This article is a subdivision of my return to Vietnam, click HERE for more insight!
She plopped herself down unexpectedly beside me as I ate my crepe with papaya, breaking into an unsolicited loquacious ramble with her heavy French accent, a long winded monologue critiquing the current state of affairs in the kingdom. Meet Katy, a Khmer woman with a history as complex and enigmatic as the Angkorian Empire from which she hailed, who currently runs her own bed and breakfast in the heart of Phnom Penh that's popular with the backpacking crowd - La Villa Papillon on Rue 252. Born in Cambodia, educated in Europe, fled the murderous rampages of the Khmer Rouge, and then elevated into a self-made entrepreneurial woman with very strong opinions, Katy imparted an almost motherly vibe to all her guests, a welcoming yet stern one no doubt. She'd often join them during breakfasts or afternoon breaks to share her cynical thoughts on her country, her people, and depending on the day, even her in-laws. Whether or not you agreed with her, Katy's outspoken, candid, and somewhat comical demeanor served more than simply making you feel like part of her villa's eclectic international "family". Rather, it gave some truly important insights into the nation itself that so often pass unnoticed by transient vacationing tourists. They were even more enlightening for me as I was finally returning to Cambodia after nearly two decades.
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| Steps to Wat Phnom, the sacred namesake of Phnom Penh |
Upon arriving at her villa to a boisterous welcome, she had already begun to express her views on China and the influential sphere its government has been imposing on the region over the past decade. "The Chinese they no good, they play géopolitique, very bad for Cambodian!", she exclaimed with a grimace of whimsical disapproval. Indeed, having just left Vietnam on the second day of the Lunar New Year in an attempt to escape massive holiday closures, we were baffled to enter a suspiciously quiet Phnom Penh, where more than half of its businesses were also closed and the streets unusually calm. Almost every other shop had Chinese signage in addition to Khmer, along with festive red lanterns suspended from their doorways, a visual testament to the extent in which ethnic Chinese had immigrated and taken over Cambodian commerce. Katy explained with rolling eyes how the infamously corrupt government had been bought out by Beijing yet again, continuing to line its pockets at the expense of its people by allowing the Chinese to purchase businesses, airports, sea ports, and other strategic facilities. Even Khmer women were on the market, with Chinese bachelors arriving in droves to find matrimonial solutions to the severe gender imbalance back home. The Han presence was far more obvious this time compared to 17 years ago, despite the fact that they have historically been living in Cambodia for centuries. Katy reluctantly admitted that she did admire the Chinese rush towards progress, even though their local construction and infrastructure projects only seemed to benefit themselves. While the sporadic modern skyscrapers dotting the capital's skyline were plastered with the names of Chinese business groups, downtown Phnom Penh still appeared much like it had over a century before - a hodgepodge of vintage French colonial buildings, ostentatiously colorful temples, and ramshackle provincial structures all linked together by an entanglement of tropical overgrowth and black electrical wiring. Only large boulevards had traffic signals, and nearly all of the smaller intersections criss-crossing the city were points of convergence where "anything goes''. Overloaded cars, honking tuk tuks, and motorbikes casually wiggled their ways across while simultaneously dogdging pedestrians, food vendors, and cycle rickshaws. In many regards, Phnom Penh felt like a glimpse into how Vietnam's Saigon used to look and feel back in the 1960s before its more recent cosmopolitan transformation. Unlike the Chinese, Khmer new year celebrations would not commence until April, and the locals were still open for business in their characteristically colorful and chaotic fashion. We took a tuk tuk to both Phnom Penh's domed Central Market as well as its oddly named "Russian Market", the beating hearts of the local shopping scene where vendors piled up a variety of household and clothing wares in bustling bazaar-like fashion, a shadowy labyrinth of passageways and products shielded under tarps from the blinding sun. Alongside the vivid hues of tropical fruits and vegetables were the dark murky colors of wok-fried insects, the most unsettling being giant water bugs, finger-long locusts, and monstrous arachnids. Like most of Southeast Asia, arthropods are a common feature in the snack aisle, praised for their sheer abundance and high protein content in a nation still battling malnutrition. Even more diverse were the wet market sections devoted to live seafood, where cockles and clams spilled over buckets beside flailing lobsters and turtles, with escaped fish flopping about on the ground. Grilled meats of mystery sizzled over coal braziers, their aromas and smoke beckoning customers over to countertops piled high with fresh spring rolls, noodle bowls, stir-fries, and coconut milk desserts. A woman quoted me ten dollars for a grilled cuttlefish, a practically insulting price for being in a region where an entire meal for one shouldn't cost more than five. In addition to general "tourist" pricing, I remembered what Katy had said about the Chinese presence driving up prices across all sectors of the Cambodian economy. The souvenirs at the Russian Market also experienced the same effect, with carved Buddhas and Angkorian art reproductions rising to double and even triple digit dollars. Even more alarming, many of the cheaper faux wood or resin souvenirs concealed that disconcerting disclaimer Made In China. Yet despite all these changes, it was still possible to find authentic sculptures and quality crafts on the side streets around the Royal University of Fine Arts, one of the few places still devoted to preserving the purity of Khmer culture. Next door stood the National Museum, a beautiful vintage venue of traditional architecture surrounded by tropical gardens that contained the finest arts of all in the form of monumental stone sculptures, stunning bronzeworks, and priceless treasures - testimony to the era when civilization in Cambodia was in fact superior to the West.
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| Average downtown street scene |
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| Having disappeared in Vietnam, Cambodia still has old style cycle rickshaws |
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| The French era dome of the Central Market |
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| Motorbike butchery |
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| Artisan shops specializing in carved stone religious sculptures |
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| Courtyard of the National Museum |
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| Ancient colossal statue of the revered Khmer ruler, Jayavarman VII |
While Katy did not hold back on her views of Chinese neocolonialism, she certainly did not let her own people escape harsh judgement. "Les Cambodgiens, aïe, so many stupid lazy people, they no think of future!", she continued, explaining how Khmer society never fully recovered from the effects of Pol Pot's dystopian social experiment that resulted in the death of over two million people - a quarter of the population at that time - as well as the ensuing intellectual and technological deficit that practically set the country back a hundred years. The aftermath of the Cambodian Genocide, committed against their own people by the ultra paranoid pseudo-communist Khmer Rouge regime from 1975 to 1979, was readily evident in two of the capital's most visited attractions - Tuol Sleng Prison and the Choeung Ek mass graves. Formerly a high school that had been converted into a torture and prison camp, Tuol Sleng was a veritable house of horrors, with each of its multistorey concrete and barbed wire wings containing makeshift cells into which barely a single individual could fit, alongside other rooms containing beds fashioned with rebar shackles for keeping prisoners secure during their merciless mutilation. The most harrowing exhibits were the galleries of seemingly endless mugshots depicting the 20 thousand men, women, and even children that entered the prison to never come out alive, haunting gazes of fear mixed with exhaustion immortalized in rows of black and white film. Only 12 adults and a handful of children were reported to have survived, two of whom I had an opportunity to meet on site while promoting a publication recounting their nightmarish experiences as child prisoners. The bodies of the executed were then relocated about 15km south of the city, to an orchard that became notoriously renamed "The Killing Fields" on account of the innumerous mass graves that pockmarked the once idyllic plots of farmland. Despite the number of people present on that sunny day, the air was somber and heavy as visitors made their rounds in silence from pit to pit, many of which still had fragments of femurs and teeth that had resurfaced from the soil with the last monsoon rains. Some visitors were in quiet tears standing before an ancient tree covered in hanging offerings, whose trunk was used by Khmer Rouge soldiers to bash babies to pieces in an effort to eliminate entire family lines and prevent any possibility for vendetta. The entire site was dominated by a large pagoda-like shrine housing towering layers of skulls as a gruesome testament to the devastation that occurred as Pol Pot's deranged power trip led his party to suspect and murder anyone accused of conspiring against his revolution, later purging even people from within the party's own ranks. After subjecting ourselves to such a horrific place, it was difficult to understand how Katy could still be so deprecatory of her Khmer brethren. Her blunt personality and harsh remarks made it clear that as misfortunate as Cambodia's recent history had been, the genocide still ended more than 40 years ago, an adequate amount of time in her eyes for the nation to finally recover and move forward. She blamed an apathetic government, failing education system and, of course, the Chinese influx for the current cycle of poverty to hit a struggling nation locked into exploitative loans. Due to increased numbers of immigrants and ensuing inflation, impoverished Cambodians couldn't pay the price of school fees, with many students discontinuing their education out of the need to assist in their family's survival. As Chinese began to assert more societal dominance, uneducated Khmers were left with primarily low-wage and often outdoor jobs in unskilled professions that were further exacerbated by existing "tropical" work hours with plenty of downtime. Katy rolled her eyes again, having lived in Europe long enough to recognize and grow discontent with her people's comparative lack of an industrious work ethic, despite descending from the builders of mighty Angkor. Indeed, everyone did seem exceptionally lethargic no matter where we visited, frequently seen napping on roadsides in various contorted positions atop their motorbikes, in truck beds, or upon traditional shaded platforms. Off the highway towards Oudong Mountain, little rest areas with snack stalls also provided rows of covered hammocks that could be rented out for a brief afternoon snooze sheltered from the sweltering sun. But even if Khmer culture did take a more slow-motion approach to Life, I couldn't help but feel as if it also made its people considerably more pleasant, overly hospitable, and wonderfully graceful in their words and gestures. Cambodia was a simple, sleepy, and soft-spoken land. Time seemed to stand still here, which was probably what Cambodians truly needed given how it had been practically passing in reverse for a greater part of the 20th century.
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| Lotuses growing in one of the grave pits |
Katy's views on religion were also at odds with her culture, in a country where there are likely as many temples as tuk tuks. "You no need religion to be good people, many fake monk in pagoda, no honesty!", she emphasized, recounting an anecdote about a notorious head monk from one temple who had a mistress and suspiciously opulent lifestyle. Some of our own observations seemed to confirm the questionable levels of comfort enjoyed by monks privileged enough to seek enlightenment in the faster-paced capital, often over free Frapuccinos elicited from a Starbucks conveniently located around the corner from Wat Ounalom monastery. Like in most of Southeast Asia, temples traditionally played a significant role in society as institutions for spiritual education and as repositories of cultural identity. And like any other religion that has historically held state sponsorship, temples were also physical depositories for much of the kingdom's wealth, inevitably coming with its own forms of mishandling and misconduct. Entering the lavish Silver Pagoda on the grounds of the royal palace, our eyes were met with the radiant sparkle of inlaid gems and warm glow of solid gold. Cambodia's national palladium, the Emerald Buddha, sat high upon its towering embellished throne, emblazoned with rubies, sapphires, and diamonds while being surrounded by literal piles of national treasures fabricated from equally priceless materials. Giving the temple its name, a portion of the protective carpet was rolled up to give visitors a little glimpse at the solid silver tiles laid down as metallic flooring across the immense space. Next to the refinery of the palace complex temples stood even more refinery from gilded spires and stupas of the equally lavish Wat Ounalom, the seat of Cambodian Buddhism, where monks on mobile phones flagged down free rides granted by reverent tuk tuk drivers. As we sipped our iced lattes from a nearby family-owned cafe, one such monk ordered his driver to pull over and pick up a beverage to go, almost certainly at the driver's expense and likely under the pretense of earning "good karma". Every temple witnessed devotees pouring money into nearly filled donation boxes, despite the fact that many of those people would never see any real return on their pious investment. As monks made their early morning rounds through the neighborhood seeking charity with their alms bowls, Katy openly scorned the practice of religious donations, believing the average penniless Cambodian to be blinded by such spiritual manipulation while further contributing to his own poverty. In visible ways she was right, as the donations seemed to contribute more to temple wealth and beautification rather than social programs or services for the betterment of the community surrounding it. Be that as it may, religious devotion was equally a blessing and a curse, ironically being the Khmer core principle that gave modern Cambodia its highest revenue-generating icon - Angkor Wat. Nearly its entire tourism industry thrived off the products of past and present acts of faith, its ancient monuments and sacred relics together with the flourishing arts, music, and culture that were associated with them. Away from the relative opulence and ostentatiousness in Phnom Penh, following the Mekong north through humble riverside villages on stilts, the temples of the countryside still retained a more genuine spiritual aura and charm. Climbing the steep 509 steps to the summit of Oudong Mountain, one's head was inevitably bent in natural prostration towards the towering stupas of the post-Angkorian kings, surrounded by pilgrims circumambulating to the sound of monks chanting hypnotic Pali mantras. Once part of an ancient capital that had now fallen into a romantic ruin, the views from the top-most shrines were vast and horizonless, overlooking a patchwork of rice fields and cozy jungled village settings nestled in between. Monkeys playfully leaped between the dense foliage of flowering trees while visitors fed jumping fish in sacred reflecting pools, plumes of incense wafting in the warm air. There was a natural mystic beauty to the scene that was absent in the city, one that could easily inspire devotion without the glitter of gold or robust monumental architecture. Though I could never fully understand the feeling of religious conviction, I could clearly witness Cambodia's intrinsic sanctity and the importance of this land to its people.
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| Monks taking frappuccinos in lieu of meditation |
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| The Silver Pagoda on the grounds of the Royal Palace, with a miniature model of Angkor Wat |
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| Gilded splendor of Khmer altars, taken at the top of Wat Phnom |
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| A palace musician playing court music on the roneat ek |
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| The golden spires and stupas of Cambodia's seat of Buddhism, Wat Ounalom |
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| Paying respects in one of the meditation halls of Wat Ounalom |
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| A royal stupa on Oudong Mountain, a pilgrimage site and former ancient capital |
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| A view of Oudong village |
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| An older royal stupa holding the remains of a Khmer king |
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| Monkeys in the trees seeking food from pilgrims |
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| An iridescent beetle lands on a temple offering before a carved Garuda |
For breakfast on Day Five of our stay, Katy came over with a bag of Cambodian fried rice pastries and savory curry puffs. "You stay longer than everyone, maybe you tired of crêpe, I buy different breakfast for you!". Although the villa chef's crepes were delectable enough for me to eat daily, the change in flavors was a graciously welcomed gesture that reminded me of just how delicious and diverse Khmer food can be. Our time in Phnom Penh was limited, but we managed to make every meal count by seeking out some of the best examples of Cambodian cuisine, from exotic and risky street foods to epicurean and refined restaurant fare. The kitchen of the charming Khmer Surin Guesthouse whipped up a wonderful introductory meal highlighting Khmer classics that included a phenomenal amok fish curry in banana leaf and nhom svay green mango salad, as well as various pork and vegetable stir fried dishes. Even more upscale, the third-storey La'baab overlooking a more affluent district of the city impressed us with its take on "Nouveau Mekong" fusion, served in an elegant 1960s traditional wooden house setting with ambient spotlighting over tables of expats and international businessmen. Mixed seafood sauteed with kampot peppercorns and an umami-overloaded pork prahok ktis were the focal points of an even bigger feast washed down with refreshing passionfruit juice and wine. However, the food of the local people was what made eating my way through Phnom Penh daring in addition to delicious. Despite having visited countless wet markets selling truly bizarre products all across Southeast Asia, strolling through chaotic and colorful food stalls selling unconventional delicacies never ceased to provide an exciting and mandatory pastime during my trips. The village market at the base of Oudong Mountain was a treasure trove of Khmer snacks, ranging from grilled bulbous frogs and baby birds, to wok-fried waterbugs and skewered internal organs. One item struck me as particularly unique, a grilled section of wild bee honeycomb that still contained wriggling bee larvae within its cavities, a high protein mixture of natural sweetness and savory flavors enhanced with fried garlic and green onion. The most popular market snack in the family were kampis chien, giant deep-fried fritters made almost entirely from small river shrimps in a rice flour batter, a crispy and salty delight that made "shrimp chips" back home pale in comparison. Cambodians have a plethora of dried meat and seafood snacks stemming from traditional forms of food preservation, which could be readily seen lying out on bamboo baskets under the scorching sun, sometimes with birds picking away at them. The most captivating of these many types of "jerky" were small snakes that had a wonderfully sweet and tangy marinade, despite being somewhat of a challenge to consume on account of their leathery texture and small bones. Of the variety of eye-catching dishes that filled our week, the most delicious and surprising was a large platter of braised turtle with garlic ordered at a local corner lunch spot overlooking the imposing Independence Monument. While past softshell turtle dishes in China reminded me of a meat akin to "fishy chicken", our Cambodian turtle was as meaty as an oxtail, with firm reddish meat that could nearly pass for beef had it not been attached to a large reptilian shell. The internal clusters of yellow eggs, which had the unpleasant texture of dried boba pearls, are a delicacy for the Khmer, although I must shamefully admit that all turtle species in the country are classified as being increasingly vulnerable on account of this. When a break was needed from the more expensive, exotic, and probably endangered eats, one could always rely on a hearty bowl of classic kuytiew noodle soup for less than two dollars. Nevertheless, Cambodian food was likely the one aspect of her country about which Katy spoke positively, and I wholeheartedly agreed... maybe except for the roasted tarantulas that still stirred up bouts of childhood trauma.
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| Independence Monument at night |
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| Party boats cruising up and down the Mekong for happy hour |
"Maybe you have money, maybe you have power, but no change in Cambodia if you no have this!", Katy preached while tapping her fingers forcibly on the side of her head. Verily, wealth and control can't lead to meaningful progress without the intelligence to properly wield them. By the end of the week, I was even starting to wonder if Katy should run for the post of prime minister, imagining where the country could be after a good dose of her brute logic. Undoubtedly, Cambodia is an ancient land still emerging to find its place in a modern, globalized world where the issues of domestic corruption, foreign interference, and national identity continue to test the kingdom and its people. My brief time in Phnom Penh was both a thrilling and eye-opening window where I could witness an educated local's unique critiques playing out in the streets in real time, developing a greater connection to a place that I've always cherished on account of a mutually shared history and regional culture. Katy's charismatic breakfast conversations felt positively cinematic albeit being negatively prophetic, yet regardless of how one felt about Cambodia's current reality, the beauty of Katy's ramblings resided in a brutally honest truth. Sometimes a nation's greatest patriots are not those who promote it as flawless, but rather its shameless critics who vocally advocate for genuine reform. For that, Katy will always have my respect.
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| Katy (left) and her chef at Villa Papillon |
