How a King's Cremation Unfolds

4 February 2013

This will be the final in what has evolved into an ongoing series of posts about the King Father, former King Sihanouk. It's not often a monarch passes away, even if Cambodia is pretty far off the map. After the 101 days of laying-in-state embalmed at the Royal Palace, the long-process of honoring a former leader (as well as this blog series) drew to a close.

Cremation is the preferred method of sending a person into the afterlife in Cambodia. Normally the family takes the body to the local wat. Because of Sihanouk's status, he was built a special crematorium next to the Royal Palace enveloping what was once a park in front of the Royal Museum. Building this crematorium required suspending the law prohibiting cremations within the city (and outside a wat) in Phnom Penh. The structure was at least four-storey high surrounded by a square of seating areas. Costs were rumored to have run between $1 million to $4 million for this temporary crematorium which also functioned as an exciting stop for domestic tourism (seriously, it's very popular).

To launch the final of the Sihanouk related events, we started by taking extra holidays. This is the natural first step, predictably so. We took Friday 1 February and Monday 4 February off. 

Commemorative 1000 riel bill for the occasion

The events kick-started on Friday with a parade around Phnom Penh. Businesses along the route were mandated to close and crowds turned out to view the parade and the golden sarcophagus. The followers were dressed in white and black, carrying lotus flowers and wearing the obligatory black ribbons pinned to their white shirts.

The parade carried on for two days. Throughout this period, there was speeches, chanting monks, grieved mourners and a general somber spirit. Finally on February 4, Sihanouk was finally cremated. At exactly 6pm, friends and I turned on the TV to see the event. The pyre was lit off-screen by the current king (Sihanouk's son) and all the cameras were turned off. From a distance, smoke rose into the night along with fireworks. (Apparently, simultaneous fireworks are very trendy these days.) 

On Tuesday, the king and his mother sprinkled the ashes at the confluence of the Mekong, Tonle Sap and the Bassac Rivers. The rest were stored in an urn inside the Palace. 

Everyday is a learning day in the Kingdom. I'm only 50 percent sure I ever understand what's happening and this event was in keeping with that trend. However, as an era draws to a close, farewell Sihanouk. 

How to Wear this Shoe

What to call them? Where to wear them?

This post will be short. I cannot resist this post. I simply must do justice to the humblest of all shoes, the shoe that represents life as I know it. The photo above is of my favorite shoes. I wear them easily six days a week. In Cambodia, easily over half of the population wears this type of shoes.

But what to call these shoes? I've identified six different English names for these shoes from my personal interactions,

• Slops- South Africa
• Slippers- Zambia
• Jangles- Kiwi
• Thongs- Australia
• Pluggers- Australia
• Flip-flops-USA
• Shoes- Cambodia

I enjoy using these various terms. I also enjoy trying to use the correct term with the correct audience so that they become confused and ask which country I call home.

Flip flops work in Cambodia for several reasons; cheap, accommodation the climate, withstand seasonal flooding well, and easily slide on and off. Cambodia has revolutionized my understanding of shoes. My mother has long teased that I'm the type of person who will make people take of their shoes when they enter my home. (Yes, I am that type of person.) Funny thing is that in Cambodia, it's cultural to take our shoes off at the door of people's homes. At both my offices, we take our shoes off at the door. It's not terribly uncommon at workplaces in general. On the average weekday, I only wear my shoes to drive.

Both at work and home, people may have designated "indoor shoes" which are never worn outside. Taking off your shoes is cultural, but it's also practical. By taking off your shoes, you leave dust, mud, germs, and sewer sludge outside your home. Floors inside businesses, homes and offices are arguably the cleanest surfaces in the country because there is the expectation you will be barefoot.

There's no doubt I will be taking the no-shoes rule with me..."So I know you're wearing Converse with all those laces and socks, but would you please leave them at the door? Thanks so much." There's also no doubt I will purposefully call flip-flops by an alternative name with other Americans, because, I'm that type of person.

How to Harvest Rice

A January highland involved visiting the farm of a former guard with my organization. He retired recently but was gracious enough to invite us all to his home where he gave us a hands-on demonstration on rice harvesting. Since my job entails sitting in an office and brainstorming ways to measure attitudes changes, I haven't had much opportunity to learn the basics of rice farming. This is somewhat unfortunate, given how much rice I eat. However, I will outline the lessons I learned on this day.

1. Plant rice
2. In due time, harvest rice. This entails cutting the stalks, long strands of what almost looks like hay. You tie a handful together and then cut it near the root.
3. Let it dry for several days in the sun.
4. Thrash the stalks against a hard surface. You do this with a tarp on the ground. The rice is loosed and falls from the stalk to the tarp. At this point, it's in a little "shell" or "seed hull" The unwanted stalks are later feed to animals.
5. Run the rice through a mill-like devise, which is hand cranked. This "machine" blowing air on the rice separates the grass and the chaff from the rice particles. 
6. The rice is dried for several more days.
7. Take the rice to a local miller who has a machine that will break the rice out of the "shell" or "seed hull" into the little white grains that we all know. You can supposedly do this by hand, but it's a lot of work.

After a few hours of "hard work," we enjoyed a delicious lunch of Cambodian curry and rice noodles. We walked around the little farm, harvested a few green coconuts for their juice, saw the chickens and the growing herbs and allowed the neighbors to be amused by our presence. 

Statistically speaking, 80% of Cambodians are rural farmers. The majority grow their own rice. Rice is consumed with every single meal. In Khmer, the verb "to eat" is directly translated "eat rice." You can't separate eating from rice. There is nothing  more closely aligned with the human existence or with basic human needs, than rice. There's no comparison in Western cultures. Bread does not even come close. For those of us who live in Cambodia, we learn quickly to stoically eat rice, a funny little grain that holds the very essence of life. And when I leave Cambodia, without any doubt, I will still eat rice.

How I saw former King Sihanouk

One Saturday, mid-afternoon, Mony, the director of my partner organization, called me. He rarely calls on the weekend. I was mystified. He said that their letter to the committee had been approved and that the next day, Sunday, several staff members from my partner organization were going to the Royal Palace to pay respects to the body of the late king Sihanouk. We were meeting at the office at 12:30pm and would head to the Royal Palace from there. Did I want to come?

I was really, really, really worried it was an open casket. Sihanouk died in October and Mony was calling me mid-January. However, after a pros and cons list, I decided that there was no other way I would have such an opportunity, so absolutely, I would go. Upon later reflection, an open casket also seemed unlikely.

I considered my appearance for such an occasion, and opted for modest and classy. However, when I arrived at the appointed meeting place, I realized I completely messed up. The appropriate funeral attire in Cambodia is a white top and black trousers for men and black skirt for women (women can't wear trousers, by I digress). I had forgotten this social expectation entirely. When I asked Khmer colleague if I was dressed incorrectly, I received a very Khmer response: a chuckle followed by "I don't know." Thankfully, several of my female colleagues had brought extra clothes and redressed me in the correct attire, proclaiming that I looked much better that way anyway.

After all pinning black ribbons to our tops, we piled in a mini-van and headed to the Royal Palace. Several relatives of various colleagues also tagged along totaling 22 people, all in matching attire (except for the pastor). Outside the palace were many other groups like ours who had come for the same purpose, and in matching attire. It was also something of a market with hawkers setting food, souvenirs and trinkets.

At the appointed 2pm, we queued up in front of the Palace gates. This is the only time I have seen people queue in 2.5 years in Cambodia. We filed through the metal detectors, and towards the back of the palace complex where there was a giant tent with plastic chairs queued in the same forward direction. Each group who had come to see the king were seated in one segment to wait their turn. It was extremely organized which proved to me that organization it's just a German or American thing. [Henceforth, I expect more of this country.]

We had to wait a good thirty minutes for our turn. I quickly got bored and cranky. Various colleagues chatted up their friends or relatives in other groups. One colleague explained that there was a special committee set up in the wake of Sihanouk's death. Any community or organization group could write to that committee and get permission to see Sihanouk.

When it was our turn, we removed our shoes and queued, hands positioned in a prayer like position. We ascended about 30 steps into the chamber where Sihanouk was housed. The room was decorated almost entirely in white, a color unofficially representing mourning. It was also very cold with large AC units in each corner. Sihanouk was in a giant gold and white traditional casket in the center.

As we entered, a monk chanted something and we dropped on our knees, bowing forward so our open palms touched the floor, then back up with our hands in the prayer position. We did this movement three times, and then stood again, hands still clasped in front of us. Hardly 30 seconds later, we queued out. As we left, we bowed deeply to a member of the royal family who clasped our prayer-like hands on the way out. At a Khmer funeral, the spouse or a child of the deceased should greet every person who comes to see the body. Apparently the royal family was rotating through it's membership. I was informed she was an auntie. After this, we retrieved our shoes and queued past the tent where other groups waited and back to our van.

More then anything, it was a profoundly surreal experience. How often does this happen, that a monarch and icon passes away and we can go? How fortunate/tragic that this event occurred while I was in Cambodia? Why couldn't we have observed the chamber and casket for a little longer?

Mony and I agreed on two things the next day at work. First, this was a historical event and we are thankful for the opportunity to participate. Secondly, that somehow, "seeing" Sihanouk provides some sort of cathartic experience for many Cambodians. I'm not Cambodian, but I learned something about Cambodia that day.