The hotel I am staying at is owned by an Australian, and they have the TV in the bar streaming Foxtel, an Australian cable network. I keep glancing up and seeing familiar advertisements for Bunnings, Hungry Jacks and My Chemist Warehouse, in between highlights of AFL.
On my last night, I glanced up at the TV above reception and it’s playing Miss Cambodia. I don’t need this, I mutter to myself, then grab my phone to message Arum that I love her.
I take a Tuktuk to Bassac Street, the local nightlife “walking street” that every Cambodian has told me I must visit. I have dinner and beers, and watch some fairly entertaining Karaoke, but after Hanoi and Saigon, it’s fairly quiet and tame. The Tuktuk driver on the way back barely waits for me to sit down before roaring off, and changes gears as if the clutch slept with his wife.
The coffee at the hotel is nothing more than instant, so I discover a small stall thirty metres away, where the lady owner, Passregsa, does a steady trade to nurses from the local hospital, parents to students at the nearby school, and many local professionals. There might not be air conditioning, but she charges a third of the price of the Starbucks around the corner.
The Russian Market. The Russians have moved on but the name remains. Clothes, fragrances, homewares and trinkets, motorbike parts and just about anything you can think of is available here. Also food, which for me was Mae Pok, and as an added bonus the last of the fishball soup in the pot. The fishball soup is not to my taste but I gave it ago before pushing it to the side.
On a whim with time to kill before my bus out of town, I decided to get a massage. The masseur was attractive, but not scantily dressed, so I assumed everything was legitimate. Then she pointed at my groin and said something I couldn’t understand. I managed to convey that I didn’t want any “extras”, but I considered myself lucky that I left with my virtue intact.
At a petrol station on the outskirts of town, our bus parked at a forty-five-degree angle from the bowsers. Next door is a villa, virtually a mansion. Over the road is a line of hovels that probably flood every time it rains.
Adrian's Got The Moose 