Overwhelmed by millions of refugees before being emptied of its entire population in April 1975, Phnom Penh was my home for a year. I came to this suffering city 14 years after the Khmer Rouge fell, and was there when the United Nations handed power back to “the people” and Norodom Sihanouk was restored to the throne.
Spacious boulevards, with pot holes and craters the size of small trucks, were lined with grand or charming old French buildings, occupied by squatters, ghosts or cattle. Rain would routinely cause flooding around the art deco central market, as uncollected garbage choked the broken down drainage system.
Market traders, street peddlers, and cheeky kids in flimsy shack towns kept every day a surprise. The passing traffic was our TV as we took in the river views. A ride in the countryside was only ten minutes away.
