Phnom Penh: Photos

A guard at the Royal Palace

A "thousand banana" plant (I'm not sure if this is the real name). A passing Cambodian told us the plant is a symbol of good luck.

The palace grounds:


Boeng Kak Lake from our guesthouse commons:

Phnom Penh: Walking Tour

Having been ripped off repeatedly on the currency exchange both in Poi Pet and Sihanoukeville (I had no other choice), I decided that the first thing I should do today is bypass the exchange booth and hit up an ATM. ATMs are still a rarity in Cambodia, only having been introduced in recent months (the latest edition of the Lonely Planet still advises travelers to bring US Dollars or traveler’s cheques in their absence – I brought Thai Baht which converts poorly, as I’ve found out).

Cambodia, much like Laos, uses two currencies in tandem; the local currency (Cambodian Riel), and US Dollars. Generally speaking, small shops and restaurants will quote prices in Riel. Supermarkets, guesthouses and upscale restaurants will more often than not quote in Dollars. Both currencies are accepted everywhere but a favorable rate is sometimes given if US Dollars are used (it’s the more stable of the two currencies).

Today’s walking tour of the city kicked off at Psar Thmei, Phnom Penh’s art deco inspired central market. Already well over my budget, I made my stay quick.

I eventually found my way to the nearby Sorya Shopping Center where I grabbed a quick lunch at the food court and escaped the mid day heat. As with ATMs, shopping malls are a recent introduction to the country and many Cambodians aren’t used to the amenities held inside. For example, escalators are more or less unheard of outside of Phnom Penh. I watched as a Cambodian man waited patiently at the top of an up escalator, hoping for it to change direction to let him down. He gave up and took the stairs (the down escalator was hidden behind a shop. Another man waited at the bottom, either wary of the moving conveyor belt or waiting for it to stop to let him on.

The escalators were apparently staffed when the mall first opened to instruct people on proper usage.

Produce market in P'sar O Russei:

Retired bicycles:

A tuk tuk durian stall - probably one of the most dangerous rides to take.

Romances with reptile people seem to play a recurring theme in Cambodia's movie industry:

Cambodia's Independance Monument:

I’ve been pleasantly surprised with Phnom Penh so far - the stories I’d read of its reputed lawlessness have been thankfully unfounded (though it’s still far from being a safe place).

Evening time was spent catching up on old times with the group I traveled with in Luang Prabang. Thien An and Caroline, the Swiss girls, spent their month working their way from North to South Vietnam before crossing into Cambodia today. Fellow Canuck Andrew stayed in Laos (which I regret not doing) and spent most of his time off the beaten track. We’ll be traveling together for the next couple of weeks.

Travel Day: Phnom Penh - Khmer Music Videos

Because of Southeast Asia(and probably the rest of continent)’s undying fixation on all things karaoke (pronounced “gah-lah-oh-kay” for authenticity’s sake), the five foreigners and (approximately) forty Cambodians on today’s bus to Phnom Penh were all treated to two and a half solid hours of Khmer music videos.

Language and production values aside, Khmer videos are a complete departure from their Western counterparts in their absence of egos, scantily clad dancing girls, bling bling and everything else in between. They come off sort of innocent, really.

Three plotlines of note (my Khmer’s no good so I’m basing this on the assumption that the videos are directly correlated to the lyrics):

1. Boy meets girl, boy brings girl home to meet mom, boy brings girl to Buddhist shrine to make an offering, boy gives dowry to girl’s parents. They live happily ever after (shown walking hand in hand along a beach).
2. Same as above, except the girl’s mother rejects his dowry. Boy pines for lost love.
3. Boy, a landmine victim, grows up with girl, love blooms, mother forbids daughter from seeing boy (I fell asleep somewhere here, sorry).

Sihanoukeville: Bamboo Island

Looking out at the blue morning sky stretching over the calm seas this morning, I would never have guessed that today’s boat trip to Bamboo Island would have turned out to be a such a complete disaster.

An unexpected storm blew in about 15 minutes into the boat ride, tossing us up and down and drenching us with salt water in the small open motorboat. Despite our protests, the captain maintained his course – he’d have had to give us all full refunds if we turned back before reaching the island. Conditions continued to worsen until we were finally forced to moor on a deserted island, where we waited, cold and wet in an abandoned wooden shelter. Termites had eaten through many of the raised floorboards making the situation that much more unpleasant.

We took advantage of a small clearing in the storm and sped our way to Bamboo Island where more suitable shelter was available.

A single brave backpacker claimed his spot on the empty beach while the rest of us looked on from a nearby cabana.

He eventually came back in when the wind picked up.



Another break in the storm allowed us to return back to Sihanoukeville though it was earlier than expected (the members of the tour group unanimously voted to skip the remaining sights).

The remainder of the afternoon was spent drying off while the miserable weather continued unabated outside.

Travel Day: Sihanoukeville

In retrospect, I probably should’ve spent another night in Kampot to visit nearby Kep Sur Mer. Instead, I crammed myself into the back seat of a Sihanoukeville bound share taxi and got nice and cozy with a geriatric Khmer man (with a prosthetic leg) and an Australian couple.

So far my impression of Sihanoukeville has been less than stellar. It has been marketed as Cambodia’s premiere beach resort mainly because it’s Cambodia’s only beach resort. After checking into my guesthouse and suiting up for an afternoon of surf and sun, I headed out to the nearby Occheuteal (don’t ask me how to pronounce that) beach. About a couple of minutes into my stroll (I was trying to find a good place to set up my hammock), a Cambodian lady pulled up to my left and continued walking alongside me. I figured she was just headed the same direction and paid little attention. Another couple of minutes passed with her at my side (it’s a long beach) and red flags started popping up. When I stopped, she stopped. If I picked up the pace, she would too.

As I turned to ask what she wanted, she interrupted with a “Hello, where you from?” in very broken English (this is a common pre sales pitch ice breaker for Southeast Asians).

I responded “Canada” but I knew she didn’t really care.

She then pointed at couples holding hands on the beach then pointed at the two of us before squeezing the muscles on my arm (which are admittedly limited). I should pause to note that this lady is old enough to be my mother. Now I’m starting to get worried. I said as politely as I could “whoa whoa whoa, no thanks, lady” and continued walking. She followed in tow.

Hoping to lose her, I took a seat on a deckchair at a nearby restaurant and ordered up a tuna sandwich. She followed, fluffed my pillow, staring intently at me all the while. Communication was no longer in the equation because her entire English vocabulary had been expended in her opening line and my knowledge of Khmer is limited to “hello” and “thank you” (“sua s’dei” and “aw kohn” respectively). After a bit of explaining, I managed to get the waitress to translate.

It turns out the lady was trying to sell me a massage.

I think that’s the problem with Sihanoukeville’s beaches. You can’t relax without somebody trying to sell you something. If it’s not older ladies offering massages and manicures, hoards of kids will follow you around trying to sell wooden beaded bracelets and necklaces. Others will invite you to restaurants, promising cheap food and booze. At the end of the day, all I wanted was to take a nap in a shady spot.

I never did get to hang up my hammock.

Kampot: Bokor Hill Station

Another day’s worth of adventure awaited as our 11 person tour group piled into a dilapidated old minivan for a tour of the Bokor Hill Station. Bumpy doesn’t begin to describe the neglected 90 year old road leading up to the equally neglected ghost town. The original tarmac has only survived in a few small portions of the road and the potholes (more like craters) we bounced over were easily twice the size of my head (that’s saying a lot - my head is problematically large). Bokor is only 30 km from the base station but it still takes a couple of hours to get up there.

We paused briefly at the Black Palace, an abandoned Villa briefly used by King Sihanouk in the sixties, to gaze over its stunning view of the Gulf of Thailand and Vietnam’s Phu Quoc Island. It got its name from the ebony inlays that once decorated the building. According to our guide, a murder suicide involving a soured relationship took place in the foyer (where the picture below was taken) a few years ago. One of the Cambodian park rangers who regularly sets up camp in this building claims that the ghost of the victim, a young lady, still haunts the place.

A number of derelict buildings which once served as quarters for the staff and royal concubines lie hidden behind the palace, reclaimed by the mountain foliage over the decades.

The van dropped us off on a small trail just below the Hill station so that we could pass through the town by foot. Within a matter of minutes, an ominous fog enveloped our surroundings, quickly replacing the perfectly blue sky.

The distant watertower:

The walk ended at Bokor Palace, a large hotel resting atop of the hill overlooking town. On the way up, we were told of a number of tragedies that took place in and around the site. In its heyday, the final moments of many a gambler were spent on the cliffside behind the hotel. The nearby casino, also abandoned, had probably claimed their life’s savings. More recently, a jilted lover drove his motorbike off the cliff. A taxi driver was also murdered during New Year celebrations held here last year. On those notes, we were left to wander the hotel’s empty corridors as a steady downpour developed outside.




A suggestion is carved in the window frame at the center of this picture:

I don't think a lot of people would want to anyway:

The town’s church rests on the hill directly across from the Bokor Palace and served as one of the last remaining Khmer Rouge footholds during the Vietnamese occupation in 1979. During this period, a firefight raged on for several months between the Vietnamese who held the Bokor Palace and the Khmer Rouge who held the church. Bullet holes scarring the interior and exterior of the building bear silent testament to the long battle.


The two hour ride back down took us to a small seaside town where we caught a boat back to Kampot via the Prek Kampong Hay River.

A few photos while we waited:

Today’s catch:

Baskets in the water:

I waded out to find them full of crabs (mmm):

On the boat ride back: