You have to pay more to leave Cambodia than you do to get in the first place…in more ways than one.
Departure day was upon us, and Diane was the first to go. Our tuk-tuk driver came by at 11am to pick her up, leaving me all alone with a free afternoon and a nasty bout of…let’s call them stomach issues. I decided to partake of a foot massage (notice the correct usage of the term “to partake of” unlike an aforementioned incident of the obscene overuse and incorrect use of the phrase) and a leisurely lunch (of none other than my favorite Khmer dish, larp (pronounced “lahp”) which would have been even better with a delicious pomelo salad, but my stomach simply couldn’t handle too much that day). Once I completed those grueling tasks and wandered around the Bar Street area (yes, you read that correctly…and…it is as advertised), I slowly found my way back to the guesthouse to wait for my tuk-tuk driver.
Fifteen minutes prior to my departure, a driver came by and told me he was taking me to the airport. Confused, since he wasn’t the driver with whom Diane and I had been working (and because Diane didn’t pay for her trip to the airport in our attempt to ensure that I got a ride to the airport that afternoon), I explained that Leoung Sei was my driver. The guys at the guesthouse insisted that this driver was sent in his place and pushed me out of the courtyard. I got in, the whole time feeling like something wasn’t right and worrying that I had found myself in the middle of some bizarre scam, but I didn’t know what else to do. When we arrived, I handed over the money for both trips to the airport and attempted to make my way inside—and that’s when the trouble really began.
Four officers guarded the front door. As I approached, they created a human barricade and demanded proof of my flight details before allowing me inside. I showed them my itinerary and was met with suspicious looks and whispers. One of the guards told me that they wouldn’t usually let me in given the circumstances but were willing to make an exception. Not knowing of what circumstances they were speaking, I just shrugged it off and walked into the building. A quick survey of the twelve ticketing booths was far from reassuring. Why? Because Lao Airlines was nowhere to be seen. Being the eternal optimist, I figured that I had arrived too early for my flight check-in time (and that assumption was correct as I arrived four hours earlier, rather than the two that they require).
I decided to find a bench and settle in until Lao Airlines set up for business. It’s not like I had anything better to do, and when you’re nervous about flying on an airline with such a sketchy safety record that even the UN won’t allow their people to fly on their planes, who doesn’t want a couple extra hours to come up with fifty terrifying scenarios right before boarding a flight headed for what was the poorest country in the world up until two years ago?
So, I sat. I waited. I watched people check in for their flights to Vietnam. After an hour and a half, I started to get a little concerned that there were still no signs of Lao Airlines in the terminal. It was at that point that I decided to ask an expert. Okay, that might be taking it a little too far. I decided to ask someone that might know more than me. A young army officer was walking by, so I asked for his assistance. The confused look on his face after reading my itinerary didn’t make me feel any better. Being the helpful lad that he was, he went to talk to someone else. Armed with new information (and of course a semi-automatic assault rifle), he proudly told me that I could check in for my flight in a half an hour. He also told me how pretty I was…repeatedly. In fact, he swung by several times to let me know that he thought I was REALLY attractive and offered to sit with me until Lao Airlines opened up their booth. Unfortunately for him, his superior officer informed him that he had to guard the airport rather than just me.
At last, the final half an hour passed. I anxiously looked over at the booths, but Lao Airlines was still a no-show. I watched another couple approach the counter that I suspected to be the future home of a Lao Airlines agent, just to see them turn around angrily. My officer friend ran over to them, then scurried over to me to inform me that the flight had been canceled. He was so apologetic and so flattering as he expressed his appreciation for my immense beauty once again before directing me to the airline offices in the building next door, that I almost didn’t want to leave the terminal area.
I joined up with the couple, a delightful pair of newlyweds from Australia, and we hunted down the offices as a team. Once we got inside the building, we split up and roamed the halls until (about 20 seconds later) we found the Lao Airlines office. As you might expect, it was closed. A woman from another airline came running down the hall offering her help. Sadly for us, she was far from helpful. The only help she was willing to offer was to tell us that Lao Airlines was closed—a fact we were already well-aware of. She also mentioned that we would have to go to their offices downtown. Being that we had no idea where “downtown” Siem Reap was located, that piece of information was useless. We asked for a phone, but were shut down. She claimed that there were no phones in any of the offices. Really? None? How do you people get anything done around here?
After much frustrating back and forth (during which the woman gave me a clue as to the whereabouts of this downtown office), the Australian husband walked into the Air Asia office and managed to convince them (quite easily) to allow us to use their phone to call Lao Airlines. I suppose now would be a good time to explain why the phone call was so important. It was 4:55pm. All of the airline offices (including the already closed Lao Airlines offices) closed at 5:00pm. Had we not phoned the Lao Airlines people, they never would have waited for us at the other office (which did exist after all). The Lao Airlines folks instructed us to come to their downtown office, insisting that EVERYONE knows where they are located, so an address was totally unnecessary.
We three brave travelers hailed a tuk-tuk, explained where we wanted to go and agreed on a price (all this after getting a guarantee from the driver that he knew exactly where we wanted to go). The tuk tuk pulled out of the airport and we traveled about a mile or so down the road when the driver pulled over next to a field. He turned to us and said, “I’m sorry. I lied to you. I don’t know where the office is. I think it is back at the airport. I’ll drive you back, and I won’t charge you more for it.”
All three of us lost it. Why? Why lie? And why would we have to pay you MORE money for taking us nowhere? Before the man of our group totally lost his top, I pulled out a helpful piece of information given to me by the very UNhelpful woman at the airline offices. “Do you know where the Vietnam Airlines office is downtown on the main street?” The driver nodded. “You aren’t lying this time? This is important. The Lao Airlines offices are next door. Can you get us there?” He agreed, and we were off once again with nothing but a hope and a prayer that we would get there.
Ten very tense minutes later, we pulled into the Lao Airlines office. At that point, we decided to dismiss our tuk-tuk driver altogether. We walked into the office, and they were quite accommodating. They claimed that they canceled the flight a couple days prior but couldn’t reach us. The only problem with this scenario was that I had called about the flight the day before and it wasn’t canceled, but I’m not one to split hairs.
The three of us were transferred to a flight the next morning. The airline put us up in a decent hotel (which was nicer than anywhere else I had stayed in the country during my week), they bought us dinner, a show, breakfast, and provided transportation to the hotel and to the airport the next morning. Not bad for a tiny budget airline with a not-so-favorable reputation (and far better than what any US carrier would do for you in the same circumstance). The night ended up being a little too enjoyable as was evidenced the next morning by our throbbing headaches when we met up in the morning to make our second attempt at leaving Cambodia.
Take two was a breeze. We were able to check our bags without incident. The boarding passes were handed over without hesitation. Everything was going swimmingly until we walked toward security. Just before security, travelers have to pay a tariff. It’s called a departure tax, and for whatever reason, the airline doesn’t bundle into the price of the ticket, which would really make more sense. Rather, everyone has to pay $25 to fly out of Siem Reap. Twenty-five dollars. Why am I so insulted? Because it only cost me $20 to get INTO Cambodia (for my visa). Why must it cost $5 more to leave? Despite my inner protestations, I paid my tariff and went through security.
Once through security, we sought out a coffee shop to purchase water in hopes that it might help our aching heads. As we walked in, an irate French woman was busy screaming at the severely underpaid cashier about the price of coffee. Her argument was that $2.50 was an outrageous and downright criminal price to pay for a cup of coffee. According to her, the coffee at the Siem Reap airport was more expensive than any cup of coffee one might purchase in the entire city of Paris (she obviously doesn’t frequent Starbucks). As she was screaming and making failed attempts to barter down the price, some American girl popped out of thin air commenting on how ridiculous food prices were at the Siem Reap airport as compared to anywhere else in the world.
Now I don’t know where these two bargain hunters usually go when they are purchasing food and beverages at the airport, but in my experience, all airports are expensive. And, really? While coffee at the Siem Reap airport costs more than coffee in the city itself, the airport coffee is still far cheaper than any other airport coffee you might stumble upon in an industrialized nation. You know, the kind of place these two weirdo complainers call home. The screaming and complaining persisted, even after the French woman had made her purchase, and then just as mysteriously as she had arrived the annoying American commenter whose only true purpose was to further fuel the eternal flame of anger in the French woman just vanished.
And that’s when I decided to board my flight because it was finally time to leave Cambodia.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Toilet Talk: Cambodian Edition
For a country that is portrayed as being backwards, Cambodia goes all out on their toilets. We found “6’s” everywhere. Everywhere. At first we assumed it was the result of using WC’s in foreign-friendly restaurants. Then we went on the bus to Siem Reap and stopped in a roadside restaurant where the toilet was…a “6”, though I took off half a point for inconvenience since the toilet paper was by the sink and nowhere near the toilet. Once we arrived in Siem Reap, the toilets continued with their perfect 6.0 rating. That is, until I went to Angkor Wat. Somehow I managed to find the only toilet in all of Cambodia (or at least the places where I went in Cambodia, which were, admittedly, tourist centers) that was not a “6”.
We were still in the temple area, and I was struck with a sudden and urgent need, so I followed the signs to the toilets. Upon reaching it, I could tell from a distance that I had found a traditional toilet. For 2000 riel (50 cents), I bought three squares of tissue. Without that tissue, the toilet would have been a “0” (for a reminder of the toilet ranking system, refer to this post). I’m quite content using whatever toilet is available, so the whole affair with manual flushing, tossing the tissue in the bin outside, and not washing my hands didn’t phase me in the least, that is, until Diane went to a different toilet and returned to triumphantly inform me that it was, in fact, a “6”. Not only was it a “6”, it was absolutely free. Damn the luck! I figured she deserved a break since she bartered a woman down to $10 for a book, and then, once the transaction was complete, was swarmed with at least eight other people offering to sell her the same book for a dollar.
We went on our merry way and only encountered bathrooms with perfect scores from that point forward. Now that I have regaled other travelers with my tale, it seems that there is a consensus, and I AM the ONLY person that found a “1”…or at least, the only person that was willing to pay for the privilege.
We were still in the temple area, and I was struck with a sudden and urgent need, so I followed the signs to the toilets. Upon reaching it, I could tell from a distance that I had found a traditional toilet. For 2000 riel (50 cents), I bought three squares of tissue. Without that tissue, the toilet would have been a “0” (for a reminder of the toilet ranking system, refer to this post). I’m quite content using whatever toilet is available, so the whole affair with manual flushing, tossing the tissue in the bin outside, and not washing my hands didn’t phase me in the least, that is, until Diane went to a different toilet and returned to triumphantly inform me that it was, in fact, a “6”. Not only was it a “6”, it was absolutely free. Damn the luck! I figured she deserved a break since she bartered a woman down to $10 for a book, and then, once the transaction was complete, was swarmed with at least eight other people offering to sell her the same book for a dollar.
We went on our merry way and only encountered bathrooms with perfect scores from that point forward. Now that I have regaled other travelers with my tale, it seems that there is a consensus, and I AM the ONLY person that found a “1”…or at least, the only person that was willing to pay for the privilege.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Siem Reap: Temples, Tuk-Tuks, and Karaoke
Our third day in Cambodia found us boarding a deluxe bus headed to Siem Reap. What made it deluxe? I think it was the free water and the TV. And what did they play on TV? Cambodian karaoke videos. No lie. I was wondering how I’d get my karaoke fix in Cambodia, especially since I made no effort to go to the place I saw as we were driving around Phnom Penh. But then, with this stroke of luck, I decided (at Diane’s suggestion) that five hours of karaoke videos could count (especially since the videos were graphic depictions love stories gone awry complete with alcoholism and suicide).
However, fate decided to step in and make the deal even sweeter. On our first night, we went out on the town to enjoy a bucket of gin and tonic (which included a free t-shirt—score!), and we started talking to the young Australian couple seated next to us. As it turned out, they loved karaoke too. So after a few beers and a couple games of pool, we found a tuk-tuk driver that new of a karaoke joint, and we were off.
We drove through the night, clueless as to where we were going, and then…we arrived. Where? Well, none of us had any clue (though I managed to find it two days later on my way to the airport). We got out of the tuk-tuk, and I instantly knew what kind of establishment we were about to patronize. In the parking lot, there were a few pairs of Western men, hesitatingly getting out of their tuk-tuks, vocalizing their misgivings about going into the brightly-lit building. My group exchanged looks, and we decided, “We’re here. Let’s just do it.”
A man greeted us outside the door and walked us into the first room. An aisle was created in the middle of the room, lined on both sides with about four rows of chairs, filled with girls. Girls dressed in short, tight-fitting dresses, high heels, and loads of make-up. We turned to the man and said, “We just want to sing.”
He took us to a room that cost $15/hour and included its own bathroom complete with shower. I know what you’re thinking, they thought of everything! Who doesn’t need a shower after a killer karaoke performance of Bon Jovi’s “Shot Through the Heart”? Yeah, they totally thought of everything. The man hung out in our room with us for quite awhile (and I like to think it was because we were entertaining since we really were at the karaoke place for the purpose of singing karaoke). He started to bring in some ladies, but determined that we really weren’t interested, so we were merely accompanied by one girl whose job it was to operate the machine. She was quite friendly and made song requests for us, so it felt like she was part of the group.
We sang for two glorious hours and paid ridiculous amounts of money for the alcohol that was served. When we left the building, there were far fewer girls seated in the “display” room. Those that were there appeared to be miserably unhappy, and we suspected that our presence probably didn’t help matters. Our tuk-tuk awaited us outside. We jumped on board and headed back to town, laughing the whole way about our innocent adventure to a prostitution front. And THAT is what counted for karaoke in Cambodia.
The next day we met our tuk-tuk driver and went on a tour of three of the temples: Angkor Wat, Angkor Thom, and Ta Prohm. Simply put, it was awe-inspiring. As always, I started feeling like I should be more impressed as we walked through Angkor Wat. It IS a UNESCO World Heritage site after all! Then we drove to Angkor Thom. As our vehicle rounded the corner, both Diane and I stopped speaking. Impressive indeed.
We wandered the temples in 90-degree head until our hangovers couldn’t take it anymore. I will admit that I regret not taking another day to explore the temples. They were spectacular. So I guess that means there’s always next time.
However, fate decided to step in and make the deal even sweeter. On our first night, we went out on the town to enjoy a bucket of gin and tonic (which included a free t-shirt—score!), and we started talking to the young Australian couple seated next to us. As it turned out, they loved karaoke too. So after a few beers and a couple games of pool, we found a tuk-tuk driver that new of a karaoke joint, and we were off.
We drove through the night, clueless as to where we were going, and then…we arrived. Where? Well, none of us had any clue (though I managed to find it two days later on my way to the airport). We got out of the tuk-tuk, and I instantly knew what kind of establishment we were about to patronize. In the parking lot, there were a few pairs of Western men, hesitatingly getting out of their tuk-tuks, vocalizing their misgivings about going into the brightly-lit building. My group exchanged looks, and we decided, “We’re here. Let’s just do it.”
A man greeted us outside the door and walked us into the first room. An aisle was created in the middle of the room, lined on both sides with about four rows of chairs, filled with girls. Girls dressed in short, tight-fitting dresses, high heels, and loads of make-up. We turned to the man and said, “We just want to sing.”
He took us to a room that cost $15/hour and included its own bathroom complete with shower. I know what you’re thinking, they thought of everything! Who doesn’t need a shower after a killer karaoke performance of Bon Jovi’s “Shot Through the Heart”? Yeah, they totally thought of everything. The man hung out in our room with us for quite awhile (and I like to think it was because we were entertaining since we really were at the karaoke place for the purpose of singing karaoke). He started to bring in some ladies, but determined that we really weren’t interested, so we were merely accompanied by one girl whose job it was to operate the machine. She was quite friendly and made song requests for us, so it felt like she was part of the group.
We sang for two glorious hours and paid ridiculous amounts of money for the alcohol that was served. When we left the building, there were far fewer girls seated in the “display” room. Those that were there appeared to be miserably unhappy, and we suspected that our presence probably didn’t help matters. Our tuk-tuk awaited us outside. We jumped on board and headed back to town, laughing the whole way about our innocent adventure to a prostitution front. And THAT is what counted for karaoke in Cambodia.
The next day we met our tuk-tuk driver and went on a tour of three of the temples: Angkor Wat, Angkor Thom, and Ta Prohm. Simply put, it was awe-inspiring. As always, I started feeling like I should be more impressed as we walked through Angkor Wat. It IS a UNESCO World Heritage site after all! Then we drove to Angkor Thom. As our vehicle rounded the corner, both Diane and I stopped speaking. Impressive indeed.
We wandered the temples in 90-degree head until our hangovers couldn’t take it anymore. I will admit that I regret not taking another day to explore the temples. They were spectacular. So I guess that means there’s always next time.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Bug Dreams Lost
Well, I came all the way to Cambodia with a single objective—to eat a tarantula. Did I succeed? No. We got to Phnom Penh, and I saw the carts of bugs: worms, crickets, snakes on a stick, and I was IN! …just not at that particular moment. I declared night 2 to be Cardelia’s Bug-Eating Bonanza, but once I ate my lok lak (which is similar to Vietnamese Shaking Beef, and is delicious and my favorite Cambodian meal), I was too full. It was decided that the bugs would have to wait until Siem Reap.
Once there, I was on a quest…albeit a casual one. Unfortunately, all I found was a grilled frog (and it was delicious…tasted like chicken and was even better than the fried frog legs I ate at Anchor and Hope when they first opened). I also found snails, but I had no real interest in those. So, my dream was lost. I will have to return home having only eaten grubs and large waterbugs.
Tis a pity.
Once there, I was on a quest…albeit a casual one. Unfortunately, all I found was a grilled frog (and it was delicious…tasted like chicken and was even better than the fried frog legs I ate at Anchor and Hope when they first opened). I also found snails, but I had no real interest in those. So, my dream was lost. I will have to return home having only eaten grubs and large waterbugs.
Tis a pity.
Pig in a Poke
Now I’m not squeamish. Nope. Not at all. Seriously. I’m not…for the most part anyway. I’ve been to local markets all over the place, and I’ve seen pig heads, cow heads, animal legs, chickens being killed along a river…you know, the usual. I’ve meandered through stalls of skinned frogs and dead bugs. A quick walk through any Chinatown brings you face to face with hanging ducks, snakes, and other weirdly gross things that people like to eat. None of those things bother me. I recognize that in America, we have become separated from our food so much that we sometimes fail to associate meat with its origins. I understand why some people have a problem seeing all of this, but I don’t find it shocking in the least. Smelly, yes. Shocking and unexpected, no.
I will tell you what I didn’t expect to see though, but first you have to read about my day. On our second day in Phnom Penh, Diane and I took the full tour, including a trip to the Royal Palace, the Russian Market, and then to the gruesome Tuol Sleng Prison and the Killing Fields at Cheong Ek. The first half of our day was, by far, the most pleasant. The second half was horrifying and eye-opening as we wandered through the former school turned prison where thousands of Cambodians were tortured by their own government and then to the farm where even more people were slaughtered and left for dead.
I’ve been to Auschwitz, and I was only able to take it for a finite period of time. The thing that made me sick was the room full of human hair left from the victims after their bodies were burned (and having to exit the camp via the gas chamber pretty much sold me on never going to another concentration camp again). Even today, when I go to the Holocaust Museum in Washington DC, I have to walk away from the photo of that room full of hair.
So what freaked me out and instantly made me sick and full of pain at the Killing Fields? It wasn’t the tower of human bones. It wasn’t knowing that I was walking on a mass grave still filled with thousands of corpses. It wasn’t seeing the speaker system that they set up in the trees to drown out the cries and moans of the people who were beaten and tossed into the pits, left to die underneath the weight of other lifeless bodies. It was a tree. The children’s tree, so-named because it was the tree that the Khmer Rouge used to crush the skulls of babies before throwing them into the pits. And that’s when I couldn’t take it anymore (and was somewhat relieved to have a little macabre laugh at the sign reminding people that grenades should be left at the door before entering the museum (because where else would people be carrying grenades as if it is a normal accessory?)). With that said, I have no regrets about going. As hard as it was to see it, genocide is something that people should see and should know about. It just isn’t right, so there is a reason that these places are left as memorials to the horror that once took place there.
When we finished our solemn tour of the Killing Fields of Cheong Ek, we loaded back into our tuk-tuk, doing what we could to avoid the throngs of children begging us to buy them a coke and headed back toward town. We traveled down the road for several miles, passing motorbikes loaded with families, farm trucks loaded with equipment (and usually housing a couple workers on top), and even a motorbike with an attached grill (that was in use as it was in motion). After awhile, a pickup truck approached us from the rear (and this was not the unusual part seeing as we were tapping out at 25 mph). As they passed us, the six passengers in the cab (you read that right) stared at us as though we were aliens. We smiled and waved, and then we saw something that instantly made our jaws drop wide open. What could possibly have been so shocking and unexpected after the day we’d had? Well, I’ll tell you. The back of their truck was loaded with the bodies of at least fifteen dead pigs, piled on top of each other and practically bursting out of the ropes that tied them down. Diane made a funny and described the scene as being literally hog-tied. And THAT was what I never saw coming.
I will tell you what I didn’t expect to see though, but first you have to read about my day. On our second day in Phnom Penh, Diane and I took the full tour, including a trip to the Royal Palace, the Russian Market, and then to the gruesome Tuol Sleng Prison and the Killing Fields at Cheong Ek. The first half of our day was, by far, the most pleasant. The second half was horrifying and eye-opening as we wandered through the former school turned prison where thousands of Cambodians were tortured by their own government and then to the farm where even more people were slaughtered and left for dead.
I’ve been to Auschwitz, and I was only able to take it for a finite period of time. The thing that made me sick was the room full of human hair left from the victims after their bodies were burned (and having to exit the camp via the gas chamber pretty much sold me on never going to another concentration camp again). Even today, when I go to the Holocaust Museum in Washington DC, I have to walk away from the photo of that room full of hair.
So what freaked me out and instantly made me sick and full of pain at the Killing Fields? It wasn’t the tower of human bones. It wasn’t knowing that I was walking on a mass grave still filled with thousands of corpses. It wasn’t seeing the speaker system that they set up in the trees to drown out the cries and moans of the people who were beaten and tossed into the pits, left to die underneath the weight of other lifeless bodies. It was a tree. The children’s tree, so-named because it was the tree that the Khmer Rouge used to crush the skulls of babies before throwing them into the pits. And that’s when I couldn’t take it anymore (and was somewhat relieved to have a little macabre laugh at the sign reminding people that grenades should be left at the door before entering the museum (because where else would people be carrying grenades as if it is a normal accessory?)). With that said, I have no regrets about going. As hard as it was to see it, genocide is something that people should see and should know about. It just isn’t right, so there is a reason that these places are left as memorials to the horror that once took place there.
When we finished our solemn tour of the Killing Fields of Cheong Ek, we loaded back into our tuk-tuk, doing what we could to avoid the throngs of children begging us to buy them a coke and headed back toward town. We traveled down the road for several miles, passing motorbikes loaded with families, farm trucks loaded with equipment (and usually housing a couple workers on top), and even a motorbike with an attached grill (that was in use as it was in motion). After awhile, a pickup truck approached us from the rear (and this was not the unusual part seeing as we were tapping out at 25 mph). As they passed us, the six passengers in the cab (you read that right) stared at us as though we were aliens. We smiled and waved, and then we saw something that instantly made our jaws drop wide open. What could possibly have been so shocking and unexpected after the day we’d had? Well, I’ll tell you. The back of their truck was loaded with the bodies of at least fifteen dead pigs, piled on top of each other and practically bursting out of the ropes that tied them down. Diane made a funny and described the scene as being literally hog-tied. And THAT was what I never saw coming.
Cambodia: Kingdom of Wonder
Whoever came up with Cambodia’s slogan, “Kingdom of Wonder” knew what they were talking about. So far, having just seen Phnom Penh, all I can say is…as advertised!
For starters, US Dollars are the preferred currency, so much so, that ATM machines only dispense USD. The only way you get Cambodian riel is if you require change under one dollar. And speaking of riel, Cambodians aren’t interested in receiving it (it’s kind of like the smaller Chinese coins that all merchants freely hand out but none are willing to take as payment). For the most part, prices are presented in USD, so it’s not as if this is Soviet Russia where everybody wants USD, so they engage in under-the-table transactions. The Cambodian national bank only deals in the currency of another nation. Tres bizarre!
Phnom Penh is nothing like I expected, yet it is everything I thought it would be all at the same time. It is deservedly known as the “Tarnished Pearl of Asia”. The streets are lined with crumbling French colonial buildings, some of which probably should be condemned (and perhaps are, but that doesn’t stop the impoverished masses from needing a place to live and calling it home regardless). Occasionally you might see some guy walking around with a machine gun. Yeah, you read the right, average, everyday, non-law-enforcement types pack serious heat out in the open for all to see. The roads are cluttered with thousands of motorcycles carrying up to five (count ‘em!) full-grown adults at once. Paved streets intersect with dirt roads at random. You can’t walk on the sidewalk because there are at least five motorcycle repair shops on every block, making the sidewalk a parking lot and the street a pedestrian walkway, albeit a dangerous one since you have to dodge cars, bikes, and motorcycles (and Lexus SUV’s that have the name “Lexus” emblazoned on the side, so no one has any doubt as to what kind of car the person is driving).
I’m fairly sure that there are only three traffic lights in the entire city, turning transportation into a chaotic, yet well-choreographed dance. The streets are filthy; the air is full of dirt. Beggars are scattered along the waterfront. Many are mothers with small children. Some of the children are severely deformed with a disease similar to elefantitus. Many beggars are missing or have deformed, unusable limbs (most likely from land mine injuries or resulting from malnutrition and a tainted food supply—all preventable in industrialized nations). Children run from restaurant to restaurant trying to sell books and postcards to tourists, armed with tenacity and clever senses of humor. At first it surprised me that the restaurant staff didn’t shoo them away, but after spending some time here I realized that, perhaps, Cambodians have a strong sense that whatever their station in life, it could always be taken away without warning. And because of that, I think they are understanding and sympathetic of struggle—because no one lives without struggle and fear.
Despite all of the dirt, grime, poverty, and sadness, Phnom Penh has a charm to it that is unmatched so far in my travels. The people are lovely. Everyone we encountered spoke excellent English (including and especially the kids trying to sell their wares to the tourists), and people were happy to chat. The streets are alive at night. Despite the prevalence of beggars, I never felt overwhelmed or under siege.
It feels like a smile goes a long way here. I have no doubt that being generally pleasant helped us get personal attention and good service while we were out on the town. I know that this all may sound naïve because I was a tourist, so obviously people wanted my money, leading them to be nice to me…but I really think the people are genuine. There are plenty of places that rely on tourism for their income, yet are terrible to the tourists—you know, like a touristy restaurant in Paris…or, say the Russell Stover’s Factory store in Corsicana, Texas. I didn’t find the Cambodians that I encountered to be resentful of the tourists (though as my trip continued to even more touristy areas, it became clear that everyone did want a piece of me…but still it wasn’t as bad as the whole of China).
When it comes to service, Cambodia is all that and a platter of escargot. The attention to detail, service, and presentation at the restaurants was something to be admired. Our first stop was at a lovely restaurant we found in our guidebook. Our mission: Eat Khmer food. Mission accomplished and then some (including a bathroom worthy of a “6” rating, which seems to be the norm around these parts)! Our waiter was a very funny, slightly flirty, handsome young man. He directed us to a few dishes that were delicious and was very attentive. When we finished our meal, he chatted with us for twenty minutes or so, telling us about his hometown (which happens to be where the Irawaddy Dolphins are, and I regret that I didn’t have enough time to go up there and see them for myself). As much as he wanted to tell us about where he came from, he wanted to know about America. His questions made him all the more endearing. He wanted to know what kind of animals we had—specifically, if elephants and tigers roam in the wild. I have never met anyone that truly didn’t know much about my country, so it was fun to tell him about it.
He also asked me a question that I still think about. “Is it easy to live in your country?” How do you answer that? My initial reaction was to say no. Of course it’s not easy to live in my country. It’s not easy to live anywhere. But then, as I thought about the reasons why it’s not easy to live in my country, they all revolve around it being a wealthy nation. Our problems are problems of wealth. It’s expensive. It’s a pain in the ass to get health insurance if you don’t work for a company that provides it, and even when you do have it, you have to pay an arm and a leg to get anything done. The US is huge, so if you move away from your family, you have to put money, time, and effort into seeing them. If you live in a place like San Francisco, you probably can’t afford to buy property if you’re making the median income. We have crime. We have drugs. We have racism and sexism. We have a huge homeless population (and members of that population might answer this question differently than me). We have a public school system that could definitely use improvement…if only we could afford it. Hell, we have enemies that want all of us to be blown to oblivion. We have problems. But as I started to answer his question with my cries of woe, I looked at him, and I realized that my problems weren’t as bad as the ones he probably faces. I flew halfway across the world to go on vacation for two months because I was bored and unemployed, and he probably can’t afford to travel the eight hours by bus to see his family on a regular basis. I am able to support myself, and I haven’t worked in months. My half of our $20 meal would have taken him two days of work to buy. Just for the sake of comparison, I’m not in the habit of spending the equivalent (let’s say $200 a meal) on my own dinners on a nightly basis when I’m at home (I’m not saying I haven’t…but it isn’t something I do with any regularity…or when it isn’t being paid for by an expense account). I don’t fear my government. I may not always agree with them, but I have no reason to believe that they might kill me and everyone I know. I don’t have a fear of anyone taking away my life, my livelihood, my everything. And that’s why I answered, yes. Yes, it is easy to live in my country. We have our problems, but I am very lucky to have been born in America because I have so many opportunities at my feet.
We bid our waiter friend adieu and took a walk around the waterfront. The park was filled with families spending the evening together, picnicking, playing games, and just enjoying one another’s company. I felt completely safe, and I appreciated how tightly knit the families and neighbors seemed to be. I can only imagine that it is partly a reaction to all of the horrors they faced during Pol Pot’s reign when whole families were slaughtered. The median age in Cambodia is something like 27, and it’s not because people had a bunch of babies 27 years ago. It’s because the government killed one-third of the population. That kind of terror must live on for generations, and I really think the Cambodians appreciate what they do have as they re-build their country.
I must say that I was totally blown away by Phnom Penh. Everything about is beguiling from the juxtaposition of crumbling buildings and luxury vehicles to the resilience of the people and their seemingly happy demeanor despite the obvious struggles they face. Here I thought I was going to walk into a war zone, filled with chaos and fear, but I went to a place that is unlike any other. Sure it’s rundown, but the feeling you get from the city itself and people who live here makes it well worth the visit.
For starters, US Dollars are the preferred currency, so much so, that ATM machines only dispense USD. The only way you get Cambodian riel is if you require change under one dollar. And speaking of riel, Cambodians aren’t interested in receiving it (it’s kind of like the smaller Chinese coins that all merchants freely hand out but none are willing to take as payment). For the most part, prices are presented in USD, so it’s not as if this is Soviet Russia where everybody wants USD, so they engage in under-the-table transactions. The Cambodian national bank only deals in the currency of another nation. Tres bizarre!
Phnom Penh is nothing like I expected, yet it is everything I thought it would be all at the same time. It is deservedly known as the “Tarnished Pearl of Asia”. The streets are lined with crumbling French colonial buildings, some of which probably should be condemned (and perhaps are, but that doesn’t stop the impoverished masses from needing a place to live and calling it home regardless). Occasionally you might see some guy walking around with a machine gun. Yeah, you read the right, average, everyday, non-law-enforcement types pack serious heat out in the open for all to see. The roads are cluttered with thousands of motorcycles carrying up to five (count ‘em!) full-grown adults at once. Paved streets intersect with dirt roads at random. You can’t walk on the sidewalk because there are at least five motorcycle repair shops on every block, making the sidewalk a parking lot and the street a pedestrian walkway, albeit a dangerous one since you have to dodge cars, bikes, and motorcycles (and Lexus SUV’s that have the name “Lexus” emblazoned on the side, so no one has any doubt as to what kind of car the person is driving).
I’m fairly sure that there are only three traffic lights in the entire city, turning transportation into a chaotic, yet well-choreographed dance. The streets are filthy; the air is full of dirt. Beggars are scattered along the waterfront. Many are mothers with small children. Some of the children are severely deformed with a disease similar to elefantitus. Many beggars are missing or have deformed, unusable limbs (most likely from land mine injuries or resulting from malnutrition and a tainted food supply—all preventable in industrialized nations). Children run from restaurant to restaurant trying to sell books and postcards to tourists, armed with tenacity and clever senses of humor. At first it surprised me that the restaurant staff didn’t shoo them away, but after spending some time here I realized that, perhaps, Cambodians have a strong sense that whatever their station in life, it could always be taken away without warning. And because of that, I think they are understanding and sympathetic of struggle—because no one lives without struggle and fear.
Despite all of the dirt, grime, poverty, and sadness, Phnom Penh has a charm to it that is unmatched so far in my travels. The people are lovely. Everyone we encountered spoke excellent English (including and especially the kids trying to sell their wares to the tourists), and people were happy to chat. The streets are alive at night. Despite the prevalence of beggars, I never felt overwhelmed or under siege.
It feels like a smile goes a long way here. I have no doubt that being generally pleasant helped us get personal attention and good service while we were out on the town. I know that this all may sound naïve because I was a tourist, so obviously people wanted my money, leading them to be nice to me…but I really think the people are genuine. There are plenty of places that rely on tourism for their income, yet are terrible to the tourists—you know, like a touristy restaurant in Paris…or, say the Russell Stover’s Factory store in Corsicana, Texas. I didn’t find the Cambodians that I encountered to be resentful of the tourists (though as my trip continued to even more touristy areas, it became clear that everyone did want a piece of me…but still it wasn’t as bad as the whole of China).
When it comes to service, Cambodia is all that and a platter of escargot. The attention to detail, service, and presentation at the restaurants was something to be admired. Our first stop was at a lovely restaurant we found in our guidebook. Our mission: Eat Khmer food. Mission accomplished and then some (including a bathroom worthy of a “6” rating, which seems to be the norm around these parts)! Our waiter was a very funny, slightly flirty, handsome young man. He directed us to a few dishes that were delicious and was very attentive. When we finished our meal, he chatted with us for twenty minutes or so, telling us about his hometown (which happens to be where the Irawaddy Dolphins are, and I regret that I didn’t have enough time to go up there and see them for myself). As much as he wanted to tell us about where he came from, he wanted to know about America. His questions made him all the more endearing. He wanted to know what kind of animals we had—specifically, if elephants and tigers roam in the wild. I have never met anyone that truly didn’t know much about my country, so it was fun to tell him about it.
He also asked me a question that I still think about. “Is it easy to live in your country?” How do you answer that? My initial reaction was to say no. Of course it’s not easy to live in my country. It’s not easy to live anywhere. But then, as I thought about the reasons why it’s not easy to live in my country, they all revolve around it being a wealthy nation. Our problems are problems of wealth. It’s expensive. It’s a pain in the ass to get health insurance if you don’t work for a company that provides it, and even when you do have it, you have to pay an arm and a leg to get anything done. The US is huge, so if you move away from your family, you have to put money, time, and effort into seeing them. If you live in a place like San Francisco, you probably can’t afford to buy property if you’re making the median income. We have crime. We have drugs. We have racism and sexism. We have a huge homeless population (and members of that population might answer this question differently than me). We have a public school system that could definitely use improvement…if only we could afford it. Hell, we have enemies that want all of us to be blown to oblivion. We have problems. But as I started to answer his question with my cries of woe, I looked at him, and I realized that my problems weren’t as bad as the ones he probably faces. I flew halfway across the world to go on vacation for two months because I was bored and unemployed, and he probably can’t afford to travel the eight hours by bus to see his family on a regular basis. I am able to support myself, and I haven’t worked in months. My half of our $20 meal would have taken him two days of work to buy. Just for the sake of comparison, I’m not in the habit of spending the equivalent (let’s say $200 a meal) on my own dinners on a nightly basis when I’m at home (I’m not saying I haven’t…but it isn’t something I do with any regularity…or when it isn’t being paid for by an expense account). I don’t fear my government. I may not always agree with them, but I have no reason to believe that they might kill me and everyone I know. I don’t have a fear of anyone taking away my life, my livelihood, my everything. And that’s why I answered, yes. Yes, it is easy to live in my country. We have our problems, but I am very lucky to have been born in America because I have so many opportunities at my feet.
We bid our waiter friend adieu and took a walk around the waterfront. The park was filled with families spending the evening together, picnicking, playing games, and just enjoying one another’s company. I felt completely safe, and I appreciated how tightly knit the families and neighbors seemed to be. I can only imagine that it is partly a reaction to all of the horrors they faced during Pol Pot’s reign when whole families were slaughtered. The median age in Cambodia is something like 27, and it’s not because people had a bunch of babies 27 years ago. It’s because the government killed one-third of the population. That kind of terror must live on for generations, and I really think the Cambodians appreciate what they do have as they re-build their country.
I must say that I was totally blown away by Phnom Penh. Everything about is beguiling from the juxtaposition of crumbling buildings and luxury vehicles to the resilience of the people and their seemingly happy demeanor despite the obvious struggles they face. Here I thought I was going to walk into a war zone, filled with chaos and fear, but I went to a place that is unlike any other. Sure it’s rundown, but the feeling you get from the city itself and people who live here makes it well worth the visit.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Flyin' (Faux) First Class
You never know when or how good fortune will strike, but you should always snatch it up, savor it, and keep your trap shut when it does. On our last day in Bangkok, Diane and I indulged in full body treatments at a spa, then packed our belongings, and boarded the airport bus. The ride was a long one, mostly because I was struck with an immediate and urgent need to visit the nearest facility (regardless of its rating on our 5 point scale) and had the misfortune to wait until AFTER we checked into our flight to take care of said business. Perhaps the girl at the check-in counter sensed my “situation” and took pity on us with our seat assignments. Or, maybe it was just luck. Whatever the case, we soon discovered that we were part of an elite group of flyers on Air Asia. We may as well have been the stars of Real World MCXVII because we were playing in a totally different field than all those other suckers.
Once through security, we cruised the duty-free shops, enjoyed a refreshing beverage (and I purchased those aforementioned Goldfish crackers), and then headed to our gate. The staff looked at our tickets and ushered us over to the seating lounge closest to the doors. After sitting there awhile, we noted that only seven people were in the section. Our first assumption was that it was going to be a sparsely populated flight. Upon making such a comment, we then directed our eyes toward the hordes of people gathered behind the customer service desk—standing. Diane and I looked at each other with wonder and surprise. Did we get first class? Is it even possible to get first class when you paid $100 for a ticket? With giddy anticipation, we awaited the boarding process.
They called the first five rows (of which we barely made the cut in row 5). We walked down the ramp on to the plane and discovered, much to our dismay, that there was no first class, at least not in the way you’d expect to see it (you know, with larger seats and a partition that prevented the peasants from spying on your and largess up in first class).
Odd. We shrugged our shoulders and settled into our seats, ready to watch the parade of plebeians pile onto the plane. Being that we were completely separated from everyone in a very spacious seating area, I was surprised to see the number of people on the flight. It was practically full behind me. However, the first five rows remained empty save for us seven lottery winners that were sitting there. As we taxied on the runway, the flight attendants clearly told everyone to remain in the assigned seats. Just as we were about to take off, some guy from row 10, who looked like he came straight from a cockfight, infiltrated row 3. Within seconds he was booted from the seat, though he apparently could have stayed had he been willing to pay an additional 250 baht ($8, a far cry from the $40+ you pay for the roomier economy seats on American carriers).
The plane took off, the fasten seat belts sign dimmed, and my friend from the monster car rally snuck over to row 4 just as the food and drink service started (of which Diane and I were curious to find out if our faux first class benefits extended to free food and beverages…it didn’t, by the way). The flight attendant again told the man he couldn’t sit there unless he paid her 250 baht, and he started yelling about how unfair it was that he was stuck in row 10 when there were plenty of empty seats up front. For the first time in Asia, I saw a Thai person raise her voice and demand cooperation. The man angrily left the seat; huffing and puffing all the way back to row 10.
The rest of the flight was uneventful, leaving us to wonder what the benefit of the first five rows was that anyone would pay extra for the privilege. It wasn’t for the same lack of legroom and food for purchase that you got in rows 6 and beyond. So what could it possibly have been? And why were we sitting there? We saw the light once we landed in Phnom Penh and it was time to exit the plane.
I was busy gathering my stuff when the angry villagers attempted to storm my castle. Three of them made it through before I stood up and blocked traffic, allowing my fellow aristocrats a chance to get out of their seats. We all shared a laugh and exited the plane. Being that we were among the first ten people in line, we breezed through immigration (despite the fact that we had to pay them extra money in both Thai baht and US Dollars in order to obtain our visas). As we walked away from the immigration desk and over to the baggage carousel where our bags were front and center, we glanced back at the massive line behind us. And that’s when it all became clear. I’d totally pay an extra eight bucks to avoid standing in that line for a half an hour. Who cares about free food and drinks or extra legroom when you can enjoy the convenience of entering a country in under three minutes?
The stars were shining on us that afternoon, and all we could hope was to have that luck follow us into town.
Once through security, we cruised the duty-free shops, enjoyed a refreshing beverage (and I purchased those aforementioned Goldfish crackers), and then headed to our gate. The staff looked at our tickets and ushered us over to the seating lounge closest to the doors. After sitting there awhile, we noted that only seven people were in the section. Our first assumption was that it was going to be a sparsely populated flight. Upon making such a comment, we then directed our eyes toward the hordes of people gathered behind the customer service desk—standing. Diane and I looked at each other with wonder and surprise. Did we get first class? Is it even possible to get first class when you paid $100 for a ticket? With giddy anticipation, we awaited the boarding process.
They called the first five rows (of which we barely made the cut in row 5). We walked down the ramp on to the plane and discovered, much to our dismay, that there was no first class, at least not in the way you’d expect to see it (you know, with larger seats and a partition that prevented the peasants from spying on your and largess up in first class).
Odd. We shrugged our shoulders and settled into our seats, ready to watch the parade of plebeians pile onto the plane. Being that we were completely separated from everyone in a very spacious seating area, I was surprised to see the number of people on the flight. It was practically full behind me. However, the first five rows remained empty save for us seven lottery winners that were sitting there. As we taxied on the runway, the flight attendants clearly told everyone to remain in the assigned seats. Just as we were about to take off, some guy from row 10, who looked like he came straight from a cockfight, infiltrated row 3. Within seconds he was booted from the seat, though he apparently could have stayed had he been willing to pay an additional 250 baht ($8, a far cry from the $40+ you pay for the roomier economy seats on American carriers).
The plane took off, the fasten seat belts sign dimmed, and my friend from the monster car rally snuck over to row 4 just as the food and drink service started (of which Diane and I were curious to find out if our faux first class benefits extended to free food and beverages…it didn’t, by the way). The flight attendant again told the man he couldn’t sit there unless he paid her 250 baht, and he started yelling about how unfair it was that he was stuck in row 10 when there were plenty of empty seats up front. For the first time in Asia, I saw a Thai person raise her voice and demand cooperation. The man angrily left the seat; huffing and puffing all the way back to row 10.
The rest of the flight was uneventful, leaving us to wonder what the benefit of the first five rows was that anyone would pay extra for the privilege. It wasn’t for the same lack of legroom and food for purchase that you got in rows 6 and beyond. So what could it possibly have been? And why were we sitting there? We saw the light once we landed in Phnom Penh and it was time to exit the plane.
I was busy gathering my stuff when the angry villagers attempted to storm my castle. Three of them made it through before I stood up and blocked traffic, allowing my fellow aristocrats a chance to get out of their seats. We all shared a laugh and exited the plane. Being that we were among the first ten people in line, we breezed through immigration (despite the fact that we had to pay them extra money in both Thai baht and US Dollars in order to obtain our visas). As we walked away from the immigration desk and over to the baggage carousel where our bags were front and center, we glanced back at the massive line behind us. And that’s when it all became clear. I’d totally pay an extra eight bucks to avoid standing in that line for a half an hour. Who cares about free food and drinks or extra legroom when you can enjoy the convenience of entering a country in under three minutes?
The stars were shining on us that afternoon, and all we could hope was to have that luck follow us into town.
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