Flashback Cambodia : The capital, Phnom Penh

Getting into Cambodia costs you a 20 dollar visa fee. Well it should. I’d forgotten to bring any of the world's preferred currency, so an eagle-eyed airport official waiting to pounce on newbies and idiots who should have known better by now (my third trip to the capital) disappeared with a wad of baht, and my 20 bucks were obtained for about 30 bucks-worth of the Thai currency. Be warned.

I approached the desk with ID, my 20 USD receipt, entry form completed with fictitious hotel name (I hadn’t a clue where I would be staying), and a passport-sized photo I had remembered to bring at the last minute. My passport was grabbed by an carnivorous-looking customs officer, possibly a woman but I wouldn’t swear to it. She looked like Hannibal Lector on a bad day, already sizing me up for body parts after my inevitable incarceration. All documents disappeared beneath the counter, and the nervous lengthy wait for them to be examined minutely by a line of some fifteen officials slumped in their chairs. Crew-cut scalps topped by outsized caps bobbed up and down, as each officer in turn stared suspiciously at the edgy white faces, searching for signs of criminal intent. Surprisingly, I was eventually permitted to enter the Kingdom of Cambodia.

Total chaos awaited on the streets outside. At least that’s the first impression to the newly arrived ‘barang’ (Khmer term for farang, white foreigner). Brits will be even more terrified than in Thailand where at least the Thais drive on the ‘right’ side of the road (ie the left). The Khmers however drive on the wrong side, ie the right as in continental Europe, the States etc. Well, sometimes they do. At other times, when it suits them, they drive in the middle, on the left against the flow, or occasionally on the pavement. All sides are the right side to the Cambodian driver.

A motodop (motorcycle taxi) took me from the airport into town for 8,000 riels (a couple of dollars), and as usual my life flashed before my eyes about a hundred times in the first mile. After that, I mostly kept them shut. Thailand is like a demonstration class of road sense by Advanced Driving School instructors in comparison. So be warned.

Still determined to hire a bike for your visit? A few basic rules then.

- On speed...

Tough one. Pretty much as in Thailand – if you’re big, you have right of way. Which is all very well if you’re at the wheel of a truck. Blast your horn, and Khmers will quickly get out of your path. But you’re not driving a truck, because you’re a barang and not allowed to hire anything bigger than a bike. Ok if you drive fast there's less need to have eyes in the back of your head, but that's little consolation when you're being scraped up from the road because you didn't expect that truck to take you out from behind. Besides, in town most Khmers drive slowly, in a kind of intricate traffic weave that's a complete mystery to most Westerners. So just join the flow. It might take you to a totally different place to the one you'd hoped to visit, but at least there's a fair chance you'll get there alive.

- Not hitting anything...

Your status as a barang doesn’t result in the locals giving you a wide berth. On the contrary – with or without suntan you are identifiable as a barang at several hundred metres, and are therefore fair game – skin tax applies. What this means according to Khmer logic is that you’re a foreigner and shouldn’t be on Cambodia’s roads anyway, so if an accident happens it’s unquestionably your fault. Plus you’re rich by definition and therefore good for the extortion of as much money as the ‘victim’ can get away with. Still, they won’t drive into you deliberately, so – just don’t hit anything.

- Crossroads (intersections)...

These have only recently acquired traffic lights, and only a few at that. So negotiating them requires a mix of balls and bluff. Force your way across, everyone does it. It might look as if the 4x4 bearing down on you has no intention of stopping, but that’s part of the game. Plus your white skin might work to your advantage (unless he’s a Vietnam vet of the non-English speaking variety – Cambodia has a sizeable Vietnamese population). Mostly though killing a white man leads to excessive hassle and red tape, so the chances are he’ll reluctantly slam on the anchors at the last possible moment.

- Turning left, crossing the traffic...

This is where the fun starts. You need eyes like a chameleon’s; capable of swivelling in all directions and of looking both forwards and backwards at the same time. Failing this, good peripheral vision will have to do. First of all check the pavement, left and right. Vehicles of all types can suddenly emerge from this without warning. Now take your life in your hands and turn left, but NOT crossing the traffic. Stay as close to the kerb as possible, driving against the flow. Oncoming traffic will happily swerve around you. Wait your chance. When a gap appears, nip out chop chop... your left eye checking that the oncoming traffic is aware of your move, your right eye simultaneously scanning the right lane traffic for a tiny space to zip into. If there isn’t one, shut your now useless swivel eyes, and pray.

So how did I get on driving in Cambodia? Three visits now. And I use tuk-tuks and motodops all the time. Drive in Cambodia, what do you think I am – mad!?!

Tuk-tuk Mr. Udon takes a much needed rest from the stresses and strains of chauffeuring me around

Still, even with your own personal chauffeur, heart-stopping moments are regular occurrences throughout the day. If you need a relaxing drink to calm the nerves, I recommend the Shanghai – very similar in style and atmosphere to my favourite No. 1 Bar in Chiang Mai. Great food, free pool tables, and a haunt of some streetwise local expats, useful for first-timers who need a quick explanation of the do’s and don’ts around the Khmer capital. And there are plenty of the latter – Cambodia is not for the faint-hearted.

Pulling pints at the Shanghai, corner of Street 51 and 174, Phnom Penh

Beauty and degradation, tranquillity and violence - Phnom Penh

Hardly more than a decade since bursts of AK-47 automatic gunfire at the illegal checkpoints around Phnom Penh were such a regular night-time sound, that locals and intrepid visitors barely took heed (at the time, the ‘tolls’ extracted from those who happened by were the only source of revenue for the unpaid police and army remnants, in the chaos that followed the defeat of the Khmer Rouge...). Feeling ‘safe’ is a relative term however, as soon after paying my 20 US$ for the privilege of entering Cambodia, I was a passenger on the back of a mototaxi for the twenty minute journey into town… definitely not recommended for the faint-hearted. (The guide books will tell you that the Cambodians drive on the right. The reality is that if they can’t cross a busy lane of traffic, they’ll simply create a new one against the flow, until an opportunity presents itself to get across to the correct side of the road. It’s a hair-raising experience – especially as they mostly don’t bother with helmets).

Weapons such as the AK-47 - that could be acquired at any street corner for a few dollars in the late 80s and early 90s - eventually either found their way via illegal arms shipments into other areas of conflict around the world, or into the shooting ranges to be found all over the country. 50$ gets you 15 rounds with the AK-47 at the Phnom Penh range (expensive compared to ranges in more remote locations)... or you could take your pick from the M-16, M-60, AK-47, Uzi, shotguns, handguns ... You can even take a trip out into the hills and fire a rocket propelled grenade at a tank of petrol for a cool 200$, or if you don't want to lash out a year's salary for an average Khmer, how about a standard grenade at $50?....

My friendly mototaxi driver 'just dropped by' the range on the way to Choeung Ek, five minutes away... the irony of which (read on) didn't appear to disturb him in the least, and certainly not the party of back-slapping Americans vaunting their marksmanship over a post shoot-em-up beer when I arrived. 'Ton' can hardly be blamed - making a quick buck is a matter of survival for many here, and the range slips the tuk-tuk and mototaxi drivers a small payment for every tourist they bring by. Still, I couldn't help wondering who had died at the hands of the weapon I was holding, as I pumped single rounds in my target. Time to leave. I politely refused to join the American kids for a beer...

So on to my real destination... the Killing Fields at Choeung Ek. Who knows - perhaps my AK-47 had been responsible for one of these bleached skulls, just some of the thousands in the mausoleum, full of cracks and holes. Still, the KR guards didn't usually waste bullets on their victims - they were simply bludgeoned to death by pick-axe, iron bar, hoe ..

To be continued ...