I had heard about a place like this once. Blacked out, curtained, dark dining. Simple enough idea, let blind people serve sighted people dinner. Two girls and I left our hostel with anticipation running high for this surprise tasting menu to be consumed in pitch black settings. The interior has mild purple lighting with trendy white leather seats. We all ordered the “international” four course meal. Our waiter, a blind man of slight build affectionately and inexplicably called, “Manbaby,” led us up stairs, through doors and curtains to our table where he helped us acclimatize to the darkness. There was no change when you blinked, so I just let my eyes rest. We were giggly and giddy. The wine poured, we gingerly toasted our goblets of red. The first course came and food is blindly shoveled onto a fork, perhaps avocado and shrimp? Second course, a lamb in light sauce with broccoli? Third course was three shot glasses of soups, we guessed cucumber, pumpkin and mystery. Dessert was unmistakably pineapple and some chocolate. Dinner was delicious, our waiter was extremely helpful in our sightless situation, and the taste was heightened by lack of visuals. We made jokes about “putting it in our mouth, can’t find it because it was too little, hold it harder, who touched my leg” and other “that’s what she said,” comments. Afterwards,each plate was explained in pictures via Ipad. It was a great experience, and this “dark dining” idea is found in many cities over the world. Check to see if you can support one in your area.
A few weeks before Saigon fell to the encroaching NVA, Phnom Penh, in neighboring Cambodia was overrun by the nascent Communist guerrilla group known as the “Khmer Rouge.” They were led by a Paris educated madman named Saloth Sar a.k.a Pol Pot. Saloth Sar somehow sounds worse than Pol Pot, like an evil Sith name. Nevertheless, somehow he convinced his “combatants” (only Cambodian troops were known as combatants, the enemy was always known as “soldiers”) to round up all civilians from the cities and move them to farms to enact a perfect form of Maoist communism. It wasn’t perfect. The new regime killed anyone who spoke a foreign language, wore glasses, owned land or property, basically anyone who wasn’t a peasant, the people whom Pol Pot most admired. He called them “the good people.” A nasty three years followed as workers starved on meager rations of the rice which they were farming, brutal, arbitrary killing of civilians continued and a total of between 2-3 million Cambodians died out of a population of less than 8 million. Picture 1 of every 4 people you know dying in only 36 months. It felt so terrible to hear the Cambodian tour guides explaining the mass graves, or a tree where heads of babies were smashed, or finding headless torsos, or the fact that this particular gravesite outside the capital contains over 100,000 bodies and was only one of dozens of mass graves found all over the countryside in the 1990’s. Cambodia suffered so much and only had their first elections in 1993. This country really feels haunted. Walking around and seeing misty moonlight, hearing strange frogs, the knowledge of what happened here less than 40 years ago can be a chilly reminder. But somehow, the Cambodians pressed on beyond the gruesome past and seem to be a very relaxed and happy populace. The Killing Fields Memorial is about a 30 minute ride on the tuk-tuk. Tuol Sleng prison is right inside the city, where there are restaurants and hotels very nearby. You should do both in one day.
Inside this symmetrical stupa lies thousands of murdered Cambodian civilians’ skulls.
There are some flowers and scattered, miserable trees all haunted by memory.
These are some mass graves of the Cambodian Genocide. One of the hardest parts of the audio tour was listening to the last sounds of these accursed people. It was a throbbing mix of an old diesel generator clomping along like a horrible metronome keeping the beat to those screeching communist nationalistic romps. Inside that horrorshow was probably muted screams, fearful goodbyes and machine gun fire.
These were the halls of a high school once. Even in its prime, as a place of learning, this place must have been depressing. It later became the place of interrogation, torture and forced confessions against the state. People were charged with conspiracy such as colluding with CIA or KGB spies. The sadism on display here was heavy. Drowning, nail-ripping, scorpions in nipples, beatings and savage containment.
That was the room in which this man was found when the prison was freed. There were about 8 survivors left in the prison when the Vietnamese liberated it. He, and 13 others found dead inside the walls were buried in the “schoolyard” where the gallows reside.
The entire first floor of the prison contains room after room of the faces. The mugshots of the damned. It became monotonous in its savagery and incomprehensible nature. This was a civil war, not desecration of another race. They did this to their own blood. There must have been something inside these men and women to allow them to perpetrate such heinous acts. Perhaps it was out of self-preservation, anger, resentment, jealousy. But, we can’t know. Some of the former regime’s agents gave testimony and they all enlisted very young usually with the thoughts of saving their family by joining. It’s a sometimes forgotten chapter of history, but it hasn’t left my mind yet.
The barbershop, a place for men to be themselves.
This little girl almost certainly lives on the streets every night. Her mom was begging. There was a large cardboard area situated near some unidentified junk.
Fried Chicken Heads. Can’t imagine much meat on those tiny little things!
This man is using a jackhammer without shoes on an open street.
She started to hold up the baby to me like Michael Jackson held up Blanket on that balcony to the press. They were waving and smiling as soon as they saw the camera.
They’re not impressed by the camera. They were at the night market nibbling steamed corn. Right after we left these kids, we found a kitten stuck in a trash bag style glue trap for rats. A local helped us get gloves and some gasoline. We soaked the glue off the cat and washed him. The man who helped us took away the little cat after and said, “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.”
A local tuk-tuk driver named Chay.
La Cantina (178 street and 19) is right next door to Me Mates Villa where I stayed. We stumbled a few blocks and found a massive French villa, restaurant fitted, without much of a face lift. The house has big gates and columns beset against the rounded trapezoidal staircases. They serve a tapas style restaurant with plenty of options. For 10 US$, you get 3 tapas and a mini draft beer.
Chicken croquettes with an apple and spicy sauce.
Patatas Bombas, meat stuffed fried delicious with a potato crust, drizzled with a chipotle mayo.
Albondigas, Spanish style meatballs in veggie broth.
All of these were outstanding, and way more filling than I thought for three little appetizers.
I was trying to get a nice one with the flowers and the monk walked right into my shot. I love this picture!