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.

MEETING A BUDDHIST MONK

Young Buddhist monks (photo:Wikipedia)

Although much of Cambodia’s cultural heritage is decaying, one important part is thriving: Buddhism. Much like Vientiane, numerous Buddhist temples and monasteries, (wats) are all over Phnom Penh. There are more than I can visit, and they are grand. Cambodia may be a very poor country, but you’d never know it by looking at their Buddhist temples. They are far more elaborate and grandiose than those in neighboring Vietnam.

In recent years, many new Buddhist temples have been built, and old ones are being restored. The French may have brought Catholicism here, and the communists brought atheism, but Buddhism survived them all.

Tonight, a friend is introducing me to Cheuh, a 24 year old Khmer with a different view on life. Originally from Kampong Thom in the countryside, he has lived for years in Phnom Penh. Cheuh loves books, and has a real thirst for knowledge. He speaks a fair amount of English that he learned back in school. His occupation, is a common one in Cambodia.

Cheuh is a Buddhist monk, and he’s been one for ten years.

We’re meeting Cheuh at Wat Sarawan, a monastery and pagoda downtown. As we enter the living quarters, it resembles a dormitory. Curious monks look at me as I walk down the hall; once again I’m venturing where few white people go.

We walk in, and Cheuh gets up to shake my hand. Short like most Khmers, his head is shaved, and he wears the bright saffron orange robe that all monks wear. I already saw many more robes hanging out to dry on clotheslines in the hallway.

Buddhist temple on the Mekong River

Cheuh shares this small room with another monk. He invites me to sit on his small twin bed, while he sits across from me on his roommate's bed. He apologizes for the room’s size, but I say it’s no problem. This is about the size of the dorm room that I occupied for two years back in University. The shelves above his bed are loaded with books, in both Khmer and English.

As we chat, more monks gather in the doorway, curious about the tall foreign visitor. Many monks come from poor families; it’s likely they don’t understand my English. I ask Cheuh how many more monks live here in this large dormitory.

“Wat Sarawan have 200 (to) 250 monks,” he tells me.

Like all monks, 24 year old Cheuh leads a strict, celibate lifestyle. His is the monastic life, even more conservative than that of Catholic priests. Buddhist monks in Cambodia neither smoke, nor drink. They are not allowed to touch women at all, not even to shake their hands. If a Khmer woman hands a glass of water to a monk, it is common for her to place the glass on a plate first. This manner respectfully avoids physical contact.

Statues of Buddha in a temple (photo: Wikipedia)

“Is it difficult for you to lead a life, with no touching of women?” I ask curiously.

His answer to me is a bit evasive. “The rule,” he says, “I respect.”

Back when the Khmer Rouge were in Phnom Penh, Cheuh wasn’t here, but he knows all about it. “They don’t like the Buddhism,” he says of the radical communists, “they hate (it).”

Cheuh relayed to me how when the Khmer Rouge took over the city, they immediately invaded all the Wats. “They make the monk leave the pagoda,” he said, speaking of the forced exodus. “Go work in the field, feed the animal(s).”

The violently atheist Khmer Rouge targeted the wats, pagodas, and the monks too, aiming to eliminate all facets of Buddhism. 

“Some of the pagoda, they destroy,” Cheuh told me of those terrible days. “Some monk, they kill.”

But for Buddhists, everything is temporary. After the war ended and the Khmer Rouge were demobilized, many of their former fighters returned to their Buddhist faith. These killers had returned to the very religion, that they had once been ordered to destroy.

Like in Catholicism, I’m learning that forgiveness is also important in Buddhism. Among the world’s religions, Buddhists are certainly among the more tolerant that I’ve met. Cheuh and I briefly discuss other religions, and he says, “Buddhist, Catholic, Islamists, we can respect other religions.” Indeed.

A Buddhist spirit house

As it’s getting late, I thank Cheuh for his time, and take my leave. As I head for home, I ponder the simple, yet admirable life that Cheuh and other young monks are leading. Their life seems to be totally detached from the rat race that us westerners know too well. Beyond his books he has few possessions, yet he truly seems to be content. Just by speaking with Cheuh, I felt a sense of calm, an aura of peace.

So much of what I’ve heard about Cambodia before I had came here was negative, and I’m pleased that I’ve seen a new side of the Khmer spirit. The chaos of the capital and the government corruption may have blinded me during my days here. True, I'd seen corrupt policemen with AK-47's, shaking down street vendors. I’d also seen politicians with too much power shut down entire streets, simply so that their motorcades could pass at high speed. They are all chasing the dollar, all pursuing more power.

With all these pessimistic scenes, I had forgotten that most Cambodians don’t live solely for those worldly, empty pursuits. The tenets of Buddhism remain a part of that honorable culture.

It’s been refreshing to get to know Cheuh tonight. He represents the real spirit of Cambodia, far more than those in power.

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.

UNWANTED NIGHT VISITORS

Parts of Phnom Penh sorely need better garbage pick-up

It's evening in downtown Phnom Penh, and I'm walking home along the quiet river front. For some reason, some rube dumped a pile of garbage right on the roadside just ahead of me. 

But this doesn't get my attention. Further ahead, I see a group of tourists approaching. As I tread ahead, I squint, trying to see the group of foreigners clearer. That's when I reach the garbage pile, and I instantly realize that I’m looking in the wrong direction.

The pile of garbage, now right next to me, is MOVING! In the dim light large spots move about the refuse, and now that I've arrived, they quickly scatter.

RATS!!

There must have been 20 of them. Big ones too. In a flash they abandon their dinner on the trash heap, and scamper in all directions. For the most part the rats run away from me, all except for one. For some reason, one of the large rodents runs straight at me!

The kamikaze rat runs right towards my feet. Shocked and surprised, and not knowing what to do, I begin hopping from foot to foot, hoping the vermin won't run up my pants leg. My jumping around from one foot to the other, must have looked like the bizarre dancing of a madman.

The brave rat runs into the darkness, and I stop jumping around. The tourists, which I had been staring at before, are now staring right at me! From that distance in dim light, they weren't close enough to see the rats, but they easily saw this tall white man jumping around like a maniac on a downtown street. They must have assumed I was stoned on drugs.

Catching my breath from my close encounter of the rodent kind, I cross the street embarrassed, and continue my trek home.  

* * * * *

Window screens are not just foreign to Southeast Asia, they’re almost non-existent. Culturally they never caught on, and they’re too expensive for the average family here. Khmers like the fresh air, and their windows are usually left open.

However this lets in not only the fresh air, but also other unwanted guests, like mosquitoes. This is one reason why malaria and dengue fever are health problems in the region. But I would soon discover that insects aren’t the only unwanted visitors that enter these open windows.

Mice, the unwanted urban visitors (photo: Wikipedia)

One night returning to my hotel room, I walk into the bathroom. Flipping on the light, I'm startled to see rolls of toilet paper lying on the floor. Hmm… that’s strange, I think. Last I saw, those rolls of TP were up on the shelf, next to the open window.

That’s when I spot something in the toilet.

A mouse!

He’s still alive too. He’s hanging on at the front of the toilet bowl, with only his face and front feet above the toilet water. He’s also staring right at me.

Apparently the little rodent had came in through the window, and hopped up onto the toilet paper on the shelf. Somehow, they had all came tumbling down, leaving the TP on the floor, and the mouse in the toilet bowl.

I’m in no mood to deal with this, so I go wake up the hotel clerk, to have him take care of this problem. Soon the clerk comes up, and I show him the little intruder. The clerk ponders a few moments, closes the lid, and flushes the toilet! That wasn’t what I was expecting.

The clerk opens the lid, and surprisingly, the mouse is still there!

He flushes again, and still the mouse survives. That mouse is one strong swimmer.

Giving up, the clerk leaves to get the security guard. Thankfully, the guard has a better solution: he removes the mouse by picking it up with a plastic bag around his hand. He then disposes of the critter by taking it outside.

I’ve seen plenty of rodents before in Southeast Asia, but in a toilet??!!

RICH WEDDING IN A POOR NEIGHBORHOOD

Weddings are glorious occasions, even for the poor(photo:Wikipedia)

A wedding is always a great way to experience local culture, so when I was invited to a Cambodian wedding, I quickly accepted. Since the groom's family is of limited means, I’m not expecting a fancy wedding. But I will be surprised by what I experience.

I’m told that a 'taxi' is picking me up, but upon arrival, it turns out to be a small motorbike. I should have guessed that, since there are few automobile taxis in Phnom Penh. I climb onto the back seat, and we motor off to the northern suburbs.

The reception is located in a neighborhood where the groom has family, and on arriving, I’m rather surprised at the exact location of the festivities. I was expecting a poor neighborhood, but this is the first time I’ve been to a wedding reception located on a road. Right in the middle of a dirt road!

A wedding canopy with tables and chairs, is taking up most of the roadway. Walking closer, I spot a security guard sitting off to the side, cradling an AK-47 rifle. Hopefully, he won’t have to use it tonight.

The canopy is very colorful, made of bright red and blue fabrics, decorated with balloons. Beneath the canopy are wedding sights familiar to my western eyes. A lovely cake. Fancy tablecloths. An enormous sound system. Golden chair covers, which stretch all the way to the ground. 

Just a few steps from the canopy and tables, are railroad tracks! The train hasn’t run here in years, so curious neighbors not invited to the wedding are sitting on the tracks, in shorts and t-shirts, watching the festivities as spectators. A scratchy stray dog joins them. Beyond the railroad tracks are small neighborhood houses, crowded tightly together. Some of these homes are merely shacks. There is little open space here; that’s one reason why the wedding reception is on a dirt road.

To the other side of the wedding canopy, what’s left of the road is still open to traffic. It’s not busy, but as I watch a motorbike buzzes past, followed by a cart, squeezing through with a load of pigs. Beyond the road is a swampy pond, with old plastic bags and litter lying about.

A Khmer couple takes pre-wedding photos at Angor Wat (photo:Wikipedia)

Glancing around at the well dressed wedding guests is a total contrast to the humble surroundings. What a sight!

The ladies are all done up in marvelous formal dresses. Women’s formal wear in Cambodia is much more colorful, bright and festive looking than western fashions. Each dress is one solid, bright color, and many have elaborately decorated trim. Scanning the crowd, I see many colors of the rainbow. Most guests aren’t rich either, but even poor Khmers usually have one elegant dress for these occasions.

The male guests are dressy, but more conservatively casual. Most wear formal trousers, and a dress shirt. With the evening’s tropical heat and no air conditioning, a suit and tie would be very uncomfortable here.

Entering the canopy, I’m greeted by the wedding party, and the bride is absolutely stunning. She looks like a Khmer princess, or even a queen. Her wedding dress is absolutely fantastic, Tim Gunn would approve. It’s bright blue, with a silver sash, and gold trimming throughout. There is nothing gaudy about her ensemble, it gives an air of royal finery. The bride’s hairstyle is equally fancy. Her coiffure has a reddish tint, pulled up with loops and curls, with a matching hairpiece filling out the back. Her lavish hairstyle must have taken a couple of hours to complete. It’s topped with something that looks like a cross between a tiara and a crown. 

Her two bridesmaids stand next to her attentively, looking like ladies in waiting. Unlike in western weddings, here it’s the bridesmaids wearing white. To the other side of the greeting line, the groom’s outfit is also traditional and fancy. As is true with most cultures, the groom’s wedding garments are not as flashy as those of his beautiful bride. He has a red silk shirt of Asian style, with black trousers. He looks like a young, 19th century Khmer prince. The groomsmen at his side wear similar apparel. The whole wedding party gives me a traditional Khmer Buddhist greeting. (Both hands with palms together in front, with a slight bow.) I'm handed a key chain as a wedding souvenir.

Dinner is a delicious four course meal; Khmer rice, chicken, and beef, all with various Khmer sauces. Dessert is sticky rice, and of course the wedding cake. Following dinner, the happy couple exchange their rings. Then the groom kisses the bride on both cheeks, which results in great howling by the guests. Public displays of affection are rare in Cambodia. Then the two leave to change out of their royal outfits, returning in a white wedding dress, and a white suit and tie, just like in a western wedding.  

The dancing begins, with the sound system blaring Khmer love songs and local pop music. Everyone dances Khmer style, which is different from western dancing to say the least. Khmer dancing is not partner dancing at all, it looks similar to Tai Chi. Their traditional dancing involves slow, rythmic walking movements. Rather than an open dance floor, the group circles around a central table. There is lots of rolling of the wrists with outstretched fingers, and I recall that they look like traditional apsara dancers seen on old temple wall carvings. As the hours go by, the young wedding couple changes outfits again, this time into party dance clothes suitable for clubbing.

Beer and mixed drinks flow through the night. As the hours pass, shirtless children from the adjoining neighborhood dart around the edge of the wedding canopy, collecting the empty beer cans to recycle. I’m struck by the extremes of luxury and poverty I’m seeing, which are packed literally right next to each other. Nobody seems to mind, and neither do I. The wedding couple aren’t rich, but for tonight, they certainly are. For one night only, they have become royalty, and the guests and I have been honored to be their court. This wedding may have been in a very humble neighborhood, but they have truly given me a night to remember.

I’m more impressed tonight, than I was when I visited the royal palace.