Feb. 19, 2017
From 2005-2010 I worked on a training project that sent me to the capitol of Cambodia over a dozen times for a week or two at a stretch. Phnom Penh traffic is pretty heavy, with a rich mix of cars, tuk-tuks, cyclos, motos, and bicycles. Until recently, there were few stop signs or stop lights. One of my Cambodian colleagues referred to the traffic style as “gentle chaos.”
Most visitors experience this gentle chaos in three ways: 1. trying to cross the busy streets; 2. riding in a tuk-tuk attached to a loud moto, or 3. isolated in a gas-guzzling, overly air-conditioned SUV.
Crossing the street in Phnom Penh reminded me of playing Double Dutch when I was eight. There’s a rhythm you learn by watching the ropes move up and down, the speed of the twirlers, and the crossing of the ropes at the bottom. You time your step-in, and begin jumping, at the right speed, never losing sight of the ropes and the twirlers. So too, with crossing Phnom Penh’s streets. The vehicles never stop, but the drivers are all engaged, attending to their surroundings. You wait for a slight lull. You move slowly into traffic. You watch who’s doing what. You NEVER panic and do something quick and unpredictable. The traffic slows, or moves around you, and, incredibly, you pass safely. Occasionally, an irresponsible teenager or rich guy in an SUV ignores the pattern, so you can never stop paying attention.
All the vehicles tend to move at roughly the same speed, following the give and take rules of gentle chaos. What first seemed frightening, when I rode side-saddle on the back of a moto for example, soon became exhilarating. I loved seeing Phnom Penh life up close at the speed of youth culture. It was from the back of a moto that I saw fashions change (skirts getting shorter) and helped the poor lad from the countryside acquire capital for his tuk-tuk by giving me a $1 lift. The moto vs. car accidents I saw were all minor; everyone would get up and walk or limp away. Of course lying there would attract the police, and getting rid of them would likely require a bribe or worse.
I got pretty good at crossing streets and I liked being an expert on the rules of good driving in a country half way around the world from mine. So, I decided to raise the ante and buy a bicycle to for my commute from the hotel to work. In Cambodia, the standard is a Chinese-made bicycle with one gear, coaster brakes, fenders, a basket in front, a rack in back, and a dynamite kickstand. Mine cost $38, and was accessorized with a bell. During my absences it stayed in the covered courtyard of the NGO where I worked. I told the staff they were free to use it while I was gone. They laughed and said that only poor people ride bicycles in the city. They all drove motos or cars. Later some of them told me that they had taken it for an experimental spin or two. Perhaps the fact that a 60ish foreigner rode one added a new exotic patina over the Cambodian one.
Phnom Penh is full of beautiful, wide boulevards, with long grassy strips between the two directions of traffic. French roundabouts, rather than stops signs, move traffic on and off the boulevards. My first trip from the hotel to work required me to ride along and then cross Sihanouk Boulevard (named after the king). I warmed by up riding down the calmer narrow side streets. Easy! Merging with the flow of the traffic on the far right side on Sihanouk was smooth enough. I was exhilarated – totally aware, pumping my legs, head up, I was doing it! But then I entered the roundabout – I had to go around and then exit from the boulevard. Exhilaration became terror: Think fast! Do I continue to hug the right, like the cars, motos, tuk-tuks, and cyclos that veered off to exit? Or should I move to the center lanes, but risk the wrath of faster vehicles? Maybe I just jump the curb to the grassy center boulevard and then down again to my exit street? I spare the reader details, but I made it safely that first day and continued to ride until the brakes failed and then the bike itself disappeared.
Biking in Phnom Penh can be a metaphor for foreign travel, at least the way I think it should be done. Immerse yourself in a new reality—where the rules and norms are different. Try to understand the logic of the foreign culture until the rules make sense. Figure the pros and cons of living this way, instead of judging everything different as bad, or weird, or funny. Use different modes of transport and move slowly enough to see how life is lived in the new place—take in the smells, the sounds, and watch the currents of change. Take a chance, jump in, but don’t forget to watch the ropes and the twirlers.
Other states, other lives, other souls 