Upon our arrival in Phnom Penh in the evening, we had nothing planned and decided to venture out into the streets to see what was going on. We walked from the side alley where our guesthouse was located into the main street, along the brightly-lit row of street vendors and then towards the huge roundabout that housed the Independence Monument. 

About 30 minutes later, we walked right into a big open-air concert that was simultaneously being broadcasted on TV. Undeterred by the drizzle, throngs of Cambodian gathered near the temple grounds of Wat Phrom, surrounded by TV crew and with celebrities and politicians on stage. 

We had no idea what the occasion was, but laterlearnt that for years, Thailand and Cambodia had been fighting over rights to the Preah Vihear temple which stood on their border. The UN had eventually awarded it to Cambodia, hence the annual victory celebration.

We had left our bulky SLRs in the guesthouse so I used my point-and-shoot camera to take some candid shots, but it attracted the attention of the locals around me. They stared blatantly at us while we tried to be inconspicuous, which was impossible with our faces and dressing. 

As the concert went on, I got carried away by the music and started clapping along. Oblivious to my surroundings, I put my camera into my shorts pocket without looping the strap around my wrist. Minutes later, I realized that the camera was gone!

We started searching the ground around us, knowing that I was most likely pickpocketed and it would be impossible to get my camera back. Which upset me the most was that there were more than 300 photos from our time in Singapore and Bangkok, mostly with family and friends and of the two of us. Some locals and the security officer near us tried to help, but it was a lost cause.

To cut a long story short, we ended up on the back of a motorbike with a police officer who took us all around the city, sans helmet, the wind whipping my hair all over my face. For over an hour, we were taken to random police stations in search of an English speaker, but most of them looked like secret hideouts or illegal dens with dubious characters who would look at us and say nothing. It was scary and depressing, and I remember asking myself what on earth I was doing in the country.

Nothing was done for us in the end, and I went back despondent.

The next day, we went to the Singaporean Embassy, and then to the Australian Embassy. All we wanted was a report in English so that we could file for insurance claim, and we were given a map for a "Tourist Police Bureau" somewhere in the city. E wisely asked them how much it would cost us, in case we were ripped off. The lady shrugged, unwilling to admit the presence of corruption but casually added it "might" cost us US$10.

We got our tuk-tuk driver to take us there and were greeted by a friendly Cambodian man whom, much to our relief, spoke decent English. He engaged us in small talk before taking out a huge stack of forms that had to be filled out. Although he had E's passport before him, he insisted on asking E to repeat his name, address etc. And then he asked for the most minute detail of the incident and what should have taken 30 minutes was stretched to over an hour. On the last page of the forms, there were two huge boxes at the bottom.

"You have to come back in the afternoon, because I have to let my boss sign this box, and my upper boss sign the other box. They are very busy now." We looked around and saw that the place was dead as a doornail, and we knew it was all a ploy to make the task seemed more laborious.

"How much?" E asked, expressionless. 

"I don't force you, but please give me $10 and my upper boss $10."

"That's too much! I'll give you $5 and your upper boss $5."

The man simply replied himself, "I don't force you, but please give me $10 and my upper boss $10."

E nodded and we left in our tuk-tuk.

After some sightseeing, we were driven back to the bureau and it seemed like the man had not left his desk all morning. He took out the forms from his desk drawers and showed us where the two boxes had been stamped. E simply fished out $20 from his wallet and handed it over to the man, not wanting to cause any trouble.

Before we left with our report, E asked if we could take a picture with him, expecting him to refuse us. Instead, he was happy to oblige and even asked if we could give him a copy so that he could put it on his wall. 

We found out from our tour guide in Siam Reap that the average salary for a government official in the country was US$20 a month, which was simply not enough to pay rent or feed a family, hence corruption was commonplace and necessary for survival. Even Cambodians have to pay bribe when they deal with the police.

And so I have managed without my trusty point-and-shoot for over 3 months since I returned from my trip, but I honestly feel like something's missing. I was waiting for the insurance claim but it fell through, so I decided that I would just have to get myself a new toy. E and I did some research and finally settled on a Ricoh R10, and we bought it at a good price online. He helped to chip in a third so that I could afford it, bless his cotton socks!

So say hello to my very sexy love-


Read about its features here.
I can't wait to play with it!

I think I could write an entire novel about my week in Cambodia, but each time I sit down to begin I find myself at a loss for words.

Where do I begin? Do I begin from when I started crying in the tuk-tuk as we went deeper into the city and the poverty hit me? Or when E and I were driven around by a policeman (who had carried an AK-47) in his motorbike sans helmet to locate a police station to report my stolen camera? Or when we had to sit in a dingy "tourist bureau" for more than an hour and bribe the officer to write us a report? Or when we took a private cruise down the Mekong River after sunset? Or when we chanced upon an orphanage and spent an afternoon there with the kids? Or when we were chased around the Old Market by a landmine amputee hobbling on his good foot begging us for another dollar? 

Or when I had diarrhoea in the middle of nowhere in the Angkor park and had to poop in the bushes, not once but twice? Or when E and I had our first big fight and spent half a day in silence? Or when we kept going back to the same hut-bar for our $3 cocktails? Or when we met our dear friend Sothea and he invited us to his new home for a homecooked feast by his wife? Where do I begin?

I'll let these pictures from Cambodia do the talking.

In Siam Reap, our friend (and tuk-tuk driver extraordinaire) Sothea takes us to a local beach on our last day. E and I are both templed out and want to do something different from the usual touristy itinerary. Sothea drives us to a beautiful beach that flows into the Tonle Sap near the horseback riding school, where the locals go for a respite from the summer heat. 

There, they rent space from the old toothless lady who owns part of the beach and sit there in a haphazard shelter made of wooden poles and a patchwork of tarpaulin sheets, with hammocks hanging from pole to pole. There are no foreigners around, and it is the perfect way to end our Cambodian adventure.

Sothea announces that he would like to have a swim, and E eagerly follows. I stay behind to watch our belongings. Not long ago, I too am convinced to go into the water and swap places with E.

I place a tyre around myself as a floating device because I am not dressed for the beach. "Have you gotten yourself wet yet?" E shouts at me from his hammock, and as I lean forward to hear him better, I fall into the water. I scream and laugh at the same time.

Near me a group of children are having a field day playing water gymnastics. They climb onto a small boat that is secured to a long pole in the water, and take turns to jump into the water. Perhaps wanting to impress, they look over at me and try out a different move each time. 

I decide to join in the fun by shouting 1,2,3 in all the languages I know (English, Chinese, Thai, Japanese and Khmer) and soon they wait for my cue before jumping. E is able to take some stunning shots of the children in action.

This is how I want to remember my summer of 2008, my time in Cambodia with my new friend Sothea.

One month later, back in Japan, it is still summer and hot as hell. The city is getting to me and I feel a constant need to escape to the outdoors, which is something that has never happened to me before.

Today I am in Atami in Shizuoka prefecture, about 2.5 hours away from Tokyo by train. We lay out our towels on the beach, lie in the shelter and read. Around us are young people in bright bikinis and three-generational families enjoying their summer vacation. Hawaiian-style music (and later golden oldies, easy listening and jazz) blast from the speaker behind us. We have barbequed corn-on-a-cob and skewered fish and Asahi beer. 

I don't have a swimsuit but step into the water anyway, and before me is an infinite expense of sea, and all is quiet except the distant sound of merriment from the beachgoers. The water is cool to my feet and clear as crystal.

All I can think is, "I can be in so many places now, but I am here."

I miss Sothea, and I miss Cambodia.