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

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.

BLOWN UP BRIDGE AND LAND GRABBING

#2459238 / Bridge was blown up by communists during the war - 1973 gettyimages.com

The 'Japanese Friendship Bridge' (aka Chruoy Changvar Bridge in Khmer language)  was a strange sight in Phnom Penh for years. Built in 1966 it towered over the Tonle Sap River, until it was blown up by the communists during the civil war in 1973. For years afterward, it was only a partial bridge. Like a long jump ramp for Evel Knievel, it stretched out over the river, and stopped, far short of the eastern riverbank. It was only a remnant of its former self, much like Phnom Penh.

After the Khmer Rouge fled, the bridge became a popular meeting place for courting couples. In dim evening light, young men would drive their motorbikes out onto the bridge, with their girlfriends on the back seat. They would park, and take in a rather romantic view of the river from atop the destroyed landmark. Eventually young lovers had to find another place to gather, as the bridge was rebuilt in 1995, again with Japanese aid.

Today is a good day for a stroll, so I decide to walk all the way across the bridge. Heading across, I note two inner lanes are for cars, with two outer lanes for motorbikes. A bored policeman sits in a guard shack part way across. His AK-47 rifle hangs by the railing. I remember another 'Friendship Bridge' that I had seen in Laos, but that one hadn't been destroyed. 

Crossing to the river's eastern side, I look under the bridge, and see an odd site. Directly underneath the bridge, huddled like trolls, a fence corrals a small herd of cattle. Beyond the bridges end, the level of poverty is noticeable, even for Cambodia. Homes are poor; some are no more than shacks. I don’t know it yet, but destruction will come to the people who live here very soon.

Rebuilt Japanese Friendship Bridge (photo: Phnom Penh Places)

Days later, I learn that 30 homes of this humble neighborhood were destroyed. Not by war, not by natural disaster, but by demolition crews. Guarded by a herd of civilian and military police, crews came in with heavy equipment, and leveled the homes.  30 families living here lost out. Their houses were bulldozed to make way for a traffic roundabout. Although the homeowners were given warnings about the demolition, some refused to move. All were offered a small plot of land in a distant district, but only 12 families had accepted. The rest turned them down.

I cross the bridge another day to find the neighborhood leveled, just as I'd heard. One of the better looking cement homes in the neighborhood was still standing though. Looking inside, I saw that on the wall was a photo of the homeowner, standing with Prime Minister Hun Sen. Some people have better connections than others.


Human rights groups have been pleading for improved land rights for Cambodia's poor for years. Some property rights laws are ignored, and evicted families are routinely denied due process. In this example at the Friendship Bridge, many families were considered squatters, even though they had lived on this land for more than two decades. During the Khmer Rouge years, most land titles and property documents were lost, so poor landowners and squatters end up being the the biggest losers in all this.

Downstream from the bridge, some Khmers still cross the river on small boats

Land grabbing is nothing new here, it's been going on for years. Take the case of a poor vendor I knew. After the fall of the Khmer Rouge, her family came to Phnom Penh and found a large house on one of the main roads. The rich, original owners were long gone. They were probably either dead, or fled the country. The young lady had survived the Khmer Rouge years with her widowed mother and younger brother, so they moved in as squatters. But that didn't last long.

“One day policeman come to our house. He say we have to go,” the vendor told me of that difficult time. “My mother cry so much.”

The family was soon evicted, without due process. After they were forced out, who moved in? The policeman and his family! Years later, he sold the house that he never really owned. “He sell the house for $500,000,” she told me.

Land grabbing continues to be a serious problem in Cambodia. In 2009 the government passed a controversial land law, which allowed the government to expropriate property for 'development', and to take away land to use 'in the public interest'. Rights groups rightly say that the law's vague wording leaves the law wide open for abuse, resulting in bribes for corrupt politicians, and the loss of land for thousands of poor farmers.

The Friendship Bridge squatters aren't just an isolated case. Other forced evictions have been well publicized, and rather than clearing land for government projects, they are often for commercial interests. Unscrupulous developers are reportedly paying unfair compensation to families for land, or even stealing it outright. Businesses owned by relatives of Prime Minister Hun Sen are sometimes involved.

There has occasionally been civil unrest due to this problem. I'm beginning to see for myself, that the present government of Cambodia has little credibility.

FLOODING AND BATHING IN PHNOM PENH

Driver pushes his tuk-tuk through flood waters in downtown Phnom Penh

It's night time downtown, and I'm getting an evening view of the riverfront. It's not late, so its safe enough to walk. There aren’t many people about, just an occasional passing tuk-tuk, a 3 wheeled taxi. While walking past a parked van, I see an unexpected sight. There in the shadows behind the van, a Khmer woman was bathing. Illuminated by a streetlight, she was squatting down, taking a bucket shower, wearing nothing more than a pair of shorts! 

Although momentarily stunned, I continue walking, hoping not to embarrass her. Seeing me, the lady bather turns away, pulling further back into the shadows to finish her ablutions. 

In the remote countryside some Khmer women bathe in this manner, since they lack plumbing. But I certainly did not expect to see a woman bathing nearly nude right in front of me in downtown Phnom Penh. 

Cambodia is just full of surprises. 

* * * * *

Flooding happens every year during the rainy season

It's another day in downtown Phnom Penh, and walking out my hotel's door I find it's raining. That’s not surprising, since it’s rainy season, but it’s been raining all day long. 

Water everywhere is rising. On both sides of this downtown street it's almost up to the curb, although a strip in the middle of the road hasn’t flooded yet. This isn’t clear rainwater, it’s brown as it flows by. That’s a bad sign; it means it’s flooding in from somewhere else, and I see where. On the street corner, water is flooding up and out of the city sewer!

An occasional motorbike rider drives by, braving the dirty deluge. Even wearing a raincoat, these are days you don’t want to be out riding a motorbike. These streets are already accident prone when dry, when wet, they're far more slippery on two wheels. 

Walking two blocks down, the water is rising even higher, peaking at a busy intersection. In the middle a car has stalled, after it tried to plow through the floodwater. A tuk-tuk driver is pushing his vehicle through the high water on foot. 

Surrounding businesses are faring worse. Floodwater has risen high enough to invade their front doors, flooding their shop floors. I watch as the shopkeepers scramble, putting all their merchandise on tables and shelves above the flood waters. 

Finally, the punishing rain stops. The backed up sewers reverse, and the water level on the street finally drops. This problem isn’t a rare occurrence either. I ask my hotel manager about the flooding, and she says to me, “This happens every year.”

With all the years of war and poverty in Cambodia, it's not surprising that there has been little work done to maintain or improve the city sewers. I learn a major drainage project funded by the Japanese government is underway to stop Phnom Penh's seasonal downtown flooding. This new drainage system may stop the floods, at least that’s what Khmers are hoping. 

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.