An American in Asia: His Quest for Cosmic Truth (or at least a Decent Espresso)

 

Cambodia Visa Run

The idiosynchrasies of Thailand's immigration law requires most foreigners to step over the border on occasion to renew their visa. Everyone who does this has their own favourite destination, with most opting for a quick day-trip to nearby bordertowns such as Poipet or Koh Kong in Cambodia, Vientiane in Laos, Penang in Malaysia or one of the Burmese border crossings. Others like to make the most of it and take a short vacation somewhere interesting.

For my Visa Run, I took a flight to the Cambodian capital of Phnom Penh and stayed for a few days at the Flamingos Hotel on Street 51, the city's sleepless centre for dancing and late-night fun. The hotel itself is only five stories tall, yet it towers over most of its neighbours as Phnom Penh has few tall buildings. On the roof is an open air cocktail lounge from which I could enjoy the view of day to day city life, Khmer style.

Motorcycle taxis (motos) weave around three-wheeled bicycles and wandering pedestrians, while utilitarian trucks and cars make way for the occasional European luxury car driven, no doubt, by the country's current elite. Above the street, residents seem to spend a lot of time on French-styled balconies, hanging laundry, cooking and shouting across to their friends in other buildings.

Cyclo drivers take a break from the midday sun

To an American this may appear to be a very poor place, financially speaking, yet the locals do not seem too worried about it on a moment-to-moment basis and the Khmer people exude an unforced, realistic sort of cheerfulness that is infectious. While I was, of course, in a better financial position than most of the people I dealt with on my visit, no one pressured me for more than a fair price for whatever I was after. So I wasn't made to feel the economic rift and ill will that one often feels in Thailand's tourist destinations, where the locals can get irate when a foreigner refuses to pay a ridiculously inflated bill.

I spent my days hopping motos to places I had enjoyed on previous visits. The beautiful old National Museum hadn't changed much, but I guess that's what museums are supposed to do. Nearby the street of crafts galleries had gotten longer, though the offerings were much the same, with lots of colourful paintings of Khmer artifacts and carvings in wood and stone.

Where this street meets Sisowath Quay, the riverside boulevard, the Foreign Correspondent's Club was under renovatoin but still opened enough for me to order a double espresso and take a perch on the second floor balcony overlooking the river.

When the noise of construction got a bit bothersome, I stepped across the street to the Riverside, where I had some spring rolls, along with my only encounters with pesky street vendors. Several times during my meal young children foisted flowers, newspapers and et cetera at me but, being a Bangkok resident, I was adept at discouraging them by shaking my head and avoiding their gaze.

It might sound cruel to ignore children in need. However, I am not going to be a supporter of child labour. These children do not get to keep the money they make. It goes to their guardians or (at worst) to a mafia organiser. And even if it goes to their parents, they are the kind of parents who, instead of working harder to put their kids in school, they send them into traffic to sell to tourists. One could argue that safer work was not available, however I did not see any adults selling papers on the streets, so either they are working somewhere else, or waiting for the kids to bring home the beer money. Whatever is actually going on behind the scenes, giving money to children on the streets only encourages other parents to send their kids into traffic. There are plenty of orphanages around who would be happy for a donation.

Things improved once I got moving again. I hit the quay and strolled along the river in front of the city's long rows of crumbling French-style buildings. On a hot sunny day no one was going to venture out to accost me, even in that central tourist area.

There is something really uplifting about Phnom Penh that I can not explain. It's not that I lack the words. Rather, I really don't know why I am always taken over by a warm, happy excitement when I dawdle around that town, like it's my birthday and I found out there's going to be a surprise party.

In the evening I took myself up and down Street 51 for a bit of drink, dance and billiards. In the early evening I hung out across the street from the hotel at a place with a decent pool table and beat a few people at pool. As with many such bars, it was full of waitresses who did nothing but play pool all evening, serving the occasional drink, so it was with a feeling of profound accomplishment that I left the bar two hours later, unbeaten. That feeling was tainted by the realisation that my skill came from spending way too many hours of my precious life knocking ceramic balls around a bit of felt.

I walked down the street to the notorious Heart of Darkness dance club later, only to find it closed. Nipping in to Howie's Bar nearby, it was explained to me that the Heart had finally suffered from its dangerous reputation. Apparently a young Khmer had died at the hands of a gun-toting peer a few weeks ago and the place has been shut down for a while.

Undeterred, I meandered back past the hotel to the scene's current favourite club, the Butterfly, where I took a seat and a beer and watched the kids go. I really miss the clubs of Tokyo, which stay open all night and kick into gear after the trains stop at midnight, with people really cutting loose with fun abandon. In Bangkok, the fun of the club scene is marred by money concerns. Those who have way too much of it wear it in the worst way, with garish jewellery and designer's names plastered all over their poorly chosen wardrobe. Meanwhile those who don't have money are spending their time trying to flatter cash out of gullible foreigners. Either way the Bangkok scene is pretty tasteless.

Cambodia however, with a far lower standard of living and far fewer rich kids, somehow manages to have yards more class. A friend and old Cambodia hand suggested the Khmer sense of style is an inheritance from the French occupation. Regardless, I was amazed at the coolness of the club kids. Their clothes obviously did not cost much, but the originality and style with which they were worn was over-the-top. And I saw this not only in the clubs but, everywhere I went, it was obvious that a sense of style is high on the list of important personality traits for the average Khmer. Very cool cats.

After a few days of this I headed back to Bangkok, passing through immigration without a hitch. Now I am writing from my new home in Phuket. I spent more than 40 hours on the road this week, shuttling my stuff down to my new house in Kata Beach on Thailand's largest and most famous resort island. More on that next time.