So there I am on a slow Sunday afternoon, at the end of a week long bank holiday from work. I had been stuck in Phnom Penh for the whole week while everybody else in the city had headed out to, the coast, the Provinces – or just plain left the Country – so I was getting a bit bored of my own company. Having had a late start to the day and having checked my Emails from back home, I decide to take a ride down to St. 240 to see if my friend Jean-Paul had reopened his wine bar, Le Petit Bordeaux. Upon reaching it I was annoyed to see that it was still closed, like half the city during Khmer New Year. So as I was turning around to head back home I noticed that ’Freebird’ was open. Now, I have never been in there before, it advertises itself as an American Bar and Grill, so why would I both? But as almost everywhere else was closed and this place was right in front of me, I thought I would check it out.
As I stroll in I notice that the staff outnumbered the customers about 6 to 1 – and I was that one customer. But what the hell, they served food and I was there. Sitting at the bar I ordered a freshly squeezed Satsuma juice and some food. While I was waiting I slowly looked around the place. US Memorabilia on the walls, some Aussie odds and sods as well, well it could have been worse.
The staff were friendly and were chatting away, I alternate between talking to them and reading this weekends International Herald Tribune. After a while another customer comes in, and American reporter and his Khmer girlfriend, he is obviously a regular and they sit at the bar chatting away to the girls who are getting all excited, it turns out that the Yank had just proposed to his Khmer girlfriend and had given her a very large diamond ring – in fact it had 3 large diamonds in it.
So he is feeling pretty good about himself and he is chatting away, it transpires that he has only been in Country about a month and that the ring was his grandmothers, made in 1901, blah blah blah – what is it with Americans and their need to tell you every last unasked for fact about themselves ?
Still I guess he is allowed to be happy, I mean he has just proposed to a hooker who he is not going to see for the next six months while he is back in the States and she is getting her visa sorted out…
So, I just kind of tune out and finish my Khmer interpretation of what a Beef Enchilada is ?!?
Feeling a little tired of being in this bar I settle up my tab - som kit loy - and hop back on the bike.
Heading back along the main Boulevard I was thinking to myself that one of the good things about this Khmer New Year is the fact that there is so little traffic around, thanks to everyone leaving the city.
Just as I was thinking this, a car with no headlights on flies out of a side street, clips me and races off along the main road.
I have swerved all over the place, hit the kerb and gone flying across into the wall.
Dazed for a moment, I stagger to my feet to see a crowd gathering around me, all asking what happened, what happened.
Then I hear an English voice (well one from Manchester) say, ‘Darren, you okay’ so I look around and it is Barry, who owns a bar up near the riverfront I have been to a few times, he was riding the other way when he saw the car hit me, he did not know it was me until he stopped.
He was on his way home, and had his security guard on the back of his moto giving him a lift, so he suggests that we leave the security guard to sort the bike out and that he runs me over the road to his place so we can stop the blood that is pouring down my face.
‘what blood’ I ask, as I raise a hand to my throbbing head. Oh, that blood!
So we hop back to Dave’s place and set about tending my wounds, thankfully they are just cuts and bruises, the cut across my forehead has bleed and awful lot, but it was only about half an inch long.
Being very happy and very thankful that nothing was broken, or anything more serious. I accept Barry’s offer of a very large Scotch.
While we are finishing off the Highland Malt Painkiller, Barry’s wife turns up.
Now, across the darkened balcony Barry’s wife looks like she is about 4 foot tall, as she gets closer, I realise that she is 4 foot tall, she is Khmer.
So she starts flapping and fussing ‘are you okay, are you okay’ I manage to convince her that everything is fine, so she then starts trying to feed the pair of us – sorry, ate earlier. So then she resorts to filling up our whiskey glasses. After which, she insists that I spend the night there rather than trying to get home.
So I crash out in the spare room and sleep.
The following morning I wake about 8 and realise that I am late for work, I dash out of the house and jump on a moto-taxi, halfway back to my house I think, what the hell. I think that I will phone in sick, I really don’t feel like it today.
So I get home, and I clean myself up some more, change the dressings and wonder how badly the bike was damaged? Oh well, I would check that out in the evening. Little did I know that that would be a major hassle in itself ……………
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