Lost in translation

(I haven’t seen the movie, so, if you have, this has nothing to do with it.)

Day 12: Battambang, Cambodia

After a bit more than 5 hours in a bus, I arrived in Battambang, the second biggest city in Cambodia according to my guide.

Before the bus has even stopped, tuk-tuk drivers wave placards with their services, offering to bring you for free, or cheaply, to the hotel of your choice -or for free to a list of select lodgings. Once out of the bus, they swarm you, leaving you hardly the space to get your luggage. It’s overwhelming, suffocating, and I didn’t like it.

And having chosen a hotel less than 500m from the bus terminal, I didn’t need their services.

Battambang is reputed for its French colonial era houses, so I left on foot to explore the neighbourhood. The orientational was brutal. Nothing is familiar, glossy shops selling high-end smartphone abut sordid-looking restaurant, going through the market is an experiment in horror, with meat on offer disappearing under flies, heaps of trash, and everywhere, littering.

Sidewalks are shops extension or parking for the omnipresent scooters, certainly not space for the tourist. Indeed, only tourists are seen walking around: the Cambodian, at the very least, rides a bike, more often a scooter. Crossing a street is a game of sliding in the flow of vehicles. There are very few traffic lights, even less crosswalks.

The colonial buildings are sorry-looking, one must keep one’s eyes firmly on the ground, to avoid tripping on unexpected obstacles or potholes, nothing looks appealing or even remotely understandable.

Then finally appear the last straw: the first glimpse of the familiar, weirdly out of place, a KFC restaurant. The reaction can be either relief -or disillusion.