Pnom Penh is kinda small (or conversely, Mai Lynn is a big deal)

Special thanks to Mai Lynn Miller Nguyen (COL '07) for showing me around Phnom Penh.  As an editor/writer/apparently-all-things-to-all-people at AsiaLife magazine, she has her finger to the pulse of what's going on in Phnom Penh's current "cultural revolution" (no, not in the Chinese sense) - or I should say, westernization.  So once I'd finished my motorcycle derring-do during the days, I'd meet up with Mai Lynn (and her friends), who was happy to show me about as she checked out some new spots herself with an eye toward what to mention in her magazine (or so I gathered).  
My first night I received a text to meet at Metro on top of hotel Timbalaya, which happened to be 2 doors down from my hotel, on the riverfront boulevard Sisowath Quay.  I arrived late, though, and was only able to give the rooftop scene a glance before we headed to the Chinese House a little further uptown.  We bopped around at night to a pretty Western club scene - according to a couple conversations I had, foreign investment is pouring in, and those who are positioned to do so are making a penny for themselves.  One bar was a Miami-influenced "Copacabana," complete with outdoor beach and bottle service.  Another was a rock club, with '90's and '00's American music the featured tunes.  Each of my two nights out in Cambodia ended in a tuk-tuk ride where the rider was noticeably inebriated (or just flat-out crazy).  These nights out were fun, but also served to illustrate the beginnings of, and propensity toward, inequality in a developing economy being flooded with foreign money.  Is being Mumbai in 10 years a worthwhile goal or not?  To paraphrase myself paraphrasing Chubbs in my high school's senior yearbook quote:  Best of luck, Phnom Penh.  Best of luck.

The Killing Fields at Choeng Ek

I wish I had the skill or the historical knowledge to write an actual comment on what I saw at the Killing Fields tactfully or perceptively; since I don't, I'll stick to this link and captioning some pictures I took. Absolutely horrifying to see we humans are capable of this.  Thirty-five years ago.  Impossible for me not to shed a tear on behalf of us all.

Real, shattered, bleached pieces of human skulls/bones.  Some recently unearthed, as more are turned up frequently by storms.

Since-excavated mass graves, some of which were alloted for women or children only.  As metals (read: bullets) were "too precious to waste" in these camps, starvation/maiming with bamboo weapons/hangings were the means of choice for the Year Zero "societal cleansing" organized by Pol Pot.  Infants and young children were simply smashed over trees and rocks until they were left lifeless. 

Nine levels of skulls and other bones are found in the tower overlooking Choeung Ek, memorializing the victims with ineffable profundity 

Particularly sharp palm bark was used to slit the throats of detainees.  Heinously, this differs from the method of executing children via repeated smashing, in that case infamously using chankiri trees.

The intensity was overwhelming.  The demonstration of our capacity to repeat history (whether knowingly or unknowingly is to me irrelevant) was sickening.  There is only so much of this place I could stomach in one sitting, but bearing witness to this place is something I'll never forget, and feel I obligated in some way, as I'm sure most do who come here, to share.

Welp, I'm in rush-hour traffic in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Time to learn how to ride a motorocycle.

I put off writing anything about renting the motorcycle until I returned it safely this afternoon. Flashback to arrival in Pnom Penh:

First order of business was renting a bike. After ignorning the most persistent group of jostlers yet (tuk tuks, motos, cabs) outside the PP bus terminal, I walked down Monivong Blvd, the main North-South thoroughfare, to find "Lucky Lucky" bike rental, as per my guide book. In response to the question of whether I wanted a "big bike" or a little one, I had no choice but to say "big one." They ushered me over to a grown-up-sized Honda Degree, a real live motorcycle with a clutch, footbrake, and everything. Despite having never ridden a motorcycle, I was not one to back down. After a quick tutorial (and more than a couple embarassing stallouts), I was humming down Monivong in first gear, desperately looking for a side street to turn down so I didn't die. A few more stallouts in the alleys later, I was back in front of "Lucky Lucky," feeling the intensity of the irony dripping from its name.
"Ready?" was all the guy said to me when I got back - and I'm sure it was with a chuckle, cause I had to be visibly shaken. But I told myself, in the immortal words of Jim Morrison (by way of Lucas from Empire Records), "The time to hesitate is through."

After a quick run-in with the cops, I was on my way (see separate post).

The rest of the day was harrowing. I thought i was going to rent a moped and have a leisurely bike ride around town to find a place to stay. Not so. I was literally holding on for dear life; each intersection was an epic battle for survival. My first major issue was idling without stalling out (after short trial and error, I realized this was accomplished by holding the clutch down in first gear - but those first few "trials" were at busy intersections, so I was desperately trying to restart my stalled bike either at the start of, or smack in the middle of, violently restarting traffic). After this was mastered, the next important steps were being able to make left turns (flat-out terrifying), and down shifting quickly enough to slow down/idle, without stalling out. I'd been bouncing around in 1st or 2nd gear, making only right turns ~toward the river that marks the Eastern border of the city proper (where I'd read there were good hotel deals) long enough. Time to make some hay and find a hotel.

I was too frazzled to even learn what place I was photographing here - but it's in Phnom Penh!

Oddly enough, I did manage to see a bunch of the major monuments/points of interest. The national museum, the royal palace, the largest temple Wat Phnom, etc. are all on the east side of the city, along the river, so I came across them in my quest for accomodation. The traditional Cambodian architecture is possibly my favorite style, at least by way of religious buildings. I settled upon a cheap and dcent hotel, Corzyna, along the river for around US18/day. Tomorrow's agenda: riding the bike ~20km outside the city to the Killing Fields.

Happy Birthday Kassie

Today (Mar 9th) is my girlfriend Kassie's bday.  I hope any of you who know her wished her a happy birthday.  All I can say is happy birthday hunnie, and I'm sorry I wasn't there :(  You all better come to our joint "kassie's legal/mike mayyy have lost his legal status as a U.S. citizen so now HE needs the fake ID" party when i get back.

lymy behomesoon

[Editor: I know, sappy to publish this when posting way after the fact, but I have a forum with which to publicly apologize so i'm going to use it]

Border Security, Cambodian Style

Were I so inclined, I swear I could've brought a loaded AK-47, an Asian love slave, a barrel-o'-heroin, and a live hippopotamus (whose stomach was full of AK-47's and barrels-o'-heroin) across the Cambodian border. The customs process consisted of a) choosing which bags to have checked (leaving the rest on your bus, if you so wished) b) walking through one "scanning" checkpoint, with no one inspecting the contents of your bag or your person, and c) having your passport stamped by your bus driver and getting back on the bus.  Absurd.  Insane.  Pretty heffin' dangerous.  Oh also, this happened: 

This is taken from my bus.  Which is next to a car.  Both of which are on a boat. 

"Never thought I'd be on a boat..." at least not while I was still on a bus.  With Cambodia apparently lacking adequate bridges1, when we had to cross rivers on two occasions, we were whisked across by hardly imposing "barges" that would probably fit nicely on half of what would be considered a barge most places in the world.  As scary as crossing was, disembarking was when I was really losing it.  Safely, shockingly, we completed this process twice after entering Cambodia. 

1 - And also adequate barges, but who's counting?

A Moment of Reflection

Gellin' like Magellan, on the rocks at Stanley, Hong Kong

I left in a hurry.  I did, somewhat purposefully, close to zero research.  I didn't have a clue why I was going where I was going, or what I was looking for (nor do I still).  My knowledge of Asia had come from the 9th grade history, some business school case studies, word-of-mouth, and the discovery channel (seldom covered).  I guess I wanted to see first-hand.

The factor having the most profound impact on my experience thus far is the language barrier1.  It makes true immersion virtually impossible under these time constraints.  This was not like my week in Buenos Aires, where the porteños and I had two languages in common2 and therefore fitting right in (i.e. doing nothing and smoking cigarettes) was a breeze.  Instead, my most "immersive" experiences have come, naturally, when language is removed from the equation:  on the road, playing sports, eating.  These instances for me have been short but noteworthy - not for their shocking contrast to western norms, but rather for how much common ground there is: you're playing different sports, but you're playing for ultimately the same reasons - competition, excercise, fun; you're driving under wildly different laws, but you're still driving with the ultimate goal of getting where you're going without anyone getting hurt.  Within these arenas, you encounter every type of person - the asshole driver, the helpful pedestrian, the guy who doesn't want to let you play, the guy who encourages you and gives you advice - just as you would anywhere else.

The concept of "a people" gives way quickly to the concept of "people."  The North Vietnamese didn't treat me any different than the South Vietnamese.  The Chinese didn't treat me like much at all - but that's cause they didn't having a GD clue what I was talking about and I was on too short time to bother.  The con artists treated me like a bank - but not because they were Chinese, because they were con artists.  And the Hong Kong Koopa Troopas (bc Hong Kong still sounds like a Supermario level) fall under the same umbrella - from attempted pickpockets to helpful subway riders.  Does the fact that "People are People" is a mid-eighties new-wave hit by Depeche Mode cheapen the fact that it's more or less my creedo at this point?  Probably.  But I'm gonna post the link to the video anyway.  Enjoy.  Time for Cambodia.

1 - That, or Vietnamese food being so cheap and awesome.
2 - OK, 1.5 to be harsh but fair to my Spanish.

This is not the War Remnants Museum

On my way back from the Cambodian embassy, I wanted to see the war remnants museum. Several people had said it's pretty compelling, so I figured I'd check it out. Since my hotel doesn't have a printer (duh), I drew on paper a simple copy of the relevant map I'd looked up on googlemaps: my hotel, streets to the embassy, streets to the museum, landmarks. Basic. Since my embassy visit took longer than expected (shocker), I had to hustle to catch the museum before close. Struggling to find it based on my simple map, I decided to ask around. Not a lick of English spoken in this part of town. Eventually, I encounterd a white dude.
"You speak English?" I asked.
"Well of course," he said in a calm British accent, carrying himself like a true local.
"War remnants museum, can you tell me where it is?"
"Gosh, it's all the way on the other side of town. You've got to go through the park. It's all the way on Pasteur and Li Ti Truk, although that means nothing to you. You should take a taxi," he condescended.

Angry with myself for having copied the map wrong, I took off in this direction. I got to the museum as it's closing. I pleaded (pled? plade? already I've lost my marbles) with the security guard to let me in. "Last day in Vietnam!" I cried, lying and out of breath. He relented and mercifully let me in. I jogged around, trying to take it in quickly. "This is lame," I thought. "These relics are boring, nothing really compelling here. Oh well, at least I saw it." I left, confused and disappointed. Oh well. Some things don't live up to the hype.

Tonight, my actual last night in Vietnam, I saw this:

The actual war remnants museum. Teeming with war remnants; in fact, there are so many, they have to keep some on the outside!  And it's one block from where I'd encountered the absolutely certain British man. And it's closed for the night. Cam on, guy.