Eighth Week in Phnom Penh
Week eight already! I am starting to panic about my time left, dreading my last days with ODC. Every hour counts now, both in terms of work and sightseeing. As such, I have been feeling pretty worn down, trying to pack too much into every day.
I have been working furiously on my Legal Aid topic page, which has turned into such a challenge. I really enjoy the subject and feel like, once complete, it will be a great resource for ODC and its users. However, writing the page has really required me to obtain a robust understanding of Cambodia’s entire legal system and related policies. Obviously learning that much nuanced knowledge in such a short time has been challenging. That said, I have enjoyed the task and realize that my writing skills and technical understanding of the topic has grown tremendously. Looking over my first draft, I am pretty astounded at how much progress I have made in every conceivable category. Unfortunately, with the upcoming election, most legal aid NGOs are reticent to speak to a stranger about their resources.
This weekend, I mostly tried to recover from work, stress, and last weekend’s Bangkok trip. However, on Saturday, Vin suggested we bike to the Silk Island, called Koh Dach by locals. This is a pretty popular bike trip in Phnom Penh, though still not on the regular tourist circuit. The Islands, which rest within the Mekong, are celebrated for their taste of tranquil, rural Cambodia while still being only a twenty-minute moto ride from the city. Five of us (Jean, Vin, Mondee, Lynn, and I) made plans to meet up Sunday morning and undertake the journey.
Biking all the way to Koh Dach is something one can physically do, but probably should not. The trip, depending on which roads you take, is about 30 km each way. Roundtrip, it took us from 9AM until 5PM (including stops). Starting from my neighborhood on the south side of Phnom Penh, the trip entailed biking through most of the city, battling urban traffic the whole time. Then, once we reached the north edge of town, we survived several roundabouts, a huge bridge across the river, more suburb biking, then, finally, a ferry ride. Needless to say, the whole journey was an incredible feat of bravery and endurance.
Once we got off the ferry, I was pretty well soaked in sweat, but proud. While I was exhausted, I never lagged behind our intrepid peloton and did a borderline decent job of navigating through traffic. Phnom Penh roads are hectic but traffic is slow. Thus, other drivers treat bicyclist like sluggish motos. I got pretty good at pulling through intersections, merging into streams of cars, and generally demanding my fair share of the road. Though I probably earned it once or twice on the roundabouts, road rage is not terribly prevalent in Phnom Penh. Maybe everyone just had sympathy for me, being a very sunburned, very out-of-place cyclist in the midst of busy traffic.
Koh Dach’s change of scenery was astounding. While the ferry had taken maybe five minutes, it felt like we were hundreds of miles away from the bustle of Phnom Penh. The roads were silent, lushly overgrown, with chickens scratching along roadside ditches. Empty streets saw only the occasional car or moto, with villagers going about their daily routines. Koh Dach is sometimes colloquially called the “Silk Island,” with so many silk weavers sitting at massive looms in the shade of their stilted homes, weaving silk into skirts or scarves. After quick deliberation, we decided to bike another seven kilometers to the northern tip of the island, which would afford us a pleasant bike through the length of the island.
On the ferry, everyone had noticed that, somehow, my ankle had gotten sliced pretty bad. With the adrenaline of dealing with traffic, I had not even noticed. Since the cut was on the bone of my ankle, if was bleeding pretty bad and had soaked my shoe, raising alarm with the group. Without any first aid supplies, I poured a little bottled water on the wound and just shrugged. Later, as we were biking around Koh Dach, we spotted a clinic. Pulling over, I got my cut cleaned and bandaged. Overall, it was only a tiny hiccup.
After our exceedingly enjoyable, stress-free seven kilometer bike ride, we made it to the “Koh Dach Resort.” Admittedly, I did not even know we had a destination; I had just been blithely pedaling, sort of oblivious to Vin’s master plan. Thus, imagine my surprise when we suddenly emerged into a field with hundreds of motos, along with a smattering of empty wooden structures. We parked our bikes and Vin walked us to the field’s edge, which dropped steeply towards the Mekong.
Standing above the beach at the field’s edge, I was amazed to see a colony of huts sitting over the river, each on little raised stilts. Families were sitting under the thatched straw rooves, enjoying what appeared to be a picnic. Nearby, children were splashing in the water, sitting in raft tubes. As the only westerners on site, we hiked down the slope and were greeted by the resort’s staff, maybe with a little incredulousness.
Calling the beach a “resort” is a bit of misnomer. It was more or less an outdoor restaurant, but in true Khmer style. In Cambodia, traditional dinner tables are raised platforms upon which the whole family also sits. As such, we had our own little hut, perched above the water, complete with a thatched straw roof. The five of us even had to wade through the Mekong to reach it, causing me to wince as I plunged my sliced ankle into the opaque brown river water.
After taking a few minutes to recover from our 3+ hour bike ride in exhausted silence, we ordered a couple of fried fish, which arrived whole (scales and all). We had lots of fun snacking on it, feeding the leftover fish heads to a cute stray dog that had waded over to us to beg for scraps. Overall, the entire experience was so pleasant and so authentic. All the nearby families had brought their own speakers, listening to their favorite Khmer pop songs as they picnicked. Nearby, a woman was wading from hut to hut on a giant Styrofoam island, selling papaya salad. I think this was, far and away, my most “Cambodian” Cambodia experience.
After digesting our fish and sitting a little longer with our feet dangling in the water (and taking plenty of photos), we roused ourselves from relaxation and got back on our bikes. Riding back to the ferry dock, we made several fun stops. The first was at a western-style resort, where some of Vin’s friends happened to be staying for the weekend. We enjoyed meeting with them, as well as having an iced coffee and dipping our feet in the hotel’s luxurious infinity pool.
After reluctantly leaving the sublime poolside, we pulled over ten minutes later to see a traditional silk loom in operation. At this point, I have to give a huge shout-out to Vin, the MVP of this trip (and every trip really). Seeing the loom, tucked into the shade of the stilted house, she signaled us to pull over. Then, with incredible social fortitude, Vin walked up and asked this nice elderly woman if we could watch her weave. She was happy to have to us, though she spoke absolutely no English. Simply a one-woman operation, she was weaving alone underneath her home, her husband nearby doing odd jobs. Vin translated for us and, in the end, we learned so much about her family and her life. It felt very special to be invited into this woman’s home and to learn about her life (all while chickens clucked around our ankles).
Returning to our bikes, we got back the road, only to make one final stop. Vin spotted some cows that she wanted to stop and see, which sounds funny but, legitimately, these are the absolute biggest cows I have ever seen. And I grew up in Texas, the cattle capital of the world! Vin, once again being a superhero, sauntered up to the stable and asked the two guys working if we could take pictures with their bulls. They of course obliged, and told us that the two bulls were actually only three years old and would get bigger. To say our jaws dropped is an understatement. Anyway, we all got our photos with the bulls and then, finally, made it back to the ferry.
As soon as we got on the ferry, it started to pour. After waiting out the initial deluge, we biked back to the north edge of Phnom Penh, often cycling through several inches of street water (RIP cut ankle). Several times, my bike wheels sank into an unexpected pothole, a good portion of my wheel disappearing under the water. Ultimately, it was really picturesque, with the evening light reflecting on the wet Phnom Penh streets. With the streets flooded, I felt like I was biking through an urban lake of sorts.
After getting into Phnom Penh, it started to pour in earnest. Deciding to make it home regardless of the discomfort, we braved the storm. I am absolutely not joking when I am say it was raining so hard I could barely see. Wind and sheets of water threatened to buffet me off my bike, the weather even too much for most tuk tuks and rickshaws. Vin’s tire valve broke near Old Market and we had to find a mechanic to get it fixed. At a certain point, all we could do was laugh hysterically at the wonderfully surreal ordeal.
Arriving back in Tuol Tom Pong, I was soaked. Truly soaked. Soaked as though I had jumped into a swimming pool. Parting ways with everyone, I slinked back into my apartment, sore and exhausted. Walking up the stairs to my room, I left a snail trail of water puddles, a final parting gift from Cambodia’s rainy season. For the rest of the evening, I was borderline immobile.
The next day, I woke up to discover my bike had a flat tire. Personally, I was very thankful the tire had thoughtfully waited until I was safely home to pop. Walking my bike through Tuol Tom Pong, I sauntered up to multiple mechanic shops, pointing to my bike tire and pantomiming the problem. The first six mechanic shops immediately waved me away, each pointing me towards a different shop. Eventually, after being pointed along a constellation of repair shops, I was directed towards what looked like a light appliance store. Walking up with serious skepticism, the shop agreed to fix my burst tire. The whole repair took about thirty minutes and cost $2.50. When I tried to tip my hardworking repairman $1, he seemed more confused than grateful.
I have come to really love Phnom Penh, especially my little neighborhood and I am going to be distraught to leave in a few weeks. I even have a favorite restaurant/bar that overlooks Tuol Tom Pong market, where I have become a regular. If it was feasiable, I would visit every day, watching the daytime market transition to its evening alter ego. It has just been so wonderful being comfortable with everyone here. At several of my favorite restaurants, the wait staff have asked to sit with me, practicing their English by making small talk. I already feel beyond lucky to have been given the opportunity to live in Phnom Penh. I feel like I have learned more in three months than in most years of my life.
This weekend, I am going to Hong Kong. After Jean visited and gave the city rave reviews, I decided to make it my last weekend trip. I am excited to stay in a capsule hotel, climb Victoria Peak, see the Hong Kong skyline, and visit HK Disneyworld. Without a doubt, this solo trip will be one for the books. I can’t wait to write about it, as well as the culmination of my efforts on the ODC Legal Aid page. Until next week!