We turned up at the presidential palace but Wendy had nothing to cover her shoulders so in the searing heat I suggested we forget the palace and sit in the shade with our water bottles on a lip of a wall and watch a bit of back street life for a while.

From our vantage point on the opposite side of the street, two young girls and a small boy play a nursery game like “Ring of Roses.” It is simple, but they laugh and tug at each other as they circle. All three are very dirty, with dark matted hair, weathered skin, and no shoes or socks on their little feet. The game fizzles out, and they drift to the shade of a couple of large bar umbrellas wedged against the wall of a fine building.

Cambodian Tuc tucs

It looks as though other family members are underneath, lying on an old rug. I can see feet sticking out, though it is dark in the shade. A skinny young girl emerges and makes her way into the road. Barefoot, perhaps only two or three years old, she flirts with the traffic before spotting something further up. In seconds she darts through the cars and is gone. It is hard to comprehend, as the parents take no notice and do not worry.

Our vigil is interrupted: “You want Tuc Tuc? Where you from?” “No, we are fine, thank you.” “I do one hour trip,” he insists. After several rounds of “We are fine,” he eventually gets the message and leaves us to our watch.

A click of a key fob breaks the moment. A nearby Toyota flashes and bleeps as a woman approaches with her little girl. A raggedly dressed man rushes out from in front of a parked tatty Tuc Tuc by the umbrellas , waving and gesticulating wildly in a pantomime of helping her back into the street. It works though as the woman winds down her window and hands him a few small bills. He doesn’t thank her or even acknowledge the gesture. As the car drives away, a woman—perhaps his wife—emerges eagerly to see what he has collected. She snatches the money and disappears again. The man, meanwhile, positions himself in the road, blocking large cars and waving them toward the now‑vacant space. He has little success, and for the next twenty minutes he and his wife take turns cajoling traffic into the spot.

Again, our vigil is interrupted: “You want Tuc Tuc? Where you from?” “No, we are fine, thank you.” “I do one hour trip,” he repeats. Eventually, he too leaves us alone.

A young man in a really dirty hoodie and woolley hat walks in the road near the parking space and tries his luck with a few cars. Our man moves in on his space and with no words said sidles him off his patch. Head low he checks out the bin. After a little rummaging he finds a plastic drinks cup with lid. He looks pleased and proceeded to crush the plastic together in an attempt to remove the crushed ice before swigging back the remaining liquid. He then throws it back down and moves on up the street.

Bizarrely, a young woman in what looks like a shop uniform appears from the bushes. She carries a large bottle of water, washes her feet, slips on flip‑flops, and tosses the bottle onto the rubbish pile by a bin before strolling up the street. I wonder if she is off to work?

Cambodian Street Children

The sound of plastic on plastic draws attention. The tiny girl runs to a black bin bag beside the wheelie bin. Now wearing rubber shoes, she rummages inside and pulls out a cardboard box. It looks quite new. She reshapes it neatly and examines it with delight before showing it to a younger boy, perhaps three years old. He beams as they climb into the back of the family Tuc Tuc to play with their treasure. Ironically, the empty pink box once held a new toy. I wonder if she has ever had a proper toy—have any of these children?

Cambodian street child
 

All is quiet for a while until a monk walks straight up the middle of the street, oblivious to traffic and the constant chorus: “You want Tuc Tuc? Where you from?” “No, we are fine, thank you.” “I do one hour trip.” After several refusals, all seven drivers in a row finally leave us to our watch.

We sit on a wall in the shade. To our right, a battered old Toyota minivan pulls up. Its doors open, and a mixed group of men, women, and a large orange‑robed monk file onto the pavement. Within seconds they are surrounded by hawkers. Our family reacts swiftly, rolling out an old plastic bin filled with ragged children’s kites. The wife seems in charge of this part of the enterprise, while the husband, frustrated at missing his chance to cajole the group into his parking space, becomes a mobile traffic block.

Others succeed: the group buys dubious cold drinks in plastic bags and birdseed to feed the pigeons—enough seed, perhaps, to feed our family. We feel strangely attached to them, though we know nothing of their backstory. They are not alone; so many live like this across Asia and the world. It is heartbreaking, especially seeing the children in such a state. We cannot help them all, only highlight how lucky we are—and how fortunate others should feel.

Before leaving, I carried our two empty water bottles, plus one from the floor across the road, to the wheelie bin. Just as the lid dropped and I turned to cross back, the missing little girl strolled past with a half‑full crisp bag. She had a beautiful, cheeky face. She looked up, at me waved, and smiled.

A wonderful heartwarming present she gave me on my 60th Birthday today!

How are you supposed to feel?

A Sunset Interrupted

My other present was a boat trip on the Mekong—sunset and city lights for $6, upgraded to $12 with unlimited bar. Far better than I imagined: the boat sailed miles upriver past fishing villages, farming communities, and vessels making a living.

But I missed most of it. Standing in awe watching fishermen cast hand nets, my phone rang: “Hello Grandad, Happy Birthday.”

“Hang on, I’m on a boat on a famous river in Asia. I’ll go inside where I can hear you.”

Through the magic of WhatsApp, I had a wonderful forty‑minute tour of Christmas gossip and school news. It doesn’t matter where I am—I know who the boss is, and she’s seven years old.

I still caught the sunset, and it was all the better for the interruption. Gosh, I am a lucky man.

Sunset Phenom Phen Cambodia

A Perfect Ending

Our time in Phnom Penh was nearing it’s end with beers in a cool part of town and then a wonderful Indian meal.

“Order the special, not the single curry Masala—you’ll save $4. And Madame, do the same with the Butter Chicken,” the owner advised.

“Thank you so much,” I replied, knowing he didn’t have to do that. It really summed up the people of Cambodia and Vietnam.

The restaurant was like a British classic—flock wallpaper, white tablecloths and great beer. To our left, eight Dutch youngsters (six girls, two boys—come on lads, you’re being shown up! Get travelling). To our right, two Indians chatted while watching the cricket on TV.

The whole thing was perfect along with the food. It just couldn’t get any better! 

Or could it? “Hello Dad Happy Birthday how are you?” Walking home talking to my wonderful daughter brought tears to my eyes!