Temporal and spatial details grow hazy at this point, but some time after dining we made our way to the Russian Market, which is far to the south of where we were staying. Somewhere along a deserted street, the tuk-tuk driver pulled over to the side of the road.
“Russian Market,” he said and pointed at a network of small shops and alleyways, dark and empty. The sun was set and public lighting was a mere faint glow from above that only made the surrounding darkness more disquieting. Our special meal was in full effect and I could feel the paranoia lurking in the corners of my mind. The previous evenings experience had robbed me of more than my money; much of my confidence in this city had been pilfered too.
But, we had come this far and didn't want to head right back. We decided, a bit tentatively, to walk down the road towards some brighter lights. About a block later we found the only open spot within sight. We stepped into the large room, lightly populated with a few groups of Cambodians, and were led to a table. The TV at the other end of the bar showed a typical Cambodian music video, two lovers chasing each other like innocent little rabbits through some sunny pastoral setting, and from somewhere a terrible voice poured through the room singing karaoke. A pretty girl brought us lukewarm beers. We protested, so a bucket of ice was procured, and we sat quietly and waited for out beers to cool.
Meanwhile, the girl had not left our table. The karaoke was blaring and the beer was cooling and the girl was smiling. Something wasn’t right; were we being scammed? Was this girl’s strange, unsolicited attention and care going to end up costing us more than we bargained for? In Ho Chi Minh City, we had been the center of attention with the waitresses at one unassuming bar until they began demanding we buy them drinks, when we refused they promptly ignored us. Is that the deal here, or is something even more devious at work?
“Man,” I whispered, “why is she standing there?” I looked up and she was looking right at me. I smiled, she smiled. I looked back at Jeff and he seemed to be thinking the same thing, or something equally paranoid. Neither of us could talk, unnerved by the girl’s unexplained presence, lost in our imaginary fears. About 5 minutes later, we prematurely opened one of the beers, or rather the pretty girl opened it for us, and we drank it warm, thankful for something to occupy our mouths and hands.
We were calming down, feeling a bit more comfortable. Then a group of 6 young men were standing over our tables. Alarm bells were ringing in my head. I eyed them suspiciously, but said nothing. In poor English, they asked if they could sit. They sat. Then, the one who seemed the most comfortable with his English looked at Jeff and asked, “Can you tell us about Christmas?”
At first Jeff didn’t know what to say. The question took him off guard, and whatever he had imagined these youths were about did not mesh with this innocent question. He looked at me and I shrugged. It turned out that they were high school students who were looking for a chance to practice their conversation skills with some native speakers. So, we joined them at their table with their high school English teacher. His conversation was worse than his students, yet he tried to keep appearances and I decided not to call him on it.
But something wasn't right. The problem with eating marijuana is that its effects become less predictable and more fluctuating than when you smoke it. Thus, just as I relaxed and let my mental guard down, I was flooded anew with qualms and questions. Why are these students drinking with their teacher? Why is their teacher trying to sell me a visa extension? Why has the one on my left said nothing, yet his wide-eyed glare has yet to leave my face?
It was around this time that Jeff and I realized our money was almost gone, and that another round would suddenly find us in debt to this establishment. It was a convenient excuse to jet, though I don't think our new friends actually believed us. The idea of a couple of tourist being out of money was absurd. Nevertheless, soon found ourselves out in the dark, heading vaguely north, without enough money for a tuk-tuk, hoping to find a couple cheap beers from a street vendor to see us back to the hotel.
We walked through a timeless panorama of darkened buildings and darker alleys. We would reach main intersections and the streetlights would welcome us back with their illumination. But soon the lights would peter out and the darkness would return.
We found beers and sat in the central park in Phnom Pehn. It was well lit, and the grounds were beautifully manicured. Families play in the open square, while young people and couples walked along the surrounding paths or sat on the many benches. Suddenly I was totally at peace. Jeff lay out on the lawn and took a nap; I sat and watched all the people, and wondered at the stark contrast to the beauty and love I saw here and the poverty and violence that seemed breath heavy, lurking at the edge of the luminance.
But the contrast is not surprising, because all the evil things that stand out so vividly throughout the city, all the terrible poverty, the weapons and whores and the sad history of violence created this peace, this perfect feeling. Such a scene in my home town would not move me at all. But here, the shrill shouts of children playing with a ball, a couple holding each other lovingly as they pass, a group of young boys and girls flirting awkwardly, it is all so beautiful. These scenes are as human as the frightened cry of that painted harpy from the night before, or the casual offer to shoot live chickens. These scenes, however, are certainly much more pleasant.
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