When I moved to Phnom Penh in Cambodia for work, Maya—a Canadian girl, [oops, American] sold me her dinky little city bike for twenty bucks. Each tyre needed a different type of pump to put air in it, and it went clinkety clinkety clink as you pedalled, but it worked.
And off I went, bouncing oot and aboot [this joke no longer makes sense] through the hectic streets of Phnom Penh.
What’s Cycling in Cambodia like, you ask? Here’s a hint (via Paris):
“Cycling in Paris, day 2: it's mayhem out there. Bikes bikes bikes. Everywhere. Not to mention pedestrians, cars, and motorbikes. The last time the adrenaline pumped like this was cycling in Phnom Penh. This is different but still livin' on the edge. Fun times!”
In Phnom Penh at the time (circa 2018), there was one main set of traffic lights for the whole city. The downtown streets are a grid system like in the US, and there’s a four-way intersection every hundred metres or so where motorbikes, tuk-tuks, and stupid foreigners on bikes dance the Cambodian ballet, i.e., try to get to the other side.
No-one stops. And with a very high probability—though not 100%—no-one hits anyone else. It’s a slow motion dance around metal on metal, metal on skin. Time slows down and all-comers from each of four directions modulate their speed based on what’s coming at them from the other three. If you want to die, you swerve. Any unexpected change in direction could be fatal. It’s quite beautiful to watch when done right, but the air is so toxic and steamy there, you don’t stand around gaping for long at the wondrous talents of Cambodian drivers.
As for gaping, you can easily spot a tourist who’s just arrived. He stands on the edge of the road sweating profusely, clearly questioning his life decisions as he looks for a gap in the traffic before crossing.
There will never be a gap. He will be there forever if that’s the plan. Finally, after dripping another litre of bodily fluids onto the ground, he pumps some bravery into his bloodstream and steps out into the mayhem. The same rules apply to pedestrians: no swerving; no sudden movements. Let the traffic deform its way around you like a stream around a big rock; with a very high likelihood—though not 100%—you’ll get to the other side.
I never crashed my bike once in Phnom Penh, and this despite what’s perhaps the hardest thing to factor into speed and direction calculations as you trundle along, clinkety clinkety clink: locals on motorbikes driving the wrong way up the side of the road. Those bastards put you in a cold sweat despite you already being in a hot sweat.
The two don’t cancel each other out.
This was meant to be a preamble to an article I read in the New York Times about cycling in Manila, the capital of the Philippines, during a pandemic, when the trains stop. Instead I was sidetracked by a dude coming the wrong way on a motorbike, and the crazy, fun, and sometimes dangerous things we do when there are no guard rails holding us back.
[Cover photo: Ross Peake]