In the Jungle of the Big City

During my journey through Southeast Asia, I arrived in Phnom Penh for the first time on December 18, 2024. I stayed at the 'Sun and Moon Urban Hotel', a modern four-star establishment with a pool and bar on the rooftop, spa and gym, which still costs only about 40 euros per night. The 'Sun and Moon' is located in the Riverside district and right in the red-light district. Here, bar after bar stretches out, interspersed with restaurants, open-air barbers, massage parlors, and street stalls selling food, fruits, and vegetables, as well as Tuktuks, taxis, motorbikes, and transport carts.

In front of each bar, women sit closely packed on chairs and bar stools, trying to attract passersby. If a single man, even in his older years, steps out onto the street in the evening, he will be called 'Darling' from all directions, and some women will block his path, theatrically attempting to pull him into their establishment.

The supply here exceeds the demand; there are significantly more women than potential customers, and the women, many from the countryside, desperately try to scrape together a few dollars to support themselves and their families. (In Cambodia, the US dollar is used alongside the local riel as a legal tender; at every ATM, one can choose in which currency to withdraw cash.)

Somaly has a university degree in Banking and Finance and works at the International Airport, but her monthly salary of about 500 US dollars is insufficient to support her mother, her daughter, and herself. So, she comes to the Heartbreak Bar on Street 130 in Riverside in the evenings, approximately a motorcycle hour from her home. Here, she plays pool with tourists and allows herself to be treated to so-called Lady Drinks: these cost five US dollars, of which Somaly gets to keep two. Somaly also reluctantly goes back to hotel rooms if necessary. However, what happens there (and earns her about 50 dollars) is something she deeply hates.

Splendor and Misery

More than rice fields and ox carts, palm groves and river landscapes, I am fascinated by the megacities of Southeast Asia like Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur, Manila, Hanoi, Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon), or Phnom Penh: in some districts, they flaunt skyscrapers, shopping centers, hotel palaces, boulevards, parks and squares with monuments and fountains, as well as magnificent colonial buildings like the Presidential Palace in Hanoi or the central post office in Ho Chi Minh City.

In Ho Chi Minh City, one can admire the mighty office and residential buildings towering along the Saigon River during a boat ride. Or one can visit the former palace of the South Vietnamese President, complete with its park and the Soviet tanks with which the communist North Vietnamese captured the capital of the US-allied South in 1975.

In Phnom Penh, on the other hand, one strolls through the magnificent grounds of the Royal Palace, with its buildings shimmering golden in the sun and lush gardens.

In other neighborhoods, one can lose themselves in narrow alleys filled with crooked houses, street kitchens, hostels, vegetable shops, barbers, tailors, and the throng of people, handcarts, motor scooters, and stray dogs and cats. Adding to this the street noise, music snippets spilling out from venues, the barking of dogs, and the mixed odors from frying oil, spices, exhaust fumes, and scents wafting up from the sewer, creates a mixture that one only finds in big cities.

But then I wander through the red-light district in Phnom Penh, flirt with the bar girls, play pool with them, listen to their stories, and buy one or two Lady Drinks. It makes me realize how extraordinarily privileged I am, that I, without financial worries, can watch this thousandfold struggle for survival of thousands of people like a theatrical performance.