The Road Warriors: Phnom Penh

It had been a while since I had been in a big, stinky city. Bangkok was the last one. Nothing in between would qualify. Phnom Penh is a big stinky city though. Only one million in the city proper, but you would never guess with the crowds and the traffic.

My bus rolled into a miscellaneous part of the city just after sundown. A tout offered me a $3 room and a free ride so I took it. I pulled out a map on the way there to get my orientation. The Mekong and Tonle Sap come to a convergence and run along the east side of the city before separating again. A lake called Boeung Kak sits in the north-central part of the city while the rest is a sprawling grid of streets with the occasional roundabout. My guesthouse was on the banks of Boeung Kak, an easy location to remember.

It was another backpacker ghetto. Good because of the easy access to Internet and other amenities, annoying because of the overpriced Western restaurants, army of pesky tuk tuk drivers and inevitable drug dealers and prostitutes. My guesthouse was a party pro hub with loud bad music and weed smoke aplenty. The room smelled like sewer and the fan was barely noticeable from the bed. One night it would be. I got Indian food for dinner. The dealers were out. Motorbike? Marijuana? Cocaine? Every 10 meters.

Next morning I packed up and went to the place next door that was $2 a night and infinitely better. I didn't even want to shower in the stinky place for fear of what would gurgle up from the drain. Pennywise the clown. Just like Siem Reap, it would be one night in a bad, stinky place, two nights in a nice place. Upon completing my morning routine and getting breakfast, I chartered a tuk tuk for the day and set out for the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek.

In the Killing Fields, dozens of mass graves were discovered sometime in the 80s. The Khmer Rouge used the area as an extermination camp where over 8000 people were killed and buried. A huge white pagoda sits at the entrance filled with the skulls, bones and clothes of the bodies they excavated. When I arrived, it was late morning and the place was almost empty. The only sounds were the wind and the rumble of approaching thunder. The path around the grounds wound between the pits formed by the excavated graves. Signs described the atrocities that took place at that very location. Pieces of bone, clothing and teeth stuck out of the ground in some places. Those who were there, respectfully stayed silent.

In a nearby museum, a movie was shown detailing the atrocities which took place. The gravity of the film was slightly diminished by the spooky haunted house music played at the beginning complete with a howling wolf.

I dodged a few begging children on my way out who were putting on their best sad voices to get my money. Everyone knows that giving money directly to begging children is the absolute worst thing you can do. It goes to their parents or keepers who in turn keep them out of school so they can earn more money begging. You feel like a cold, heartless prick saying 'no', but it's the right thing to do.

Back in town, my driver took me to Tuol Sleng Museum, formerly known as S-21, the largest center for detention and torture in the country under the Khmer Rouge. It was once a high school, but the rooms had been fashioned into various detention and interrogation chambers. A steel bed frame with manacles attached lay in the center of each sparse room. The walls and floors had not been cleaned. Signs posted everywhere reminded visitors not to talk. In one building, dozens of cramped wooden stalls were installed for confinement. In the next building, hallways filled with mugshots of detainees. The atmosphere was quite intense, and thankfully everyone showed a solemn respect.

My ride dropped me off at the old market so I could do some wandering of my own. I walkedalong the rivers on some kind of half-finished promenade. Phnom Penh was in a miraculous state of decay. The traffic was unlike anything I'd ever seen in my life. The rule seemed to be, if your vehicle fit, go ahead and drive it on through. With the majority of vehicles being motorbikes, this made for utter pandemonium.

I hopped over piled of garbage and puddles of god-knows-what. There was no sidewalk to speak of. I walked around the grid-like streets, moto drivers fiercely harassing me at every intersection for my business. God I hate that with a passion. My walk took me to Wat Phnom, a temple perched on a hill inside a roundabout. Monkeys were on the hillside eating rambutans. Eventually I made my way back to the guesthouse, content with another one of my successful city walks. I hoped to never have to do it again.

That night I was severely homesick. I had more or less reached the three month mark, and that's apparently when most people get it the worst. I ate Western food for dinner and watched Rambo 4 to cheer myself up. A Spanish guy watched too and would let out wild Spanish exclamations every time Rambo would blow some guy to bits. The way he rolled the 'R' when he said 'Rambo' was hilarious. That cheered me up more than anything.

Next day I woke up late. I considered leaving Phnom Penh and gunning straight for Sihanoukville for my Vietnamese visa, but I stayed to give the city more time. I walked to the post office and encountered Paul and Kim, two slow-boaters that I've bumped into at least three other times since. It's great running into people you know in a big city. We made plans to meet later.

I found myself retracing the same scuzzy steps I took the day before through the old market. I bought a dragonfruit and sat on a curb munching on it. Even this display of slumliness didn't stop the moto drivers from constantly hassling me. Like, they would whistle, honk their horns and scream "my friend" one after the other after the other after the other. Like as if I'll change my mind in the span of 3 seconds. And the fact that they say "my friend" bugs me to no end. AND the fact that even if you take a ride with them, they'll find some sly, deceptive way to rip you off. The guys are not "friends" or even respectable services. They are pests and they would force me to become more and more curt with them as I constantly rebuked their relentless volleys. "Tuk tuk?" "No thanks." "Where are you going?" "It doesn't matter, I already said no!" No other country was as bad as Cambodia for this.

I found my way to the Grand Palace. Tourist trap. I found it so utterly boring. Like, I am honestly not impressed by the lavish habitation of the Khmer king. So much space and tacky ornamentation. Impeccably groomed grounds. Fat tourists shuffling through. The complete opposite of the bedlam outside.

I was so off put by the silly opulence of the palace that it influenced my decision to visit the Stung Meanchey garbage dump. I wanted to see the other side of the coin. Get jarred by the contrast. I grabbed a driver and he looked puzzled as to why I even wanted to go there. Nevertheless, he took me for a decent fare.

We drove just outside of town, and I could smell it as we pulled up. The stinkiest part of the stinkiest city in Southeast Asia. A guard ran up when he saw me, a prime opportunity for a bribe he must have figured. Inside, heaps of trash in every formation, piled high and stretching on for kilometers. Sun bleached and flattened underfoot. Women and children rustled through the debris looking for anything of use. I knew the Grand Palace was a hulking tourist facade; this was a more poignant face for Cambodia.

So the Killing Fields, a Khmer Rouge prison and a garbage dump was enough for me. Tomorrow I would board a bus for the beach town of Sihanoukville in the south. For my last night, I met with Kim and Paul at a riverside lounge bar for drinks. It was an upscale place with handbag house music playing and expensive cocktails. I always feel uncomfortable in places like that, and in Cambodia, for some reason, I felt like I was especially more of a dick for being there, so we moved to some picnic tables in front of a 24-hour convenience store. Seoul style. Cheapest patio bar in town.

Later, after a few KLANG beers, I got the idea to check out Heart of Darkness, a notorious bar in the center of town. From what I heard, it had a very strong mafia presence and was a must-see for anyone checking out Phnom Penh nightlife. Metal detectors greeted us at the door. There was a staggering amount of prostitutes milling about and the proportionate amount of sad old white men. Upstairs there was an ample supply of VIP booths all with very dark characters looming within. The DJ was terrible. I bopped my head while leaning on a railing with my one beer. After a bit of this, we all decided it was time to depart and said our goodbyes.

The motorbike ride home was along empty streets. The driver was trying to sell me contraband the whole time. At the hotel I left a note requesting a 9am wake-up call then hit the sack. Tomorrow morning, I would leave this city.