“Hello Lay-Deeeee” is the constant, singsongy refrain shouted repeatedly at any foreign women by Cambodians who are offering or pretending to offer tourist services. Common variations include “hello lay-deeee, you wan coke? One dolla,” “hello laydeeee, you wan ride? Two dolla,” and “hello lay-deeee, you need massage? Three dolla.” Having ten people shout at me simultaneously did not discourage ten more from joining in. Showing a go-getter persistence not uncommon in South Asia, these solicitations only get louder after every polite, but firm “no, thank you!”
The most confusing part of this situation is that when one actually says yes, most of the solicitors are unable to deliver the service they’ve offered. For example, every Cambodian with a motorbike, bicycle, or car perceives him or herself as a provider of public transportation. Unfortunately, I failed to find even one single driver in Phnom Penh who knew any famous landmark, business, street, or intersection I needed to find. Forget pointing it out on a map. It took me awhile to understand that getting driven to weird places, having the driver shout the mystery destination to random and equally clueless pedestrians, and then getting dumped who-knows-where with a ‘sorry, I donknow’ or even more oblique ‘sorry, not here’ was a normative experience.
Mom, I think you should stop reading now. I’ll let you know where you can start again.
All of this dumping is unsettling given the many personal safety warnings about Phnom Penh. During my flight from Bangkok to Phnom Penh, I sat next to a man from Florida who was the evil doppelgänger to The Office’s Creed, unnerving one-brow-down stare included. Creed struck up a friendly conversation with me by saying, “watch your back in Cambodia.” Startled by his immeasurable creepiness, I said ‘oh, haha, yeah, I heard that sometimes tourists are targeted by purse snatchers…I’ll be careful.’ Creed: “Purse snatchers? Try murrr-derrrrr.” Alright. At this point, I couldn’t help but wonder why he was going to Cambodia for his 46th trip- he sure made it sound like Palm Springs. Was I sitting next to a hitman? A gun trafficker? A child sex tourist? A guy who really enjoys showing off his proficiency in creeping people out? I finally settled on “foil hat wearer” after the following exchange:
Creed: You know what’s wrong with America these days?
Me: [Oh boy…]
Creed: Look around. Look at the people on this plane. What do you see?
Me: Cambodian people?
Creed: No. Look again.
Me: Thai people?
Creed: No.
Me: Umm, tourists? Advertisements? Peanuts? I’m not sure …
Creed: No. YOUNG PEOPLE.
Me: [Looks around … spots mostly not young people…]
Creed: It’s because we’re destroying America. The young people are coming here instead. Asia.
Me: Oh.
Creed: And that’s the problem with America.
Good start, right? He warned me about 96 more times not to go anywhere alone after dark, which is perfect advice for touring a tropical country with a 6PM sunset. The next bizarre western man I meet is Franz, the gross German retiree who is staying at the same guesthouse. During our ride from the airport, throughout which his gross and unbridled toes were touching practically everything, he told me that he was moving from Malaysia to Phnom Penh because the beer is cheaper and there are fewer Muslims. Alright. Franz wanted me to join him at his favorite steakhouse for dinner. I declined, explaining that I’m a vegan (and leaving out the part about just not really wanting to have dinner with him- the tuktuk ride was long enough...) He says, “No steak? Why aren’t you dead? Well, don’t go out at night. The people are small, but determined.” Strike two for not being an extra weird weirdo magnet in a country that itself seems to be a weirdo magnet.
I don’t know how much my experience in Phnom Penh was influenced by these two oddballs, but I did find the city to be a little sketchy. I shifted my time there to the following goals: 1) do not get murdered, 2) do not eat steak, 3) do not choke to death on the chunky, particulate air while trying to breathe, and 4) go to the park to see aerobics.
Across Cambodia, people gather every morning and evening at local parks to do what I would describe as Cambodian Zumba. Or, white people’s favesies, instructional wedding dances. This is a really interesting sight, as the young men who own boom boxes compete with each other to get the most people dancing to their instructions. Even for people not involved in dancing, this activity serves as spectator sport complete with roasted corn, cotton candy, and popcorn.
Obviously, the beautiful sunset at the stadium made me remember that it was time to hustle back to my safehouse to achieve goal #1. To work on goal #2, I started to get driven around to lots of places I did not ask to go. After about 3 hours of driving and walking (yes, alone, at night) around desperately searching for not-steak, I found a vegetarian restaurant, moments short of hunger-induced delirium. Like many businesses in Cambodia, the restaurant was a non-profit training center for Cambodian youth trying to leave the sex trade. As it turns out, this is a great idea far beyond the obvious reasons: former sex workers really know how to whip up a real nice yellow curry.
Having achieved all of my goals so far, I planned to stay victorious by rethinking my planned three-day stay in Phnom Penh. I decided to just spend one night, sightsee the next day, and then scurry onward to wholesome Siem Reap on the night bus. For the first, and hopefully last, time in my life, I propped a chair underneath of the doorknob and went to sleep.
The next day, I buckled down for some disturbing, but unavoidable education about Cambodia’s recent past. My planned light-and-fluffy start to this day was at the Russian market, a huge open-air shopping center jammed full of, well, everything. When I say jammed, I mean jammed:
My next stop was Tuol Sleng, a school-turned-torture and execution center of the Khmer Rouge. This probably goes without saying, but the Khmer Rouge represents the most depraved and wicked capacities of human beings. In a period of four years, they managed to systematically murder two million people or one-quarter of the population. They kept meticulous records of victims and deployed children to commit heinous acts against the population. The educated and cultural classes were targeted; teachers, doctors, professors, the literate were killed, kicking Cambodia back to the dark ages. A massive famine followed the genocide, which explains the peculiarity of Cambodian cuisine. Phnom Penh was the epicenter of the destruction, profoundly tarnishing the once-glamorous “Pearl of Asia.”
Any Cambodian my age or older has lived through harrowing violence, famine, and unthinkable loss. Anyone younger inherited a broken society whose dysfunction created the kleptocratic government, widespread gun violence, child exploitation, lawlessness, poverty, and screwed up sense of justice that characterize the country. Order more closely resembling the twice-daily line dancing rather than the Russian market would really benefit the tourism sector, but it’s not hard to understand why the country struggles to regain its footing. The vast majority of Cambodian people I encountered were gritty, eager, and kindhearted, but they’re stuck in adverse circumstances that force difficult choices.
After a heavy day facing how on earth mass killings happen (and keep happening), I went to a tiny movie theatre to kill time with smoothies, Four Weddings and a Funeral (how unlikable is the allegedly captivating Andy McWhatshername’s character?!), and peeing a lot until my night bus arrived. I still consider this a foreign experience, as I understand about as much dialogue in that movie as I would have a Khmer film …
Okay, Mom, you’re back in. Phnom Penh was great!! Here are some pictures! Bye bye lay-deeee!
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