Our bus to Phnom Penh dropped us off in Backpacker Hell, a place full of white people and bright lights and signs for cheap drinks. I felt sick immediately. Typically, the bus left us in a guesthouse that looked like a prison block, where one drunken (stoned?) customer staggered out and told us he wasn’t sure what the place was like, though he had been there all day. Uh, ok. And so, we grabbed Roger and Nadine and started walking. The guesthouse recommended in our Lonely Planet was full, and the tuktuk driver following us around told us everything in the area was full, but that he could take us to another one from our book. Sold.

We tried another guesthouse, which was also booked, and then ended up at a third two blocks away. They had two rooms available: a giant room with two king beds and a single, and a smaller one upstairs. Roger and Nadine told us to take the giant room (a bargain at $8) and they would go upstairs. Five minutes later they were back, saying their room was next to the kitchen, smelled really bad, and had a bunch of cockroaches flying around. They went down the street to find another place and returned to go to dinner with us at a really nasty Chinese restaurant.

It turned out that those roaches were the best thing that happened to us in Phnom Penh. Our room was damp and also really hot at night, so when we awoke in the morning, we walked down the street to the place the Dutch kids were staying, the Relax Guesthouse, which was shining like a friggin’ beacon.

The Relax was only 7 months old and was gleaming with perfect cleanliness. T and I took a $10 room, which had cable TV and A/C, and only mildly chilly cold water ($12 would have bought cable, A/C and hot water, but were cheap, so get used to it). I was in heaven. The cable had so many channels and the A/C was so cool that we decided to stay there all day, recovering from the hellish bus experience.

Fear not…we did go outside for lunch at the Boddhi Tree, a beautiful little restaurant across the street from Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, where the food actually helps you to forget the horrors of the Khmer Rouge (at least for an hour or so). T had loc lac, and I had gazpacho and a grilled eggplant and brie sandwich, and I thought about eating the plate too, the food was so good. After a few hours in the room watching 30 Rock on TV (I love Star World), we went to a local restaurant for dinner. The owner had two little girls running around helping him, and at the end of the meal, I asked about them. They were his daughters, and they were six and two. I told him they were very cute and he looked at me, exhausted, and shook his head. They cause many headaches, he said. Apparently, raising kids is hard! Who knew?

The second day we were in Phnom Penh, we decided to be a little more industrious and do some of the things we didnt do the last time. We did the Killing Fields, Wat Phnom, Tuol Sleng and the museum on our honeymoon, so we decided to try going to the Royal Palace, which was being renovated last time. On the way, we stopped by the French Cultural Centre for lunch, where I had a blue cheese salad…with real blue cheese! Merci, France!

When we neared the palace, there were a bunch of kids selling a variety of goods. We managed to get past most of them, but then we were cornered by a girl about 11 or 12 with no front teeth, selling water. We gave in and bought some water from her, because she was pretty persistent. When T tried to bargain with her, she would yell, “COME ON!” every time he made an offer. We eventually agreed on a price, and when we paid her, she said, “Good luck to you, every time!” Then she looked at T and said, “Good luck to me too—NO TEETH!” Good God, I love the Cambodians.

The Royal Palace was very nice, and predictably, full of monks (monks are ever-present in SE Asia). At one point, T and I sat in the shade outside one small temple on the complex, where two young monks were sitting on a nearby bench. They waved us over to sit with them, so we did. They spoke pretty good English, and started asking us questions—where did we live, were we married or friends, did we have any kids? Then a third monk approached and shook T’s hand. I was kind of shocked when he extended his hand toward me, because monks aren’t allowed to touch women. I didn’t want to be rude, so I went to shake his hand, and he quickly pulled it back and burst into laughter. He didn’t go to run his hand through his nonexistent hair when he withdrew his hand, but it was along the same lines. Crazy monk, playing tricks on the tourist…

As I talked to the crazy monk, T made conversation with the other two. At least one was Vietnamese, and they were studying in Phnom Penh. Suddenly, one looked at T and said, “I want you keep me write.” Of course, I got all excited and thought this monk wanted to be our pen pal (I have always been a dirty sucker for friends abroad). Wrong. When we looked at him, confused, he rephrased. “I want you keep me, pay for my school for one month.” Hmm. This is what is called an awkward moment. As T and I tried to come up with a polite refusal, the crazy monk cracked up again, clapped his hands and yelled “NO!” to his friend. Crazy monk, you are right. They didn’t seem too offended that we said no (you can’t blame them for trying, after all), and we found a way to politely excuse ourselves. T wondered if it was bad karma to say no to paying for a monk’s education, but that’s his problem. I blessed a monk in Laos, so I’m all good, I think.