Shoes, Thieves and Explosive Diarrhoea
The beginning
So it is a pleasant Saturday morning. I am having a lie in, recuperating from the late Friday evening.
For once, the source of my Saturday laziness was not my Friday night intemperance, but was rather due to a series of events including; a power cut at work on Friday afternoon, which in turn led me to Psar Toul Thom Poung, which in turn led me to several DVD stalls and several purchases.
Friday night was just a few beers early evening in one of the grimier French owned bars near Psar Chas, with a pizza – well, Calzone – being delivered in by one of the most expensive pizzerias in Phnom Penh (remember that fact for later on…)
After which, I was feeling somewhat tired, Friday is a long day, so it was home to lounge around on the sofa and watch several hours worth of new DVD’s, in fact, I was up until around 02:30 watching them.
So anyway, there I was dozing on a quiet Saturday morning, through the bedroom window I can hear the soft swish, swish, of a Khmer broom and the general noises of cleaning coming from outside, peering through the internal bedroom widow I see Heng doing the cleaning. Fair enough I think, back to the dozing and general lazing around.
‘ah, ah, ah, Jowl, jowl, jowl, other blah, blah, blah in Khmer at a high volume, jowl, jowl, jowl !!!!’
… came the cry’s and the shouts from my front balcony. Pulling on a robe and a frown I headed out to see what all the fuss was about.
It seems that somewhere between; me dozing off at around 03:00 and Strai H turning up to dust and clean the flat at around 08:00, some thieving gypsy b'stard had scaled the gate and razor-wire, tiptoed along the tin-roof of the flat below and had made off with all of my shoes from the balcony outside.
What kind of f'ked up country spawns the kind of thief that would steal all of a man’s shoes from outside his own front door?
- oh, wait a moment, do not bother to answer that question, we all know…
And this is not a front-door on the ground floor, but on a spacious balcony outside an exclusive penthouse several floors up. Grr.
So, taking stock of my losses, I realise that I am missing; a pair of almost new black leather oxfords that I had arranged for a friend to recently bring out from the UK, a pair of brown suede Timberlands (also from the UK) and a dirty old pair of black trainers (Psar Thmey US$3)
Out of all this I was most upset about the oxfords – my ‘work shoes’ – others in the past have accused me of being exceptionally fussy when it comes to shoes, but this is not true, actually it is the complete opposite of the truth, I am completely unfussy, I want no silly designs, no square-cut toes, no protruding soles, no silly metal bits anywhere – just a basic, simple, pair of black leather oxfords, that is all. No Fuss, No Muss.
While I was coming to the conclusion that I was going to have to go to the market barefoot, to buy replacements, Heng was running around like a headless chicken gossiping – sorry, chatting – with the neighbours as to whether they had suffered a similar loss or not.
Upon her return, she informed me that they had not had any shoes stolen. But they had only left cheap plastic flip-flops outside – which I guess is a polite Khmer way of telling me that I am an idiot…
She then asked if I would be going to the market to buy them back?
Whoa, what, wait a minute? Did you just say that I should go to the market to buy my own shoes back ?
Just then, a red hot knife was thrust into my stomach, or so it felt like. I doubled over in pain, then swiftly dashed for the ‘smallest room in the house’
As I sat there pondering what was going I remember thinking that the Calzone last night had a raw egg – or at least a half raw egg – in the middle of it. But this was from one of the most expensive, if not the most expensive, pizza restaurants in town… mmm?
Later, upon my returning to the balcony, I asked Heng what she had been talking about. She then informed me that it would be best for me if I went to ‘‘the thief’s market’’ and repurchased my shoes from there, it would be cheaper than buying new ones.
“What?!? Who?!?! What?!?!” Was, I think, my erudite reply.
She then further explained that there was a second-hand street market in Phnom Penh that was notorious for selling all the stolen merchandise from around the city.
So, swiftly dashing to my moto, only stopping to visit the bathroom twice more, we set off, with her giving directions, for this Aladdin’s Cave of Phnom Penh, with all its hooky goods and moody gold.
The Thieves Market
So we arrive at a crossroads of two rough dirt tracks, a couple of blocks South of Psar Orasey. The houses have small wooden market stalls outside, the street corners have low wooden tables laid out, old women sit on the pavement or in the road with their wares displayed on tatty old blankets.
Parking the bike at one end we slowly start to walk along the stalls (keeping a very weary eye on the bike). The first one that we come to is an old woman squatting on the pavement with a blanket in front of her. On the blanket are nine shoes; six of them are three pairs, the other three are odd ones.
Next to her a dirty young girl is also squatting down and is furiously scrubbing at a grungy looking pair of white Addis trainers, next to her is a bag of dirty shoes, I reach over and look inside the bag, three or four pairs of filthy trainers (last nights acquisitions???) but none of them are mine.
Strolling on we check out half a dozen more second-hand shoes stalls, none of them have my shoes.
I also look at stalls selling second-hand mobile phones, second-hand crash helmets, second-hand wristwatches, second-hand jewellery, et cetera.
Crossing over the road to work my way back along the other side of the road I see another old woman squatting on the ground, a toothless old crone with a face made of what looks like fire-damaged leather, she eyes me suspiciously with her one good eye as I draw closer. On her blanket in the street I can see; three tee-shirts, a pair of jeans and what looks like an antique pair of Y-fronts; or in other words, a washing line full of somebody’s laundry…
All in all there are probably 40 or 50 vendors on and around the crossroads, the vast majority of them selling what I suspect is stolen property, in fact Strai H has pretty much confirmed that.
The stalls that we pass react in one of two ways; they are either openly suspicious of me – what is a barang doing here, do we have anything that was stolen from him? The second was the usual Khmer market stall approach of trying to sell you anything and everything at an inflated priced, while trusting objects under your nose.
Just as we were heading back to the bike to leave, I spot a couple of girls that I half recognised, slowing the walking pace slightly as I walked behind them I realised that these two girls used to work in one of the more upmarket bars of Phnom Penh. As I cross behind them at my snails pace, I could see that they were selling two mobile phones and a gent’s wristwatch… mmm…
Heading west and turning north at the end of the road I was surprised to see half a dozen used moto shops in a row, each with dozens and dozens of bikes for sale outside, in fact the end shop probably had 40 or 50 Honda Chaly’s neatly parked in a series of rows. A voice from the pillion seat informed me that this was where the thief’s brought all the stolen motos to sell. Slowing the bike to a crawling place I ran my eyes over the stock of all the shops; daelim’s, dream’s, viva’s, the previously mentioned Chaly’s. As I reached the penultimate shop I saw four or five dirt-bikes; degrees and baja’s by the look of it, oh and an AX1. The owner of the shop sees me outside staring intensely at his stock and he started shuffling around quite a lot, he moves so that he is stood in-between my line of sight and the bikes he had for sale – strange behaviour for a man who is trying to sell a product …
So off to our next stop.
Psar Olympic
All along one road outside Psar Olympic are a row of shoe shops, around 25 or 30 of them, all next to each other, all selling new and second-hand goods.
As we slowly traipse from one battered shoe selling old crone to the next I start to get a bit impatient, a bit feed up with looking at the abortive fashion attempts that they call shoes here, fed up on people waving horrible shows in my face, fed up of old dears cackling when I ask if the have anything in a large (size 10). Plus it is getting very hot, the roofs are low, the shops small and crowded.
Yes, after another hour of this I was officially irritated. Upon reaching the last stall – and still having no joy with tracking down either my shoes or a suitable replacement for me – I had had enough, I barked at Strai H to get on the bike, that that was it for the day and that I was going home.
A welcome respite
Leaving the multitude of shoe shoes behind I cut along Monireth Boulevard towards Mao Tse Toung Boulevard to head back towards Boeng keng kang.
The midmorning sun is beating down relentlessly still on this cloudless Cambodia day, along with my bad mood I am also starting to feel hot, irritable and generally grumpy.
Again, the red hot knife plunges into my bowels. Spotting a tea and coffee bar a pull over, somewhat suddenly and possibly dangerously for Phnom Penh traffic, park the bike at a rather jaunty angle and flee into the bathroom shouting garbled instructions in Khmer to Heng about strong iced coffee.
Ahhhhhh
The bathroom was spotless (upon my arrival anyway) gleaming clean surfaces, western toilet, soap, clean towels, large mirror, bright lights, soft fluffy toilet paper. I could have been in any city in Western Europe.
Ahhhhhh
Upon my return to the pavement seating outside the bakery~café I could no longer see Heng. looking around in a slightly puzzled and bewildered manner a young Khmer lad in his school uniform (the waiter) comes over and directs me to a small staircase at the side of the bakery. Up I go, slightly in trepidation, when I turn the corner at the top I find myself in a lovely little airy café, with powerful air-conditioning, soft background music, a few customers and a relaxing blend of Mediterranean colours decorating everything.
What a blissful oasis after my morning of hot, sweaty, crowded, oppressive, claustrophobic, Khmer markets and vendors.
Realising that my bad mood was probably not just; shoe theft, heat and diarrhoea, but possibly low blood sugar as well (diabetic-hypoglycaemia) Further, exasperated by the lack of breakfast, lunch and frequent and rapid bathroom visits, I decide that I should probably eat something. And that I should probably make it something solid and substantial.
I opted for a cheese-burger and fries; Heng had bacon and eggs with wholemeal toast. She also has a very large ice cream with biscuits and things to follow!
The drinks turn up first. My iced coffee was wonderful, it was as strong as a proper Italian espresso, it was ice cold and it was about half a pint in size! Heng had a bottle of coke.
After we had finished eating we left the air-con restaurant to go and sit back downstairs at one of the pavement tables, where I further ordered a strawberry tea iced blend and Heng ordered a Grape Bubble tea.
After half an hour of just watching the world go by, and the near fatal near misses of Phnom Penh’s traffic, I ask for the bill. The total cost of all this around US$6:50 – two main courses, one dessert and four drinks.
What and where was this little haven of peace and tranquillity during my punishing day?
The Rasmey Sorya Bakery café, 148 Mao Tse Toung Boulivard, Phnom Penh, 023 224 217
Returning home from the oppressive heat and annoying necessity of the day I sort refugee in the house, Heng went to Psar Boeng keng kang to purchase my weekly groceries et cetera.
As I was laying down in a darkened room with a wet flannel on my head the phone rang, it was Heng, could I rush around to Psar Boeng keng kang, she thought that she had found my shoes.
Now, opposite Psar Boeng keng kang, on the West side of street 63 is a series of little wooden stalls and trestle tables selling all manner of things. At one of these was Heng waving franticly as I rode past.
Yes, she had found a stall selling a second-hand pair of black leather oxfords in a classic cut, unfortunately, this pair was about a size 6 ?!?!
Ho hum, guess I have no choice but to try again in a day or two, when hopefully the thief gets around to selling them.
However, for the time being I was more than occupied, having taken up near permanent residence on Sunday in the little boys room…
Sunday evening post script
Having had an odd weekend, I decide to call it a weekend, curl up early to bed with a good book (well, a book) an hour after I settle in with the latest tales of Jack Ryan (see, I said a book, not a good book) I hear a series of loud bangs from the front of the house.
In about three seconds flat, I was out on the front balcony, clad only in a krama, brandishing a large stick, shouting loud profanities in English and Khmer.
I succeeded very well in terrifying my downstairs neighbour’s children who were throwing things up into the mango tree in the front yard in an attempt to collect some of the fruit…
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