I’m writing another travelogue. I like this genre.
It brings me great joy to start the day knowing I can finally write down the name of the city. From memory.
Just a few days ago, I found myself having to ask during a conversation: “Where am I, exactly?”
Well! Here I am. Phnom Penh.
Wat Ounalom Monastery
This is the first of the seven locations planned for today.
It’s nine o’clock, and I’m on my way to the temple. It’s 600 meters from the hotel. Fatigue hit me after just 200 meters. Now I’m having a coffee and getting ready for the first experience.
Actually, the second one. Because as soon as I stepped out of the hotel, a tuk-tuk driver approached me. But he immediately understood that I wanted to walk today, too. He didn’t press the issue. We did, however, chat for a few minutes—just about the world in general. I love that. I’m happy to pay for conversations like that with my attention and my time.
The coffee was delicious. It feels like 35 degrees out. I’m wearing a long-sleeved shirt because I have three temples to visit today. The sun is already scorching. I set off beneath it with a smile.
Anyway, enough about my clothes. In the temple courtyard, I took off my shoes and socks and put on a sarong. Upon entering the first building, I greeted a woman and a monk with a *wai* and a bow. Then the woman signaled for me to take off my hat. I’ll try to pay attention to absolutely everything at the second temple.
The temple complex consists of three large buildings and several stupas. It is very clean and very orderly. If I recall correctly, these aren’t particularly old buildings. I lingered inside for a while; there is so much to see in these temples.
Because of that, it’s hard for me to say exactly how they differ from temples in other countries. There are many Buddha statues, but not really any other kinds. There are fewer offerings laid out. For instance, I didn’t see any food or drink. The curtain encircling the central space was something new to me. It is because of dozens of details like this that I say it is different.
I liked this difference. It was yet another form I got to discover.
I move on.
National Museum of Cambodia
On the short stretch between the church and the museum, I received two offers regarding how to spend my day. I quickly made it clear to the taxi drivers that I had my own plans. Only one of them threw out marijuana as a last-ditch pitch. He easily accepted that I didn’t want that either—it wasn’t just the ride I was saying “no” to. LOL.
The museum is impressive even from the outside. A beautiful garden surrounds the red building, which features slender roofs and elegant, airy columns. The whole structure feels incredibly light. The building’s red hue contrasts strikingly with the brilliant blue of the sky.
Photography isn’t allowed inside, so writing is the only option. My first memorable encounter was with Indiana Jones—or rather, a connection to him. I immediately spotted a Sankara Stone from *Temple of Doom* in the first display case. Of course, its real name is “Linga and Snanadroni,” but still—it was a fantastic encounter.
I saw countless small statues. Many were familiar from before, but seeing them in person was a different experience entirely. There were so many figures of Ganesha, Shiva, and Shiva’s bull; Garuda was my personal favorite.
I won’t list them all. It is a national museum, after all, and the exhibition spans many eras. There were so many fascinating things to see.
And plenty of surprises. I love those moments of recognition—like spotting what looks like a footprint of Buddha, only to discover it’s actually Shiva’s footprint.
The most beautiful part is seeing Buddha, Vishnu, Shiva, and dozens of other figures coexisting peacefully side by side—often labeled simply as “male deity” or “female deity.” Then I saw others taking photos. I decided to break the rules myself. I took a lot of pictures. I am sticking to the regulations in one respect, though: I’m keeping the photos to myself.
The museum was beautiful. In the section displaying the oldest artifacts, a guard told me to take off my hat. Repetition is the mother of learning!
After the visit, I bought a jar of pickles. That’s my lunch now. This is the second time I’ve eaten pickles since I’ve been living in Asia.
Royal Palace of Cambodia
My third stop of the day. It’s 12:30. I’m not making very fast progress. But that wasn’t the goal anyway.
I hadn’t planned for it, but my third stop is also my fourth destination. That’s because inside the Royal Palace lies the…
Silver Pagoda
This complex of two buildings is massive.
I stared in awe the whole time. The magnificent courtyard was a truly regal sight. My day is framed by a beautiful blue sky; that clear blue expanse appears in almost every photo. The intense heat doesn’t bother me at all. Well, actually… to be honest, the “feels-like” temperature of around 40°C and 78% humidity are a bit much for me today, too. I feel like I’m slowly roasting.
But the experiences make up for it. The courtyard at the royal residence is so vast I could walk there for hours. There are countless statues, trees, green spaces, and religious structures. The area is encircled by a cloister, with walls featuring hundreds of meters of painted narratives. Just looking at these wall murals could take up half my day.
And I haven’t even stepped inside one of the buildings yet. Some of the temples can only be viewed from the outside, while others are open to visitors. The throne room, for instance, commands respect even when viewed just from the doorway. In the areas where you can enter, display cases packed to the brim await visitors—it’s a temple and a museum rolled into one.
Beyond the grand halls, smaller rooms tell the story of the country. I really liked one small room where mannequins displayed the specific colors of clothing women wore at the royal court on different days of the week. Friday is for blue. It’s a good thing the sky doesn’t choose its color based on court etiquette. I’ve seen so much that I absolutely have to immerse myself a bit in Cambodia’s history tonight. This country is so much more than I had imagined based on my limited knowledge.
Further information here.
Independence Monument
It was on my way, so I took a look at the Independence Monument. My respect for the country keeps growing.
Tuol Sleng.
Genocide museum.
After visiting the War Remnants Museum in Saigon earlier this week, I arrived here with a sense of apprehension.
Tuol Szleng Genocide Museum
This museum is housed in a pleasant courtyard.
At first, I had pictured a small residential complex here. Then I learned that the site had started out as a school. Now, it is a museum.
In between, there was genocide.
Several buildings accommodated the people brought here. I cannot use the term “visitors,” because people did not come here of their own accord. Nor did many leave. Of the more than 16,000 people who lived here, only 12 survived.
At first—in the initial buildings—I wasn’t yet overcome by a sense of dread. I mostly saw empty rooms where I had to imagine people sleeping crammed together, piled on top of one another.
Then, the space gradually expanded. The second building contained torture chambers and interrogation rooms. Each one commemorates those who died there with a photograph and the original furnishings. The furnishing usually consists of a bed—complete with the original shackles used to chain the unfortunate souls, who deserved a far better fate, to the frame. The photographs were taken after the liberation, typically showing the room’s last occupant—who was already dead by then. Seeing these horrors made the air around me feel heavier.
Then I arrived at the halls where the suffering became palpable. And no, it wasn’t because of the skulls. True, I saw plenty of those, too. But it was the photographs that truly stirred up that oppressive feeling within me. To be honest, it wasn’t even the images of the dead that were truly harrowing.
For me, the real weight of this place lies in the people looking into the camera. Faces with stories behind them. Women, children, the young, the old. The beautiful and the ugly. The intelligent and the foolish. Faces of resignation, terrified gazes, angry grimaces. So many lives—all different, yet alike in one respect: someone had labeled them “guilty.” Oh, and there is one other thing almost all of them share: the images in these rooms are likely the last ones ever taken of them.
I felt an urge to write in the guestbook, just so there would be a Hungarian entry among the others. But I felt that the book already held so much bitterness; my own opinion wasn’t needed there. Besides, in the shadow of the gallows standing in the courtyard, I couldn’t quite find the right words.
Books
In the courtyard, I met two little boys who had escaped from here alive. There were four of them in total.
One of them passed away a month ago; I saw him in the form of his daughter. She was selling her father’s book. I didn’t have the heart not to buy it. I also felt an urge to hug the grown woman. I hope that meant more to her than the $10 for the book.
Then there was the other little boy. He is 92 years old now. I bought his book, too. He was in a wheelchair, so I just squeezed his shoulder. I don’t even know why. Perhaps so he could feel how deeply I empathize with him.
We became friends.
Over these few days, I’ve grown fond of this city.
And I feel closer to this country, too.
I still have a few weeks left in Cambodia. I hope this friendship will deepen further.
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Short introduction