Phnom Penh, Cambodia
It’s hard to describe Cambodia on a first meeting basis. Nothing seems to fit. Guess we have to screw first impressions and keep it about lasting ones.
Travel Tip #1: Be a Suicidal Jay Walker!
That’s what I’ll say. Crossing the road is like deciding if you should eat donkeys’ tongue or alligators’ balls. You have to keep a sharp eye on the right moment. Wait, what am I saying? What ‘right moment’? There’s a freaking motorbike in every direction I turn. I learn that you have to take a leap of faith here. Cross and hope that the next five bloody motorcycles don’t run into you.
There are three men on a motorbike; do they make the sits longer in this part of the world? Never mind they’ve never heard of helmets or active sweat glands – its cheap to get around. You might risk a limb or two but that’s alright as well. It’s no use getting worked up. You end up nowhere – literally.
Left with nothing to do on the first day but wander along the riverfront, it’s almost a heart-breaking sight. Children as young as six or seven of age roam the streets to beg for money or sell tourists books (from Paulo Coelho to James Redfield, Lonely Planet and of course, The Killing Fields). If you’re not careful, like me, you’ll have a case of sympathy overflow and end up with two books and 10 postcards hoping that the money will go to food or education. The cynics will scoff at that but good thing I’m an idealist.
The children speak relatively good English. They’re also very small and suspiciously underfed. How does one walk away? (Oh, but we do) A 14-year-old girl, Shrey, spoke like an experienced business woman as she tries to sell me (another) book. As I shamelessly haggle for a price, I asked her how does one do a book business in Phnom Penh?
Most young entrepreneurs buy their books from a dealer at a bookstore and pay for it in advance. They then sell their books hoping for a profit of 2000 or 4000 rial (USD$0.50 to USD$1). Some sell to feed their families, some to pay for school fees, some perhaps we’re better of not knowing (if you’re an Idealist like me).
The more I walked down the street, the less I liked what I saw. Young mothers begging with her children, a baby diaper-less lying on the pavement, covered with dirt and exposed to fumes from passing vehicles; foreigners with their young Cambodian girlfriends. An all too-familiar scene in a cynic mind, only this time, it’s real life.
It wasn’t frightening and I never felt an ounce threatened but I was saddened by what I saw. I knew that it was inevitable in a country so devastated by war and a history of Communism – poverty and prostitution would be prominent.
We are all really one – the same skin, flesh, blood and guts. I am not separated from the girl who sells her books to tourists, the mother who begs to feed her children, the hot flushed farang with his attractive Cambodian escort. Humanity serves for all – unfortunately, she serves with different spoons. I wished life could be different for all of us – better, safer, kinder, more loving.
Hot, tired and had enough for the night, I took a motodup back to the hotel. Safely back in my little attic room (simply furnished with a mattress, a mosquito net, a fan and some floor cushions) I sit and contemplate about my first night in Phnom Penh.
Life here is simple. It may not have much, but I feel safe. It must mean something. There was a sort of honesty here. Poor as the people may be, they weren’t threatening. I felt that there was a sacred trust here. It may be a false sense of security but I guess that’s all I have for now.
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