So, on my last trip out to Angkor Wat (actually, a different temple built to watch the sunset), a different driver shows up to take me. My boy Apeu, he tells me, is busy, so he’s my guy. So be it. (This is a fairly common occurrence, I’ve gathered from eavesdropping on other conversations.) Anyway, after all is said and done, my new driver, Samo (sp.), asks what I’m doing that night. Since my bus leaves at 6:30 the next morning, I tell him I plan on laying around, maybe drinking a beer or two, and then going to sleep. He then proceeds to invite me out to drink beers with him and his fellow Tuk Tuk drivers. I am unable to refuse. I mean, I’ve been to tourist bars in tourist cities, but a chance to get real down and dirty with my new Cambodian friends? Done. (And before you accuse me of being that guy yelling about “Blah blah tourists!” and “Blah blah authentic!”, let me just say that I know exactly what the tourist bars hold in store for me. I have no idea where Samo and his friends go.
At 8:00, I’m finishing up negotiating and paying Apeu, when another, different dude rolls up and tells me Samo is busy, so he’s here to take me to the bar. I’m a bit skeptical (I mean, twice in one day, guys?), but Apeu vouches for him, so I figure he’s cool. My new friend’s name is Amon (sp.).
We hop on his bike and high-tail it away from my guesthouse to a random bar that kind of looks like a warehouse inside. Immediately upon walking up to the door, like six good-looking Cambodian women sitting at the front jump up to vie for my attention. I wave them off, as I’m not entirely sure how that whole thing works. Amon asks me if I want a girl, so I ask him. “It is nothing, man,” he says. “They sit next to you, laugh at your jokes, and drink with you.” Well, I’m not about to start buying some random Cambodian girl drinks, so once again, I wave off the signal.
We sit at a table in the bar and order our first round. At the front is a giant stage, with a revolving cast of three or four singers and two different keyboard players. They all sing different Cambodian love songs, but for all I know, it could’ve been just one long gigantic song. Did you ever see that South Park episode with Wing, the “Shitty Wok” owner’s wife? It’s pretty much like that, only with overbearing, synth-heavy keyboards. So, pretty much right up your alley, brother.
Eventually, we’re joined by So and Samo, and we proceed to knock back another seven or eight beers apiece. At one point, Amon asks me if I’d like “tootoo.” I assume he’s asking me if I want a tattoo, so naturally I decline. He shakes his head and begins making weird hand signals around his head. I still can’t follow him, so he beckons over the manager. A minute later, the same guy shows up with a huge-ass turtle in his hands. “Normally, you cannot cook tootoos in Cambodia,” Amon says. “You get in trouble with the police. But, the owner, he is good friends with the police, so we can eat tootoo, if you would like.” Flattered, but still poor, I decline.
Eventually, we ditch the first bar to hit a late-night karaoke spot. I’m not sure how familiar you are with Asian karaoke, but the party sits in a private room while drinking and singing. I assume this is because Asian cultures are always concerned with losing face, and thus don’t want to stumble onstage to belt out an awful rendition of Shania Twain or something. Pfft. Whatever, Asians.
As we enter, Amon says, “Chris, my friend. This is the freedom room. You can do whatever you want!” And immediately, four girls join the four of us in the room. I am mildly uncomfortable with the situation. To make matters worse, my girl is a cute, busty Cambodian girl. I sit and survey the situation. Are these guys about to come out with both guns blazing at the Fingerblast Corral?! If so, what the shit am I going to do?! Thankfully (or, I guess, sadly), none of the other guys are getting blown, giving/receiving rimjobs, or using inserting foreign objects into random orifices. So, I play it cool and just try to get my girl laughing and singing. Eventually, it works, but she seems genuinely confused by my behavior, as I have not spanked or fondled her in any way up to this point. However, after So and I perform a stunning rendition of Lionel Richie’s “Hello,” my girl (I still don’t know her name) develops a new strategy to win my affection: she begins hand-feeding me beef jerky (they called it something like “Creole beef,” but I fucking know beef jerky when I taste it, all right?). So, there I sit, with a busty Cambodian refilling my beer, making me drink, and shoving delicious bits of dried cow flesh into my mouth. IS THIS LOVE?!
No, it isn’t, because 2 a.m. comes around, and I’m forced to tip my girl (only fair, I suppose). Then, I jump onto the back of a motorbike with my inebriated friend to get a ride back to my guesthouse, because I am fucking responsible.
