A Sampling of Cambodian Cuisine

We arrived in Phnom Penh just before dusk and by the time we left the hotel to find dinner the streets were dark and a cloud burst had just erupted. With umbrellas overhead we walked and walked trying to find a place to eat, but most who were outdoors had already closed shop.

We finally found a place protected beneath a canopy and sat down to a menu. I will admit that my knowledge of Cambodian food was next to nothing. I glanced over my options and decided on a rice-porridge dish that included liver, heart, shrimp and cuttlefish. I felt it would be a great introduction. Jordan, on the other hand, played it safe and ordered a more conventional noodle dish. Our meal cost 34,000 riels.

I don't remember much about how the food tasted, but rather another incident that took place during our meal. Three young school kids came to our table, stood in front with their hands pressed together, apparently begging for money. This went on for two minutes until the owner shooed them away. Begging, I would learn, became a typical scene in Cambodia.

First meal in Phnom Penh.

Four days were all we had in the “Land of the Khmers,” and we wanted to make the most of it. That included a desire to sample as much food as possible. But I was soon to learn that there would be less learning of Cambodian cuisine (it all looked so similar and was indistinguishable from other Southeast Asian food with my untrained eye) and more enjoying the experience while eating it.

A similar scene unfolded the following evening. Now the rain had stopped and puddles of water sat in potholes, reflecting neon lights of the city. We spotted a restaurant across the road, and as we crossed we startled a large street rat.

The place was small and dingy, with buckets and a cooler stacked near the entrance. There was only one other table with guests. This truly was a hole-in-the-wall restaurant . . . and that was how I preferred it.

The food was good. I ordered the pork and noodle soup. Although it had a pleasing taste, I didn't know if it would have tasted any different than a pork and noodle soup from Vietnam or Thailand. The noodles were the thin angel hair kind. It had a couple slices of pork and three pork balls. There was a slice of carrot, as well as the usual handful of greens adorning a savory broth. But the thing that made the evening so memorable was the cockroach crawling on the wall next to us!

A dingy hole-in-the-wall restaurant. 

Pork and noodle soup.

Phnom Penh did not have the street food I thought it would. I expected something similar to Bangkok. Perhaps this was because we were there during monsoon season. But that's not to say there was no street food. We just found it in pockets.

We wandered around the street carts to assess our options. Alongside the many foods I did not know were two that stood out: deep fried frogs, and birds on a skewer. The frogs were not just the legs, but the whole body without the head. Two frogs adorned each skewer. The birds, on the other hand, came with the head, beak and everything else. We didn't buy either, but I would have if I had more time.

Instead I bought other meats on a skewer, and sweet rice wrapped up in a thin tortilla-like cover. We took our food in a little baggie to our hotel and took the elevator to the “sky bar.” We were the only ones there. I don't remember much about the food we ate, but rather of the view we had while we ate. Before us stood the jumbled cityscape of Phnom Penh with colorful roofs below and a birds-eye view of random skyscrapers. In the distance loomed heavy storm clouds that would soon burst in a downpour that would last all night long.

Frogs and birds on a skewer.

Dinner with a view!

We found this very refreshing sugar cane drink.

Speaking of our hotel (which was only $36 a night), it was one of the best I've ever stayed in. Not only did it have a nice view of the city, but a rooftop pool, four jacuzzis (all a different temperatures from cold to hot), and a piping hot sauna. They also had an excellent breakfast buffet. There was an ample selection of eggs, toast, pastries, salad, and noodle soup (kuyteav). An on-site chef with a very tall hat stood ready to customize the noodle soup.

My favorite, however, was bobor, a rice congee dish that is very popular in Cambodia. This was very similar to the porridge dish I had on my first night, but this one had a better savory broth with more garnishes to sprinkle on top. Bobor has a long history in Cambodia, dating back at least 1,000 years.

Kuyteav, a noodle soup often eaten for breakfast.

Bobor.

Garnishments for the bobor.

On our final night in Phnom Penh we went to the night market, which was located across the quay, near the Tonle Sap river. We walked through stalls selling shirts, purses, crafts and a thousand other items.

On the far end we came to the food court where aromatic stalls lined the perimeter. One thing that made this food court unique was that there were no tables and chairs. Instead, colorful mats were laid on the ground, each with its own basket of condiments.

Jordan and I ordered some food and sat on the ground like we were having a picnic. I don't know how common it is to eat on the floor, but I believe it is practiced throughout Southeast Asia.

I ordered the lort cha with beef, a stir-fry using short thick rice noodles topped with an egg. It was fried with garlic, bean sprouts and other greens, and was served on a bed of lettuce. The dish came with a small side of chili oil.

Afterward we ordered a plate of kebabs.  We chose what we wanted, and they deep-fried it for us.  I will admit that I didn't know what any of them were. One looked like an egg and another we guessed was tofu.

Lort cha with beef.

Deep-fried something on a skewer.

Reflecting back on that evening I can remember what the food looked like (probably because I took pictures), but not how it tasted. But I will forever remember the atmosphere⸺the night market, the mats on the floor, the mystique of being in a foreign land.

Shortly after finishing our meal they began rolling up the mats and setting up tables and chairs. My guess is that they did this for the evening influx, the chairs and tables being able to accommodate more people.

The other thing that made that evening memorable was the rain that began to fall shortly after we left the market. We had a mile-walk to reach our hotel. I used an umbrella, but Jordan chose to get soaked. We ended our time in Phnom Penh exactly how we began it⸺in the rain. ♠

Eating dinner at the night market in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

Southeast Asian Monsoon

I once stood on the front porch of a gentleman during a downpour of rain. The shower was so intense that it reminded him of the monsoon season in Vietnam when he served in the war. “It was so reliable,” he said, “that you could set your watch by it.” 

For some reason that little conversation has always stayed with me. I knew that someday I wanted to go to Vietnam, but would I really want to go there during the monsoon? On one hand I wouldn't want inclement weather interfering with sightseeing. But on the other, a Southeast Asian monsoon would be an experience few on the other side of the globe would ever have. 

Several years later I finally got the opportunity to travel to the Mekong Delta area of Vietnam and Cambodia. Our visit would be during the first two weeks of October, which would not be at the peak of the monsoon season, but on the shoulders. Phnom Penh receives an average of 9.7 inches of rain during October, while Ho Chi Minh City receives 13.4 inches. For both places, September is the wettest month, followed by October. 

Storm clouds brewing near Sam Mountain in Vietnam.

I didn't want to be stuck indoors or beneath an umbrella for the entire two weeks, so I did my research and many people online assured me that when the monsoonal rains came, they hit hard and heavy, but after an hour or so Heaven would turn off her spigot and all would return to normal. No matter what the scenario, our journey would be an adventure. 

During our first day and a half in Saigon, it didn't rain at all. Then, while we sat at a table in Chinatown in a restaurant with a full open-air front, the sky began to release its water. With excitement I stood up and walked to the front of the restaurant where I met the sidewalk and watched the street, traffic and people turn wet. Some pedestrians and motorcyclists quickly donned plastic ponchos while others braved the storm. 

But as quickly as it came, it left. The skies gave no more. I waited for the rest of the evening and there was no more rain. I was surprised that after two days in Vietnam we only had one measly outburst. Certainly no setting our watches with that. 

Our first heavy rain came on days 3 and 4, both in Phnom Penh. They began in late afternoon and lasted several hours after dark. It made navigating the streets more difficult. Many streets had no sidewalk, which left us to dodging potholes of water, cars and mopeds, all while holding wide umbrellas above our heads. And all this in the dark. 

It also made it more difficult to find a place for dinner. Most street vendors and restaurants with outside seating closed shop once the rain began. 

Puddles of water on the street in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

The majority of locals wore ponchos rather than use umbrellas.

We observed the locals. Most preferred ponchos to umbrellas. A surprising amount used nothing at all and chose to get soaked. It was always cute to see a family on a moped, perhaps the father on front wearing a poncho, and his two school-aged daughters on back getting soaked! 

I recall our final night in Phnom Penh. We went to the night market to look around, then to the food court where we ate on red mats placed on the ground, kind of like a picnic. After our dinner the rain began to pour. It wasn't heavy, but constant. Jordan and I both walked a mile to our hotel. I used an umbrella and Jordan chose to go without. Needless to say, he was soaked by the time we got back (but he said it felt good). 

Another remarkable thing about this time of year is how much water there is . . . everywhere! The Mekong River swells in size and this is why those living near its banks dwell in floating homes or on stilts. The Tonlé Sap River connects Tonlé Sap Lake with the Mekong, merging near the city of Phnom Penh. During the dry season the river flows toward the Mekong, nearly draining Tonlé Sap Lake. But during the rainy season the river actually reverses course and brings water from the Mekong back into Tonlé Sap Lake. 

Houses built along the swollen Tonle Sap River in Cambodia.

Water is everywhere during the rainy season.

In addition to extra water in the river, many of the fields and other places are also flooded with water. As a tourist it was difficult to know which places always had water versus those that were flooded due to it being the rainy season. Once you got out of the city, much of the land, it seemed, was submerged under water. 

The seasonal floods are vital to rejuvenating the river's ecosystems. Floodwaters bring nutrient-rich silt which is necessary to nourish the vast amount of rice fields in the Mekong Delta. Additionally it also provides moisture needed to water crops. 

Storm clouds over the Mekong River near the Cambodia / Vietnam border.

One positive benefit for the tourist is that it brings temperatures down to bearable. I recall a trip to Thailand several years ago during the dry season. They say in Thailand there are only three seasons: hot, hotter and hottest. We were there between “hotter” and “hottest” and although beautiful, Thailand was scorching. Here in nearby Cambodia and Vietnam during the rainy season, other than a little mugginess and heat during the climax of the day, I felt comfortable most of the time. 

As far as the rain restricting and interfering with our trip, fortunately for us, I would say it didn't too much. Most of our downpours came in the final 2 or 3 hours of daylight, or even once the sun had already set. Our biggest daytime downpour came while we toured the infamous S-21 Prison in Phnom Penh, and we were inside for most of that. My advice is to come prepared with an umbrella or poncho, and a little flexibility. 

Downpour at S-21 Prison in Phnom Penh.

During our stay in Chau Doc, a Vietnamese city near the Cambodian border, I purposely booked a hotel on the edge of town that overlooked rice patty fields and the distant Sam Mountain. My favorite monsoon experience came here while sitting on the balcony. 

Rain came down in droves, starting just before dusk and lasting into the night. It was exhilarating to relax and observe the storm, listening to the flood of water descend from the sky. Wind blew the cold scent of storm across our skin. Suddenly a flash of lightening lit up the sky and for a moment the palm trees, rice fields and Sam Mountain flickered before us in silhouette, only to instantly disappear. Seconds later a low rumbling echo of thunder bellowed through the night air. 

After several hours the rain stopped. 

Now was the next movement of our symphony. Cicadas buzzed in the distance and frogs chirped a melodic song. Somewhere out of view, probably in the bar in the next building, we listened to the singing of karaoke. 

All was right in the world. We had nowhere to go and nothing to do but sit and listen to beautiful music in a foreign land. ♠

Storm moving over Sam Mountain in Chau Doc, Vietnam.

Boat Ride on the Mekong

We arrived at the office for the boat, a dusty backroom of a restaurant on the quay. A man who only spoke broken English with a Khmer accent sat behind a desk and took our names. We set our luggage against the wall and waited on a chair while other passengers filed in. 

A lady with a straw hat, stringed tank top and light flowing long skirt came into the room. She traveled alone and spoke in an Australian accent. One family came from India, another from Hong Kong. Several carried red German passports. Today there would be a medley of passengers. 

At last the boat came and we carried our luggage out to the loading dock and stepped onto the vessel, handing our bags to a crewman to stow beneath the boat. We sat next to the window, behind the Germans, overlooking the river. 

At the loading dock in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

It was monsoon season in Southeast Asia and I watched dark clouds billow in the sky. The river was brown, nothing clean about it. Occasional trash floated on the surface along with green stalks and leaves of water hyacinth. 

I watched as we departed the port. Familiar sites of the Royal Palace and Wat Ounalom passed by as we moved down-river and within fifteen minutes the skyscrapers of Phnom Penh faded behind us. 

Goodbye to Phnom Penh.

The Mekong River is the twelfth longest in the world, wending nearly 2,500 miles from the Tibetan Plateau to the South China Sea. Once it enters Vietnam it begins meandering and spreading out, creating the Mekong Delta. This area is critical to the livelihood and food security for millions of people. It is known as the breadbasket of Vietnam. Much of the area is covered by rice patties that are irrigated by delta water and fertilized by delta silt. 

I sat gazing at the distant shore while the wake of the boat spewed water up and across the window. I spotted a Buddhist temple nestled behind the trees and a larger than life reclining Buddha. 

We passed beneath the Tsubasa Bridge, a mammoth structure that spans the entire length of the river. This bridge carries traffic between Ho Chi Minh City and Phnom Penh, eliminating the need for a ferry when it was built in 2015. We were not to pass another bridge the entire trip. This was remote country. Access wasn't easy. 

Splashing water on the Mekong River.

A glimpse of village life.

Tsubasa Bridge.

A ferry carries locals across the river.

Passengers enjoy the breeze.

Further down the river we passed more Buddhist temples, small fishing villages, barges on the river, water buffalo, and men working in the fields. But everything was at a distance due to the wide span of the river. Swollen as it was, it had to be over a mile wide in many places. 

After three hours we finally came to the immigration office at Kaorm Samnor on the Cambodian side of the border. We docked the boat and walked to a small building where we handed our passports and visas to a man behind a window. Fingers were scanned and pictures taken. And just in case we needed it, a Buddhist shrine sat on the grounds. 

We returned to the boat, only to get out a few minutes later on the Vietnamese side of the frontier. We waited in another room for over an hour. This time we waited in a room with tables and chairs. Outside was a wooden patio overlooking the river. By now the sun was setting, casting a glow on those dark monsoonal clouds. They finally returned our passports and we filed back onto the boat. 

Reclining Buddha on the shore.

Buddhist temple with small reclining Buddha (still in Cambodia).

Dark monsoonal clouds.

On the grounds of the immigration office in Kaorm Samnor, Cambodia.

Again we sped across the darkening murky waters and I wondered what we would do if the boat were to capsize. Could we swim ashore, or would we be swept down-river? It would be a terrifying ordeal for sure. 

We came to a point where we left the Mekong River and cut through a canal to the Hau River. The canal was long and our passage lasted half an hour. We passed trees whose bases were covered in water. We passed floating houses that sat at the water's edge. What would it be like to live here? The place had the feel of the bayou. These people lived at the water's edge with no other nighttime noise except the occasional speedboat, lapping of water and croaking frogs. 

Finally in Vietnam, enjoying the sunset.

At last we arrived at the Hau River, a distributary of the Mekong. This general area was the beginning of the Mekong Delta.  Instead of tributary rivers that fed into the Mekong, there were now waterways such as the Hau (Bassac River in Cambodia) that flowed out. 

Once on the Hau River, it wasn't too much longer until we arrived at the dock in Chau Doc. I was excited to spend three nights here as it was a location not yet on the radar of most tourists in Vietnam. We unloaded our luggage, and as warned from the literature, cyclo drivers were outside waiting for us. ♠

 

Final destination, Chau Doc, Vietnam.

On a cyclo, headed to our hotel.

Phnom Penh

We arrived on a bus from Saigon after a seven-hour journey. The border-crossing into Cambodia was quite tedious, but once safely through we noticed a distinct difference from Vietnam. There were now tuk-tuks and Buddhist temples. Motorbikes were less prevalent. More rubbish littered the roadways and the roads themselves were less maintained. Everything seemed dustier. Khmer script had replaced Vietnamese writing on the store-fronts. The atmosphere became more rural and suddenly there were water buffalo loitering in the fields. 

About an hour and a half later we crossed the mighty Mekong River, and soon after that we began arriving in the capital of Cambodia, Phnom Penh. 

Phnom Penh is a beautiful city. Buddhist temples dot the cityscape, mingled with skyscrapers scattered in random fashion. Tuk-tuks on the street give an older vibe. Wide boulevards are a reminder of the French colonial period. We came during the cool air of the rainy season. 

On our first full day in Phnom Penh we hired a tuk-tuk driver to take us around town. (This was the best decision we made our entire trip. He ended up being our guide for the next three days.) We sat in the back of the tuk-tuk, moving at a leisurely pace with a fresh breeze at our face while enjoying the sights and sounds of the city. 

Thai, our tuk-tuk driver.

The colors of Phnom Penh are amazing: the Buddhist temples with their red and yellow walls, and golden spires; the orange robes of the monks; the dirty brown of the Mekong; the maroon, silver and blue corrugated roofs of the shacks at the water's edge; the white and navy blue uniforms of the school kids; the cerulean sky; the gray of the clouds. These were sights never to forget!

We crossed the Tonle Sap River onto a narrow peninsula that also straddled the Mekong. We stopped at a Buddhist temple with an elaborate staircase consisting two mythological golden snakes along the sides. Beneath the balustrade at the center of the stairs were four Dharma wheels, each representing the eight righteous practices taught by Buddha. This golden staircase led to the main worshiping hall. We were almost the only visitors there. Frescoes on the walls and ceiling told numerous stories. A lady knelt and worshiped near the Buddha while a monk entered to offer prayers. 

My favorite place, however, was across the road at the old Royal Palace. According to our driver, the kings lived there 200 years ago. The building was now locked and abandoned, but what fascinated me most was the nearby cemetery. This was the first burial ground I had seen in Asia. Most of the graves were in the form of large conical monuments called stupas. I didn't know if these were burials of the royal family, or monks and nuns. 

Old Royal burial ground.

Frescoes on the walls of the temple.

Stone sculpture in the National Museum of Cambodia.

Buddhist grave and temple on outskirts of Phnom Penh.

Another thing that struck me about Phnom Penh was the friendliness and openness of the people. Thai, our driver, was extremely friendly and always carried a big smile. 

On our way to another temple, while in the back of the tuk-tuk, we were accosted by a couple school boys who hopped in to hitch a ride. They weren't shy at all. Jordan put his arm around one and they stayed with us until the driver shooed them out. 

When we arrived at the temple there was a boy and girl who quickly became our buddies. The girl jumped onto Jordan's back and demanded a piggy-back ride around the grounds. She would get restless and jump off, but a minute later was climbing back on. Then she would grab onto my arm and I would swing her around. The boy demanded that we buy peanuts from his father so we could feed the resident monkeys. We paid 2,000 riels for a small package and the monkeys came right down from the trees. We stretched out our arms and they ate directly from our hands.—But when it was time to go, the two young kids rubbed their bellies and held out their palms. They wanted a hand-out. 

This scenario played out another time as we sat at an outdoor restaurant, waiting for our food to come. Three kids, who appeared to have just gotten out of school because they still had their backpacks, came begging for money. They stood at our table for five minutes straight in silence with their hands pressed together in prayer position. They stayed until the owner shooed them away. 

A schoolboy hitches a ride on our tuk-tuk.

These kids aren't shy at all.

The resident monkey eats peanuts from my hand.

This friendly girl wanted a piggy-back ride.

Smiling monks outside the National Museum of Cambodia.

We passed this cute boy on a street in Phnom Penh.

A visit to Phnom Penh would not be complete without an understanding of the Cambodian Genocide and its impact on the local population. It was 1975 when Pol Pot, the communist leader of the Khmer Rouge, led his troops and seized the capital city. They proceeded to evacuate the citizens by force to the countryside where they would live as farmers. The goal was to create a pure and self-sufficient peasant society by eradicating the urban and educated classes. 

During the next four years over 1.7 million citizens—a fourth of the population of Cambodia—would die from starvation, forced labor, torture or execution. Many were brought to Tuol Sleng Prison in Phnom Penh, a former schoolhouse transformed to interrogate and house prisoners. After being kept in squalid conditions, they were shipped a few miles away to the Killing Fields where they were executed and buried in shallow graves. 

The prison, also known as S-21, is now the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum. Walking through the rooms is a humbling experience. The small brick cells where prisoners slept are still intact. Thousands of black and white booking photos are on display—men, women and children who would eventually be killed. Tools used for torture are laid out. The final room exhibits skulls of some of the deceased. 

Nineteen seventy-five wasn't that long ago. Most of the people here have direct connections with someone who was killed. Thai, our tuk-tuk driver, had his parents and at least one sibling who were killed. He was raised an orphan and has no memory of his family. 

Interrogation room at Tuol Sleng Prison in Phnom Penh. The prison now serves as a museum.

Mug shots of those sent to Tuol Sleng Prison.

Shanty dwellings extend to the river's edge.

Anywhere in the world where I travel, I always make sure to visit as many markets as possible. This includes small family-owned stores, neighborhood grocery stores, and major city markets. In Phnom Penh, Central Market is the major hub where vendors of all kinds come to sell their wares. 

Nearly everything is sold there, from appliances to apparel. We found t-shirts for two American dollars each. Jordan found pants for his girlfriend and I bought a couple hard-to-find postcards. 

For me, the heart of a market is where the food is, and this one didn't disappoint: fish, herbs, fresh fruit, strange desserts. Want food on a stick? Try squid or prawns or . . . frogs! 

We wanted to be sure to visit the night market also, which opened only after 5 pm, and was located in a different venue from Central Market. The market sat in open-air, but was protected from the elements by individual awnings. At first, nothing appeared special about this market. Booth after booth of clothing was typical of any market in the world. But then we came to the food court. 

Instead of tables and chairs to sit on, there were colorful mats laid on the ground. The customer removed his shoes and ate comfortably with his plate on the floor. We ordered Lort Cha, a stir-fry with rice pin noodles and beef. 

By the time we were done with the market, the rain was coming down at a slow, but constant drizzle. We walked a mile in the dark to the hotel, I with an umbrella and Jordan with damp hair. 

Fatigued worker at Central Market.

People eat on mats at the Night Market in Phnom Penh.

Phnom Penh is a river city. It is bordered by the Tonle Sap, Mekong, and Bassac Rivers. It is considered the beginning of the Mekong Delta, meaning that instead of tributary branches that flow into the river, there are distributary branches which run out. The river system is an important source for fishing, which contributes immensely to local cuisine. 

In front of the Royal Palace, along the edge of the Mekong, is a riverside pedestrian walk, and at this point the river is nearly a mile in width. It is a lovely place to sit down and enjoy the breeze and view, watching people in their own environment. In the river there are fishing boats and patches of water hyacinth floating slowing with the current. 

When we were there we watched a group of boys fishing with a stick and piece of string. Even a monk, dressed in orange robes, found time to enjoy the spectacle. 

It wasn't surprising to see the monks because across the street was Wat Ounalom, a Buddhist monastery that is over 500 years old. We walked into the courtyard and found a lady feeding pigeons by tossing bird-feed onto the plaza. Shortly afterward a young boy raced through with his toy car into the flock of feeding pigeons and a couple mooching roosters. 

As we moseyed through the courtyard we came to an adjacent building where a dance class was being held among the youth. The face of the building was open so we could watch from outside. The music was a gentle traditional melody and the boys and girls walked slowly, but deliberately, in a circle while contorting their hands and feet in a specific manner. The instructor was strict, often slapping the hands of the dancers if their movements were not exact. The dancers wore sampots around their waist and moved with bare feet. 

It was interesting to watch. They practiced with strictness and exactness, displaying that Asian discipline that is often frowned upon back home. I admired their devotion to learning a traditional dance. I don't know if this was compulsory or voluntary, but either way, their culture was being handed down. 

Locals use a stick to fish in the river.

A lady feeds the pigeons at Ounalom Temple.

Youth learn a traditional dance.  They are wrapped in sampots.

We arrived in Phnom Penh on bus, but we would leave by boat. We had spent four days in the Pearl of Asia and it was now time to bid adieu. A four-hour journey would bring us back into Vietnam.

In all my days of traveling, perhaps my favorite city I've ever visited has been Phnom Penh. It was an unexpected surprise. There was a blend of old and new, Buddhist temples, monkeys, tuk-tuks, perfect temperatures, harrowing history and exotic markets. As someone who wants to waste no time seeing the world, there are very few places I would prefer to see a second time. But Phnom Penh is one of those places. ♠