A few thoughts on Phnom Penh

There is something about Phnom Penh that just hurts. Something below the surface makes me feel terrible and guilty, and I can't quite put my finger on it. Too much sad history seeps out of all the wrong places.

I walked by a mother with two obviously malnourished little kids, sleeping, half-clothed on the pavement and almost started bawling my eyes out. Knowing that giving away handouts creates dependency (which keeps them on the streets) and that there ARE other options out there in this NGO-full city allowed me to keep walking... but I sat in the Foreign Correspondents Club (a journalist hang-out/fancy bar & restaurant/photo gallery) sipping my $2 Singapore Sling during happy hour and felt anything but happy. When I looked at their food menu, with prices higher than what I'd pay for a nice meal at the Cactus Club back home, I opted not to eat there and walked down the riverside to find some Khmer food... but all the places Lonely Planet recommended to me (Thanks again, LP) were not there - Western bistros and uppity bars took their place. Instead of eating, I walked, and stepped over more disabled beggars, more mothers with sick sleeping babies, more street kids and a million shady dudes asking "Hello, tuk tuk? hello moto - bike?" I wasn't even hungry, just looking for a place to pass the time. I can't count the number of times I said "No thank you" to drivers and "No I'm so sorry" to beggars, street kids and desparate sellers. It's the only time I've heard my own voice. I always try to say no with a smile, but my sanity is wearing thin. I had a muffin and some coffee at a cafe, and read old entries in my journal instead of eating dinner.

I guess you could say I wasn't in the greatest of places in Phnom Penh, but I think that feeling was more in my own head than in Cambodia. The Khmer Rouge history still eats away at me. I read 2 books about those 4 tragic years in Cambodian history while in Sihanoukville, and still can't fathom the reality of it or understand how a group of people under one leader can brutally murder 3 million of their own people. I feel an uncomfotable sense of pity for every person over the age of 30 when I pass them in the street, knowing what they have endured.

So I'm back in this internet cafe, writing for the sake escaping Phnom Penh by night, even if momentarily. I'm looking forward to Bangkok, to meeting up with new friends, Starbucks and knowing what to expect. I know that all the NGO's in this town are well-intentioned and trying hard, but Phnom Penh is still in an awkward place that is making me squirm.