Introduction
This is my personal account of the events which happened on my unfortunately shortened trip to Cambodia. It is a story which I hope will entertain and maybe serve as a warning to fellow forum members travelling to the city.
Disclaimer
This story may seem far-fetched, exaggerated and hard to believe. It was a solo trip, hence there are no witnesses I can provide. All I can give you is my personal assurance that I did not resort to hyperbole.
I am only friends, in person, with one other forum member (dekendingo), but all he would be able to confirm is that I am not an internet troll.
Many travel stories on here are hard to believe for the blue-pill taking proletariat. With this being RooshVForum (and me having two meager, yet gratefully received rep-points), I would like to think that I am given the benefit of any doubt that may be present. Stuff like this can happen if you take the red pill.
Anyway, sorry for the legal jargon. I posted this on Reddit a few days ago, as a 'test-run', but the majority thought this story was exaggerated or even the work of fiction.
Negative feedback is absolutely expected, but it should focus on how boring the events were, or how much I suck at screening women.
Anyway.....
The people at my hostel on my first night in Phnom Penh were cliquey and unfriendly, so I decided to go out on my own.
As a result of my newly found penchant for gaming Asian girls - one that had developed after ten months of living in Korea and Taiwan, and a lot of lurking on this forum - I had researched some of the clubs in the city beforehand, and had heard that a place called 'DJ Club' was one of the only venues with no prostitutes or tourists.
With this knowledge in mind, I decided to ditch the people at the guesthouse and take a motorcycle taxi over to the club; where I quickly find that my research is confirmed to be true. I look around the place and see that it's just Cambodian people in there; no tourists, no sex workers, no nothing. I was the only 'western guy' in the club. Perfect conditions for me.
I make friends with the only non-Cambodians in the place; some smartly-dressed Singaporean guys sitting at a table. In my opinion, Singaporeans are the friendliest people in the world. I've had Singaporeans literally put their female friends in my hands and have had even more of them buy me a beer after a very short conversation.
I drink and talk with them for a while, then after about half an hour, I start dancing with a Cambodian girl. She looks like one of the rare Cambodian trust-fund daughters; long amber hair, petite frame and equipped with a designer handbag. Her fellow people might earn a dollar a day, but here she is in the city's only high-end club, spending three times that amount on a bottle of beer.
She seems interested in me, and we hit it off pretty quickly. I escalate the conversation, then I gently ask her if she's a prostitute. (Cambodia is full of them, I want nothing to do with a sex worker. But, I understand that the people who work in such an industry, in such a poor country, are not usually given many other options).
I tell her politely that I don't pay for sex and she laughs off the idea that she might be a prostitute. My suspicions are alleviated, and soon enough, we find a hotel and the obvious ensues. In the morning, I tell her which hostel I am staying at, since I am open to the idea of meeting her again.
I go back to the hostel and promptly start drinking again. This time, I manage to infiltrate the 'clique' and make friends with the people who I had previously deemed 'hostile' (and boring). I drink with them for most of the evening and eventually, we go out in a big group to a place called 'Heart of Darkness'. This is a notorious club for tourists and prostitutes. The inside of the place lives up to the acrid nature of the name, but in a big group, it's great.
We all have fun for a few hours, but then I bump into the girl from the night before. I wonder what she's doing in the club on her own and I decipher that she is, indeed, a prostitute. I say that I want nothing further to do with her, and this makes her very angry. She starts shouting at me and grabs my arm, attracting the attention of the security at the door. I try my best to calm her down and I say that I will come back and talk to her after I've been to the bathroom. I pretend to go there, but of course, I walk out of the exit and hop on a motorcycle taxi to my hostel.
I arrive; I grab my bags, I hand in my key, and then I walk back out of the front door. I hop on the same motorcycle taxi; but this time my destination is a new hostel, on the other side of the city. "Phew" I think; I have gotten away.
I set my bags down in the new hostel and go for a walk to find the infamous 'Cambodian Cannabis pizza'. After the awkward situation in the club, I just wanted to relax for the night.
The streets are eerily quiet at this hour and devoid of people. I walk around and somewhat enjoy the calmness brought on by such an uncharacteristic scene in Phnom Penh.
After two minutes of walking, I see a motorcycle at the end of the road. It's coming towards me. It has two people on it. One of them is the girl. Somehow the woman has found me, on the other side of the city.
She hops off the scooter and runs after me. I run the hell away.
This a third-world country, and in the wrong circumstances, it can be very dangerous. For the most part, Phnom Penh is actually a very safe place, but I am certain that punching a Cambodian woman in the face could very much change my opinion of the place. There are pretty much no universal laws here; Cambodians side with Cambodians, even if the foreigner is right. I don't want anything to escalate and I don't want a crowd of Cambodian people hungry for my blood. A westerner had been killed in the market a few miles away, just a day earlier. With this playing on my mind, I decide to choose 'flight', not fight.
I outrun the girl and do two swift left turns. I enter a dark alleyway and hide behind a big wooden box. I listen out carefully to my surroundings. It's still jarringly quiet, but this time the lack of noise is unsettling. Five minutes pass. I figure that she must have moved to a different area by now, so despite my apprehension, I decide to walk out and continue my search for cannabis pizza.
I walk through the streets once again, and laugh off the situation.
Suddenly, a motorcycle is coming towards me....
This time she doesn't jump off, the motorcycle forces me into a dead end. I have nowhere to run so she jumps off and puts her arms around me, refusing to let go. I throw her arms off and run for thirty seconds towards a crowd of Cambodian people who are sitting at a table, eating fruit. I kindly ask them for help.
They do nothing. They just look at me perplexed. They want nothing to do with the foreigner and his crazy 'girl for the night'. She keeps grabbing me and shouting at me and I throw her arms off again. I run to a different crowd of Cambodian people who are stood opposite my new hostel. I tell them that I just want to go to bed and I'd like them to get rid of the crazy woman. I ensure that I come across as calmly as possible. I explain that I have done nothing wrong and I just want the situation to be resolved.
She catches up with me and speaks to the eight Cambodian people in their native tongue. They completely side with her. She has very obviously lied to them. Perhaps she has told them that I owe her money or that I've hurt her, or something.
Eight Cambodian people are now very angry with me and they are telling me that I have to go to jail to sort this out.
Those words make my heart drop through the ground. I want nothing to do with the police in a third-world country. Maybe they'll stick some pills in my bag and will fine me 1,000 dollars. Even worse, they could try and frame me and stick me in a Cambodian jail for the night, or even longer.
All of these things, despite their unlikeliness, are going through my head, so I am extremely cautious. I try to resolve the situation as politely and carefully as possible, but after a while, I get frustrated. Eight Cambodian people are shouting at a foreigner who has done nothing wrong. The anger gets to me, and I lose it.
I roar and head-butt a wooden panel outside of a bar, which leaves a huge dent.
The bar owner comes rushing out in response to the noise. "HEY, HEY YOU!", he is angry. I very swiftly calm down and realise how stupid I was to get that angry. He is now also threatening jail, and he wants money for the damage. He stares at me for a while, but then he looks around at the other people on the scene. He sees that eight Cambodian people are very angry with one English guy, for seemingly unapparent reasons. Amazingly, he calms down quickly and tells me to follow him inside his bar.
I follow him in, he's my only hope.
He goes to the bathroom and tells me to wait outside the door. After a minute, he comes out of the toilet and tells me to wait just behind the door to the bar's entrance, where no one can see me. He walks outside of the bar, into the thick of the angry mob, powers up his motorcycle, and after some brilliant co-ordination, I run out of the bar, jump on the motorcycle and we zoom away from the crowd. On the way past, I give the woman the finger. My thoughts; FUCK YOU! I AM FREEEE!!!!
..... or so I thought.
As we go past, the woman points to my hostel and says 'I know where you stay, I bring my friends'.
I also realise that all my stuff is in the damn hostel, including my money, cards and passport. I am not free, I am an idiot.
Me and the guy drive around for ten minutes, regardless. Amazingly; in this time, we manage to run out of fuel and get a flat tire. It's a Mr Bean comedy of errors.
We drive back towards the hostel at five miles-per-hour. He drops me off at a point which is one minute away from the hostel (and its newly accompanying lynch-mob). He introduces me to his brother, who is drinking with some friends at the side of the road. The motorcycle driver promises to come back in five minutes with a new tire. I stay with the friendly group of Cambodian people for that time.
It's a break from play, we talk about football, have some beers and smoke some cigarettes. The atmosphere is great. We do some Cambodian dancing together and one of the guys sings a song about western vaginas with a grimaced, yet heartfelt expression.
Suddenly, three angry prostitutes turn up. A massive shouting match occurs in the Cambodian language. The friendly people come to the defence of the newly-found Manchester United fan. Without them, I am on my own to fend off three crazy cock-cutting bitches and any passing Cambodian who wants to join in the mob.
The motorcycle man returns. He is in no rush. He opens up a beer and starts dancing. He tells me a joke about his t-shirt, but I calmly signal to him that THERE'S MORE TO DISCUSS THAN HIS FUCKING T-SHIRT.
Once again, I jump on the motorcycle and we dash to the hostel. (A one minute journey, time is ticking down, the three women are literally running behind us).
We go past the eight angry Cambodian people on the way. They are still incensed about the situation, but we get past them and run up to my room. I feverishly pick up all my belongings and am ready to get the fuck out of the place, but the man tells me to wait in my room for five minutes, much to my panic.
He still has trouble with his bike and he insists that he must fix it. I see the back of him disappear down the hostel stairwell.
My lifeline has gone. I am in a hostel on my own with eight angry Cambodian people outside and three crazy cock-cutting bitches on the way. I close the door, turn off the light and pray that the man returns. I pray that a mob of people don't overpower the one small sleepy man on reception.
I wait in the dark for twenty damn minutes, until I finally hear a LOUD knock.
It's the motorcycle man.
Him and the receptionist are visibly apprehensive. They tell me to "COME THIS WAY, NOW!". We run out of the back exit, through a dirty alley and over a fence. I hop on the man's bike and we zoom to Phnom Penh airport at 80Km/hr with no helmets.
This is my personal account of the events which happened on my unfortunately shortened trip to Cambodia. It is a story which I hope will entertain and maybe serve as a warning to fellow forum members travelling to the city.
Disclaimer
This story may seem far-fetched, exaggerated and hard to believe. It was a solo trip, hence there are no witnesses I can provide. All I can give you is my personal assurance that I did not resort to hyperbole.
I am only friends, in person, with one other forum member (dekendingo), but all he would be able to confirm is that I am not an internet troll.
Many travel stories on here are hard to believe for the blue-pill taking proletariat. With this being RooshVForum (and me having two meager, yet gratefully received rep-points), I would like to think that I am given the benefit of any doubt that may be present. Stuff like this can happen if you take the red pill.
Anyway, sorry for the legal jargon. I posted this on Reddit a few days ago, as a 'test-run', but the majority thought this story was exaggerated or even the work of fiction.
Negative feedback is absolutely expected, but it should focus on how boring the events were, or how much I suck at screening women.
Anyway.....
The people at my hostel on my first night in Phnom Penh were cliquey and unfriendly, so I decided to go out on my own.
As a result of my newly found penchant for gaming Asian girls - one that had developed after ten months of living in Korea and Taiwan, and a lot of lurking on this forum - I had researched some of the clubs in the city beforehand, and had heard that a place called 'DJ Club' was one of the only venues with no prostitutes or tourists.
With this knowledge in mind, I decided to ditch the people at the guesthouse and take a motorcycle taxi over to the club; where I quickly find that my research is confirmed to be true. I look around the place and see that it's just Cambodian people in there; no tourists, no sex workers, no nothing. I was the only 'western guy' in the club. Perfect conditions for me.
I make friends with the only non-Cambodians in the place; some smartly-dressed Singaporean guys sitting at a table. In my opinion, Singaporeans are the friendliest people in the world. I've had Singaporeans literally put their female friends in my hands and have had even more of them buy me a beer after a very short conversation.
I drink and talk with them for a while, then after about half an hour, I start dancing with a Cambodian girl. She looks like one of the rare Cambodian trust-fund daughters; long amber hair, petite frame and equipped with a designer handbag. Her fellow people might earn a dollar a day, but here she is in the city's only high-end club, spending three times that amount on a bottle of beer.
She seems interested in me, and we hit it off pretty quickly. I escalate the conversation, then I gently ask her if she's a prostitute. (Cambodia is full of them, I want nothing to do with a sex worker. But, I understand that the people who work in such an industry, in such a poor country, are not usually given many other options).
I tell her politely that I don't pay for sex and she laughs off the idea that she might be a prostitute. My suspicions are alleviated, and soon enough, we find a hotel and the obvious ensues. In the morning, I tell her which hostel I am staying at, since I am open to the idea of meeting her again.
I go back to the hostel and promptly start drinking again. This time, I manage to infiltrate the 'clique' and make friends with the people who I had previously deemed 'hostile' (and boring). I drink with them for most of the evening and eventually, we go out in a big group to a place called 'Heart of Darkness'. This is a notorious club for tourists and prostitutes. The inside of the place lives up to the acrid nature of the name, but in a big group, it's great.
We all have fun for a few hours, but then I bump into the girl from the night before. I wonder what she's doing in the club on her own and I decipher that she is, indeed, a prostitute. I say that I want nothing further to do with her, and this makes her very angry. She starts shouting at me and grabs my arm, attracting the attention of the security at the door. I try my best to calm her down and I say that I will come back and talk to her after I've been to the bathroom. I pretend to go there, but of course, I walk out of the exit and hop on a motorcycle taxi to my hostel.
I arrive; I grab my bags, I hand in my key, and then I walk back out of the front door. I hop on the same motorcycle taxi; but this time my destination is a new hostel, on the other side of the city. "Phew" I think; I have gotten away.
I set my bags down in the new hostel and go for a walk to find the infamous 'Cambodian Cannabis pizza'. After the awkward situation in the club, I just wanted to relax for the night.
The streets are eerily quiet at this hour and devoid of people. I walk around and somewhat enjoy the calmness brought on by such an uncharacteristic scene in Phnom Penh.
After two minutes of walking, I see a motorcycle at the end of the road. It's coming towards me. It has two people on it. One of them is the girl. Somehow the woman has found me, on the other side of the city.
She hops off the scooter and runs after me. I run the hell away.
This a third-world country, and in the wrong circumstances, it can be very dangerous. For the most part, Phnom Penh is actually a very safe place, but I am certain that punching a Cambodian woman in the face could very much change my opinion of the place. There are pretty much no universal laws here; Cambodians side with Cambodians, even if the foreigner is right. I don't want anything to escalate and I don't want a crowd of Cambodian people hungry for my blood. A westerner had been killed in the market a few miles away, just a day earlier. With this playing on my mind, I decide to choose 'flight', not fight.
I outrun the girl and do two swift left turns. I enter a dark alleyway and hide behind a big wooden box. I listen out carefully to my surroundings. It's still jarringly quiet, but this time the lack of noise is unsettling. Five minutes pass. I figure that she must have moved to a different area by now, so despite my apprehension, I decide to walk out and continue my search for cannabis pizza.
I walk through the streets once again, and laugh off the situation.
Suddenly, a motorcycle is coming towards me....
This time she doesn't jump off, the motorcycle forces me into a dead end. I have nowhere to run so she jumps off and puts her arms around me, refusing to let go. I throw her arms off and run for thirty seconds towards a crowd of Cambodian people who are sitting at a table, eating fruit. I kindly ask them for help.
They do nothing. They just look at me perplexed. They want nothing to do with the foreigner and his crazy 'girl for the night'. She keeps grabbing me and shouting at me and I throw her arms off again. I run to a different crowd of Cambodian people who are stood opposite my new hostel. I tell them that I just want to go to bed and I'd like them to get rid of the crazy woman. I ensure that I come across as calmly as possible. I explain that I have done nothing wrong and I just want the situation to be resolved.
She catches up with me and speaks to the eight Cambodian people in their native tongue. They completely side with her. She has very obviously lied to them. Perhaps she has told them that I owe her money or that I've hurt her, or something.
Eight Cambodian people are now very angry with me and they are telling me that I have to go to jail to sort this out.
Those words make my heart drop through the ground. I want nothing to do with the police in a third-world country. Maybe they'll stick some pills in my bag and will fine me 1,000 dollars. Even worse, they could try and frame me and stick me in a Cambodian jail for the night, or even longer.
All of these things, despite their unlikeliness, are going through my head, so I am extremely cautious. I try to resolve the situation as politely and carefully as possible, but after a while, I get frustrated. Eight Cambodian people are shouting at a foreigner who has done nothing wrong. The anger gets to me, and I lose it.
I roar and head-butt a wooden panel outside of a bar, which leaves a huge dent.
The bar owner comes rushing out in response to the noise. "HEY, HEY YOU!", he is angry. I very swiftly calm down and realise how stupid I was to get that angry. He is now also threatening jail, and he wants money for the damage. He stares at me for a while, but then he looks around at the other people on the scene. He sees that eight Cambodian people are very angry with one English guy, for seemingly unapparent reasons. Amazingly, he calms down quickly and tells me to follow him inside his bar.
I follow him in, he's my only hope.
He goes to the bathroom and tells me to wait outside the door. After a minute, he comes out of the toilet and tells me to wait just behind the door to the bar's entrance, where no one can see me. He walks outside of the bar, into the thick of the angry mob, powers up his motorcycle, and after some brilliant co-ordination, I run out of the bar, jump on the motorcycle and we zoom away from the crowd. On the way past, I give the woman the finger. My thoughts; FUCK YOU! I AM FREEEE!!!!
..... or so I thought.
As we go past, the woman points to my hostel and says 'I know where you stay, I bring my friends'.
I also realise that all my stuff is in the damn hostel, including my money, cards and passport. I am not free, I am an idiot.
Me and the guy drive around for ten minutes, regardless. Amazingly; in this time, we manage to run out of fuel and get a flat tire. It's a Mr Bean comedy of errors.
We drive back towards the hostel at five miles-per-hour. He drops me off at a point which is one minute away from the hostel (and its newly accompanying lynch-mob). He introduces me to his brother, who is drinking with some friends at the side of the road. The motorcycle driver promises to come back in five minutes with a new tire. I stay with the friendly group of Cambodian people for that time.
It's a break from play, we talk about football, have some beers and smoke some cigarettes. The atmosphere is great. We do some Cambodian dancing together and one of the guys sings a song about western vaginas with a grimaced, yet heartfelt expression.
Suddenly, three angry prostitutes turn up. A massive shouting match occurs in the Cambodian language. The friendly people come to the defence of the newly-found Manchester United fan. Without them, I am on my own to fend off three crazy cock-cutting bitches and any passing Cambodian who wants to join in the mob.
The motorcycle man returns. He is in no rush. He opens up a beer and starts dancing. He tells me a joke about his t-shirt, but I calmly signal to him that THERE'S MORE TO DISCUSS THAN HIS FUCKING T-SHIRT.
Once again, I jump on the motorcycle and we dash to the hostel. (A one minute journey, time is ticking down, the three women are literally running behind us).
We go past the eight angry Cambodian people on the way. They are still incensed about the situation, but we get past them and run up to my room. I feverishly pick up all my belongings and am ready to get the fuck out of the place, but the man tells me to wait in my room for five minutes, much to my panic.
He still has trouble with his bike and he insists that he must fix it. I see the back of him disappear down the hostel stairwell.
My lifeline has gone. I am in a hostel on my own with eight angry Cambodian people outside and three crazy cock-cutting bitches on the way. I close the door, turn off the light and pray that the man returns. I pray that a mob of people don't overpower the one small sleepy man on reception.
I wait in the dark for twenty damn minutes, until I finally hear a LOUD knock.
It's the motorcycle man.
Him and the receptionist are visibly apprehensive. They tell me to "COME THIS WAY, NOW!". We run out of the back exit, through a dirty alley and over a fence. I hop on the man's bike and we zoom to Phnom Penh airport at 80Km/hr with no helmets.
![[Image: lol.gif]](https://rooshvforum.network/images/smilies/new/lol.gif)
![[Image: biggrin.gif]](https://rooshvforum.network/images/smilies/biggrin.gif)
