Phnom Penh In Photos

Today marks a month spent in Phnom Penh, Cambodia’s capital city.

I’ll be honest here, my initial reaction to the city wasn’t one of excitement. As we rushed through the city in our tuk tuk an hour after arriving, I tried to focus on the city around me. Signs sped by in Khmer, cries of street vendors and beeps of honking horns filled my ears, and a thousand unrecognizable smells consumed me. That, probably combined with the 15 hour flight, left me feeling completely overwhelmed.

A month later, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still oftentimes taken aback by the children speeding by on motorcycles, the traffic stopping for crossing monks, the markets with people shouting in Khmer and the unrecognizable meat fried and served on sticks. Yet, 30 days later, I realize each of these elements works in unison, each playing their role in this bustling, thriving, colorful city. Among the chaos are moments of quiet, of love, of beauty, and each person in this city has a life closely interwoven with the busy tuk-tuk filled roads, colorful sweet dragon fruit, and orange-clad monks of Phnom Penh. For our lives, lived so far apart, to cross even for a moment is one of my favorite parts of travel.

Here are some of my favorite people, places, and moments I have encountered in Phnom Penh.

I browsed knock-off Fendi flip-flops at the Central Market. I explored the winding, lamp illuminated aisles of the Night Market, got lost among stalls stocked with fruits and vegetables in every color of the rainbow at the Russian Market. I people-watched at any given opportunity, observing how the locals haggled over fresh crabs or bundles of flowers, arguing over the prices of fresh spring rolls and yellow durian. I saw women holding babies in their laps as they sliced fresh fish, friends gossip over steaming bowls of noodles, and I heard about a million cries of “lady, lady!” I also think I bought enough fresh passionfruit juice to drain my pocketbook completely.

I watched dancers move with a precision my clumsy self can’t even fathom, fingers overextending into intricate shapes, each with it’s own meaning. Flower, fruit, rain—I lost track of them all, lost in the contours of their fingers, the control in which they held position after position. The dances all told stories—of flirtatious fishermen, of prayers for rain, of thanks to those who had brought gifts or provided service. I was mesmerized by every movement.

For anyone asking—yes I tried a cricket. It was crunchy, spicy, and stared me right in the eyes as I went to eat it. My Cambodian friend Pon, on the other hand, picked up a fat, juicy cricket without hesitation and bit it’s head clean off, licking his fingers when he was done.

Beyond crickets, I’ve sampled dumplings filled with cabbage and carrots, dunked in a sweet soy sauce and flavored with sesame seeds. I’ve scooped the fuchsia fruit out of a dragonfruit, reveling in it’s simple sweetness, with a slight tangy kick. I’ve eaten my body weight in rice, quite literally, as we’ve already gone through a 60kg bag back at the volunteer house, though I’ve probably doubled each bite after smothering it in sweet red pepper and spicy chile sauce. Topped with fried tofu? Heaven.

I’ve visited so many pagodas in the city I’ve begun to lose count. Each one is unique, topped with gold or silver carvings of dragons or monkeys or snakes. As you enter a pagoda, the sweet mell of incense burns your nostrils, the smoke filling every corner or the intricately designed structures. Monks perch under trees to chat with one another or unveil their yellow umbrellas at the threat of an oncoming storm, never moving from their positions even as the rain pours down around them. It is oftentimes odd to walk right from a loud, crowded city to a peaceful pagoda, but it only makes the stillness all the more magical.

So yes, Phnom Penh overwhelmed me, but also surprised me. I fell in love with the quiet moments and the chaotic ones, and leave this city with a love for a country I didn’t know if I could find again.

Cambodia, thank you.

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