Showing posts with label banana pancakes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label banana pancakes. Show all posts

Sunday, July 29, 2012

The Traveler

Previously, I described the array of expatriate species that populate Phnom Penh (here: The Transient Life).  Another key element to the foreigners traipsing through my current country though is the range of travelers who pass through Cambodia.  They too can be divided, generally, into 5 categories.

1. The banana pancaker:  The banana pancaker is so named because of their undying love of banana pancakes, the little backpacker friendly snacks sold at nearly every Khmer restaurant.  Banana pancakers aren't specific to Cambodia; in fact, they can be found wandering  most Southeast and South Asian countries.  They are easy to identify from a distance:  om-covered pants with a patchwork crotch sagging at the knee-level, tattoos written in foreign languages, dreadlocks, and of course, the oversized backpacks filled with various nonsensical items picked up along the way.  The pancakers are usually keen to provide commentary on their spiritual adventures, or your lack of spirituality, and they are often on indulgent multi-country trips.  The duration of the average pancaker trip is about a month, but they're happy to inform you that they know and understand Cambodia better than you, a mere mortal, who has resided here for a year.  They enjoy a budget trip and are eager to eat unclear, exhaust-laden foods from a street vendor for authenticity's sake.
2. The pseudo pancaker:  The pseudo pancaker may be difficult to differentiate from its more 'authentic' counterpart.  While they will dress the same as the standard banana pancaker, the pseudo pancaker is financed with mom and dad's cash.  Often from wealthy families, the pseudo pancaker reaches Cambodia during a gap year or gap summer to 'discover themselves'.  They have less aggressive tattoos and no dreadlocks, and they're much more likely to splurge on bad pizza because, well, it's not actually their money.  Pseudo pancakers usually enjoy longer trips with periodic stops to volunteer at a sketchy orphanage or work with rescued elephants or some other short-term volunteer experience that will look nice on a resume as they attempt to reintegrate into the Western business world.
3. The granola:  Also named for their food of choice, granolas almost exclusively travel in married pairs.  Granolas will be found wearing olive colored cargo pants, their pockets filled with tiny bananas and almonds.  They're easiest to identify at temples or other formal establishments because they take so long to unlace their hiking boots to meet the barefoot requirements of Buddhist culture.  Granolas are less likely to reach out to other travelers, and they hang on to their weathered blue copy of the Lonely Planet guide for dear life.  Granolas are more likely to spend more time in Cambodia relative to its Southeast Asian neighbors, but they often have a specific agenda, detailed schedule, and fixed itinerary.  Granolas are eager to pay the extra $3 for a quality guide to explain the significance of architectural nuances, the history of a neighborhood, and the unexpected culinary delights.  Granolas feel strongly about eating Khmer food exclusively, but they prefer clean, air conditioned restaurants to shady food stalls.
4. The aristocrat: The wealthiest travelers are among the rarest in Phnom Penh, simply because they arrange to fly in and out of Siem Reap, spend a day or two at the Angkor temples, and head toward Bangkok or Singapore or Hanoi.  This group of travelers bands together in the 5 star hotels, splurges on a daily $15 hour-long full body massage, and visits the hokey all-you-can-eat buffets slash dance performances.  They leave Cambodia convinced they have experienced the country although they haven't left the Siem Reap microcosm.  Certainly, the aristocrats are likely to catch an Apsara dance show, briefly wander through the Old Market, and enjoy the short, kitschy elephant ride between Angkor temples.
5. The Japanese tourist:  Of course, every major tourist destination is visited by a massive charter bus filled to the brim with eager, middle-aged Japanese tourists.  They spill from the bus onto Angkor grounds and immediately open their pink and yellow and red sun umbrellas.  Like the aristocrat, the Japanese tourist groups are unlikely to visit the Cambodia that exists beyond Siem Reap.  They also tend to search out East Asian restaurants and lavish buffets, take an excessive number of photos featuring the victory V, and purchase cheesy souvenirs such as wooden Angkor Wat statues or monkey figurines made from coconuts.  However, this group does not have the overt disdain for fellow travelers that some other wandering categories sometimes exhibit.


Have you been to Cambodia?  Which group are you?

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Riverside

I still can't decide how I feel about the Riverside, the touristy backpacker neighborhood of brilliant rooftop bars with exquisite views overlooking the Mekong and crowded fast food joints featuring untraditional pizzas littered with marijuana flakes. The banana pancakers abound, their colorful sagging pants plastered with tacky Om symbols while their dreadlocks absorb the sweat from the backs of their necks. They carry oversized backpacks, filled to the brim with more material nonsense than most Cambodians own entirely, and they sneeringly offer to Educate you on Spirituality and Local Culture. The young twenty something expats arrive in droves, eager to celebrate a work of saving the world through one NGO or another with a cold, happy hour Anchor beer and a plate of nachos. And there are those who come to reminisce, who are reminded of the Cambodia of yesteryear they once visited a decade earlier.

But then, in contrast to the helter skelter foreign population, there are the clans of young Cambodian classmates, sitting crosslegged in small circles along the riverside walkway, sharing rice cakes and drinking from a personal beer supply while catching up on the latest hallway gossip. And three dozen Khmer women dance in perfect sequence in full, enthusiastic participation of the nightly jazzercise class, cooled by a gentle breeze wafting from the river's blue waters. They wear matching headbands and brightly colored socks. The palm trees behind them dance in tandem, swaying along to the beat of the peppy music as they bathe in the Royal Palace's golden glow.

The Riverside is gaudy and eager, with neon signs, crowded pubs, and flashy five-inch high heels, yet it echos each whisper of wind with a giggle. It's designed for casual strolling, one lazy step after another along a moto-free sidewalk, and it embodies the young spirit that has captured Cambodia, vivid, lively, impatient. The steady, booming bass from a nighclub pounds into the night, a heartbeat by which the neighborhood paces itself. Boom, boom, boom, it says, pumping energy into the city, keeping time with the dance of tuk tuks as they collect tired partygoers, ready to collapse into their beds.

Sometimes, I wonder if the poetry graffitied by the wind across the streets was written just for me.