument.

Yok and his two kids

That evening, as we drank some alcohol after a dinner of noodles with pork, some cured raw fish (delicious but I was afraid for my stomach), vegetables, and rice, the guy played the instrument. It was magical listening to him amidst the quietness of the village and the moonlight.

Around 8pm, Yok said it was time to bring me home but we would stop by the village headman’s house so he could ride home with Yok to deter any robbers.  While waiting, I stepped inside a house that had was being used as a classroom for Tompoun children to learn Khmer.  Leading the class was really young teacher who was checking a workbook while the students recited aloud.

Passing through the unlit dirt tracks from the lake and out onto the main road, it was understandable why Yok would be afraid.  I heaved a sigh of relief was turned onto the main road and back to Banlung.