Oh, Cambodia …
… how little I knew about you when I got there (literally nothing other than that there was a very dark period in your not so far-away history with families being separated, people being killed and working like dogs on rice fields), and how deeply you made me fall for you with your effortless charm. When I moved to Phnom Penh, I – or, to be precise, my stomach – had a turbulent start, and to be honest, it took me a while to get used to the fact that living in Phnom Penh meant living in constant chaos. At least when you’re, like me, an outdoor fanatic that loves running, cycling and walking. Stepping outside mostly meant being thrown into a crazy hustle of packed motos, busy tuk tuks, exaggeratedly big cars and people doing literally everything on the street (from cooking and drinking to cutting their toenails or getting a haircut). Even though I was lucky enough to live in a relatively quiet street, there was rarely a time in the day when the street was actually just a normal, empty street. The early morning hours actually seemed to be the busiest. While I had breakfast on the porch, I would hear the monks chanting their prayers, squeaking horns would announce the first waste pickers, and food stalls and coconut sellers would pop up. In the evening, when I came back from work, the children of the neighbouring houses already had turned the street into their private little soccer field or bicycle racing track. And later at night, the karaoke bar on the corner never failed to entertain my ears with the cheesiest songs. Besides that, I quickly learned that there’s nothing that doesn’t exist in this city. Accordingly, life in Phnom Penh turned out to be an everyday adventure, ferociously tickling all my senses (not always in a good way, however …), and riding in a tuk tuk always felt like being in a live movie to me, one I would never get bored of.
Oh, Phnom Penh …
… how did you even manage to sneak into my heart so unnoticed, so unobtrusively and unpretentiously? How anyone can even resist falling for your poor but oh-so-happy and ever smiling people, I don‘t know. I know, you‘re far from perfect. You‘re dirty, ugly and utterly poor, you stink, you‘re mercilessly hot and humid, your traffic is insane and riding the bike in your streets does require a tiny little bit of a suicidal spirit for sure. You hate pedestrians and green spaces and love loud construction sites and swanky cars that seem oddly misplaced in your streets. And then you‘re rice and meat and rice and rice again. Dull, plain, white rice. Always, everywhere. For breakfast, lunch, and dinner – for god‘s sake! But you‘re also a surprise box full of secret spots, of hidden gems like infinity pools and jungles on rooftops; you‘re the uttermost feeling of freedom when cruising your empty night streets on a scooter. You‘re unexpectedly versatile and brutally honest, and you have something beautiful hidden behind so many of your corners. You have so many incredible and innovative projects and courageous, inspiring, hard-working and good-hearted people. And boy, how is one even supposed to finish trying out every single option of your actually incredible offer of good food (that luckily is there, too, if you look for it)? And, I mean, honestly, who doesn’t fall for a place where ice cold, fresh coconuts are everywhere and cost less than a dollar … Not to speak of the lush green jungles, charming rivers, pine forests and pristine beaches that await you if you make the often troublesome journey out of the city. To find an end to an endless list, I dare to say that you have the most beautiful children with the biggest and most honest smiles in the world. I admit: it quite possibly was love at second (or third?) sight. But it must be true what they say: this kind of love is a truly special one. Damn, Cambodia, I really miss you. I do.