Now, add constant traffic. Mostly scooters, vespas, the occasional chopper or motocross. Lots of old, run-down bicycles, mostly ridden by children going to school. On the sides are nervously walking foreigners - locals seldom walk anywhere - being harassed by tuk-tuk drivers and restaurant greeters, and people selling books, shades and the likes.
At night, take out half the traffic, multiply the tuk-tuks, add some prostitutes, and mix in some cockroaches big like a toe and grey rats sneaking around.
Now. Back to day time. Picture all this nice little chaos converging at intersections where there are no stop signs. Picture having to cross this. The riders don't usually ever come to a full stop. They just honk to signal their presence, slow down, assess the way, and go by at around 20 km an hour while the riders coming from the other directions dodge them. Imagine crossing this, and the only way is to wait for a moment where everything slows down, and that's your chance. You start walking at a slow pace, nervously clutching your asshole, waiting for impact.
But everything goes smoothly.
The only accident I've seen in nearly 2 months in asia was 2 kids riding a bike, and they fell, for no reason.
Controlled chaos?
I don't know if it is my white skin, paired with my beard and tattoos, but about every 10 seconds I am approached by a smiling tuk-tuk driver.
Wait. More like, every 5 seconds. Not joking. Count to 5 aloud, and play out the following monologue in broken engrish.
"Hey, my friend, brother, tuk-tuk? Where you go? Why you walk? I take you there. Around city, all day, 10 dollah! Ok, ok, 5 dollah. Shooting? Want to shoot AK-47? Go to killing fields? Bars? Drink? Mari-wana? Co-cane? Girls? I know nice girl. She real nice. I take you there. Nice clean house. Yeah? Yeah? No? Ok brotha! Tomorow!"
I always walk with a smile however. I always say "No, thank you". "Thank yooou for saying thank you sir! My friend!" and I always get warm smiles in return, so it's not that bad. I understand that they are trying to make a living, here in this mess of a place that Pol Pot left for them.
"Hey sir, hey goodlooking, hey foreigner, want good time? Come drink beer here?" is also a line I hear a lot, mostly at night, from very, very pretty cambodian girls. I also decline with a smile. Sometimes they brush my arm or get in my way, and I talk with them a little bit, joke around, but I never stay long. Always keep moving.
Yesterday I visited the "Killing Fields". I almost cried, me, who hasn't cried in years. It is weird, feeling so sad for a people I don't really know and have nothing in common with. After 30 years of excavation, when it rains, there's still bones, teeth, and pieces of clothing that come up from the tainted soil.
You know, I've spent the last 2 years trying to "toughen up" so I wouldn't get hurt in relationships anymore. I spent a good deal of time building a nice tall wall of big stones around myself. But traveling here, away from all the people I know, it's easy to let go of all that control.
It's like there is a monk, in his bright orange robes, punching his way through. Every day, he strikes one blow, with an open palm, and a piece falls off.
My heart is back on my sleeve like when I was younger.
Back to when I was 15. Communist ideas in my head.
The same type of ideology that led a crazed leader to massacre his own people, some 40 years ago, killing close to 1/4 of the population. His own population.
Not because of a difference of ethnicity, or religion - which is still unacceptable - but because of mistrust of institutions, educated people, foreigners, new ideas.
I suggest you read a little bit about the Khmer Rouge, and how recently it happened, and how the world reacted to it. It might leave a sour taste in your mouth.
Here's a quick link, just because I'm nice: Wikipedia's basics on the Khmer Rouge.
I didn't read much about it to be honest with you, I'm plowing through 4 Game of Thrones tomes. I've always been somewhat of a student of history, reading about the gladiators, the vikings, the crusades... the warriors.
But this... this has nothing to do with warriors, or revolution. It makes me think of the book "The Devil Came on Horseback" that I read some time ago, about the Darfur genocide.
"That sounds depressing, why would you want to read that?" had asked Jonathan's mom.
"Because I feel like I am giving the victims a voice" was all I could answer under a short notice.
Holy emotions Batman!
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