osmoala

 

 

Now the dogs were barking on the other side of the street from my balcony facing Sok San Road. There were barks with intonations and questions, 

   “What happened?” asked Barry, The Slaughterer of Chickens. That’s what he called himself. 

   “Oh, we were chasing someone who didn’t belong here,” answered Scooby, The Conductor Over Life and Matter and Cats and Sheep. Queen Lafaytte was here too. She was The Destroyer of Persian Carpets.

   “A guy or a dog?”

   “Both - the dog was on a leash.”

   “Yeah, sissies. They should know by now that it is the other way around.” 

Sometimes you wake up in the morning laughing at the crazy dreams from just a moment ago and there is the energy to last you the whole day. But sometimes it only lasts until after breakfast and you go back to sleep again for an hour or two and then get out of bed at noon. What happened to the early walks and the one dollar gym? I had obviously forgotten about them, so the next morning I took a 10 kilometre walk. When I came back Jade was already up, working on the next article. She was focused and there was a smile on her face. I said hi, and kept silent. It was like a chess game.   

       

Now it was the Chinese New Year, it was full moon and we were entering the year of the Dragon according to the lunar calendar, a year that presents qualities such as power, strength and good luck. 

   The riverboats happily competed with the other ten man crews. There are the people paid by the government competing too. Here are the police, the army and the other guys who could easily melt into a crowd. 

   I was standing next to them, we all watching what was going on with the competitions on the river that now had a higher water level than a week ago, maybe because there was a dam upstream and somebody had turned the water on. 

   The Other Guys didn’t advocate their presence with uniforms and badges but they all seemed to take this event quite seriously even though there were a lot of laughs and cheering. There was drama, and when one of the hardworking rowers fell off his boat into the water there was more amusement, with the cops and the rest of the security cracking up too. The boats were fast and their tactics for winning was a chess game where you attack right from the start.   

The Siem Reap Chess Club was only a 10 minute walk from my room.

   John was the president of the Siem Reap Chess Club. That was in the daytime.    

Later at night he was a football hooligan. The first time I met him was at King Kong. He looked like General Alcazar from a Tin Tin comic book. He was half Turk and half Swede and he cheered for one of the infamous teams. I am not sure how this works so I asked him about the Swedish football clubs with fans who were known to love to pick a fight. Supporters who liked to punch supporters from the other club then afterwards, no matter who had won the game.

   “We don’t fight. It’s the other clubs that cause trouble, because they know who we are. One more beer, now!” John slams his fist on the bar.  

   “You had enough,” says the tiny girl behind the bar with a smile.

   “Okay.”

   He turns to me and says, “She knows my limit. Sunday …”

   “Sunday? I don’t know - I’m checking the hell out of here …”

   “Chess.”

   “Chess?”

   “Chess.” 

Le Tigre looks like a dungeon with the jungle inside. No disturbing sunlight in the restaurant. Sundays at 2 in the afternoon it is The Chess Club. People stay here and they say the rooms are good. My experience of walking into a room next to the reception was the fine scent of mould. 

   I played a few games and lost them all, except for the one lucky draw, where I did a chess mate in four moves. It was an old classic so the guy I was playing did not see it coming because it was too simple of a move. The guy was the vice president of the chess club and he was devastated,

   “I’m going to jump into the pool,” he said. “And then go home.” 

   John was laughing at him now, “Four moves?”

   “Yes, four moves.”

   “Hahahahaha, what the fuck happened to you?”

   All the guys were experienced players and they came here simply because they enjoyed the game. John had his eyes on Andy,

   “You lost in four moves?” He was pointing at me - “He is a rookie, and you are supposed to be the Vice President of The Chess Club!” 

   “I know.” Andy was working in the administration in one of the international high schools - “But I teach when we don’t have a teacher.” Playing along with the blame game John was shooting at him now he was looking at the floor holding both hands against his temples. 

   There was a bit of theatre because John wouldn’t let it go. Then afterwards Andy and I had another game, off the record, and he won quite easily.

  Maybe that was when I decided to go to the South. Kate and I took the Giant Ibis to Phnom Penh.

Phnom Penh is a lovely town and a nightmare at the same time. Some of the local expats don't look so well. Socks, but no shoes? Street 172 had the same delicious western food as always - lasagnes, pizzas, beef steaks, fish and chips. Shepherd’s Pie. Later, back from the seaside, check into the hotel where the breakfast is 20 dollars if you are not staying here.    

   Lovely room with three beds. Balcony, good wifi, spacy, and mahogany was everywhere, the roof, the walls, the furniture. And the smell of mould. Mould. I’m not keen on the smell of mould. I would have it in my clothes, my box with Swedish snuff containing small bags, like tea bags with nicotine and flavours. The bags had been in the open air overnight and they virtually stank of … mould. The cleaning girls had sprayed the room before but after a few hours you start coughing. 

   It was a shame, this 15 floor hotel had only one room left. I would find out why - the mould in the room had the same theme as the classic sci-fi flick, The Blob, with the alien virus spreading to the population on Earth at an alarming speed. It was a big room and I had three beds. Yet, the next morning I woke up on the floor between two beds. How did this happen?   

   The breakfast was … okay. Breakfast closed at 10am and I was there five to. “It’s almost ten now,” one of the girls softly complained. The clock on the wall said five to ten.

   “The elevators took five minutes.”

   “Okay.” I had some of what was left and it was so so. This place looked better than you felt afterwards. There was a sky bar with the pool and a grand view of the capital. It was not the Overlook Hotel though. Yet. I checked out at 1.45 in the afternoon. Anyone would get nightmares after staying in that room too long.   

   I would smell mould for the next few days. It was everywhere, my gear and my nose. Everything I ate and drank tasted of mould, and even the air I was breathing in the big city tasted of … yes. Like chewing big chunks of it and for a brief moment I thought the vicious attack on my senses would stay there forever.  

Anyway, before all this happened we went to Kampot and Kate said, browsing her phone, 

   “Fuck, I booked the hotel in Kep instead of Kampot - sorry about that.” She looked a bit alarmed.

  “No worries, I wanted to go there anyway.” She had said she wouldn't go to Kep. It was an hour by tuk tuk from Kampot. I said I did it by magic.

  “Magic, yes, sure you did, hahaha.” For a split second she believed me, and then she remembered who she was talking to - Tony Cox, the intergalactic spy who jumped between time and space and dimensions before breakfast. Kate was detoxing for two weeks now. She was going to fly to Manila soon. “I want to be fresh when I travel,” she said.

Captain Chim’s was a nice resort with some lovely staff. There were not so many customers now and you could relax in the jungle garden with a cold Cambodian beer after your activities throughout the day. We took the boat to Rabbit Island and it was just as lovely as the last time a few years ago, with the beach, palm trees, restaurants and the jungle next to you. Later we took a tuk tuk to Kampot for a few hours. There were more restaurants and girlie bars than last time and I was surprised to meet four different people I knew in the next five minutes.  

    

Back in Phnom Penh Kate said, 

   “You want to do something?”

   “But of course. What do you want to do?”

   “How about some Indian food? - It’s not far, I’ll show you the location on the phone.”

   “I believe you. Let’s do it.”

   The food was probably a disaster because she felt sick afterwards. “Good or no good?”

   “Not really.” My food hadn’t arrived yet and when it materialised I was already done here. “I’m not paying for this, we are just about to leave.” They did not object so I paid for my beer and we walked.

   “You okay?”

   “No, I feel sick.”

   “The food?”

   “I don’t know what it is.” She kept a straight face. 

   What do I know? - I didn’t even have a chance to try the dinner myself. I wanted bangers and mash anyway. 

   “I’m going back to the room. I’m exhausted.”

   “I’m going to have a bite at Golden Home. Speak later.”

   I had the bangers and mash and ended up speaking with Johnny the Anarchist over a few beers.

   He was not happy with the way the Globalist Mafia were planning to take over the world.       

    “The pandemic was a test to see how people would react to living in lockdown.”

    “Okay?” I had never been to the anarchist meetings in Acapulco every year in March. He showed clips on his phone and it looked like they were having a good time with the speeches, the sun and the jungle and the beach. There were live bands too.

   “Looks like a party - how long do you stay …

   “All night.” He looked happy saying this. There was a sparkle in his eyes that lit up the heart of the old anarchist. He was in his 50s. I told him all people looked happy on the clips.

   “Yes, they are - you meet people, different individuals and they all have one thing in common.”

   “Speeding tickets?” 

   “Yeah sure, hahahaha.”

  

Next time on Street 172 with Kate and we spoke with Johnny who was sitting at Golden Home. I said, “Johnny goes to Acapulco now and then.“

   “I have been to Acapulco,” Kate said. 

   I went to the bathroom and when I came back they were still talking about Acapulco with jungles around the corner and cliff divers waiting for the right wave.    

   Later Kate would say, “There is something about him that goes for all expats here … I’m looking for the right word …”

   “No need to, I get it, I think.” She was probably right about the expat guys and girls living here in Cambodia. They were from the US, the UK, the EU and Australia. They might not fit in the Western world but they knew how to adjust to it, well, for a period of time that is, and everybody had a welcoming smile on their face. 

   “Misfits?”

   “Not misfits, there must be a better word for it.”

   “The unjustible?”

   “That’s not a word.”

   “It is now. And what does it make you?”

   “I’m not talking about me - talking about the people who are staying here for a long time.” She was a bit tense but she was sober so she knew how to handle it. She had some things on her mind. And she had a flight to Manila in a few days. 

   “I’ll have one more draft - do we have the time?”

   “Of course. I don’t mind you having one. And sometimes - I just wish I could have one too, but I promised myself.”

   “Yes you did. Actually, I like you better when you are sober. A few days ago here in Phnom Penh you took me to places I’ve never been to before. We saw five bands. They were really good, you know.”

   “Glad you liked it.” She hesitated for a moment, “And thanks - otherwise I would have stayed in the room all week in Phnom Penh waiting for my flight. And Rabbit Island was just amazing!” I was happy she said that, because she had experienced different surroundings in her life, and she has been to over 65 countries so far. She listed the next ones - “The Philippines (been there before), Taiwan, maybe Korea and then Japan.” 

   “I spent a week in Tokyo once.”

   “How was it?”

   “Crowded - they had these strong men pushing people inside the cars in the subway so they could keep up with the schedule.”

   “What’s the name of the subway? - or the tube, or whatever you want to call it?”

   “I forget what it’s called in Japanese … Shinkansen? … and it takes you through places like Shinjuku, Ginza … among other stations - I’m sure it’s different today.” 

   I was not very keen on crowded places, but you got used to them and then you started enjoying these mega cities. Tokyo and Yokohama had grown together for a long time now with over 30 million people living in the Megapolis. Kate was going to fly to Manila, which by the density of the population is the most crowded city in the world, well over 20 million people.

   Her mind was already there and her body was a shell, waiting to be collected, like luggage. She showed a straight face so I didn’t ask what it was that was eating her. 

   The next day I said, “Speak later.” I missed her already and I wished her happy landing. Later she would message me that her blood test was okay. She had been worried because sometimes she was overwhelmed by fatigue. “But I’m low on thyroid.” Well, that could make sense.

   I took the Giant Ibis back to Siem Reap and it was a comfortable ride. Sok San Road had changed. But perhaps it was only from my point of view.