Landing in Phnom Penh at night is like landing in the middle of a black hole. There are no lights to be seen anywhere for kilometers and kilometers. We had pre-reserved a hostel about a week ahead of time and they said they would send someone to the airport to pick us up. Little did we know we would be toted back to the hostel by tuk-tuk. Yes, a tuk-tuk. It sounds like one of those mouth noises you think African countries make, although, it’s actually a two wheeled box attached to a motorbike usually with shiny metal spirals for handles, a tricked out roof, and seats for four facing each other. Quite the crafty design, I do believe. We tuk-tuk-ed our way 7 kilometers and 30 minutes to our riverside abode. What I read about the riverside area: Cambodian foreigner haters will drive by in SUV’s and throw bricks at your head. super.
After freaking out at Allen and Ayumi for booking a murder hostel.. we arrived to “Nomad’s”- a quasi deserted place run by a maybe British man. The room was a bit musty upon entering due to lack of circulation. Three wooden boxes lay on the floor with bright orange futons laid into each one like puzzle pieces. Each box had a stand up fan located in front. Air conditioning was another $1 more per night. On top of the pounding $10 a night we were paying, which is quite expensive for Cambodia, we decided to live life in the rough. To the right was a shower... wait.. not a shower.. maybe a shower.. there was a toilet, a sink, a sink hose, and separate shower head. No bathtub. Yes, you just shower in your bathroom. Simple enough right? I later found out that the ‘sink hose’ located next to the toilet is not to be used for dishes but rather as a bidet so no paper is needed. Definitely tried it... gotta try everything once, yea?
Waking up in a pitch black room is not easy. However, our excitement for the upcoming touring masked our tiredness as we stumbled downstairs to collect our free breakfast comprised of two very grainy pieces of toast, fresh squeezed pineapple juice, and coffee with condensed milk. Memo #3: Condensed milk looks like goopy madness and is only good on strawberries, not in coffee.
Instead of tuk-tuk-ing our way to the first destination, the Royal Palace, we decided on a nice sweltering river walk which soon turned into drinking Angkor beer in the comfort of a beautiful outdoor cafe. Before our nice cooling beer though, we ventured into the temple of Wat Phnom. Walking up the many stairs to the florescent lighted prayer corner, we were greeted by a man selling “luck bird”.. he had captured at least 100 birds and set them in cages. You pay for a bird and you set it free. Like at funerals. How warming. Up the stairs and around the temple were some stray kitties and another small temple where bare-footed half naked boys ran in circles chasing each other. I put 500 riel into a donation dish and descended. At the foot of the hill was a family feeding the fattest monkey I have ever seen in my life, then about 10 more stray cats.
At the restaurant/cafe we sat down our already tired butts and took in the scenery of a very Cambodian decorated building. The chairs were wicker with bright red cushions, beautiful metal lanterns hung from the ceiling, and on the wall hung the sign for “happy hour $0.50 draft beer” along with about five geckos. It was just Allen, Ayumi, me, and the geckos. ahhhhh. However, what they don’t tell you is that the restaurant staff conveniently seats you outside next to the road so that random sellers can come up and offer their services. While sitting at the cafe for 30 minutes such people approached us: a four year old child with his hands pressed together in the ‘prayer’ or ‘please/thank you’ position asking for money, a motorbike driver who can obviously fit only one person on his bike, a decrepit old woman with a child (which was probably not hers) begging for money, a girl and a boy selling real..yes very real.. Ray-Bans for $3, an English newspaper seller.. no wait.. a shoe shiner.. no wait.. a shoe fixer- never mind.. this man had many talents, lastly a monk, and a tuk-tuk driver. Ayumi and I had previously decided that we wanted to see the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek from the Khmer Rouge reign about 30 years ago. Even though it seemed hella depressing, we figured it was a very important part of the country’s history and should know exactly how much the people suffered. Allen, no so keen on depressing things, wasn’t 100% on going but the tuk-tuk driver offered to take us the 15 kilometers for $4 a person each way which didn’t sound like such a horrible plan.
The tuk-tuk driver went by the name Mr. Horn. He wrangled us through the traffic jammed streets of Phnom Penh into the countryside. After 30 minutes or so, we arrived at the entrance to the killing fields, and were greeted by begger with an overly sunned body and a crutch to support the half of his body without a leg. He obviously survived the Khmer Rouge. The Khmer Rouge regime was centered around making all of Cambodia a peasant dominated society; therefore, executing anyone educated, politicians, teachers, writers, religious figures, etc, and anyone who “disobeyed.” Almost all people were sent marching to the countryside, some never to be found again. They turned Tuol Svay Prey High School into a place called S-21 where Pol Pot (the Khmer Rouge leader) and his troops tortured thousands of people. The people were then taken to the Killing Fields dead or almost dead to be disposed of into the mass graves.
At the center of the Killing Fields is an enormous tree that serves as a memorial to how brutal the torture was. This tree was used to smash babies’ heads’ in. The Khmer Rouge member would hold the baby by the leg then sling it numerous times until the screaming stopped although most of the time the screaming was masked by a large speaker hanging from the tree that they blasted while killing ensued. Then, the officer would decapitate the child and sling it into the grave next to its mother, who was also often decapitated. Beside the mass graves, we walked over bits of clothing that had surfaced but the worst was the crunch of the bones you could hear with each step as some of the smaller fragments hadn’t been recovered. This period between 1975 and 1978 was the downfall of Cambodia, as nearly 2 million people were murdered. It’s just baffling to know that there are people in this world, and many of them, that have such a mind to do these horrible things. And to think, this only happened a little over 30 years ago. You can see the difference in the younger population who never lived though the horrors and the elderly who turn a sideways untrustworthy glance your direction each time your eyes meet. They don’t smile and they aren’t kind, but who can blame them after what they have lived through. The Cambodian government is forced to rely on the upcoming youth to reform and fortify their country, therefore, the children are more educated any many find themselves understanding the act of running a business by the age of fourteen or younger.
Towering high above the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek is a shiny monument with 8,000 skulls arranged by sex and age.
After being slapped in the face with the nightmare of Cambodian past, we tuk-tuk-ed back to the city where we forced Mr. Horn to let us walk a little. He wanted to drive us block by block and we needed to walk. Instead he dropped us off at a tapas restaurant called “Friends” run by former Cambodian street kids learning how properly serve customers in order to get a fine dining ‘high paid’ job. They were all extremely polite and spoke great English, but most of all the food was incredible. We ordered a traditional Khmer fish wrapped in banana leaves with the usual lemongrass seasoning, mushrooms in some kind of delicious sauce, and spring rolls with a wonderful mayonnaise-type dressing. To drink, I had a raspberry marguerita in a martini glass filled to the brim with yummy smoothy alcohol. After indulging in Khmer delicates we walked to the Royal palace, and finally made it after being stopped by numerous tuk-tuk drivers that also wanted to drive us one block. For some reason Allen unconsciously engages in conversation, undoubtably EVER time with someone offering their services or merchandise. I think he first attracts them over then bombards the confused pesterers with excuses as to why he can’t buy what they are selling... which in turn causes them to make us excuses and this goes on for a good five minutes until I decide to stop waiting on him and walk away. He’s too nice... no excuses needed Allen-san.
Fortunately the Royal Palace was closed but planned to open in the next hour, so we took a seat along a ginormous pathway with hundreds of monks in bright orange cloth with shaved heads and yellow umbrellas passing us as we relaxed. After trying to secretly take pictures of the beautiful monks against green backgrounds, we went for a stroll to find the building the monks were coming from. It was an old building with strong smell of incense protruding through its orifices. The sound of humming and chanting echoed through it’s hallways. This is so not American. We were afraid to walk much farther seeing that there were monks changing their robes at the end of the road so we made an executive decision to turn around and cross through the gates again. At the gates was, of course, a tuk-tuk driver ready to tackle us with services. Still not needing such assistance, I decided to strike up conversation as we moved toward a bench.
His English was very broken but still understandable. The first question they always ask to get your attention is “Where you from?” To which I often respond “Where are YOU from?” Not all drivers are from the city where they work right? This driver lived outside of Phnom Pehn with his wife, three sons, and one daughter who he named Helen. It turns out he only wanted to have two children but his wife kept wanting a little girl so they tried again and again. Every day he commutes to the city for work. His tuk-tuk cost him $900 which he knew would bring him more work than just the motorbike. The job before was at medical clinic supervisor, sponsored by the French government, although the French quit sponsoring after about 6 months and everyone lost their jobs... leaving tuk-tuk driver man helpless. “I was very good at my job, but it doesn’t matter now”, he said. Jobs are so unreliable in Cambodia. I had heard about how sponsor programs can just drop funding so quickly for companies, and the Cambodian government isn’t strong enough yet to fend for themselves. But especially in the medical field, companies shouldn’t stop funding seeing as hospitals in the country are horrible and most people, in order to get proper medical attention, must travel to Bangkok, Thailand. I remember passing a children's hospital in the tuk tuk and across the street were close to 50 people holding their sick babies in their arms, and this was only outside. I’m sure people were lined up inside as well.
This tuk-tuk man also told us about how if someone wants to become a tour guide they must pay $1500 to get their license and be assigned to an agency. I guess that does pay off in the end because you can easily be hired to tour around the attractions and whatnot; however, it is very expensive and many people can’t make nearly that much in a year. Some people even live off of $20 a month. Perspective.. this is not America.
Entering the Royal Palace is like trying to get in a Catholic church with goth clothes on. There is a dress code because it’s a very religious and sacred place. Ayumi had a shaw on her shoulders and the woman behind the glass still wouldn’t let her in. You have to be wearing nice cloths and absolutely no tank-tops. Shirts should come down to your elbows at least; hence, Ayumi bought a souvenir Royal Palace t-shirt... which some how is considered nice clothing. Logic? We strolled through the palace paths and found a temple (most of the palace was comprised of temples), one of the most beautiful ones with perfect white stairs and shiny tiles, matching carpet on the inside and intricately designed doorways. The top of the building was caked in gold and glared from the sun. Clouds behind made the gold just a little bit brighter and enhanced the already perfect setting. Within the Royal Palace is a place called the Silver Pagoda. On the floor lay 5000 silver tiles weighing 1kg each. Although, much of the floor is covered in carpet you can still hear the clank of silver and see a shine along the edge. If you look closely you can see the carvings engraved into each pane.
Psar Thmei or the Central Market was next on our list of Phnom Penh sites and although nothing looked extremely appealing to buy the market building was exquisite. It looked a bit Babylonian with its towering dome, underneath slews of jewelry sellers were auctioning their possibly real gold, silver, and diamonds. While Allen spent a good bit deciding on sunglasses, Ayumi and I were entertained by 2 small boys playing with a bouncy toy they treated as a hacky sack. They were soon joined by 2 military men and 2 store clerks, making the game age range from about 4 to 54. Grins from ear to ear and the sound of genuine laughter, each person was thoroughly enjoying kicking this little plastic thing high above their heads like children. It’s nice to know that there can still be smiles even after so much suffering.
Browsing and walking had taken a toll on our genki-ness and we subsided back in our hotel room for an hour nap then went on a quest for some delicious Khmer dining again. On the way we ran into a French bead shop owner who pointed us in the direction of a restaurant called Lemongrass which was by far some of the best food I had on the trip. We ordered three dishes, each person getting a side of coconut rice served in a coconut bowl which rolled around because it was a real coconut. Coconut. I accidentally ordered a large beer which was definitely close to a liter and drank it all despite the enormity of it. This was then added to the next cafe/restaurant that we went to to grab another drink. We all ordered some Angkor beer sat back for 2 seconds before children came around to our table trying to sell us books, flowers, and sunglasses.
One girl in particular was quite crazy fun. She had shoulder length brown hair with some bad English writing on her clothes and booming sarcasm that radiated. We joked around with her for a bit.. she called Allen a “girly boy,” said Ayumi was from “AUS” instead of “USA” and tried to make me learn Khmer. I appreciate the children that learn English and can use it conversationally because it is by far 10 times better than the majority of my students. Finally, I agreed not to buy her a book, but buy her some food. Upon taking her to the little convenience store down the street, she scampered about collecting canned foods, eggs, milk, bread.. the necessities.. then got some Nestle cocoa which was fine and finally pointed to a big pack of six, 1 liter bottles of Coca Cola. She said “I want Coke,” to which I replied “Um, I don’t think so.. Coke is not too healthy.” From then on things went down hill and forced me to learn a lesson about small adorable begging children. She brought the Coke to the register even though I had told her no, and I still didn’t buy it for her. We walked out of the mart with a good amount of essential food which cost $8.37, but she pouted all the way back to where Ayumi and Allen were still seated, screaming “I really want Coke, I really want Coke! You say you buy for me then you say no... WHY?” It was so heartbreaking but REALLY? COKE? You really don’t need Coke homegirl. So we finished our drinks with her horrible pouting eyes locked on me the entire time. Then grabbed a tuk-tuk to a “popular” dance club we found in Lonely Planet.
Said club was named, inappropriately, “Heart of Darkness.” Before entering the club you must be wanded down to make sure you aren’t hiding any guns or knives on your person. Flip flops were not allowed; although, because of the extremely booming influx of customers (or flies) going inside, Ayumi and I were an exception. The three of us went upstairs and sat at the eloquently lit bar and realized we were the only people on the second floor other than the bartenders who were either on their cell phones or admiring some interesting dust fragment on the wall. It really was a beautiful place though, with amazing lighting and a huge chandelier which hung down the center of the two floors with laser lights flying in and out reflecting off the glass in a variety of colors. Occasionally, when the ear piercing house music would peak, they let the fog machine loose so that the entire club filled with smoke and random lights struck your face from every angle. I imagine it would be an excellent place to be on drugs.
Before leaving the club we danced on the tiny dance floor for a bit, then realizing there were no actual Cambodian people in the room other than the hired and possibly underage girls the creepy old foreign men picked up from a phone service or at the club entry, we left.. ready for bed and ready to begin another day in another city.
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