Happy endings: Day 2 (05/12): Phnom Penh, Cambodia

Day 2 (05/12)

Everyone here seems so wonderfully idle, but most likely because everyone is so underemployed in this country.

Every bike here is a courier to your destination. Road rules only tentatively apply. Seb, who's lived here for most of a year, agrees with my analogy that Phnom Penh is a little like playing GTA. Any vehicle is available to you; you can easily get anywhere in the city from anywhere you want, all while you weave through traffic, drive on the wrong side of the road, mount the curb – it's all free game.

Every guy sitting on his tuk tuk, sipping sugar cane juice from a bag, with a querying nod of his head, goes to you, 'tuk tuk sir?'. You have to be persistent, sure, firm, but polite to refuse these guys. Once you've made eye contact, looked a little unsure, it's over, you're locked in. But they're not extortionate, a dollar or two to get you across town, all from the comfort of the back of a tuk tuk, no two the same, some with curtains, and the breeze cooling you down on this humid, hot day.

Today I head down to the street, immediately find a motorbike to take me to the central market so I can get a few things I need (a daypack, sunglasses, and a cable for my camera, the only thing I accidentally left in London). My motorbike guy knows no English, I say 'central markets?' - no nod, no smile, no shake of the head, no baffled look, no shrug of the shoulders. Anja told me how many tuk-tuk drivers are very unfamiliar with the city. 'Central markets?'. I still can't work out if he knows where this is. He climbs on, gestures for me to do the same. Oh well, here goes.

He knew exactly where I wanted to go, or at least had a lucky guess.

The markets are housed in a four-winged French colonial hall. I find everything I need within five minutes, wander around the produce section; the fish, live chickens, unrecognisable vegetables, chicken feet, boiled eggs, fruit I've never tried but hope to before the end of this trup.

I order an iced coffee. The iced coffee here is a wonderful thing, made the Vietnamese way (fact: Vietnam is the second-biggest producer of coffee in the world), mixed with condensed milk and poured over ice. Another thing I appreciate: cold jasmine green tea is complimentary at all local eateries and stalls. Dope.

I decide to walk home. I like walking in new cities. You notice so many aspects at this slow pace you'd never see otherwise. On the map it doesn't seem too far, but Phnom Penh is not sympathetic to the pedestrian. There are no continuous footpaths, and even where there seems to be one, you have to weave through parked tuk tuks, bikes, and food stalls. You can walk on the road, but you'll be battling with the hectic traffic. I'm determined to get all the way home, and ignore the temptation to jump on the back of a bike which could take me home for a mere dollar. I push on through the late morning heat, and arrive home with dirty feet and sweaty brow.

I go to lunch with Anja. She wanted Indian (she's spoilt for choice when it comes to food in this city), but I'm determined to have local Khmer cuisine. Turns out it's pretty plain. Next time I'll let her take me to the Indian joint.

After lunch I'm reminded of my jetlag, and snooze the afternoon away. Seb comes home from his work (a local NGO), and we go for a run. Khmer people don't really exercised, and those who do, don't seem to have been told how to do it properly. Wild swinging arms, twisting and turning, strange straight-legged sit-ups, and a bounding running technique apparently make up the Khmer exercise routine.

Running is also a great way to get to know a new place. I did this in London too, but there are very few places to safely and comfortably run in Phnom Penh unfortunately.

Jetlag still has a firm grasp on me.