Sex, Drugs & No Idea

5: Magic - Phnom Penh, Cambodia

What a riotous, maddening and incredible place.

Sitting in the confluence of the Mekong and Tonlé Sap rivers, the Cambodian capital city of Phnom Penh battered Charlie's exhausted senses as the group crawled through the traffic in their minivan. It seemed to Charlie that the only prerequisite for obtaining a driver's license in Cambodia was that you and your family have a proven history of lunacy or blindness or both––and that the entire family of twelve be able to fit on the back of a moped. As much as his gritty eyeballs stung from lack of sleep, he could barely blink as they wove their way through the mayhem.

They were disgorged onto the pavement by their driver, their bags thrown with great alacrity into a doorway and a handful of currency deftly exchanged before they had chance to count it, or even breathe. The driver attempted to speed off into the crowd, but slammed on his breaks, just managing to graze the behind of a suicidal old woman who'd just wandered out into the street.

Behind Charlie, Dang said hazily, "I've never seen someone die before, bro."

"The day's still young, mate," Charlie replied.

The air was full of the heady scent of spices and pollution and sewage and the wordless cries of food vendors.

"Manic isn't it?" said Will, pulling his pack out of the pile in the doorway. He looked up. "Ah! We're here."

Sitting on Pasteur Street, just down the road from the Independence Monument, The Top Banana Hostel shone like a tacky yellow beacon of light to us six weary travellers.

"It's like the Cambodian version of a shack at night, where the door opens and a sliver of light spills out into the snow, isn't it?" Golem said tiredly.

Charlie pointed. By the door was a hand-painted sign that promised the customer, 'We make good shit happen!!' It took him a second to realise that this was, in fact, just painted directly onto the side of the building. No half measures here.

"Two exclamation marks," said French. "Sign o' someone who's got a big hole in their screen door, if you ask me."

Golem nodded. "Sounds like the sort of place that'll be full of annoying Yanks."

"Shut up and pick up your ball-bag, man," said Frenchy––referring to the bowling-ball bag that Golem had inexplicably selected instead of a backpack for this trip.

Golem grimaced. "Here we bloody go."

Inside, they were shown to their two three-bed dorms by Sovi. He was a small, cheerful and instantly likeable local with quick eyes, who interpreted the sighs of exhaustion and jet-lagged mumbling to mean that they wanted to be shown the bar.

#

It was early evening and the orange sun was fading on the buildings across the street as Charlie stood, leaning on the balcony, and watched the street theatre below.

So much for not overindulging on the first night, he thought muzzily.

From inside, Charlie could hear Will and Dang's conversation with Sovi getting louder and louder as they got drunker and drunker. Sovi stood behind the bar. He was chalking up the beers in a little notebook, beaming as he did so.

"Sovi, bro," said Dang, leaning conspiratorially across the bar and crooking a finger at the little Cambodian.

"Yes, my friend," said Sovi.

"What're all these magic things we keep hearing about?"

"Magic?" Sovi sounded bemused.

"Yeah, like, you know, bro, magic things. Like magic shakes and magic pizza."