The Motorcycle Diaries

"It is illegal to gamble within 100km of Phnom Penh. Those surprised to find two large casinos within walking distance of the city center are evidently new to Cambodia." (Footprints Guide to Cambodia)

Cambodia's a crazy place, its crazy past seems to have given way to a crazy present. The majority of the population is under 20, a generation of the country's educated, cultured and skilled have been wiped out and the government seems so openly corrupt that 'cash for questions' would be laughable. This leaves a strange moral vacum in peoples' day to day. The standard byline is that 'anything is available in Cambodia, for a price'; from girls, guns and ganja to children and contracts on peoples lives, the dollar will get things done.

Well, this is what people tell you anyway, bars overflow with stories told to you by folk who no doubt heard them from other people in other bars. Personally, i cant claim to have seen any of this. With just a few weeks to spend my perception of Cambodians seemed to be defined by foreigners heresay on the one hand, and what i was seeing on the roads as i passed through them every day, on the other.
Now, for your Steinbecks and your Kerouacs the road represents choice, escape, opportunity, and ultimately the road is all about freedom. I'm not sure this has ever really occurred to your average Cambodian as they trundle into the towns and cities to try to make a buck. However the way people flow through the streets of Siem Reip and Phenom Penh must show something, and if it is possible to read a nations personality through its rules of the road, then the roads of Cambodia describe a schizophrenic with obsessive compulsive disorder, 'rules' and even 'roads' often being hard to pin down.

At the top of the food chain are your Land Cruisers, and your other chunky 4x4s. They dominate the road and answer to no one. Since they house affluent Cambodians there really is no concept of right and wrong on the road for them, the dollar again able to encourage a policeman to turn the other cheek in the case of a fatality. Somebody i met (yes, in a bar) said they were on a bus and saw a 4x4 go into the front of 2 bikes oviously killing one of them as he flew headlong into a wall. The only forigner on the bus, and a GP, she stood up and shouted for the bus to stop, which it did momentarily, but only so it could reverse and drve round the bodies. GP said nobody else on the bus batted an eyelid.

Most of the roads traffic though is made up of motorbikes and in a similar parallel they surcumb to the dominance of the monied, getting out of the way when they're parrped at without fuss. These motorbikes, usually the trusty Honda 125, were my medium; my vessel to ride the roads and the lense through which to see them. Its weird but road rage doesn't seem to exist, dispite the most random driving this side of Calcutta. As big cars and busses pull out into busy roads as the whim takes them, flying through junctions without stopping or just stopping for no apparent reason, the constant flow of four or five lanes of bikes just opens out, absorbing the obstruction and then pulls together again, all meshing together like a YKK. No raised fists or curses, just calm stoic acceptance.

Lane discipline appears to be a bit of a fluid concept. Though in the main the traffic flows on the right this is in no way a restriction on the road users freedom. If he or she, or more often they, wish to use the left hand side of the road then that seems fine with everyone. Veering across the road and subsequently switching between left and right regularly is also a good way of meeting people and gaining a fresh perspective.

Roundabouts seem interesting too; standard is an anti clockwise rotation, but all the cows i saw using roundabouts were going clockwise. I'm not sure if this is just cows or all quadrupeds because most of the dogs on the roundabouts were mainly just sleeping on the road until an attractive cars, bike or cow came along to chase in either direction.

Use of mirrors seems frowned upon unless it is for the combing of the hair or the picking of the pimples. Similarly indicators, though often used, are mainly used to indicate that the driver may or may not have recently turned left or right, also that he may or may not be turning left or right again in the near future, though they don't specify exactly when.

What about protection on these crazy streets? Well do not worry the Cambodians have got this covered, they have umbrellas. Versatile, they offer both protection from the sun and the rain, in heavy weather they tend to be held out horizontally in front of the bike. This stops the rain going in the eyes of the driver and also allows a perfect view of the 3 ahead of the front wheel, the rest of the mayhem on the roads is obscured and thus the driver is free to converse with his passengers uninterrupted.

Motodrivers in Cambodia are always keen to win you as their fare and will often take a stock refusal as encouragement to simply ride alongside you until you crack. 'Is hot today no?' tends to be the opening gambit, 'too hot for walk no?' And as sweat trickles down your nose its often hard to disagree with them. These guys will not rest till you are being delivered somewhere on the back of their bike, fanatical; I was on a moto one day and as we pulled up at lights some motodrivers lounging on the corner lept up with a 'hey mister, you want moto?' I was momentarily stunned, and by the time i thought about helping them with their marketing strategy by suggesting they possibly only focus on people not already on a moto, the lights had changed and we'd trundled off.

Maximum passenger capacity of the average 125 motorbike is really only restricted by the imagination and ingenuity of its passengers. Obviously the seat affords a cosy housing for three, then the handlebars and cross bars are to be used for the smaller passengers the young and the old. The livestock can either be hung or slung as you see fit and then the passengers shoulders
are also an option if you're feeling fancy.

The Honda 125 provides Cambodians from all walks with the transport they need when they need it. Waiting for a bus outside a hospital i saw a moto pull out into heavy traffic, on the back was to be the drivers wife sitting side saddle holding a new born baby over her shoulder. As this marvel of new life disappeared into the smog and traffic another bike came into the hospital car park from the other direction. The passenger slumped forward into the drivers back and the driver was holding, vertically in one hand, a t-bar of rough wood knocked together to support a bag of plasma connected to a drip which disappeared into the passengers clothing.
Balance, i thought, from the cradle to the grave the Honda 125 gets you there. That should be the byline.