All Roads Lead to Phnom Penh

The day our permanent sites were announced, I was hoping for three things: proximity to my friends Heather and Gilbert, a provincial town (which I equated with glamor and American food), and a western toilet. Fortunately, I got everything I wanted, minus the bright lights and cheeseburgers. However, the greatest thing about my site was something I hadn’t even thought about before arriving, its nearness to Phnom Penh.

While I was underwhelmed by “The Charming City” upon my arrival in Cambodia, I was shocked by how big and beautiful it looked after just two short months of training in the countryside. Not only is PP the location of the Peace Corps office, but it’s also home to a good number of reasonably priced international restaurants, shopping centers, bars, and clubs. Living near the capital, I have easy access to the PC medical unit and volunteer lounge and plenty of western food and supplies. Going to trainings or just getting away for a night or two is a breeze for me while it can take some volunteers a full day traveling in busses and sometimes even fairies.

Although my location just 45 kilometers away from the big city is ideal, there is one catch, the touris which transport me to my nearby haven. Touris are vans which would comfortably seat about twelve people, but many have been modified to increase their capacity. While some are fairly clean with cloth shades on the windows and working air conditioning, most are putrid with the smell of vomit, urine, feces, rotted food, freshly prepared food, motor oil, gasoline, and/or body odor. Nonetheless, many riders demand that the windows remain closed because “the air conditioning really does work” or they don’t want the dust to blow in on them (a somewhat legitimate concern). Needless to say, the stifling heat doesn’t help matters, especially as more and more people board, often up to 20 or 25 riding at a time.

While the ride itself is bad enough, there are other complicating factors which can take a ride from bad to worse. First, many drivers aren’t honest about their destination. They agree to wherever you want to go only to stop several miles away, stranding you with a group of tuk-tuk drivers intent on charging you twice the going rate. Second, touris don’t leave at predictable times. I’ve waited for over two hours in the fetid heat as people slowly loaded themselves and their wares onto one of these vans. Not only is there a delay before departure, but there are also frequent stops along the journey at gas stations, tire repair shops, markets, restaurants, and bakeries. A trip which should take about an hour can easily become a four-hour ordeal. Finally, many drivers insist that you put your bag or other large belonging in the trunk of the van so that more people can fit into the cabin. While my original fear was that my backpack would be stolen, my newest concern is what else is in the back of the touri. During the course of one ride, my bag became completely infested with maggots… a misfortune I realized just as I was being dropped off at a wedding.

For as unsavory as the experience can be, it is cheap (just $1.25 to Phnom Penh) and relatively convenient. In fairness, I could hop on a bus headed toward PP from Sihanookville for the same price, but the wait period and travel time would be even longer than a touri’s. Once in a while I’ll pass the hours of travel by chatting with a fellow passenger, sometimes even making a new friend. I look at each ride as a cultural experience, a strange experiment in behavioral economics, and an exercise in patience.

In closing, please allow me to share a joke I thought up while crammed between a sideboard and two small children with unabashedly exploratory hands.

Question: How many people can you fit in a touri?

Answer: One more.