My flight is in the evening so I use the morning to catch a motorbike out to the Russian market and buy a few gifts before I leave the country. By now, after this time in Cambodia, I have a better idea of what I should be paying, or how to find out and shop around a bit, and I am now proudly proficient at haggling in a polite, playful manner.
I still have no appetite and skip breakfast.
As I'm chauffered back to the guest house I think how Phnom Penh is not a pretty city, but the people are charming.
I go for a walk along the riverside and I can see the Mekong. Later this evening I'll be on the banks of this same river but much further upstream and closer to its source, in a different country, a different culture, with a different currency, a different language.
I've been in Cambodia for nearly four weeks. I like the feeling when you start getting used to a place, feel more comfortable there, know what price to haggle to, how to haggle the right way, have a better understanding of the locals' sense of humour. I am aware that by spending so long in one country I am limiting my opportunities and chances to see other great places in Laos and Thailand, but I'm glad I'm not skipping through places too quickly.
I find the big French colonial post-office to post a package. The building is hilariously too big for the three staff and two customers here.
I get another motorbike, this time to the airport. I climb on with my big pack and feel a shot of pain in my hip, which went on my first attempt at a squat toilet on Christmas day (my muscles just aren't used to it), but I shuffle about a bit, careful not to unbalance everything, and all is well. Luckily, for we'll be on this bike for the next 30 minutes.
We go through a protest calling for the end of Hun Sen's government. Tuk tuks with 12 people crammed into them, flatbed trucks full of people with some on the roof, Cambodian flags flying against the back-drop of a cloudless blue sky, megaphone call-and-response. We're stuck in a bottleneck for a while, inching our way through, and people smile at me. I'm the only foreigner in this whole intersection of motorbikes and flags and shouting and slogans and trucks and tuk tuks, and people look at me and smile ever so sincerely. I usually feel a little unsafe, wary, when on a motorbike with my worldly possessions perched between the legs of the driver and on my back – bags are often snatched by passing motorbikes in this city – but right now I feel safe, in the middle of this maelstrom I feel safe.
When I arrived here at the start of the month, my first foray into Asia, I plunged into Phnom Penh with some idea of what it might be like – I was wary of scams and theft and disease and danger. Now, riding back to the airport, I feel comfortable, and I'm smiling, and the sun is shining, and this is like any other place, really, and I'm glad I understand this country and its people a little better, that some of the myths I had have been dispelled.
Cambodia, I like your (among other things):
tuk tuk, motorbike, every-vehicle-is-potentially-yours-to-use transport;
two-piece matching floral pyjamas rocked by ladies in public;
lack of public liability;
your people's resilience and their smiles;
your markets;
your people's sense of humour;
how your men stand with their shirts pushed up, hand on bellies.
Cambodia, I'm not too sure about your:
scented serviettes;
lack of any set prices;
lack of public liability;
willingness of many people to fleece the naïve tourist;
institutional corruption;
(lack of) environmental awareness;
lack of decent education;
smell (sometimes);
toilets.
I arrive at the airport and while rearranging my gear I watch a white-haired western man, arms showing leaked-ink tattoos, probably in his 60s, embrace and kiss a Khmer lady of probably 30. She looks to me to be tense. He continues to kiss her, she moves her head to the side the second time and he pulls her head back around to kiss her on the lips. Now she looks even more tense and awkward. He says firmly but lovingly, “promise me. Promise me!” and he leaves after kissing her again. Her smile doesn't look genuine, but that just might seem that way to my cynical eyes.
Makes me think how easy it can sometimes be for someone to fall in love but how difficult it can sometimes be to be loved.
I check in, spray on some sample cologne in the duty free store and use a Cambodian toilet for the last time.
With little comprehension that I'm actually flying to another country, I look out the window as the plane takes off. Phnom Penh doesn't endlessly shine like London or glow warmly like Riga; it's dark at night from the sky, with only little strings of dull, orange lights laid out on blankets of darkness, but it's pretty in its own unpretentious, charming Khmer way.
Have you ever seen Sydney from a 727 at night?
Sydney shines such a beautiful light
And I can see Bondi through my window way off to the right
And the curling waves on a distant break
And the sleeping city just about to wake
Have you ever seen Sydney from a 727 at night?
Now the red roofs are catching the first rays of the morning sun
My eyes are full of sand from my midnight run
And the captain says belt up now we'll be touching down in ten
So I press my seat and I straighten up
I fold my tray and I stash my cup
As the red roofs are catching the first rays of the morning sun
Have you ever fallen for a girl with different coloured eyes?
And sent her letters full of lies
Have you ever longed to see the sun fall where it used to rise?
And quit your job on the spot
Bought that ticket yeah spent the lot
Have you ever fallen for a girl with different coloured eyes?
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| Phnom Penh riverside scene |
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| Drying fish |
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| Limpets, which I did finally try |
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