Make it past the midget and the deaf mute hookers and Martinis dance floor was the most hilariously depressing sight one could ever witness.Lucky Lucan wrote: ↑Tue Jul 16, 2019 12:27 pmMartini seemed good was because there were so few other choices.
On Being Back
Rated R for Ricecakes
It was the freelancer triangle. Martini, Walkabout, Sharkies. There might be more choices now but for the most part you can have all those hostess bars.
johnny
johnny
- Lucky Lucan
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I don't understand this sentence, are you saying it was less or more developed back then?
What exactly is it you are saying is so awful now? I understand that a lot of bars etc you used to go to are gone, and there is more traffic, but what has made the place seem so bad to you?Except for the revamped airport and some new malls and some tall buildings it’s a complete hole.
Romantic Cambodia is dead and gone. It's with McKinley in the grave.
Backhome is on a nostalgia kick and it's all so fucked up cf how it used to be. Lol, been there, done that.Lucky Lucan wrote: ↑Thu Jul 18, 2019 10:27 amI don't understand this sentence, are you saying it was less or more developed back then?
What exactly is it you are saying is so awful now? I understand that a lot of bars etc you used to go to are gone, and there is more traffic, but what has made the place seem so bad to you?Except for the revamped airport and some new malls and some tall buildings it’s a complete hole.
"Not my circus, not my monkeys" - KiR
Curiously the word nostalgia was originally coined to mean ‘an aching for the homeland’ as was observed in Swiss mercenaries fighting abroad.
There’s a similar irony in the use of the word Blighty to refer to the British homeland by overseas troops from the Boer War onwards, as it derives from the Urdu word bilayati meaning foreign - the Indians speaking of the British going back to their 'foreign place', naively adopted by the troops themselves.
And when they returned to Dear Old Blighty they often did find it a foreign place. Maugham writing about an expat returnee in Virtue (1931):
'The past was another country: we did things differently there'.
There’s a similar irony in the use of the word Blighty to refer to the British homeland by overseas troops from the Boer War onwards, as it derives from the Urdu word bilayati meaning foreign - the Indians speaking of the British going back to their 'foreign place', naively adopted by the troops themselves.
And when they returned to Dear Old Blighty they often did find it a foreign place. Maugham writing about an expat returnee in Virtue (1931):
But when it comes to Cambodia, to paraphrase L P Hartley:His was the common experience. It was heartbreaking. For months, for long months before it was due, these people planned their leave, and when they got off the ship they were in such spirits they could hardly contain themselves. London. Shops and clubs and theatres and restaurants. London. They were going to have the time of their lives. London. It swallowed them. A strange turbulent city, not hostile but indifferent, and they were lost in it. They had no friends. They had nothing in common with the acquaintances they made. They were more lonely than in the jungle. [...] They went to see their families and of ourse they were glad to see them, but it wasn’t the same as it had been, they did feel a bit out of it, and when you came down to brass tacks the life people led in England was deadly. It was grand fun to come home, but you couldn’t live there any more, and sometimes you thought of your bungalow overlooking the river and your tours of the district and what a lark it was to run over once in a blue moon to Sandakan or Kuching or Singapore.
'The past was another country: we did things differently there'.
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Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.” Kevin Arnold “The Wonder Years.”
Phnom Penh and the expat community, along with Sihanoukville, hold strong memories for me. When I moved to Phnom Penh in 1994, three foreigners had recently been murdered on Route 4 and three more had been kidnapped from riding atop a train and were being held on Phnom Vour. Phnom Penh was edgy, with journalists zipping around on motorcycles, the threat of still-present danger, and kind of a “smoke ‘em while you got ‘em” feel to the city. Electricity was crap, the Cambodians were shooting at clouds to make it rain (with AK 47s, right there in the city), and yes, there were still dirt roads around town---around P’Sar Thmei, with big potholes and when the monsoons hit and you were in a cyclo, the water would just about get in it flooded so bad.
We drank at the riverfront, at small cafes, at the FCC, at the Heart of Darkness when the small poolroom had one table with a short corner in the back left. An elephant still strolled the riverfront. At night, young men walked the streets hitting together little wooden blocks to signal to those in their homes, "We've got chicken soup." Every seller had his own little rhythm. At night, we'd take motodops or cycles out to get Pho, or in the late 90s, we could get Indian food delivered to our home near Stad Olympique. I used to go there to do stair laps, which drove Ken crazy as he hated it there. I could tolerate the shit in the stair wells, as once up top, people would be doing Tai Chi and exercising in the evening, and I loved doing a full circuit of the stairs--up and down the divider portions.
Early '90s, no Chinese development in Snook. It was dead-ass quiet and peaceful, with beauty and nature, and a little group of us getting together to have beers at night, play board games, or hang out.
A Nigerian guy in Sihanoukville sold smack from a little house in Sihanoukville, and he was whispered about but nothing happened to him because money had changed the right hands.
Expats were Colin, who ran the restaurant and hotel on Ochateal, along with Claude and Bich, who were further down and had a restaurant practically on the beach. Claude was French-Vietnamese and broke his neck one night while he was out partying, but survived it.
Expats all got cell phones in the mid nineties, great big things and we were learning to text—it was new technology, not like it is now. We were connected by talking, meeting up, drinking, and phone calls---not texts and social media and Tinder. When someone got hurt bad, we showed up at hospitals and put down money and called family members. When I nearly died, people showed up with magazines and a tv, and food and help. Phnom Penh expats were connected. In fact, so few expats were in the country that we all knew who was in Siem Reap, Battambang, Prey Veng, and Snook. We just knew.
Friends are everything when you live outside of your own culture. When I was there last in 2016, I realized it would never be the same for me again. I’ll be back, though. I have people I love who are still there, and I very much need to see them again.
Phnom Penh and the expat community, along with Sihanoukville, hold strong memories for me. When I moved to Phnom Penh in 1994, three foreigners had recently been murdered on Route 4 and three more had been kidnapped from riding atop a train and were being held on Phnom Vour. Phnom Penh was edgy, with journalists zipping around on motorcycles, the threat of still-present danger, and kind of a “smoke ‘em while you got ‘em” feel to the city. Electricity was crap, the Cambodians were shooting at clouds to make it rain (with AK 47s, right there in the city), and yes, there were still dirt roads around town---around P’Sar Thmei, with big potholes and when the monsoons hit and you were in a cyclo, the water would just about get in it flooded so bad.
We drank at the riverfront, at small cafes, at the FCC, at the Heart of Darkness when the small poolroom had one table with a short corner in the back left. An elephant still strolled the riverfront. At night, young men walked the streets hitting together little wooden blocks to signal to those in their homes, "We've got chicken soup." Every seller had his own little rhythm. At night, we'd take motodops or cycles out to get Pho, or in the late 90s, we could get Indian food delivered to our home near Stad Olympique. I used to go there to do stair laps, which drove Ken crazy as he hated it there. I could tolerate the shit in the stair wells, as once up top, people would be doing Tai Chi and exercising in the evening, and I loved doing a full circuit of the stairs--up and down the divider portions.
Early '90s, no Chinese development in Snook. It was dead-ass quiet and peaceful, with beauty and nature, and a little group of us getting together to have beers at night, play board games, or hang out.
A Nigerian guy in Sihanoukville sold smack from a little house in Sihanoukville, and he was whispered about but nothing happened to him because money had changed the right hands.
Expats were Colin, who ran the restaurant and hotel on Ochateal, along with Claude and Bich, who were further down and had a restaurant practically on the beach. Claude was French-Vietnamese and broke his neck one night while he was out partying, but survived it.
Expats all got cell phones in the mid nineties, great big things and we were learning to text—it was new technology, not like it is now. We were connected by talking, meeting up, drinking, and phone calls---not texts and social media and Tinder. When someone got hurt bad, we showed up at hospitals and put down money and called family members. When I nearly died, people showed up with magazines and a tv, and food and help. Phnom Penh expats were connected. In fact, so few expats were in the country that we all knew who was in Siem Reap, Battambang, Prey Veng, and Snook. We just knew.
Friends are everything when you live outside of your own culture. When I was there last in 2016, I realized it would never be the same for me again. I’ll be back, though. I have people I love who are still there, and I very much need to see them again.
I lived there for three years, and visited regularly during the time you were there. I saw both versions of Phnom Penh.backhome wrote: ↑Thu Jul 18, 2019 3:10 amLet's recap then: A sort of snarky and puerile shoot-down of what I posted the other day, followed by a challenge or two, followed by a very quick but clumsy walk-back. Meanwhile a scolding for the sin of taking what you posted at face value (how dare we!).
If you post something stupid and someone points out that it's stupid, then own the stupid. Don't blame others for pointing it out. I'm sorry you arrived in Cambodia after it was cool. I know you can't help it. I am sure you are otherwise a nice person. You had street cred once for running this site for a short time, and now it's back to being a nobody. Don't come on here like you're King Dick and tell us all what's what. I think your sudden reemergence here is unnecessary and the posting a little haughty for someone who lived in PP for all of a few months.
My point is this: when people say 'it was better back then', that is by definition a subjective statement and one that is true to them personally. It's not objective, it's not empirical - it's emotional. 'Better' by what or whose standard, for example?
When you then consider that the people who say it was better back then were in entirely different circumstances then, compared to now, it's almost inevitable that people will see it as being preferable. They were 20 years younger. They were likely single and more carefree. They were slimmer, in better shape, healthier. Mentally, they were more curious, more free from worries that hit you as you go through the decades. They were, by definition, less jaded.
Is it any wonder then that it looked better then than it does now?
I enjoyed my visits from 2005-08ish. I enjoyed the three years I lived there from 2013-2016. I can't compare them. Neither was better nor worse than the other. They were just different, because my circumstances were different. And, frankly, I was happy to leave because i knew my time was up and i was just starting to find it annoying.
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A side note--LTO was planning a move to Myanmar. He'd had enough of the changes.
Better may be subjective, but the 2000s have seen an explosion of building and traffic in Phnom Penh, which used to seem a much more Cambodian city. You may have been finding it annoying because the city of Phnom Penh is dusty, hot, noisy, and busy. Drivers in cars and on motorcycles aren't good drivers. Health care is (still) poor. All that said, my ex and I agreed that P Penh, SHV, and definitely SR as well had changed dramatically--in a way that no other expat I knew (nor Khmer friend) enjoyed. It can be empirically measured. Remember, that's by observation and experience, not by logic.
It was better before SHV was sold to the Chinese.
It was better before traffic picked up so much that car accidents dramatically increased.
It was better before the youth began picking up Western culture.
If a calm, happy environment means "better," it used to be better in P Penh, SHV, and SR. A feeling or attitude is subjective, of course. But the feel of a place, while it can't be put on a scale, is still significant.
I used to climb those very steepest stairs to get to the top of Angkor Wat. We didn't have cables to hold on to. We just climbed. Angkor Wat looked better without those.
They paved paradise to put up a parking lot.
Better may be subjective, but the 2000s have seen an explosion of building and traffic in Phnom Penh, which used to seem a much more Cambodian city. You may have been finding it annoying because the city of Phnom Penh is dusty, hot, noisy, and busy. Drivers in cars and on motorcycles aren't good drivers. Health care is (still) poor. All that said, my ex and I agreed that P Penh, SHV, and definitely SR as well had changed dramatically--in a way that no other expat I knew (nor Khmer friend) enjoyed. It can be empirically measured. Remember, that's by observation and experience, not by logic.
It was better before SHV was sold to the Chinese.
It was better before traffic picked up so much that car accidents dramatically increased.
It was better before the youth began picking up Western culture.
If a calm, happy environment means "better," it used to be better in P Penh, SHV, and SR. A feeling or attitude is subjective, of course. But the feel of a place, while it can't be put on a scale, is still significant.
I used to climb those very steepest stairs to get to the top of Angkor Wat. We didn't have cables to hold on to. We just climbed. Angkor Wat looked better without those.
They paved paradise to put up a parking lot.
What's wrong with subjective? I expect that, as with most, just about everything I've ever posted here is subjective. If you want empirical facts, go to your local library and get stuck right into the non-fiction section. Stop whining on here, for Dog's sake.
TheGrimReaper wrote: ↑Mon Sep 02, 2019 1:45 pmSlavedog, you do not belong on this forum as you talk too much sense.
I'm the only one here who isn't moaning about how wonderful it used to be, but isn't any longer. This thread is full of people whining, but it certainly isn't being done by me.
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I have to say I did really like the place more back when it was a bit more sketchy. When I first came here almost 20 years ago I had been traveling in the region for quite some time but this place just blew me away. It was probably one of the most peaceful periods here for a long time though, and I was a bit wary but had no problems over the 2-3 weeks I was here.
I wanted to stay but had to get back to work and my life in London because rent had to be paid etc. So after moving around a few countries and visiting a few more I still wanted to get back here. I got back in August 2005. I was quite shocked. The whole place was unrecognizable. It was night time and there were loads of shops and bright lights everywhere.
I've seen the whole place change a lot more since, it was slow and steady for a long time but the amount of construction now is astounding. It first really hit me when I went up on the roof at our new building a year or so back. I counted 150 high-rises to the south and south east till I got bored. Obviously I had seen these everyday, just not all together.
Some of the development stuns me. When I first lived here I'd often go down with some drivers to the Tonle Bassac slums. There was a little shack karaoke place we'd sit outside, it was the only building on that stretch but opposite were thousands of shacks. There were many more just a bit south of there, but there were swampy bits where no-one lives. They were all evicted/relocated about 2007. Now the Australian Embassy is on the site of the karaoke shack and the whole area is covered in high-rise condos etc. Koh Pich is bizarre, faux-Parisienne blocks stretching for hundreds of meters, all sorts of huge monuments and kitsch abound.
I don't spend much time in those areas so it doesn't bother me. Some of the new developments are pleasant enough, I've been in plenty of Boreys where it doesn't seem quite like Cambodia but then again it's a bit less chaotic. The area I work in has tons of alleyways between the blocks, there's probably a bit more commerce in these areas than before, but they still seem like an older Cambodia that you can easily forget. The area I live in is far from there, it's rapidly developing too but still retains a very local feel.
The street I live on was sealed but potholed when I moved to this house about 6 years ago. That meant it was a pain in the ass to drive on, but then they installed new drainage that made it a total mess for 2 years, and then they fixed it with some lovely smooth flat concrete. It used to be a quiet road, now it's busy as hell with constant traffic - at times it's hard to cross. Since it was fixed up a whole lot of new businesses have sprung up too. That's the way it works anywhere, and by midnight it's quiet enough to hear the cicadas other than the odd drag racer who comes through in the early hours.
I wanted to stay but had to get back to work and my life in London because rent had to be paid etc. So after moving around a few countries and visiting a few more I still wanted to get back here. I got back in August 2005. I was quite shocked. The whole place was unrecognizable. It was night time and there were loads of shops and bright lights everywhere.
I've seen the whole place change a lot more since, it was slow and steady for a long time but the amount of construction now is astounding. It first really hit me when I went up on the roof at our new building a year or so back. I counted 150 high-rises to the south and south east till I got bored. Obviously I had seen these everyday, just not all together.
Some of the development stuns me. When I first lived here I'd often go down with some drivers to the Tonle Bassac slums. There was a little shack karaoke place we'd sit outside, it was the only building on that stretch but opposite were thousands of shacks. There were many more just a bit south of there, but there were swampy bits where no-one lives. They were all evicted/relocated about 2007. Now the Australian Embassy is on the site of the karaoke shack and the whole area is covered in high-rise condos etc. Koh Pich is bizarre, faux-Parisienne blocks stretching for hundreds of meters, all sorts of huge monuments and kitsch abound.
I don't spend much time in those areas so it doesn't bother me. Some of the new developments are pleasant enough, I've been in plenty of Boreys where it doesn't seem quite like Cambodia but then again it's a bit less chaotic. The area I work in has tons of alleyways between the blocks, there's probably a bit more commerce in these areas than before, but they still seem like an older Cambodia that you can easily forget. The area I live in is far from there, it's rapidly developing too but still retains a very local feel.
The street I live on was sealed but potholed when I moved to this house about 6 years ago. That meant it was a pain in the ass to drive on, but then they installed new drainage that made it a total mess for 2 years, and then they fixed it with some lovely smooth flat concrete. It used to be a quiet road, now it's busy as hell with constant traffic - at times it's hard to cross. Since it was fixed up a whole lot of new businesses have sprung up too. That's the way it works anywhere, and by midnight it's quiet enough to hear the cicadas other than the odd drag racer who comes through in the early hours.
Romantic Cambodia is dead and gone. It's with McKinley in the grave.
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