Back again

September 16, 2014

Sorry, everyone, for such a long break between posts; I’ve just got back from the UK, where I was burying my beloved grandmother, and taking care of her estate. Not a holiday at all, and not particularly cheerful, but what can you do?

I got back to Phnom Penh last night after a couple of weeks of full fridges, efficient shops, boring television, well-stocked supermarkets and loads of tedious chatter about the imminent independence of Scotland.

In many ways, my journey back to PP was illustrative of why I live here now, and not in the West. I was dropped at a random bus stop in central Oxford on Sunday morning; the bus was there and waiting for me, more by luck than judgement. The ride to Heathrow was quick and entirely painless. A bit of to-ing and fro-ing at the airport to get to the right terminal, then a couple of gins and then eight hours to Doha. A couple of hours at Doha, thence to Saigon and eventually Phnom Penh.

All in all it took some 21 hours, door-to-door. Twenty-one hours where the only words I spoke to anyone were to specify meal choices or order drinks. Otherwise I read and watched truly execrable movies whilst gliding serenely across quarter of the earth. It was cool and efficient, slightly grotty, slightly irritating and largely impersonal.

Then back in PP, things started to improve. Leaving the terminal, five minutes after deplaning, I was struck by the great wall of Cambodian heat, and my shirt started sticking to my back. Just leaving the airport car park, a dozen random people smiled at me. The roads were potholed and chaotic, the traffic fizzed and shunted alarmingly. The roadside stalls were piled high with oranges and bananas, apples and dragon fruit. Whole families squeezed onto mopeds weaved in and out of the traffic as my tuk-tuk driver and I discussed what we were going to do during the upcoming Pchum Ben festival, and he practiced his English.

Back at my flat, someone had dug up the road, and I had to climb over a ten-foot mound of earth and mud to get to my gate. I’ve never been happier. Phnom Penh isn’t impersonal; it’s a riot of sounds and smells, exuberant noises and ghastly sights; it’s mud and death and poverty and life and stink and scream and now, and I love it. It’s not smooth or efficient, but it’s undeniably alive.

Dog Harley was initially overjoyed to see me, then thought better of it, and sat under the dining table ostentatiously eating a scrap of rawhide and pretending not to look at me. That didn’t last long, though, before he came around. And now I’m back in the office, planning a trip to the provinces in a couple of days to meet with a number of HIV-infected orphans, which promises to be fairly heavy, but also fairly profound.

It seems a world away from the UK. I love the UK, kind of, but I adore it here.

And finally, for no particular reason, a weird photo of Jimmy Page visiting Angkor Wat. Just because Jimmy Page…

 

Jimmy Angkor

 

 

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One Response to “Back again”

  1. Hey, sorry to hear about your loss. Always glad to read your posts, take care

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