Phnom Penh, Cambodia... Capital of the Third World?

I'd like to start this blog post about Phnom Penh (the capital of Cambodia) much the way I started my journey in this country: by forcing you to inhale an incredibly foul smell. Obviously I can't do that over the internet, but pause for a second to consider the worst stench to ever cross your nostrils, and the smell here is probably a bit worse. Coming out of the Phnom Penh airport, travellers are greeted with a combination of a) the most potent diesel exhaust fumes you'll ever inhale, b) raw sewage spilling onto the sidewalks, and c) trash, trash, and more trash. It was actually so oppressive that it was hard to breath during the 15 minute ride to the city center. In fact, the air is so bad that I estimate one fourth of the people outside wear surgical masks at all times. Hello, Phnom Penh!

On a more serious note, this is possibly one of the most depressing places I've ever visited, for two reasons: first, the history of the city/country (which I'll detail more below), and second, the gruesome poverty that is the city's reality. Nobody could ever think that this place is anything other than the Third World. You learn that as soon as you get off the plane, and it's obviously more than just the smell. But while my first reaction was to label it a shithole and dismiss it as such, there's more to it than that. The starkness of the poverty is both horrifying and immediate; it's real in a sickening way. There we were on our first night, having dinner at an outside cafe near the riverbank which is supposed to be the nicer area of the city, when we saw a mother and her three children appear on the sidewalk a mere 10 feet away. No child appeared to be over the age of five, and one was an infant. The mother then left the children while she begged for food. The infant -- naked, mind you -- was crawling on the sidewalk, and these sidewalks are jagged cement and dirt; filed with trash, debris, and broken glass; and traveled by pedestrians as well as bikes and motorcycles. The infant at one point was left unattended for several minutes and repeatedly was knocked over by other beggars. This was, quite sadly, the first of many horrifying scenes played out that night and, indeed, during the two days we were in this city. I didn't just witness the poverty; I felt it. I felt powerless to do anything since the problem is so widespread; since you're not supposed to give street kids money because they don't get to keep it; since I don't speak the language and don't truly grasp the culture and history; and since I'm "only" a tourist headed for yet another town, soon to leave this one behind. I felt eternally grateful to have been raised by caring parents (Dad, if you're reading this: thank you!!) in a country blessed with bountiful opportunity, and to have never -- not once - worried about whether I would be able to find food and shelter for the next day. I felt a sinking despair for humanity, both present and future. But most of all, I felt anger: anger at myself for doing nothing, anger at parents for having children they can't properly take care of due to chronic plague of poverty; and anger at a world where such things exist. That night I stayed up wondering what the solution is, or if there is, or could be, a solution. I don't know, but I hope so.

Anyway, after settling in to our "hotel" (think: Motel 6 but crappier, if such a thing is possible) on the first night, we decided to explore. The city is very oriented to Westerners: almost everything is in English, the US dollar is the preferred currency, and there's more "international" food -- pancakes, burgers, etc. -- than there is Cambodian food. Eventually, we took a stroll down the riverbank. This main strip is about as chaotic as any strip of city I've ever seen. Imagine Times Square in NYC for about 3 miles straight -- crazy traffic, stores and restaurants open late, etc. But it's so much more than that. You can't take more than two steps before you're hassled by someone trying to sell you something, or someone begging for food or money, or a taxi driver trying to take you somewhere, or a someone offering a massage or drugs or whatever other crap you don't want. I've never said "no thanks" so many times in my life. And it starts the second you walk out of the hotel. We never went more than three steps without having to turn someone down, and it's hard to get rid of some people because they'll frequently follow you hundreds of yards down the road. I actually had one guy -- after telling him several times I didn't want to buy from him -- start to unzip my backpack in search of money. And it doesn't end when you sit down to eat. People -- and by people I mean kids -- wander into the restaurants, even as late as midnight, and offer to sell (presumably stolen) DVDs, books, and clothes.

The main "attractions" on the beaten path of tourism in Phnom Penh include two of the most distressing places you can ever pay to visit. The first place is the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek, where Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge brought many of their victims to die between 1975 and 1979. (Brief history lesson: Khmer Rouge were led by Pol Pot who, in the mid 1970s, envisioned a radical Marxist restructuring of the country requiring a return to primitive agrarian society and the total elimination of "modern" infrastructure like hospitals, schools, etc., which led to the death of an estimated 3 million Cambodians including doctors, intellectuals, city dwellers.. you get the idea.) The Killing Fields are actually pretty small -- no more than a square mile or two -- which makes it even more gruesome that close to 10,000 people were tortured and killed there. And then there is this tree. It unwittingly (and probably unwillingly, if it could have had a say in the matter) took part in a grotesque manifestation of human evil. Rather than use bullets to kill babies and children (who the Khmer Rouge believed might avenge the deaths of their parents), the executioners would grab them by the legs and swing them headfirst into this tree until they died. After the Khmer Rouge lost power, the people who first found this place noted that the tree was soaked in blood, hair, and brains. They also have on display the bones of every victim they could find. It's about as chilling as you can imagine.

The other place we visited was the Khmer Rouge's main torture facility in Phnom Penh called Tuol Sleng. Anyone and everyone who was suspected of being a threat to the regime was brought here and ultimately tortured and killed. Some 20,000 people were killed at this one facility alone (which was previousy an elemetary school). It has the look and feel of Nazi concentration camps; it's a subtly chilling reminder that evil knows no boundaries, and that true evil didn't end in 1945. It also helps to put in perspective why this country is, to put it mildly, struggling. The conflict that began in the 1960s didn't end until 1993. There hasn't been a stable government for generations, and the governments that did exist were at best useless and at worst murderers. In this light, one can understand why people don't trust the government for any central or long-term planning. Moreover, the culture of corruption at the governmental levels affects (infects?) people's everyday relationships. (More on this in the next post, but with a slightly humorous twist.)

We saw a few other notable things in Phnom Penh (Royal Palace, some major temples), but compared to my overall experience, they're not worth mentioning. (For more pictures, I'll post on facebook shortly.) We got out of there as soon as we could; too noisy, too busy, too crazy, and too depressing. While it was worthwhile to get a sense of the country's history and struggles, it's not a tourist "destination." And, I have to be honest, I'm not here right now to solve a major world crisis. So it's off to (hopefully) greener pastures in other parts of the country...