Self Improvement

February 26-28

The streets are much more chaotic in Phnom Penh than they are in Bangkok or Chiang Mai. People, especially on motor bikes and tuk-tuks, frequently drive on the wrong side of the street.

They pull in front of you to park on the sidewalk. Often, the drivers see how close they can come to hitting you for having the audacity to walk on the roadside.

If you walk down the street, every tuk-tuk driver asks if you want a ride. Yeah, like you didn’t see his vehicle parked by the curb.

The worst are the ones who won’t give up when you say no. They follow us down the street trying to convince us that we gave them the wrong answer.

They try to sell tours or trips to ghastly attractions like the Killing Fields. It pisses me off to have to say no twice. And I tell people that.

We had only a couple of blocks to walk from the supermarket to the hotel. Not one, but two guys followed and argued to show us the error of our ways.

When we got to the palace the other day, we were early. We paused on the sidewalk to decide which way to explore. A driver a block away saw us and sped over to offer his services: A quick run to the Killing Fields, maybe. 

“The palace is closed.” “Yes, we’re going to explore this neighborhood.”

I had to tell him to get lost a half dozen times. He never did get the message, because he dogged us the whole time.

When we came out of the weird vegan place, the same driver came by and told us the palace was still closed. It wasn’t. He was waiting for us by the gate when we went in. He told me he’d wait for us at the corner.

I told him we didn’t know how long we’d be inside. If he got another fare, take it.

But there he was, waiting for us when we came out. All this over a two-buck fare.

He tried to sell us more destinations and gave me his number so I could call whenever I need a tuk-tuk. You never need a tuk-tuk in Phnom Penh. You have to argue with the drivers to get them to leave you alone.

I was outside only briefly on Friday, the 26th, just long enough to drop a cup of tea on the lobby floor and get another one.

Joanna later went to a Chinese restaurant downstairs and asked if anyone spoke Chinese. They laughed. “How about English?” somebody asked.

She ordered cheok, rice congee, and contrary to common practice wanted it plain. She says it took some effort to convince the guy that she didn’t want frog or century egg in it.

My digestion was so miserable that plain white rice in water was just the thing.

She also handed me a glass of ginger ale to settle my stomach. It was the bitterest ginger ale I had ever tasted. Then I realized what it was. She had pulled a green can out of the refrigerator, maybe even seen the “ger” on the label. It was Tiger beer.

I drank only half the can, and it was the best thing I’d had all day. It took my headache away.

I spent most of Friday asleep. The next couple of days were mostly short walks, meals, and rest.

Saturday, the 27th, I was feeling better. We tried to get a small bag of laundry done. The hotel charges by the piece, the way they do in Western hotels, so the price was about three times too high, especially for Southeast Asia. We decided to do better.

We played chicken with traffic to cross the road and started to look for a laundry service. First thing we noticed is that this isn’t Chiang Mai. You can go for whole blocks and not find a single laundry shop.

We did find a pharmacy where I was able to buy Imodium. That has put me on a fast track to recovery. Maybe the Tiger helped too.

The pharmacist directed us to a laundry service–three streets down and turn left. We found it at the corner of 29th Street and 308th Street.

Prices are reasonable, though a little higher than in Chiang Mai, and the store is open till 7. We decided to bring our laundry later in the day.

Next stop was a convenience store for yogurt, bottled water, and other essentials. We looked for the store where the tuk-tuk had taken Joanna. It wasn’t Panda Mart, but another franchise, with an almost familiar name.

Maybe that’s why 7-Eleven isn’t here. They’re afraid they might lose a trademark suit to this outfit.

We took our laundry to the shop on 29th Street. Then Joanna took me to the Chinese restaurant with no Chinese. Suddenly, there’s no English either. We ordered the specialty of the house, frog porridge.

It comes in two bowls, one with the cheok and the other with the frog meat in a dark sauce full of bright red chilis. Wait a minute. This is supposed to be Cantonese food.

This was hot, even for me. Joanna washed off some pieces of frog to put into the congee. I took a couple of spoonfuls of everything and put them into my bowl. The burn felt good, and was another sign of improvement.

Sunday, the 28th, started with lunch at the Beijing Soup Shop, which is in a row of eateries across from a local park.

I knew I could handle white rice. I tried a little of Joanna’s gai lan, Chinese broccoli, but it was rendered inedible by garlic. Garlic is supposed to be a mild background flavor. In this dish it overwhelmed the iron flavor of the vegetable. I’ve taken to asking for food here with no garlic.

We ordered tea and a lady introduced us to a variety or maybe blend named for Kuan Yin, or Gun Yum, the Chinese Buddhist Virgin Mary.

They serve it in a pot. When that runs dry, they put more water in. We went through three pots.

During our meal, the owner of the restaurant, Taing Sokngorn, introduced himself. He gave us his card. Apparently, he has a sideline as the consul for Cambodia in Guangzhou, an industrial city in Red China just north of Hong Kong.

On the short walk back to the hotel, we passed a lady who was carrying her restaurant on her shoulder. She balanced a pole and at either end were bundles of pots and pans and utensils. She carried the small stuff in a tote bag in her free hand.

Then it was time for a nap. 

I wanted pizza for dinner. I didn’t expect it to be good, but was desperate for oregano and mozzarella. Besides, it’s comfort food, right up there with Cuban roast pork.

We went to Sarpino’s near the Beijing Soup Shop, mainly because it is air-conditioned. There is another pizzeria near the laundry, but that has an open front.

The girls waiting tables at Sarpino’s were all in head scarves, so of course there was no beer.

Joanna ordered spaghetti and meat balls. I had one sniff of the sauce and knew it was too sweet for me. The pizza was obviously made by someone who had no idea how Italian food is supposed to taste, or Italian-American either. It was too light on the oregano, although it did deliver some mozzarella.

On the way back, we took a fork in the road that goes through the slum we call the Walled City of Kowloon. The route gets us out of the vicious traffic of the main road, which has no sidewalk. At one point there is a passage back to Sothearos Blvd., not far from the hotel. I tried not to look too inquisitive. I don’t want to be taken for a missionary or a misery tourist.

Monday we hired a tuk-tuk to run errands. We picked up our laundry and visited 7-Elephants. The driver knew the name.

He waited while we went to the hotel to drop the stuff off. Then we asked him to take us to the National Museum, which is a block from the Palace.

The view of river includes graceful, slender motor boats driven by people in broad straw hats. I expect that some tourism agency pays people to sit out there on the water and look colorful. There is also the occasional ferry or an excursion boat. The Tonle Sap is a wide river, and on the far bank is a grand hotel flying a U.N.’s worth of national flags.

The driver had asked us about food, so we said Chinese. He took us to a hole in the wall where they seemed to know him. It looked a little bit too seedy and dirty. We told him to drop us a few blocks up river and we’d find a place by ourselves.

We walked a little. I was still off my feed, so nothing was appealing. Joanna recognized the place where we had dinner Thursday night, Yin Yang, and that’s where we stopped. We each had white rice and shared a plate of mixed vegetables. It actually tasted good, so I must be getting better.

We walked a few hot blocks to the National Museum to find out it was closed. We hired a tuk-tuk back to the hotel.

Dinner was also a restaurant reprise. We returned to the place up the street, where we had eaten the first night in town. The musician had the evening off, or maybe doesn’t start until later.

We had two dishes again–this time, ribs with pineapple and tofu with minced pork. This was not as good a selection as the first time.

The ribs were chopped into bite-size pieces, but it was like eating rubber with a rock in the middle. I had a few and gave up. But that wasn’t so disappointing. It was the pineapple that I really craved.

The tofu and pork didn’t have a strong flavor, but were savory enough and good.

Then I realized there was a problem, a little burn on the side of my tongue. For me, this is mildly spicy. For Joanna that’s over the top.

We had asked them for no chilis or pepper. They weren’t able or willing to do it this time.

Joanna, much to my surprise, ate the tofu anyway and seemed to be OK.

I had a bottle of Angkor and one of Cambodia with dinner. We stopped at the Japanese restaurant near the Royal Inn for a couple of draft beers before calling it a night.

OK. Four beers in two places. I’m almost back to normal. That’s good. Soon my adventures won’t be so boring.

Be well, all.

Harry