DRUG OVERDOSES BY BACKPACKERS

Backpackers relax on guesthouse terrace, on less than scenic Boeung Kak Lake

“I have to go support my heroin habit.”

I never expected to hear those shocking words in Cambodia. I heard this on the street, in the Lakeside neighborhood of Phnom Penh. The young man who said it was a British English teacher, on his way to work. To this day, I don’t know if he was kidding or not.

Lakeside is where all the cheapest accommodations are for the thousands of foreign backpackers who come visiting the city. It’s also where many of the foreign drug addicts live. Here there are cheap restaurants, cheap bars, and cheap guest houses. Plop down your backpack, and you can have a bed for five dollars a night. It also happens to be where the drug dealers come to prey on gullible backpackers.

I originally came here this morning looking for cheaper lodging, on recommendation of my buddy Kenny. He's a former US Marine, and Vietnam War veteran I met in Saigon. As he's a Southeast Asian nomad, I had run into him downtown on one of his swings through Cambodia to visit his Khmer girlfriend. Kenny recommended to me a hotel in Lakeside. But I’m finding this borough isn’t what I expected.

Most of the guesthouses here are built on stilts, backed up on Boeung Kak Lake. That sounds ideal, but the lake itself isn’t very picturesque, mainly because it’s so polluted.

This lake north of the downtown is one of the main destinations for area drainage during the rainy season. Unfortunately, developers have taken over much of the area's land. With money on their minds rather than good sense, the developers plan to fill in the entire lake. Environmentalists are concerned that this will cause even more flooding in Phnom Penh during the rainy season.

The shady Lakeside neighborhood of Phnom Penh

After a spaghetti lunch in a local restaurant, I step out in the street, to be greeted by a drug dealer. Then another. And another. It seemed that about every ten steps, somebody was trying to sell me drugs. I politely decline. I recall that Kenny likes to smoke marijuana now and then; now I know why he stays in this neighborhood.

I shouldn't be surprised that local pushers throng to Lakeside, since there are plenty of  hippie backpackers that stay here. Unfortunately, a few of them don't leave Cambodia alive.

Backpackers who smoke marijuana occasionally decide to try something new, with tragic results. They’ll ask the corner pusher for cocaine. Eager for money he agrees to get them cocaine, although he doesn’t know much about anything except marijuana. So he goes to look for a white powdery drug, and he ends up bringing back pure heroin. The backpacker goes back to his cheap guest house, and is dead by morning. The next morning, the hotel cleaning lady enters the room, and screams when she discovers his cold dead body. More than one foreign backpacker has ended up dead this way.

In another incident, the body of a backpacker was found floating out in Boeung Kak Lake. But this wasn’t a drowning accident, it was an overdose. My expat friends tell me that local police charge a guest house hundreds of dollars to remove a corpse. After the hotel staff found the foreigner's body dead from an overdose, they wanted to avoid this expense, so they dumped the corpse in the lake. So much for respect for the dead.

Back in the 1990’s there were occasional deaths of foreign backpackers, kidnapped and killed by the Khmer Rouge. Thankfully, they are no more. Today, backpacker deaths in Cambodia are self-inflicted.

View of guesthouses on Boeung Kak Lake

FOREIGNER HITS ROCK BOTTOM IN PHNOM PENH

I awaken in the “Indochine 2”, a curious name for a hotel, since nobody refers to Southeast Asia as Indochina anymore. It’s a comfortable place in downtown Phnom Penh, easy on the wallet, and only a block from the Tonle Sap River.

Decaying downtown building where 'Broken Bricks' was located

It’s a lovely day outside, and I check out the scenery outside my window. Pulling back the curtains, my entire view is taken up by a large old French colonial across the street. This was once a beautiful building, but no longer. The French shutters, detailed ironwork, and stylish balconies are all seriously decayed. Many windows are broken. The faded yellow structure is mostly abandoned. Except for one apartment holdout and a cheap ground floor restaurant, this old shell sits dark and empty.

The humble little restaurant has a history of its own. It used to be a bar with a rather unusual name: “Broken Bricks”. The former owner of this bar spent years in Phnom Penh, and his story is worth telling.

'Steven' was from England, and first came to Cambodia back in the 1990’s, a time when Cambodia was even more lawless than it is now. Steven liked to party, and he fell in love with the place. He also fell in love with a local Khmer woman, and they eventually married.

One tragic day, a grenade was thrown at the house of his neighbor. It exploded outside, and a piece of shrapnel penetrated his home, and struck his wife, killing her. Attacks such as this to settle scores were common here in those days. Predictably for Cambodia, the killer was never caught.

Despite this tragedy, Steven didn’t leave Cambodia. He still liked the place, and he opened a bar known as the “Peace Bar”. His establishment became very popular with the expatriate community, and for some time business went very well.

Steven also began his own personal program of disarmament in the city. Back then there were many machine guns and other weapons left over from the war, that were now in private hands. As the weeks passed, Steven found himself in possession of a sizable cache of small arms. Then the Khmer police found out about it. His storage room was raided, and all the weapons confiscated. Steven was arrested. Eventually, after a great deal of explaining, he was released. The police kept the weapons.

Of course, Steven was no weapons dealer. He was planning on hauling all the guns out to an open field, dumping them in a pile, pouring on gasoline, and setting them all ablaze. (This had been done with other disarmament programs.) He just hadn’t gotten around to the bonfire part yet.

As years went by, it became apparent to Steven’s friends that he was enjoying himself far too much. By this time, he had become a drug addict.

“Too much ‘yaba’, one of his Kiwi friends said, referring to the local slang word for crystal methamphetamine.

Trying to stay in the bar business, he opened “Broken Bricks” in this dilapidated building across the street from me now. But this bar was very small, and business faltered. His Kiwi friend complained that when he stopped at the bar for a drink, they didn’t even have any beer.

Then one night, things finally went too far. While working at Broken Bricks, an argument with his Cambodian waitress escalated into violence. The fight escalated, and eventually his angry Cambodian neighbors jumped into the fray. If this angry mob hadn’t been stopped, they would probably have beaten Steven to death. But he was pulled from the melee by acquaintances and the police. He was arrested, and finally put in jail.

Upon examining his passport, police discovered that his visa had expired years ago. Since he was an almost broke drug addict by this time, he didn’t have the money to pay a lawyer to try and get him out of this legal mess. After a month in jail, his remaining foreign friends in Phnom Penh took up a collection. His ‘fines’ were paid, and they bought him a one way ticket back to England. He was then deported. Last heard, he was wandering the streets of Birmingham.

Steven’s story is not unique. There are occasionally foreigners who come to Cambodia, and they get completely caught up in a free for all of excess. They party far too much, they stay far longer than they should, and sooner or later, they hit rock bottom. Some of them are now in prison. Others end up dead from drug overdoses.

A cautionary tale, he is one that got out alive.

NIGHTLIFE AND DRUG TRADE IN VIENTIANE

Night time on the Mekong riverfront

It's late evening in Vientiane, Laos, and I’ve left the lively bar called 'Bor Pennyang'. Stepping onto the Mekong River front, I hail a tuk-tuk, and follow the main road downriver. We pull into Don Chan Palace, though it isn’t much of a palace, it’s really more of an odd river front hotel. With 14 floors it’s among the tallest buildings in Laos, but for rustic Vientiane it looks rather gaudy. It does however, have the town's best disco.

It’s my first time here, and walking in I find the place dark and crowded, with music pumping. Peering across the crowd, I look for the dance floor. Not seeing one, I walk the entire length of the place. There's no dance floor to be found. This is a disco, but only in the conservative Asian style. Here the patrons dance only next to their tables!

I eventually find a friendly group to hang out with, a mixture of westerners and Laotians. Grabbing a beer, I join the dancing by their table. A Dane with them explains why there's no dance floor. “They don’t understand the concept of a discotheque,” he says. 

Unfotunately for those who enjoy night life, there are strange culture laws that restrict evening entertainment here. This gives Vientiane the reputation as one of the more boring capitals in Southeast Asia.

A recent story in the Vientiane Times, mentioned that the government was closing some discos down. The Director of the Vientiane Information and Culture Department was quoted as saying, “Each district (of the city) should have only one disco.”

The Don Chan 'Palace' in Vientiane

The fun squashing bureaucrat complained of the “overuse of imported music at the expense of local songs.” That ‘overuse’ is evident tonight, since I don’t hear any Laotian music at all. The selection here is mostly pop music from Thailand, with a smattering of western dance tunes. The bureaucrat also complained that according to law, discos must close by 11:30pm. Since I just arrived at Don Chan near to midnight and the party’s going strong, I see the law isn’t enforced here. Varied disco closing times are often connected to corruption.

Eyeing up the clientele, there is not a hint of Laotian attire; everyone wears western clothes for clubbing. Looking around, there are plenty of drunks. Some Asian men of smaller stature, seem to be intent on drinking as much as the larger bodied westerners present.

This is about as crazy as it gets in this town. The wild, ‘anything goes’ bars that Vientiane was known for during the war years, like the 'White Rose' and the 'Green Latrine', are long gone. The only remnant of that tradition here, are a few prostitutes trying to catch the attention of western men. Prostitution exists in Vientiane, but in the more subdued Asian manner. This isn't Thailand, there are no strip clubs in Laos.

I’m less worried about violence here since night life in Vientiane is known as the safest in Southeast Asia. Since Laos is landlocked and without ports, they don’t have to worry about drunken sailors going out looking for trouble. That’s not to say that bar fights don’t occasionally happen though. In between swigs of Beer Lao, an English teacher tells me about a bar fight here a couple weeks ago. “I turned around, and see a foreigner down on the floor,” he says. “This Laotian was beating him with a bottle.”

He stepped in to stop the beating, but not for long, as his Laotian girlfriend pulled him away. Fortunately for him, she recognized the bottle wielder as a Laotian involved in the drug trade, and wisely kept him out of the melee. When the rare beatdown does happen in a Vientiane night spot, it’s often drug related. Vientiane was once known as a place where opium was easier to get than a cold beer. That has flip-flopped, and the drug trade has gone underground. But it does occasionally rear it’s ugly head, such as in this case reported in the Vientiane Times.

“Police arrested a Nigerian man on June 21 in Khualvang Village, Chanthabuly District, Vientiane, after finding him in possession of 900 grammes of heroin, according to the Khomsangoh (security) newspaper yesterday.”

The story went on to report on another sensationalized case, that gained international attention. “British national Samantha Orobator was sentenced to life in prison after being found guilty of possessing 600 grammes of heroin. Ms. Orobator was born in Nigeria, but is now a resident of the UK and has British citizenship.”

A Tuk -Tuk, these are 'taxis' in Vientiane

The story neglected to mention that the young lady became pregnant while in prison. Whether she became pregnant intentionally or not, it helped her case. She was originally given the death penalty for drug trafficking, but pregnant women are exempt from this punishment. In the end, she was extradited to the UK to serve her sentence there.

I continue to dance and chat with my newfound friends, until closing time nears. Some wish to party on, but there are few options for Vientiane’s night owls when discos shut down. “If you want to drink after three a.m. you can only go to the bowling alley,” the knowing Dane tells me. “You can drink there until four or five a.m. It’s the only place open.”

I’m not the type to drink until dawn, so Don Chan is my last stop of the night. I leave the late night revelers, and head for the tuk-tuks.

SAIGON'S DARK SIDE, COPS & THE GODMOTHER

An Alley scene near Pham Ngu Lao.

Travel books recommend Saigon's Pham Ngu Lao area, and it is indeed reasonably safe and cheap. Most tourists eat and sleep here with few problems, taking advantage of the low prices. The neighborhood has a dark side though, giving it a bad reputation among Saigon’s residents.

In among the shops and legal street vendors, are many hustlers. Attracted by the foreigners with money, there are many scammers. The cyclo, taxi and motorbike drivers tend to be the worst offenders. Some will charge a foreign backpacker double, or triple the usual fare.

The closest thing to violent crime in this neighborhood, is an occasional purse snatching. One day in Pham Ngu Lao, two young Vietnamese men on a motorbike grabbed a purse from an older western woman, knocking her to the ground in the process. While making their getaway, a nearby policeman tried to stop them with a flying kick. He missed. The driver then cut a sharp corner, skidded, and the bike ended up on the ground. That’s when the crowd descended. Vietnamese shopkeepers who had been watching this drama unfold, attacked. The two thieves took off running. The first was captured immediately. The second, pursued by more neighbors and police, was brought back in minutes. The woman’s purse was returned. Admittedly, it’s rare for purse snatchers to be caught, but it shows that average Vietnamese will occasionally gang up on street criminals. They are victimized by thieves even more than foreigners.

Then there are the drug pushers and pimps who pester the westerners, sometimes to the point of harassment. Take the case of Dave. He was walking through Pham Ngu Lao one night, when he came to a street corner. Heavy traffic forced him to wait before crossing, and a short young drug dealer approached him. “Marijuana? You want marijuana?”

“No,” he firmly replied.

With traffic heavy, he still couldn’t cross the street, and had to wait. The little Vietnamese drug pusher pestered him further, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Final straw: the pusher tugged his shirt sleeve.

Wondering if the little pest was trying to pick his pocket, Dave lost his temper, swearing at the pusher to finally leave him alone. The pusher came right back at him, and the confrontation nearly escalated into a fight. Knowing that few pushers in Vietnam have guns, Dave could have easily pummeled him, but decided to do the right thing and inform the police. He quickly walked to a nearby police station.

Inside, he heatedly explained what had happened, informing them that the drug dealer was only 50 feet down the road. If they hurried, the police could easily catch him. The policemen stoically listened to the upset foreigner, and did nothing. They declined to leave the station, and instead began setting up a DVD player to watch a movie!

Infuriated at their inaction, Dave lost his temper again. “You’re worthless,” he bellowed at the policemen, “absolutely worthless!”

He then stormed out of the police station. He couldn’t get them to arrest the two-bit drug dealer, but he still felt better. After all, he had yelled at a roomful of lazy policemen, insulted them, and had gotten away with it. Apparently Dave wasn’t the only person who decided that that particular police station was worthless. Months later, the station was torn down.

New location of Godmother's Bar. The Godmother is a battle scarred ex-Viet Cong.

One night in Pham Ngu Lao, I checked out a hole in the wall bar popular with long term expats. Once inside, a buddy introduced me to the Godmother. As I shook her hand, I managed to avoid staring. The Godmother has a deformed face. Her left eye is out of place, and her nose has been shortened, twisted off to one side. The Godmother may have a scarred face, but she’s lucky to be alive today. The left side of her face was torn up by a grenade blast during the Tet offensive in 1968. At the time, the Godmother was a 17 year old Viet Cong fighter, taking on the American Army.

This female war veteran owns this bar, and it is appropriately named,  “Godmother’s Bar”. As her name implies, the Godmother is from a very connected family. Her relatives had fought on the communist side for decades, first battling the French, and then the Americans.

As the war ended, Saigon boomeranged from capitalism, to communism, and back to capitalism again. The Godmother went along for the ride. She went from being a communist Viet Cong guerilla, to a respected businesswoman today. Since her side won the war, her family’s political connections have paid off well. The Godmother owns four bars in the city, and has her hands in a few other businesses as well.

Her connections have even benefitted her foreign customers. When one of her long time German customers was robbed of his mobile phone, one of the thieves was immediately caught. The stolen phone ended up in the possession of the police, who refused to return it. It only took one call from the Godmother, and the phone was returned to its rightful owner.

She spends most of her time these days at Godmother’s Bar. It’s popular with expats living in Saigon, especially the English teachers. Without air conditioning, foreigners still come for the food and low prices. A bottle of beer is only 20,000 Vietnam Dong, about US $1.20. Some of her regulars even include American veterans of the war, who have returned to live in Saigon. I’ve watched her toast and drink with these old veterans on occasion, men she would have eagerly killed in her youth.

Today there are no hard feelings between them. She doesn’t speak much English, but between these old war veterans, words aren’t really needed. In her bar, everybody knows who everybody is, and what their past is. The war is in the past, and she's happy to welcome them as her customers.

My buddy Kenny, the former US Marine veteran from the war, is a frequent customer here, and the two old adversaries are friends now. Since he’s friendly and speaks some Vietnamese, he’s popular with the Godmother, and the bar staff. One night in the bar, a loud drunken American was being rather belligerent. Spewing obscenities, he shoved one of the bartenders off a stool. Kenny stood up, and walked over to his fellow American. Then Kenny picked him up, and threw the drunken idiot out of the bar into the street.

You don’t mess with Kenny, or his friends at Godmother’s.