May the King Rest in Peace, Phnom Penh

The scene outside of the Royal Palace

When King Norodom Sihanouk passed away on October fifteenth from a heart attack, after months of ailing health, the whole of Cambodia was swept up in a wave of mourning for a leader whose lifetime witnessed some the country’s most turbulent and painful transitions of the past century. As king, Sihanouk led his country from French rule to independence in 1953, abdicated to become prime minister and foreign minister, was imprisoned inside his own walls during the brutal massacres of the 1970s Khmer Rouge regime, campaigned from abroad the Vietnamese invasion that followed its toppling, witnessed a subsequent guerilla civil war, and then partook in the key negotiations that shakily developed into the constitutional monarchy of today when he was again crowned king in 1993. Many Cambodians see Sihanouk as a father figure, a key anchor serving his country during decades of conflict. A week of mourning was called as tens of thousands of mourners from all walks of life flocked to the Cambodian capital, from the remotest corners of the country, to offer their condolences; they now await outside the Royal Palace for the moment where they will be allowed to pay their respects to the former King’s body before his cremation.

The crowds are now entering their second week of mourning

Smoke billows overhead from mounds of burning incense, as mourners who have now been waiting for weeks on end are camped atop plastic tarps on the concrete floor outside of the Palace, with bare facilities supporting such large crowds. Yet, neither the scorching midday sun nor unbearably harsh conditions can dissuade the dedicated grievers who eat, sleep, and sit patiently waiting for the day that the Palace will be opened. Over two hundred and thirty people have already been hospitalized due to fainting, most likely from exhaustion, but still the massive crowd lingers on. Kept in suspense, it remains unclear when the general populace will be allowed to enter the palace and pay their final respects to the King.

A group of teenagers lighting candles
in front of images of King Sihanouk

An elderly nun sat waiting to view the King's body

When we stumbled upon this powerful scene our first evening in Phnom Penh, I was informed that as a tourist I would be eligible to enter the palace earlier; in surprise, I asked how this could be. Surely the loyal mourners who, despite all impediments, travelled for days on end and have been camping outside the palace for weeks, for their own king, should be allowed to view his body first? “No,” came my reply, “You foreigners have come from much further away and should be given priority.” Stupefied, I viewed the crowd around me, groups of weakened old women with shaved heads barely able to walk, orange robed monks in patient meditation, devout men burning incense whilst they prayed, and wondered how I could possibly have been given any priority over these people who were infinitely closer to their king than I ever will be.

(Getting to Phnom Penh: We decided to take the option of crossing the Cambodian border up the Mekong by boat from Chau Doc, an effortless and pleasant journey lasting several hours, where you can be granted a visa upon arrival and gaze upon grazing buffalo and drifting river boats).