I died last night and woke up this morning in Sihanoukville. Since there’s no trace of any god, saint, angel or cherub, this must be hell. The good news is, it’s not all that bad.
Though hot enough, there is a sea breeze, so it’s possible for your average sinner to wander around a bit without dropping from a heat stroke or dehydration. Be careful, though, of slippery patches. Horrible drainage is a hellish feature. It’s a miracle I didn’t just fall again.
Now I know Oscar Milosz, channeling Swedenborg, was spot on, “Ce sera tout à fait comme dans cette vie. La même chambre.” It will be exactly as in this life. The same room. And the same Sihanoukville, with its broken sidewalks and ten thousand eyesores. No matter which way you look, there’s ugliness. At least there’s good Chinese chow in hell.
Since it’s exactly as in this life, hygiene and grooming are still required, so I finally got a haircut. When not servicing Chinese in posh hotels and restaurants, Cambodians accommodate each other in the crudest shacks, for the rent is so high here. I entered a barbershop smaller than most American closets. Still, it had two chairs.
There were fifty styles to choose from. Though I could have become Cristian Ronaldo, David Beckham, Jackie Chan or some K-pop sissy, I opted for the most basic. Waving a hand over my head, I indicated to cut it all off. I also said, “No style!” He laughed.
Shorn, I descended dirty steps into the alley of my hotel. Paradise Cozy is a clean, well run establishment, so I had four restful days there. There’s an old American in a wheelchair I never got around to talk to. I was too busy exploring hell.
After checking out, I waited for Nate, the Aussie expat. Arriving by tuk-tuk, he came with his bright eyed 12-year-old son, Darius. So I’ll see his wife at the house, I thought.
Seventy-years-old, Nate’s a thin, short and mostly bald man with a white beard and aquiline nose. Settling into the tuk-tuk, Nate said he had lost all his front teeth, so his speech and diet had been modified. He sounded tired, but so did I.
For miles, we were driven past abandoned buildings and unfinished highrises, but near Independence Beach, we spotted a lone monkey. There had been many more. In 2019, authorities relocated most because they were “interfering with people, affecting traffic and creating disorder.” Of course, it’s us who are interfering with every other species, and exterminating them at an unprecedented pace. To make room for condos, strip malls, parking lots, golf courses, casinos and adorable babies, we had to create hell.
When did you last see a butterfly, ladybug, grasshopper or bee? At best, future generations will experience wildlife online, the way most of us enjoy every social intercourse, including sex, now.
As we moved away from the prime real estate near the ocean, the abandoned buildings became much fewer, and, with it, that miasma of misguided planning, over optimism and fortunes lost. Becoming much more ordinary, Sihanoukville ceased to be hell. As we passed busy Phsar Leu Market, I blurted, “Look at that! I feel much better.”
Mind you, there were still architectural skeletons jutting into the sky, but at street levels, rows of cheerful shops served locals. There were many more pedestrians, grandparents holding babies, itinerant sellers of food, slurpers of noodle soups and kids in school uniforms.
Turning into an alley, we stopped at a modest house that, even from the outside, clearly lacked that nest building instinct common to women, notwithstanding the many pigs among them. Over the next two days, I would hear much about Nate’s unusual philosophy and life, so that now, near the end, he’s trying his best to keep his body and mind from wheezing out, not just for Darius’ sake, but to witness humanity’s disastrous next chapter. Our apeshitness has just begun.
Nate, “Everything is coming to this pusy head. All this poison they’ve pumped into our bodies and psyche, so we’re beyond lost, not just to each other, but to ourselves. It’s a spiritual crisis. This blistering boil will get lanced. When it explodes, more millions will die, then a lull will come, so the survivors will think everything is back to normal, until the next wave of fear, panic and outright internecine violence. It has all happened before. There is nothing new under the sun.”
Weakened and often in pain, Nate spends most of his waking hours sitting at a cluttered table in the semi dark. There’s no TV, so it’s always quiet. Darius is either at school or playing with other boys in the alley. Daily, Nate’s 16-year-old daughter drops by to ask for money and wash a few dishes. She lives with a boyfriend.
Five or six scrawny cats also live there. Kittens sleep beneath my bed. For an hour this morning, one wailed for its mom, who took her time showing up. On my hands and knees, I looked into the darkness but only saw an assortment of forgotten objects.
Before leaving, Nate’s wife used their house, a plot of land and his motorbike as collaterals to borrow money for gambling. Nate’s lucky to still have a home. Like the children, she asks for money often.
Long before Nate got married, he realized his wife hadn’t been born yet, then he saw her, a factory worker, standing by the side of a road.
“Life is about having experiences. That’s why I’ve had all these jobs. I worked on a fishing boat, in an office and at a mine, though not as a miner. I was a copy boy and picture framer. I installed telephone exchange equipment. I assembled air conditioners and refrigeration for trucks and buses. I’ve never had trouble picking up skills. I became a nurse because I wanted to know what it’s like to wipe old asses,” Nate laughed, “before I become old myself. There’s a Thai expression, ‘He hasn’t seen his own shit yet!’”
Following his intuition, Nate has emerged from darkness into light, and he’s still there, he said.
“Listen, Nate, do you worry about disappearing before Darius can take care of himself?”
“No, my father lived until he was 96.”
“Yeah, but anything can happen to you!”
“Anything can happen to anybody! Darius is a smart kid. He’ll be fine.” Then, “We’re not in charge of anything. All we can do it follow the path that’s set out for each of us.”
My path will lead back to Phnom Penh, then Vietnam in a month. I just got my visa. Very generously, Nate said I could stay at his house for as long as I want. Darius even suggested I move in permanently. We joke around. The kid likes me.
I write this at Burger Cafe, which is just a stall, with only one table from a sewing machine. Surrounded by human activities, I’m content.
Across 104 Street is a tailor, tattoo parlor, barber and karaoke bar. A skinny 13-year-old girl carries brooms for sale. Selling pork buns from a sidecar, a woman pauses for a customer. Jangling his bell, an ice cream man rides by. Blasting music from two large speakers, here comes one peddling long, chewy sweets with peanuts. This ceaseless street drama is constantly changing. It’s what Southeast Asia is all about. Nate agrees. In Australia, everything was opaque or blocked off.
In 19th century Philadelphia, they kept prisoners in solitary confinement so they could reflect and be closer to God, I told Nate. When Dickens visited this prison, he found its inmates had gone mad.
“Have you noticed, Nate, this rapid increase in nastiness or even sadism? Americans are getting off on being assholes!”
“Australians, too. That’s why I left.”
“Being in solitary confinement for so long, they’ve lost it!”
Forty-four-years old, the Burger Cafe’s owner has four houses, with two rented out. The one he lives in is dubbed Dream House. It says so on the facade. When Chinese flooded in, he could rent it for ten times his previous rate, so $3,500 a month, but that boom is over.
Also over, mostly, are the street crimes that so much money attracted. Even Chinese robbed each other. It got so bad, many natives had to flee.
Here nine years, Nate is not fleeing anywhere. He misses nothing about Australia, not even some dishes from his childhood. Though there are some English speakers around, they’re not the type to have in depth conversations with, so Nate has learnt to forego such a need.
Having me around has given his brain an outlet, so he’s sleeping better and longer, with even the pains in his legs less intense.
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