This page is a record of relevant inquiry beyond Seoul which may influence the tenor of my investigation.
CAMBODIA; KEP
The former seaside resort of Kep-sur-Mer occupies a gentle curve in the southern tip of Cambodia. A small scrap of sand claims itself as the town’s beach, but it is the Crab Market on the western facing shore that has brought us here. A row of low wooden huts line the promenade and jut out on stilts over the water.
Above, violently ruined villas stare down mournfully from the hillside. Looming like permanent shadows, their blackened shells tell of a carefree colonial past and of the particularly vicious response aroused in the Communist regime that followed. The solid ruins, long since abandoned, exist in curious discord with the precariously balanced temporary structures below which now signify the main hub of the town.
Awakening from its post-civil war slumber, Kep is supposedly regaining some of its former popularity, but today the town is quiet. Accordingly we are unhurried until fat droplets signal the start of heavy afternoon rain in keeping with the season. We fold ourselves into the nearest hut taking a seat at the back where we enjoy an uninterrupted view of the sea churning darkly beneath illuminated clouds.
A shrill wind is drawn into the shack, thrusting the cloth edges up and over the table before us - a flimsy box of tissues checks the fabric’s flight across the smooth plastic surface.
Leaning on the wooden rail I face the rough sea and watch a young girl wade out to where the bamboo crab cages bob on their tethers. Covered by a thin transparent raincoat that rustles and sticks awkwardly, she bends down to the nearest cage and turns her face inwards as a sudden spray whips across. The wave continues its journey, breaking and dissolving into foam barely concealed by the wooden slats on which my feet rest.
Between the clamour of water and air, there is no frequency available for our voices to occupy. We are hungry, we eat without a word.