…so we are in a Land Rover Discovery, weaving like quicksilver surfers through the dense and frankly unpredictable early afternoon traffic of northern Phnom Penh toward a meeting at the office of the national landmine authority when suddenly the drugs take hold… no, what really happens is that my boss slips the best of AC/DC into the stereo. At the traffic lights the waiting motodops and tuk-tuk drivers are suddenly startled by the crunching metallic chords of Highway to Hell blasting bass-heavy from our skull-and-crossbone emblazoned vehicle. Im sure the panic that flared briefly in their eyes was partly due to the fleeting thought that perhaps Keith Richards had finally decided to visit PP The day is becoming more and more surreal this morning, a long conversation (in a meeting) about one of our field operatives who was hospitalized with broken ankles after hitting a car with his motorbike. So lucky, to escape with such minor injuries say we foreigners, nodding sagely. A little later we discover that it was actually a cow that he hit earlier, shaking his head in profound disbelief one of my colleagues emerged from his office those bloody termites have eaten my in-tray he said as he forlornly poured himself a cup of coffee.
So when we arrive at the venue and find a spread of chocolate chip cookies, brownies and miniature pate rolls laid on for us, who is surprised? When one of the presenters repeatedly pulls the plug of the projector out mid-presentation, causing an eager Australian lady (who appears to be the only person who can work the thing) to vault over the table each time it happens, who raises an eyebrow? The strange becomes the commonplace in this fantastic city.
I was people watching at the river yesterday, awaiting Mr. R whom I was going to buy dinner for to thank him for his help with the little Os party. The elephant strolled by, as it does most days at about 4.45 and swarms of foreigners raced alongside it, snapping photographs frantically to remind themselves
of what? Ray Davies was probably right, that people take pictures of each other, just to prove that they really existed
I was too busy with one of my favourite sports, which is observing the passing streams of traffic and counting the number of passengers on one moto. My record sighting to date is seven, which was on the airport road one night last year. Of the seven, two were seated on the front mudflap facing the driver. Two and three are most common, but you can spot the occasional four and five, and the much rarer six. There is also the game most unusual object being carried on a moto. My winner so far is a palm tree (admittedly only about five metres tall), though the lavatory pan with cistern and piping attached runs it a close second.
Mr. R arrived and we repaired to the Pop Café, where the most delicious Italian food (the penne with meatballs is out of this world!) is served to you by the Cambodian Stevie Nicks and her be-frilled sisters, and then on to Hurleys Cantina to observe the bad behaviour of foreign journalists covering the Khmer Rouge trials in all their technicolour (yawning) glory, whilst an old ex-soldier bearing a remarkable resemblance to Lee Scratch Perry does a peculiar shuffling dance dressed in what appears to be a 1940s pinstripe demob suit decorated with braid and medals
If the tourist office is looking for a slogan to sell the city to potential visitors, might I suggest this
Phnom Penh never knowingly boring.
Listening to Bitches Brew Miles Davis
Give me back my man B-52s
Really missing my beautiful wife and baby boy XXX