Home Sweet Home... Back in Phnom Penh

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We woke up this morning after a pretty terrible sleep, filled with the bass that was streaming through the closed window panes and under the door from the party outside our door, two rotating fans that were giving us puffy eyes and cold shoulders, and just generally discomfort in being where we were... I slept like a log for most of the night, mind you, but the girls didn't, and Leens was paranoid about our safety, as we didn't really feel like we could trust anyone down here.

I got out of bed (which Eva and I had shared, as they only had a room with a double and a single left) and looked outside, thinking I would be met by sunshine and chirping birds. Instead, there was rain and stormy weather... perfect, and I don't mean that sarcastically!

When we ventured out to have brekkie, we realised that there had been a major storm overhead for most of the night, and the bar and restaurant of the Nap House had flooded. The staff were frantically cleaning up, and it didn't look like they were serving, so we braved it through the rain to the establishment next door. We ordered eggs and fruit for breakfast, and munched away at our table, less than 10m from the breaking waves, wondering whether our eggs had been scrambled with or without hash... browns. I think without : ).

I had read in the Lonely Planet about the deserted French hill station in Bokor National Park, about 100kms East of Sihanoukville, which had housed the Khmer Rouge guerillas until recently, and had only opened to the public again a few years ago. The drive up the windy track off the main highway was reportedly one of the most spectacular in the country, so we had hoped to get up to check out the old hotel, which is supposedly haunted. The rangers let rooms with bunks in the old station for US$5, so we thought it could be something out of the ordinary to try. Problem was, it had rained so heavily overnight that we were sceptical about hopping into any form of transport, let alone on a moto or taxi for the 3 hours ride to the turnoff. And Kirk, who we had hoped may come down on a hired dirt bike, had decided to join some friends on a trip to one of the islands off the mainland - for some chill-out time and happy-ness, we assume.

Anyway, we decided that we would have to give Kampot and the Bokor National Park a miss : (. Instead, we booked tickets on the 12noon bus back to our favourite place, Phnom Penh. One night of 'peace, man' was definitely enough for us - we all missed the smiling faces we had encountered from the residents of Phnom Penh.

On the bus, the 4hr trip back to the capital seemed to pass fairly quickly, and I did a lot of thinking whilst I watched shack after shack fly by in the rural provinces we drove through. The Western influence was, in my opinion, on the best way to setting the Khmer society, as it was, backwards, not forwards. The Khmers in the tourist areas of the country seem more sceptical and cautious of Westerners, less trusting and more conditional with their kindness, much like people in the West. For me, it raises the question of whether 'development', as such, is a good thing, and whether the rich are in a position to judge a society such as Cambodia based on how much they earn. We say we are 'better off' in the West, but we live lifes of fear and solitude compared to most Khmers over here. They have their close networks of family and friends, and seem to be always smiling. They will give you their last piece of bread, and not think about the fact that they are living in 'poverty'. Once again, hmmm.

The familiar bustle at the bus depot put a big smile on all of our faces, and I had negotiated a fare with one of the tuk-tuk drivers before we even got off the bus, that's how eager they are.

We got stuck in a fair bit of traffic on the way back to the OK Guesthouse, a first for us, but it was great to be able to watch the people on their way from A to B. So many different faces, so many stories that we do not know about...

For dinner, we tested out one of the many Khmer restaurants near the guesthouse. The one we picked had menus only in Khmer - problem - and no English speaking staff or guest - even bigger problem!. So we spun the bottle and had a stab in the dark. Eva ended up with a thich rice chicken soup, Leens had a clear beef soup, and I landed the most delicious - beef stirfry with noodles. For dessert, the girls got coconut icecream from the little icecream parlour next door, and then we trudged back to the guesthouse through the water-logged streets of Phnom Penh, our home away from home.

xoxo Maz

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Comments

[Gabi K.]

Mariechen, you are soooo funny, the scrambled eggs with the hash....browns, I had to chuckle as they say.Maybe, Maria, behind all these smiles of the Khmer people, are hidden some cruel realities for some of them, e.g. hunger, ill health, no medical bach-up system in case someone in the family falls sick, child prostitution, selling of children into an uncertain future, especially in rural communities with the hope of employment and money to be sent home from the big smoke, unemployment and so on.Saw something on SBS yesterday, the red light district's children in some big Indian city and their struggle to get on with life,not all is bad in the West... I think, when you guys get home and have a little distance to it all, many things will appear all of a sudden make sense and come together like a puzzle.Although, I must agree with you on most points you made. Did you get my letter reg. photos of the Canb. St. house? Have to go, keep writing this absolutely informative, humorous and addictive journal! Viele Kuesschen an Pickilein und Dich, mum