BIZARRE FOOD, GUNS FOR ART

Elephant walking on Phnom Penh's riverfront

As Phnom Penh’s main riverfront street, Sisowath Quay certainly has character. Besides the occasional passing elephant, I’ve encountered sights that you'd never expect to see in any capital city.

One morning on a downtown bus, I saw a macaque monkey calmly making his way crossing this busy downtown street! He crossed the road by walking along an overhead powerline, like it was a vine in the jungle. Well, that’s one way to avoid the heavy traffic.

Other animals found on Sisowath Quay are not live, but served for lunch! Riverfront food covers a very wide range of tastes, including the bizarre. Today I look at a street vendor's food, and to my surprise she's selling fried frogs! Not frog legs, but whole fried frogs! Smaller than the average frog, these munchables can be yours for only 24 cents a piece.

As frogs are not to my taste, I keep looking. In another bowl, she’s selling fried spiders! These are also fried whole, and they look like tarantulas. Another day I saw a street vendor selling fried snakes! They were cooked whole, and each snake was curled up, as if it was hibernating.

Local street food in Phnom Penh includes fried snakes!

Although most river front restaurants have menus with normal fare, some have equally bizarre food items. Right down the street, are a string of ‘pot pizza’ restaurants. No kidding. They have names like ‘Happy Herb Pizza’. 

I've never tried any of these pizzas sprinkled with marijuana, the only mind altering thing I consume is beer. Locals don't eat there much either, but I did meet some American university students who had tried the 'happy' pizza. They left disappointed; none of them felt stoned. The joke was on them, they probably had been served pizza with oregano.

As there are more reputable restaurants on the river side, I enter a doorway down the block, and walk upstairs to what locals call, 'FCC'. This is the Foreign Correspondents Club of Cambodia. An open air colonial style restaurant, it overlooks the Bassac River from its rooftop terrace. A horseshoe shaped bar has ceiling fans overhead. News photos line the walls, dating back to Cambodia's war years.

Would you like some fried insects to snack on?

I've worked with journalists in years past, so I occasionally eat here for nostalgia. Renovated in 1992 by a Hong Kong company, it’s now open to the public. Foreign reporters are rare in Cambodia these days. With no more war here, war correspondents are off in Afghanistan or Iraq. Journos in town today prefer a bar where power players go, like the Elephant Bar. 

The FCC's clientele tonight is mostly backpackers and businessmen, with a diplomat and deminer mixed in with the locals. The lack of windows means there are also many uninvited 'airborne' guests. I hear one patron say, “If you’re going to drink at the FCC, you have to be willing to take insects out of your beer!”

The fact that this 'Foreign Correspondents Club' isn't really for journalists is fitting for Cambodia, as there isn't a free press here anymore. Prime Minister Hun Sen gives only lip service to free speech, and freedom of the press. The fact is, he's Ex-Khmer Rouge - he's been slowly clamping down on press freedoms for years.

Restaurant sign, made from cut-up AK-47 assault rifles!

A recent Phnom Penh headline, detailed how a local newspaper publisher had been accused of 'defamation' by the Cambodian government. His offence: publishing three articles uncovering corruption by officials working for Deputy Prime Minister Sok An. Soon after, a public statement given by 21 rights groups said those defamation charges were a ‘threat to journalists’.

Nearby down the riverfront, is another odd eatery, the Mexican themed, 'Cantina'. I ate there another night with an American friend. That evening I didn't find the decor impressive, until I saw the restaurant’s sign on the wall. Made by some artist, the words ‘Cantina’ had been made out of dark, twisted metalwork. Looking closer, I couldn't believe what I saw! I got up, and approached the sign to make sure.

Clock made from cut-up Kalashnikov rifles!

All the letters on the sign were made from cut up assault rifles! The artist took those AK-47's, sliced them to pieces, bent them into shape, and welded them together to form each metal letter.

Looking to another wall I found a clock, made of the same deadly Kalashnikov rifle material. For the first time during my Southeast Asia travels, I finally saw guns put to good use.

Although disarmament after the Cambodia's wars was extensive, it's still common to see AK-47's carried by local police. A Kalashnikov is more firepower than they need, but they also use them for economic reasons. With many thousands of AK-47's left over when the wars ended, it was much cheaper for the government to convert them from military to police use, rather than to spend millions of dollars buying new pistols for every police station in the country.

Thankfully, guns are not often used here, and murder and armed robbery are rare. But like in Vietnam, purse snatchings are common. An English teacher friend, was a victim of the worst kind of purse snatching. One Sunday she left a church service, when two men on a motorbike approached her from behind. When they grabbed her bag, she tried to let go of her purse, but couldn’t, as the strap was wrapped around her shoulder. She was dragged more than 100 feet down the street. She suffered serious abrasions, and had to go to the hospital to recover.

As terrible as that incident was for her, Cambodia's crime rate is still far lower than in the USA, especially for violent crime. Culturally Khmers are not confrontational people, and don't resort to violence as quickly as Americans these days. Thankfully, it looks like Cambodia's era of violence is behind them.

MARKET MAZE IN CAMBODIA

Downtown market in Phnom Penh: an assault on the senses

This place has the air of a Hong Kong action flick.

It’s dark, cramped, hot and steamy. Countless shop stalls are crowded together, one after the other in a dimly lit maze. As I walk narrow passageways, I have to keep ducking down to avoid striking my head on overhead beams. A lady vendor I pass points to my head, and then to the low ceiling. She smiles, and her neighbor laughs at me: a tall, out of place foreigner.

I'm in Kandal Market, a Khmer market in downtown Phnom Penh. This is no tourist market either, it’s locals that throng here. Not surprisingly I'm getting curious looks, as few foreigners venture into this maze. Unlike Americans, most Khmers stay away from supermarkets. They find their food cheaper, and fresher, in neighborhood markets like these.

For a westerner, a walk through this Southeast Asian market is an assault on the senses. The biggest assault is the smell. With rotted food on the ground, poor drainage, and little ventilation, it takes some getting used to if you want to walk through it without holding holding your nose. The odors are even worse after it rains.

The colors on the other hand, are the most pleasant. Despite the lack of hygiene, these are still the freshest fruits and vegetables in the city. After properly washing and cooking your purchases at home, this can be one of the best meals you’ve ever had at such a cheap price.

Dark market interior, with makeshift roof

The stalls are beyond cramped, they're packed together in claustrophic conditions. Still you have to admit, there's a real energy about it, you can almost feel it in the air. With the tight quarters, some fear pickpockets, but that’s reasonably rare. Armed robbery is even more rare. For one thing, most of the shoppers, and the shopkeepers, are women. They all look out for each other as well.

There is no single rooftop covering this market. Overhead the roof is as chaotic as the layout of booths below. It’s a patchwork of corrugated metal, plastic sheeting, and different colored tarps stretched every which way. Some gaps are filled with cardboard. Old tires lie atop some sections to keep them in place.

A strange sight in the market are miniature beauty salons. These have a chair or two, or sometimes just a stool. Like ladies anywhere, Khmer women want to look good. For women that can’t afford a real beauty salon, they come here, to these tiny beauty booths.

Walking on, I pass a line of seamstress booths. It's rather dim; there are no electric lights. Somehow even in this dim light they are able to make dresses. Their sewing machines are not electric either, but powered by old fashioned foot pedals. These skilled ladies make dresses as though this is 100 years in the past.

I pass a foursome of ladies seated around a tiny table, playing cards. One is simultaneously having a pedicure done. I recognize these ladies from their work in the food stalls, and with lunchtime over, they have some time to relax.

There is plenty of clothing for sale, mobile phones, and pirated music, but most shoppers are here for the food. As this is Cambodia, you'll find food here you'll never see in your local supermarket. There are freshly fried bananas, and fried frogs. Some regions of Cambodia are known for fried spiders, but I don't see any today. There's fresh fish from the Mekong, and saltwater fish brought from the coast. Another passageway sells incense and fresh flowers, next to a fortune teller.

Some stalls sell durian. For those not familiar with it, durian is the most 'aromatic' fruit in Southeast Asia, and not in a good way. You can usually smell durian before you see it, even when it’s still growing on the tree. It has a rather nasty ammonia like smell. Cut it open, and it gets even worse. It took me years to gather up the courage to finally taste durian for myself. Surprisingly, that horrid smell does not match the taste, which is reasonably pleasant.

Live chickens for sale, tied together by their feet

There is also live poultry for sale. Several stalls sell chicken, available three ways: cooked whole, plucked but not cooked, and live. At one stall, a chicken butcher is cutting the chickens necks, and draining their blood. Beside him, another vendor takes groups of the freshly slaughtered chickens by the feet, and puts them in large pots of boiling water for a couple minutes. This makes it easier to pluck their feathers.

I've spent time on farms before, but I've never seen live chickens treated like this. I’m surprised to see numerous live chickens not in cages, but lying in piles on the ground or on tables, lumped together. At first I wonder why they don’t get up and walk away, until I see that all the chickens are bound around their ankles, three of them tied together. Unfortunately, it’s the lack of hygiene and unsafe handling practices in Asian markets much like this, that led to the spread of bird flu to humans.

Further on, tiny restaurants and food stalls are packed tightly together. Customers sit on small plastic chairs around metal topped tables. Cooking over electric burners, charcoal stoves, and even over open fires, they serve up Khmer food, such as fried rice, plantains and chicken. With conditions so cramped here, the market is a bit of a firetrap, as some Southeast Asian markets are. Years back in Hanoi, there had been a market fire disaster in 1994 that killed five people.

Not long ago, some Cambodian markets sold weapons. AK-47s, pistols, even grenade launchers were available with the right connections. Fortunately, those booths have been closed. With increased police enforcement, (corrupt as they are) and with successful disarmament programs, most weapons are finally off the market.

Heading home, I find piles of garbage from the market covering nearly the width of a nearby street! There's only a narrow path through the middle to walk through, as the city has yet to implement timely trash collection. Much of the garbage dumped here is organic, and the stench is overpowering. A Khmer with a deadened sense of smell is standing in the middle, picking up trash with a pitchfork. He tosses it high into a commercial garbage bin, which isn't big enough. Not 20 feet away from this mess, an ice vendor cuts through a large block of ice, and sells it to a customer. (Now I know why I was sick after drinking an iced drink in a cheap local restaurant.)

Walking by these markets at night is eerie, as there's little light. One night I saw how local market security works: to keep their sales items safe from theft, some vendors pull a tarp over their tables, and sleep on top of their goods. The usual scavengers also slink about: RATS! Rodents are common around the market at night, and with so much discarded food around, rats grow big here. I've seen some as big as cats. Worse, at night they have a nasty habit of running right in front of your path, or around your feet, as you walk by their hiding places.

Hoping to keep rodents as far from me as possible, I developed my own rat alarm to warn them away. Whenever I walked by the market in the evening, or down narrow alleys, I simply clapped my hands loudly. After doing this, I often saw rats scurrying away ahead of me, before I became uncomfortably close. I swear by this method.

HIGHLAND FOOD AND MYSTERY MEAT

'Pho', a traditional Vietnamese noodle soup. But what kind of meat is within?

As the sky darkens in Vietnam’s highlands, dinner time beckons. With few choices for varied cuisine in Pleiku, I head into a local restaurant. As I’m walking in, I immediately notice that everyone is staring at me. The wait staff and patrons have stopped whatever they were doing, and just gaze at me in wide eyed amazement. It’s as if I’m a rock star, a celebrity. The staring continues as I take a table.

Perhaps celebrity is the wrong analogy here. Maybe I’m more of an oddity, an object of curiosity in these parts. They don’t get many outsiders here, especially a white westerner. I’m discovering that for most Vietnamese, there is nothing rude about staring at strangers. Westerners will look away in embarrassment when you stare back at them, but not here. When I match their gaze, many of the Vietnamese just keep right on staring at me, as though I’m some kind of circus sideshow freak. Oh well, on to dinner.

With my stomach about to growl, I look at the menu, and find it's only in Vietnamese text. So I do what foreign travelers often do in this situation. When the waitress arrives, I simply point to a dish that looks good at the next table. I've opted for a bowl of pho, a popular Vietnamese noodle soup. It comes with raw greens that you mix into the soup yourself. Also mixed in are spices, soy,  and chunks of what looks like beef.

Uh oh.

At least, I think it’s beef. I hope it’s beef. But is it really beef?? You can’t be sure out here in the highlands. I recall a conversation I had about food with other Vietnamese. I asked: “What food do you hate?” Rather than expressing dislike for broccoli or beets, their responses were unexpected.

“I hate snake,” one woman said.

“I hate dog,” said another. Eeesh I'd heard that some Vietnamese eat dog, but I couldn't imagine eating it voluntarily. My only hate at the moment, is not knowing what kind of meat this is.

Later, I hop onto a crowded Pleiku mini-bus, and I’m surprised when an older local woman seated near me starts speaking to me in English.

“I worked for ‘MACV’,” she tells me, “I cook. I work for American G.I. for seven years.” MACV was an acronym I wasn’t expecting to hear in the Highlands. It stood for ‘Military Assistance Command Vietnam’, and this woman worked on one of the US bases here in Pleiku.

“I worked for American, then VC come,” she continues. With the arrival of the communists in Pleiku, this lady cook was out of a job. But she still had plenty to keep her busy, since she had nine children.

I asked if she’s from one of the minority groups that live here in the Highlands, and she looks surprised. “I’m Vietnamese!” she says incredulously.

With her years of experience cooking for GI’s, she knows how to cook American food well. My mouth waters as she tells me, “I cook potatoes, dumpling, American eggs.” She’s retired now, but I wish she owned a restaurant in Pleiku. Vietnamese cuisine is tasty, healthy and cheap, but I haven’t had western food in a long time. I would have preferred her cooking, than that mystery meat that I had eaten earlier.

FLOATING MARKET ON THE MEKONG

I’m aboard another boat in Vietnam's Mekong River Delta, only this time the wooden craft is larger, and motorized. We’re cruising upstream on a wide expanse of the Can Tho River, and I’m amazed at what I'm seeing. We're surrounded by hundreds of boats, in all shapes and sizes.

There is a flurry of activity, since these watercraft double as mobile floating shops. Vendors are drawn here from all over the province to sell their wares, mainly food. The surrounding boats are burdened with cargoes of pineapple, watermelon, vegetables and rice. Some craft are so heavily loaded, they almost appear to be sinking.

This is the floating market of Can Tho, and these floating markets have been the centers of commerce in the delta for generations. Buyers navigate their way through the larger vessels to find their chosen cargo. They pull up their empty boats alongside the selling boats, then bargain out the prices, load up their goods, and move on. Most smaller boats are piloted by women, who row their boats expertly, as well as any sailor. For these boat driving ladies, this is just another day of selling or shopping for their family.

The size of these riverboats ranges widely, from 60 foot long diesel powered freighters, all the way down to eight foot long rowboats. They have a rustic look to them, since none of them are made of fiberglass. All of them are made of wood, and few are painted. Their bare brown color nearly matches the brown water of the dark river that they are floating on. I see four large boats lashed together in a row, where buyers can more easily walk across them, from one over to the next. This way they can more easily load a few different items all at once. Many boats anchored and lashed together here, create the Mekong Delta’s version of a strip mall.

 This floating market is one reason that Can Tho city is the delta’s economic center. Besides being used for floating shops, some of these boats also have entire families living aboard. A few of the floating residences have laundry hanging from clotheslines strung along their tight living quarters.

I spot some youngsters working on boats right alongside their parents. This must be a difficult life for children; I wonder how many of these young river dwellers are able to attend school. 

Like much of the delta, there is still no bridge to get here by car. Although Can Tho is the largest city in the delta, I still had to cross here by ferry. But there are bridges under construction, so I wonder how long this unique market will continue. Since much of the delta lacks roadway access, this floating piece of Vietnamese culture will live on into the future.