Phnom Penh is quite something

Such a weird and wonderful, sad and harsh, wounded, struggling and hopeful city. It's hard to grasp, due to its shere size as well as to staggering extremes when it comes to income, living standards and education. 

A few days ago, I was talking to a  young Cambodian woman (24), who helps Dariush and Rita with household chores. She asks me about my travels and I tell her about Thailand, about my recent trip to Siem Reap, and about my plan to go to Kampot. The latter are both Cambodian cities, only a few hours by bus from Phnom Penh. She smiles sadly and tells me that she’s never been to Siem Reap, the city of the temples that Cambodians are so proud of (and understandably so). In fact, she saves money all year long in order to go away just once, on a weekend trip to the coast south of Phnom Penh, during the period of the most excruciating heat, just to cool off in the ocean. Not for a swim though, because she never learned how to do that. She would go with her two sisters, but this year, the family’s computer died, which she and her sisters need to study English, which in turn is crucial to work for expats, who can afford to pay higher wages. So there’s no holiday for her, this year, the computer needs to be fixed. When I ask her where in Cambodia she has been she points out the rural area where her grandparents live, north of Phnom Penh.  I, naively, ask her if life might be better up there, what with less pollution and less of the stress that being poor in a city of 1.5 million brings about – she lives with her family in a tiny place, only meters from train tracks. Everybody is scared, she says, because the freight train has already derailed once and destroyed people’s houses and lives. But, anyway, her grandparents’ place would not be such a good idea, because there’s neither electricity nor running water.

Just a week earlier, Rita’s very friendly Khmer teacher had agreed to show us what defines the city; landmarks of religion, history, war and the modern Phnom Penh. At some point he takes us to a gloomy ghost city, across the river. Rows after rows of sparkling new appartement blocks, inspired by European cities. A massive arch framing the entrance bears an inscription: ELITE TOWN. Shiny, reflecting windows, ridiculously massive cars in a few driveways, an empty shopping mall, and a huge musical hall, with only one performance advertized - for end of February. Another arch opens up to the grey, polluted river; the inscription: LA SEINE. Who’s gonna live here, Rita and I can’t help wondering, who’s that elite? Who would invest so much money here, in a place where people are dreaming of once being able to afford a bus ticket to Siem Reap (about 10 USD), so that they, too, get to see the country’s great monument, Angkor Wat? Even the hairdresser (yep, got my hair cut in Phnom Penh!) tells me that he wouldn't want to invest too much money - the situation is too unclear, he observed that lots of large, new buildings remain empty, and the future of this city would be to difficult to foresee.

Anyway, I am far from understanding how this city works, but nevertheless, I had a fascinating and inspiring time here. The picture on top shows one of the countless spirit houses, designed to please all spirits important to house, space and family, so that they don't cause problems to the inhabitants. It is definitely the smallest one I’ve seen. I detected it in 'our' neighbourhood, a former redlight district, but now a wealthy area popular with foreigners. Every window frame in Rita’s and Dariush’ rather huge house is blocked with iron bars, and even the doors inside are often fitted with multiple locks and bolts. 'Someone must have been quite scared in here', Rita says thoughtfully. 

The house around the corner also seems to need two little guardians, peacefully sharing the responsibility.

Cambodia is famous for its beautiful, traditional shadow puppet performances, so Rita and I decide to go see one. There happens to be a play staged by artists from both Berlin and Cambodia, an artistic attempt for cultural exchange; we go and are stunned to find the accompanying American singer greeting the audience with a Nazi salute. An uncomfortable murmur arises – did he really just do that? Is he drunk? Is it part of the show? (It’s not, as Rita will learn a few days later, apparently he had told the institution that he got carried away. By what, I wonder.)  

In any case, the shadow puppet story unfolds, with occasional subtitles for those who don’t speak Khmer; there’s a girl who loves a boy, and the boys loves her, but another, very strong boy loves the girl, too! Besides, there’s a fight for customers between the girl’s family who owns a restaurant, and another family who runs a beergarden, or maybe it’s the other way round. The very strong boy defends the girl, but she falls in love with the other boy because he sings nicely (in fact it’s the Nazi-salute-guy who sings behind the curtain) and turns out to be a French prince, with castle and all. They move to the Côte d’Azur, signified through camel (!) puppets, and things are grand until the girl finds out that the prince is in fact a dragon in disguise! There’s a huge commotion, and finally girl-plus-family pile onto the dragon which flies away with them, and everyone is happy ever after.

There's very loud, dramatic music and drumming, and I see Khmer kids laughing and pointing at the shadow figures, while other kids snuggle up to their expat-looking mums, looking rather frightend. Rita and I leave somewhat bedazzled, pondering over Nazi salutes and camels in France. We meander through Phnom Penh's busy evening streets, trying no to get run over, until we finally find a bar. Of course, it belongs to Australians, and we have Aussie beer and watch the geckos roam the walls and ceiling.

It's a strange place, Phnom Penh - one day I get to experience beauty and hope, the other day so much sadness it's hard to bear. 

I finally muster up the courage to visit Tuol Sleng, the infamous school-turned-into-prison under Pol Pot. It's a building in the middle of a busy, lively area of Phnom Penh, and only the tourist buses indicate that the walls do not belong to an ordinary schoolyard. Inside, the horror of countless people who were imprisoned, tortured and killed wraps me up in a blanket of terror and sadness. Many, many pictures of the victims, including children, the gruesome, tiny cells where people were chained, and more things that I don't even want to recall and much less write down in an inappropriate place like a travel blog. I spend hours in here, feeling that, at the very least, the victims and their stories deserve everyone's full attention, time and respect. When I finally leave I take a deep breath and think that I might understand Phnom Penh and Cambodia just a little better. In the next couple of weeks I spend here, Rita, Dariush and I will repeatedly meet people who were forced to leave Phnom Penh under the Khmer Rouge, only to face starvation in the countryside, or who lost family members to the violence. There are still lots of mines in Cambodia, and especially Dariush, on his NGO trips to remote villages, often is reminded not to accidentially leave demined areas. It's not so long ago, this country's violent past, and, coming from Germany, I realize how 'lucky' I am that at least there were already several generations between me and World War II. And between me and ignorant people showing the Nazi salute, one should hope. If only. 

But. As mentioned above, there's so much beauty and hope here, as well. Rita tells me about a dancing school where kids are taught traditional Cambodian dance. The organisation also aims to provide shelter, food and education for the children (http://www.apsara-art.org/). 

I'm allowed to attend their afternoon training session, and it's absolutely amazing. The children seem to have fun - there's a lot of happy giggling and making grimaces. When they sing and dance in 

their bright, colorful outfits, I'm reminded of a bunch of happy little flowers - turns out that's exactly what they were performing: a story about flowers in the garden! I'm amazed. There are about 140 different movements just for the hands, and this little boy seemed to be a little lost at times. But certainly very determined.

I leave the school with a happy heart - if there are gleeful children and kind people who make this happen, there's definitely a bright future.

Another group that was suffering greatly under the Khmer rouge are the monks. But these days, there are lots of temples, and monks can be seen everywhere in the city. I visited a few temples and was enchanted by very clear instructions - no 'chaos from the boys, girl...etc.'! 

I also found a beautiful, lifesize portrait of - I think - an elightenment scene, and fell in love with the happy elephant. He's decorated with fresh flowers!

 
Time is running, sadly, and I enjoy spending a lot of it with Nouchine and Jonathan. We pick up overripe mangos (how nice, to have a mango tree!), search for frogs, play tuk-tuk driver, take swimming lessons and practise badminton. We fight, too, but hey, there's an age difference of 30 years between us, that's not trivial! And besides, it's not even fun to be the one who thinks that licking off chocolate spread from the blade of a knife is not such a good idea. 

But mostly we get along very well, and one day all five of us go to explore the 'silk island', Koh Dach. It's an island near Phnom Penh, up the Mekong river, where many silk weavers live and work. It's very quiet compared to Phnom Penh, and I'm so happy to see green meadows, the occasional cow and some chickens. 

We admire silkworm cocoons, colorful silk threads and intricate patterns. Everyone falls in love with Nouchine and Jonathan, and I'm in awe of Rita's language skills - she has only taken a few lessons, but she can already have entire conversations. I'm very impressed. 

  

 

Good to have a binoculars if you really want to get close to things!

It turns out to be a public holiday, so the beach is packed. Huge speakers provide everyone with very loud music, while people take claim of little bathing huts and then enjoy a dip in the Mekong.

We decide to stay away from beach, music and sun, find a quiet place on a hill and hold siesta. Except Jonathan, who keeps watch! You never know where those pirates might come from!

 

On the way back we find a temple which, as a very old man who appears out of nowhere explains to us, was largely destroyed under the regime of the Khmer Rouge. It's eerie and beautiful, but when I try to take more pictures the old man frantically waves at me - too dangerous, the floor might give way. Reluctantly, we leave.  

Outside, a young, quite effeminate man walks up to me and tells me to come along, he wants to show me a man. Erm. Don't know exactly what that might mean, but I politely decline the offer and hobble after my 'host family'.

And then we go home. And that was Phnom Penh to me. Tomorrow I'm off to the next permaculture project, near Kampot. And then there's the story about learning Khmer massage in Siem Reap... More to come, miss you all! Your lucky louse.