May 27, 2004

The bland monotony of a 26 hour flight was punctured as we left Hong Kong airport for Phnom Penh. I had truly forgotten how beautiful it was. As we traveled speedily down the runway and finally began ascending into the clouds, there was beautiful Hong Kong. Mountains seemed to be cut out of clay and painted the most reviving green, all contrasting against a baby blue sky. With clouds shifting effortlessly over and seemingly through the mountains, I had to admit to the poetic beauty and charm of it all. The clouds seemed to disappear once we began to cross Vietnam, what a magnificently beautiful place. As we made our way into Cambodia, the rolling greens of Vietnam were replaced by the solemn browns reserved by artists for landscapes of Southeast Asia. Highlighted by palm trees, a shallow river bed, and, as we got closer, thousands of motorbikes speeding down dusty dirt highways. Processed through immigration quickly, we retrieved our luggage despite my skepticism that it would arrive due to our various transfers. Finding our taxi driver ‘Soh’, we headed toward Sisowath Quay for accommodations. I was at first a skeptic of our driver’s honesty as he told us our choice hotel (California Hotel) was full and then tried to convince us to lodge in a more expensive one. I had been the victim of such a ploy in Thailand and refused to be so again. Turns out, the California Hotel really was full; I scolded myself for having so little faith in my fellow human beings. Our taxi driver turned out to have an interesting story of his own.

Once aware of my research intentions, he told us of his condensed experiences with the Khmer Rouge. He lived in Phnom Penh until 1975 and at 14 years old, his family was relocated. His parents were moved to the present Sihanoukville and escaped into Vietnam, his sister and her family weren’t as lucky and were murdered. He ended up in a slave labor unit along the Thai-Cambodia border. After the Khmer Rouge, Soh taught himself to drive a taxi, to speak English, and began a family of his own. If Soh is any indication, the Khmer are a vibrant people with a courage for living despite the past tragedy and the present struggle to move beyond. Once arriving at the Sunshine Hotel, we took a walk along Sisowath Quay and I found myself overwhelmed with everything. Motorbike boys abounded, trying to carry us anywhere, coaxing us with ‘Tomorrow, Killing Fields?’ It was so bizarre. A small child of no more than 8 maybe was trying to peddle her wares, books mostly. She probably couldn’t introduce herself in English, but she could say ‘Brother Number One.’ Chilling. This shock was soon replaced by the abject poverty that seems to be Phnom Penh. People with children were sleeping on the street. Our first introduction to this was a man carrying a very small (unhealthily small) child, begging with the baby in arms and cap in hand for money outside our taxi window. We’d been on the road in Phnom Penh for less than ten minutes.

Sisowath Quay was the same, over and over, different manifestations of that first scene only with new players in the familiar roles. A child of perhaps 12 carried a child of 2 with a gaping wound, begging us to help. All over, it was the same, and I didn’t know what to do. It was an automatic hierarchy. I was the wealthy elite and I didn’t like it at all. In spite of it all, we made our first street purchase of rambutan fruit which caused us to have an entourage for several blocks, children begging us for money. We stopped for a drink, but the pleas didn’t stop, probably won’t ever.