So it feels surreal now to be dining at a fancy restaurant in Phnom Penh, serenaded by a musician playing a traditional Cambodian stringed instrument, overlooked by a huge photo of Gordon Ramsay hugging the restaurant's chef.
On the surface, Phnom Penh does not appear that different than Chiang Mai or Laos. There is a similar buzzing of motorbikes carrying every configuration of people and goods. The streets are lined with small, ramshackle family stores, their wares spilling out onto the sidewalk. Similar stores congregate together, so after a stretch of stores selling mainly tires comes a batch of stores selling ceramic tiles, followed by furniture stores, succeeded by blocks of garages with engine blocks and car chassis lining the streets.
But there are still reminders of a past that was less welcoming of Westerners. The road from the Airport to the center of town is Russian Federation Boulevard. The way from our hotel to the main market, still known as the Russian Market, passes along Mao Tse Toung Street.
We also know that there must be countless other reminders of the past, invisible to us, carried as painful memories within all the Cambodians we see busily engaged in their daily routines. Knowing the history we can't but wonder what tragedy befell the family of each person we meet.
We arrived at a moment of national reflection on Cambodia's turbulent and tragic past due to the death a few days earlier of the "King Father", 89-year-old King Sihanouk. Reading news articles about his death I learned that Sihanouk became king at age 18 in 1941 when Cambodia was still under French rule. He was a key player in Cambodia's destiny for nearly all of the succeeding 70 years. He led Cambodia to independence, helped it survive the Vietnam War, was ousted by a rival prince, supported the rise of the Khmer Rouge in an attempt to regain his throne, became deeply depressed at their atrocities, and many years later helped broker the truce that allowed Cambodia to return to relative calm.
Large portraits of the king wreathed in flowers are prominently displayed throughout Phnom Penh. Many of the people we see on the streets are wearing white shirts with a black ribbon affixed to the front as a sign of mourning. We learned that hundreds of thousands lined the streets to watch the procession bearing his body to the royal palace. The Phnom Penh Post, the local English language paper, reported that many Cambodians were convinced that they could see the image of the "King Father" in the moon. As Americans we probably don't have a figure that would be equivalent to King Sihanouk. To someone from England the passing of Queen Elizabeth II might evoke similar feelings, though likely not as intense nor as conflicted.
 |
| Memorial to King Sihanouk at the National Museum |
We flew out of Bali on Friday afternoon, after attending parent teacher conferences at Green School in the morning before the school went on a weeklong break. Due to flight schedules we had to spend an overnight in Kuala Lumpur (KL), as our flight from Bali arrived too late to connect with the flights to Phnom Penh that only leave earlier in the day.
This allowed us to hop a bus and then a fast-train from the airport to the center of KL where we stayed overnight in the Hilton. It also allowed us to reconnect at brunch the next morning with friends from D.C. whom we had not seen for several years and who are now living in KL. They have three daughters, one of whom was in Alexa's class for the three years at Aidan Montessori and another of whom is a little younger than Charlotte. The girls immediately picked up where they left off which was a great treat for them.
Then it was a taxi back to the airport, through the security lines again, and two more hours of the girls on the iPad before we landed in Phnom Penh.
Entry to Cambodia required visas on demand, processed by a counter full of uniformed men and women awaiting us as we entered the terminal. $20 US per visa plus $2 if you don't have a passport sized photo. I had some US dollars on me but not quite the $88 required. I head to the one ATM in the room to pick up some of the local currency, Cambodian Riels, only to have the ATM spit out fresh Ben Franklins. It's the first time since we left the U.S. that an ATM delivered US Currency. It was disorienting to be freshly landed in Phnom Penh facing a room full of uniformed Cambodian officers, feeling further away from the US than ever, and to be staring down at familiar US currency in the ATM tray.
Freshly replenished we head to the visa counter where we are told by an officer that visas for the girls are only $5 each to be paid directly to the officer, while Lynn's and my visa are $20 each to be paid to the cashier. Suspicious but not arguing we pay the man, pay the cashier, collect all four passports that now include visas and head to immigration control. There, for the first time in our travels in SE Asia, Lynn and I have our fingerprints scanned - four fingers on the right hand, thumb of right hand, four fingers of left hand, thumb of left hand - entry to Cambodia granted.
A quick stop at one of the mobile network booths lining the pathway and I walk away with a new SIM card for my cell phone. For $8 US I now have Cambodian cell phone number and a high speed unlimited data plan. I'm checking my work email as I head to the exit.
It took me a long time to get used to how cell phones work in South East Asia. It's all a la carte. You can buy a phone from one store, a SIM card that provides you a phone number from another store, and add minutes at a countless number of small stores and kiosks. Internet access is offered a month at a time. It's completely different from the US model with its all-in-one package of phone, mobile number, calling plan and data plan locking you in for two years with one company. Here is South East Asia, you go to a new country, swap out your SIM card, and you are up and running with your existing phone on the mobile network of the new country in less than five minutes.
The drive from the airport into the center of Phnom Penh gave us our first glimpse of Cambodia. It was of dusty streets filled with motorbikes and small trucks.
We were glad when our taxi finally pulled up at a gleaming white building that contrasted with the rest of the gritty, somewhat run-down block. The interior of the boutique hotel was just as charming as the exterior. Our wood trimmed, tiled, mini-suite was large enough for two small beds for the girls.
We were glad when our taxi finally pulled up at a gleaming white building that contrasted with the rest of the gritty, somewhat run-down block. The interior of the boutique hotel was just as charming as the exterior. Our wood trimmed, tiled, mini-suite was large enough for two small beds for the girls.
We took a tuk-tuk to a touristy restaurant overlooking the central river for dinner. Charlotte spent much of the evening drawing a picture of the dancers and musician that were performing for the diners. Then to their amusement she gave them a gift of her drawing.
We arranged with our tuk-tuk driver to pick us up after dinner for the ride back to our hotel.
Driving around Phnom Penh in a tuk-tuk puts you in the midst of a swirling chaos. Driving is a more communal activity than it is in D.C. People aren't isolated inside the pod of their enclosed car. We are in an open air tuk-tuk swarmed on all sides by motorbikes passing inches away. The entire population rides on motorbikes so multi-generational families would pull up right next to us and we'd exchange nods and smiles before pulling apart. There's an absence of traffic lights so when busy main streets cross everyone dives into the intersection, horns blaring, and by slithering into the tiniest of gaps somehow makes it across to the other side without producing total gridlock. In spite of all the noise and commotion, Charlotte was fast asleep before the tuk-tuk returned to our hotel.
Driving around Phnom Penh in a tuk-tuk puts you in the midst of a swirling chaos. Driving is a more communal activity than it is in D.C. People aren't isolated inside the pod of their enclosed car. We are in an open air tuk-tuk swarmed on all sides by motorbikes passing inches away. The entire population rides on motorbikes so multi-generational families would pull up right next to us and we'd exchange nods and smiles before pulling apart. There's an absence of traffic lights so when busy main streets cross everyone dives into the intersection, horns blaring, and by slithering into the tiniest of gaps somehow makes it across to the other side without producing total gridlock. In spite of all the noise and commotion, Charlotte was fast asleep before the tuk-tuk returned to our hotel.
 |
| one of the quieter streets in Phnom Penh |
The next morning we headed to the largest market in Phnom Penh, the Russian market. It was similar to other markets we'd seen in SE Asia, but these markets are never boring. The food section is intense.
An elderly couple did a steady business selling small live crabs that they kept in a large bowl. The crabs kept climbing out of the bowl. It required the couple's constant attention to keep catching the crabs and plopping them back into the bowl. I imagine they spent years engaged in this Sisyphean task.
 |
| the crab minders |
Live fish wriggle on trays next to their cousins who have already been cut in half. Dead chickens are stacked in rows to be severed by a cleaver at the request of a customer. Butcher stalls display their wares hanging from meat hooks while a man minces a slab of meat with a cleaver. One room is filled with food stalls, the stall owners bathed in perpetual heat and steam as they boil up large pots of soup for their customers.
 |
| mincing meat |
 |
| fish seller |
 |
| arrangement in dried fish |
 |
| egg varieties |
 |
| butcher stand |
 |
| hair salon next to food stalls |
Further on are the stalls filled with clothes and shoes, handicrafts and jewelry. While Lynn goes shopping with the girls, my attention is captured by a stack of old, oversized bank notes from an earlier stage in Cambodia's history. The shop owner pulls out an envelope with her more precious holdings - currency issued by the Banque d'Indochine when Cambodia was under French rule and a few notes of 'Pol Pot' money, printed by the Khmer Rouge but never distributed since they soon after abolished currency. She claims they are quite valuable. I try to confirm by taking advantage of the Internet connection on my phone to do some quick Google searches, but draw a blank. I pay her half what she asks, and wonder if I have secured some rare items at a bargain price. When we return to our hotel room I finally locate examples of the currency I bought on eBay, listed for a fifth of the seller's asking price. I have to be content with having overpaid for some historical curiosities. You can't out-bargain a shop owner in the Russian Market!
 |
| good shopping in the market |
 |
| Indochinese and Khmer Rouge bank notes |
We spend the afternoon at the National Museum wandering among thousand year old sculptures and carvings from Angkor and other archeological sites. It whetted our appetite for our time in Angkor Wat.
 |
| sculpture at the National Museum |
 |
| Charlotte feeding the fish at the National Museum; in the background are people wearing white shirts and black ribbons as a sign of mourning |
 |
| Charlotte encounters a child monk |
 |
| Cambodian group visiting the museum |
Then to dinner under the benevolent gaze of Mr. Ramsay and Charlotte falling asleep again on the tuk-tuk ride back to the hotel.
Photos by Nat, Lynn and Alexa
