Happy Dan

Now the thing with all psycotropic drugs is that it can be very much
like standing in a hole. If you look up then you get the opportunity
to see the whole world from a different perception. You can look at
the world from a different/distorted perspective.
But if you look down, into the hole. Then you'll realise you're in a
hole.

See 4 hours ago I'd arrived home. At the time my friend Dan who'd been
staying with us for the last week or so as part of his whistle-stop
tour of S.E.Asia was also starting to feel a little bit hungry.

"I'm gunna go out use the Internet and grab some food to bring back
here. D'yu want anything specific?" Dan's voice.

I'm like all about eating the sale kind of food I eat back home and I
explain this to Dan.

"so like pizzas, burgers, fish and chips etc?"
And off he went.
Into the wild.
Looking for sustanance, food for our hungry bodies and Internet for
his distracted mind.

I stayed at home to try and devote some time to my underapriciated
girlfriend.

It must have been over 2 and a half hours later that Dan returned. He
seemed like he'd really enjoyed his adventure.
"I love how everybody's so friendly. So much better than Thailand.
It's like they're all laughing and asking if I'm ok and what my name
is. I love it."

As I swallowed my 3rd slice of pizza I felt the aching hunger I'd been
suffering all day start to release it's grip on my stomach.
Dan also had not eaten all day and as we raced our way clockwise
through the pizza we were pretty much neck and neck.

As only 2 slices remained we reached a standstill. That much pizza in
such a short space of time can really put you on your ass. Especially
when you haven't eaten cheese in weeks.

It was at this point that my girlfriend became involved. And as she
took her first bite of our leftovers she realised this pizza had weed
on it. Dan didn't believe it but I knew it to be true.

"why would they just put weed on it without asking you? What if you
didn't want it? It doesn't make sense."

See what Dan hadn't realised was that when he'd ordered his pizza and
the guy in the shop had asked him the question "happy?" he hadn't
actually been asking about Dan's temperment.
Now it's too late.

And as Dan stares into his hole no ammount of me telling him to look
back up at the world is gunna help him.

Sent from my iPod

motorbike maintenance

Now before I moved to Cambodia I'd never actually ridden a motorbike.

Infact the only time I can remember being on the back of a motorbike is when I got a lift down London Road on the back of my friend Shailesh's 250. Scared the shit out of me to be fair.

Now since getting here that's all changed. In the last few months I'm generally on the back of at least 7 motorbikes every 24 hours.

Well anyway I went and got myself a motorbike.

Honda Chaly CF70.

Looks like this.

That's not actually my one I've lost the lead that connects camera to computer. So my photo's are pretty much trapped for now.

Well anyway I paid Booun Roy Dollaar, ($400) for the Bike,

but since then in the last 2 weeks I'va also paid:

$25 on a new back tire and inner-tube.

$14 on an oil change

$2 on a basket

and $20 for a part that nobody I've shown it to could identify.

see the $20 part came at a time of real desperation.

It must have been half 9 on a Sunday night. My phone was at home charging and I only had $21 to last me till I next got paid again later in the week.

As I'm pulling out on to Monivong (one of the main roads that crosses the city from East to West) my bike lost all power.

Literally just died in the road.

It seamed no amount of aggressive kick-starting was going to bring it back to life so I pulled up along side the men who live on the street corner and fix bikes for a living.

Now one of these guys spent about 45 minutes taking my bike to pieces and reassembling it in various ways. None of witch lead to its resurrection.

After an amount of time on of the older guys walked over and pointed into the heart of the machine.

The other guy nodded and beckoned me to come closer.

"m,Umm Paye Dollaar"

He said pointing at the bikes engine.

$20

Over the next 5 minutes we communicated though excited mime as he explained that I'd have to give him the money so as he could go get the new part.

Reluctantly I agreed and handed over what was essentially all my money.

The mime continued.

Now I've played my fair share of charades in my time and understood straight away what he wanted.

But I played dumb for a few moments just to acknowledge the reality of what I was about to do in my own mind.

See he needed to take the bike away and bring it back fixed.

So that's what happened.

I think it must have been only about a minute after he'd pulled off that I started to feel uneasy about giving all my money, my motorbike and also my house keys to a stranger who could not understand me any better than I understood him.

I mean isn't that how westerners end up married to villagers?

and how did I know that this guy even worked/lived on this corner.

Thankfully the older guy who'd diagnosed my bike invited me to sit with him, gesturing up the road and saying the Cambodian word I recognise as meaning Baby.

After 44 minutes I was pacing with worry.

After 45 minutes the man returned. Bike fixed.

I was relieved and told myself that I should try and trust people more.

Bike's been cool since.

Lark a Like

Dear Sir,
Here's one Larkin and Cameron.
Yours sincerely Luke (age 14) East-Anglia

If you want to vote for/support Steve Larkin in his bid to become a professor of Poetry at Oxford University. Click here

If you want to Vote for Cameron to be leader of the country then your a nob.

press

I was in the paper.

Look how bored I look.

Small world.

It's always funny when you're far away from home and you bump into
someone who know's someone you know.

For example I've met a couple of poets out here who know people I know
from the scene. I met a guy who used to be my neighbor in Leicester.
And then yestrday I found out that my new mate Nick actually went to
school with 2 of the guys in my brothers band.

I read that om faceboom when I was stood behind the shutter near the
window I steel my neighbors wifi from.
Litterally as I did this massive insect that was like a cross between
a flying ant and a crab came wizzing in through the other window.

This things circling me waving its gun-finger in the air and pointing
at me mouthing the words, "you, I want you"

Quick as a wippet I slide through his legs and grabbed a can of raid
from under the sink.

And there we stood.
A Mexican stand off.
Him holding his stinger like a flick knife. Me with trigger finger
poised just before the airosols biting point.

Tumble weed.
Close up on eyes.

As he moved I matched him ducking his strikes and lashing the spray
like a bike chain across his face.
He stiffeled his scream and shouted "out, out, out." before flying
back through the window.

My smug chuckeling was only momentary as litterally moments later he
came back in with his whole firm.
Trust me yeah, this kid rolls deep.
Like 50 mans deep.

The swarm collectivly solidified into the shape of a giant hammer and
I raised my coffee table about my head to shield myself from the
impending impact.

Then out of nowhere I heard a voice, "eh mate ain't you Raff's brother?"

Turns out one of the swarm use to work on site with my older brother
back in England. We had a bit of a laugh about the whole thing and the
first geeza ended up buying me a drink before they left.

Small world eh.

Sent from my iPod

Up your Contrast.

Language barrier

I’ve been learning a lot of Khmer words.

I thought that’d be a good way to learn the language.

Thing is, it don’t actually work like that.

The grammar is completely different. What it means is that I basically sound like a lazy Kung-fu Villain trying to read a ransom note that was translated using bablefish.

See they’ve also got like 27 vowel sounds witch means

it’s really easy to say the wrong thing.

For example the words that mean black, Ghost, Hot, Rat and Cock (as in penis) are all very close to each other.

I was trying to explain to an older Khmer woman, using a combination of those words and an elaborate gestural mime, that I had seen my friend kill a big black rat and he did it in his pants because it was such a hot day

Well you can imagine the rest.

Original replicas

Check this shit out Only $9.

Bargin

Big Lizard, Small Lizard, Broken Toe.

Bong Jon The Tuk-Tuk Driver.

My mate Jon drives a Tuk-Tuk.

This is a story Jon told me the other week when I saw him sat in a guesthouse looking really confused.

See Jon had picked up some people from the bus station that morning.

He thinks they might be Americans but maybe Australians or Irish.
Anyway he's brought these 2 Barang back to the guesthouse and checked them in.

Incidentally this coincided exactly with the 30-minute window when a family member from another city, who had been visiting Phnom Penh for the past few days, was covering the checking in desk. Keys had been given but passport numbers had not been written down.

The Barang left their luggage in their room and rejoined Jon for the usual tour of S21 and the Killing fields.

Jon drove them to the museum and parked his tuk-tuk opposite the old school building for the hour or so they were in there.

As they walked out of the building the Americans or Irish or Australian or who ever they were, recognised Jon straight away and got back in for the drive to the killing fields.

Now Jon admits he was actually quite embarrassed that he hadn't recognised them until they were sat in the back of the tuk-tuk. So he took extra care on the way to the killing fields so as he to put in a bit of staring at them in the rear view mirror.

Yu know, so he could remember their faces.

Anyway they got to the killing fields and he parked up to wait as his barang passengers wandered off chatting amongst them selves about the incredible atrocities they'd just been witness to in comparison to all the other atrocities they'd seen in their 8 weeks of travelling. And about exactly how lucky they were to come from a place like Australia or Island or America or where ever.

So Jon sat in his tuk-tuk and waited.
And he waited, and waited.

And eventually after a couple of hours he figured, these Barang should be back out here by now.

By the time he'd been waiting nearly 4 hours, Jon had reached the point of shooting his hand into the air every time a barang walked past and shouted, "Hey, hey it's me." Hoping that even if he didn't recognise them, maybe his passengers might recognise him.

Gradually he got less enthusiastic and eventually he got just down right bored. It must have been about 10 a clock at night by the time he decided they weren't coming back. When he'd arrived it was barley mid-day. But now the gates were being locked. He was the last Tuk-tuk kicking about. There was also clearly no more barang anywhere around here. So he went back to the guesthouse.

That's where I saw him. The out of town relative had gone back to his city on a bus about an hour before and nobody else knew anything about any Irish or Americans or Australians either for that matter.

There was no luggage in the apparently unused bedroom and the key was in the lock hanging on the open door.

It's obvious to me what had happened but it was funny to see how confused Jon was about the whole thing.

He blames Ghosts.

Back on the horse

So you may have noticed it’s been a little wile since I sat down and put something up here.

And what with the recent unrest in the area I’m sure a lot of you were wondering if I was in fact dead. (Just check the arrogant subtext of that last sentence, “a lot” like “a lot” of people read this. Classic delusions of grandeur shit.)

Anyway I’ve been busy eh so I was off living my life and doing shit.
I’m still in Phnom Penh Cambodia; please post me music and books and shit.

P.O.Box 1498

Phnom Penh

Cambodia

I am now actually working.
I lecture in Film Language and the History of Multi-Media at Limkokwing University in Phnom Penh. Got my friend Victor to thank for that.
Here is a picture of us in our work clothes.



We don’t ware the dog collars when we’re teaching. Just on the way to work, wearing it in class would be inappropriate.
But that’s not the only outfit’s we’ve been rocking of recent.


Fans of garishly load “Urban” clothes will no doubt appreciate the photo shoot I was part of the other day for my friend Jim (see pics here). It’s part of a fashion thing for the magazine we work for. (I introduced Jim in this story, where I call him Tim.)

Yeah I still work for that magazine. They say someday they might even make me their bottom-bitch but I ain’t been tricking so good since I got all those rejections. And I copy pasted a load of stuff of the old Wikipedia and it ended up getting printed in there under my other name. I rearranged it a little bit but basically 80% lifted.
Funny that it got in.
I think key members of staff were away and whatever but still how else would I come up with a list of 50 celebrities born in the year of the tiger?

Incidentally they printed something under this name.

By John Berkavitch it said. So if you really care what magazine it is you can Google my name plus words like Cambodia, Phnom Penh and Magazine and you’ll probably find out. (Now that is an arrogant sentence. Like people are gunna go trawling around the Internet trying to find out my open secrets. Get a life mate.)

Anyway I’ve got a hot scoop at the minute so I might be able to redeem myself a little bit. And they’ve got me out eating pies for another article so that’s good news.
I live down riverside now and it’s well beggy.

I ended up paying for this kid to go school for a month in exchange for not trying to sell me sunglasses every fucking day. How many pairs does he think I need? Although I did lose my grey ones and my Dr Jackobies. Some motherfucker showed up on facebook wearing them. I lost them weeks ago but I was actually at that same night.

Also anybody who read the thing about me going out in a cyclo on Christmas Eve might remember the break-dancing kids I battled in the street.

Well I tell you what I gave the smaller two lads money for food every day for like, time yeah. Then one day they’re like “hey mister, iiey knoow yoou give me wan dar-la.” (Not actually racist. That's an exact quote of what he said).
I was like “nar sorry lads I haven’t got any money on me.”
So these kids keep on a it for a minute and I’m like “nar look I actually don’t have any money.”
Then this one kid, he’s like “fuck you. You have to give me money or get out my country.”
Straight up this kids giving it the bong un going off at me in the street.
This shit went on for like a week every time I come out of my house him and his mate are telling me to fuck off out of their country.

It reached it’s peak with both the little fuckers came up to me outside the DVD shop and like pressed their heads into my torso and started banging my legs with their book-baskets.
So I did what anyone else would’ve done.
Grabbed them both by the top of the head. One in each fully spanned hand, like I was picking up 2 basketballs or doing some 2-handed melon ripeness testing.

Then I just simply banged their heads together. Admittedly I might have banged them a little hard. I forget they are malnourished little kids after all. Felt a bit bad afterwards. I saw them a day or so later and tried to make friends but when I went to shake the first kids hand he pulled it back and pretended to style his hair then told me to fuck of back to Australia.
I worry about the day when one of them gets fucked up on sniffing glue and comes to stab me in my kidney with a dirty piece of metal.

Anyway.

Racist Cheese.

Predictions (a poem)

In a future imagined by the late 1990's
Criminals in neon sock hats and rollerblades
terrorise a world that still uses mini-discs
I sit swatting insects by observing their behavior and predicting
their futures
Crashing the palm of a hand that hasn't really been clean for the last
3 months against the table and ending their existence
In the future on tv the roller boys are all wearing vertual reality
headsets
If I got my predictions that wrong this place would be crawling.

Sent from my iPod

lookilike

Dear sir,

This one has been overlooked for far too long now.

I hope you have the decency to put things right

Rejected writing.

Here's some writing I was commissioned to do by the magazine. They ejected it because I've written it in the first person. Well that and the fact that I don't actually know anything about what I'm talking about and sometimes I don't use real sentences.

I was told I had to go to 7 different places in Phnom Penh and write about what whiskies they had for sale.

They're not gunna run with this piece so I figured you might enjoy reading it.

Whisky

Aristocrat Bar in Naga World.

The first stop on my quest to find the best place to drink whisky in Phnom Penh was in fact the biggest building in Cambodia; Naga World. Situated on the first floor is Aristocrat, the lavishly upholstered Air-conditioned home of high end drinking. I positioned myself along side the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the gaming floors.

Not only is there a large selection of rare and imported whisky on offer but cigar enthusiasts might also be interested to know that Aristocrat also houses Phnom Penh’s only walk in humidor.

As far as whisky goes you could go for the reasonably priced 18-year-old Glenfiddich for US$6 a glass. Or alternatively if you’re a real high-roller or maybe if you’ve managed to walk away from the tables smiling following a big win then you could treat yourself to a bottle of 38 year old Chivas Regal Royal Salute for US$1515. The price is reflective of the quality and I’m assured that the sweet buttery flavour and long satisfying finish of this alcoholic masterpiece could only be matched by a couple of other blends worldwide. This may very well be the finest whisky in Cambodia.

Rory’s Pub.

33 Preah Ang Makhak Vann

After one look inside the door of Rory’s pub you can tell exactly what the theme is. To be honest the shamrocks and lepricons give it away. As you might expect from an Irish themed pub the range of whisky on sale is fairly extensive.

I settled on a Bushmills US$3.50 distilled and bottled in Northern Ireland.

A dark and murky looking liquid. The aroma reminded me of being a teenager sneaking shots from a bottle in my dad’s sock draw. I imagine that this drink is usually reserved for Irishmen and sailors or for those made from slightly stronger stuff. The perfect drink for anyone who wants to end his or her night by arm wrestling the barman.

La Residence

22-24 Street 214

Set back from the main road La Residence offers a sublime break from the bustle of the city. The comfortable bar offers beautiful garden views through any of the many French windows. The drinks list is fairly extensive but there was definitely more focus on cocktails than whisky.

However the whisky on offer definitely hit the mark.

Johnny Walker Blue Label US$12. This blend has a slightly lighter colour with a mild welcoming aroma. Soft on the pallet with a kick that leaves you in no doubt as to the quality.

Van’s Restaurant

5 Street 102

The open roof terrace or first floor balcony feels like an upmarket oasis as the darkness of early evening begins to creep along the horizon. A secluded private hideaway located right in the middle of town. The staff here are particularly helpful and attentive and even the menu had a particular touch of class to it.

In terms of alcoholic drinks I think Van’s is also more cocktail orientated than whisky but the classics are all there. Jim Beam or Wild Turkey for US$6.50 or like me you could try the Gold Label for US$16. A smooth refined drinking experience that warms the chest and brings a smile to the lips with an aftertaste that oozes class.

Elephant Bar at Raffles.

92, Daun Penh

Luxurious Elephant bar plays host to many a drinking westerner. Predominantly hotel guests mixed into a few of Phnom Penh’s expat business elite. Offering a very respectable range of premium scotch and a wide variety of single malts.

I went for the 10-year-old Aberlour US$16. The barman explained that ice was available as some people find this particular whisky to have quite a kick. However I’m no barbarian so I took mine straight up. A beautifully rich golden coloured spirit with the kick of something that’s worth the money. The soft fruity aroma gives way to the smooth and creamy taste with a soft finish that warms the insides long after the drink is finished.

Green Vespa.

95 Sisowath Quay

If you don’t think that whisky and motorbikes are natural bedfellows then you’ve obviously never tried to visit over half a dozen restaurants and bars across Phnom Penh on a one-day quest to find the best place to drink whisky in the city.

Which leads me to the Green Vespa. Where both whisky and motorbikes (or more specifically scooters) are both well represented.

An expertly crafted list of Scottish, Irish and American whiskies are available all specifically chosen for their quality. Something else guaranteed to bring a smile to your face is the price. Most blends are only US$2.25 per glass and Johnnie Walker Gold is only US$4.

If you ask the barman for his informed opinion then he’ll tell you what he told me. The Scottish ones are the best. Under his suggestion I went for a 10 year old Laphroaig. The delicate aroma of Scottish heather is soon accompanied by the earthy, nutty taste of 200 years of distilling brilliance.

Back of a Tuk-tuk

Now no Cambodian whisky drinking experience would be complete without a sampling of the domestic product. Mekong Whisky around US$1.75 a bottle. Although offering a lower alcoholic volume than many of the other blends mentioned, Mekong still definitely packs a punch.

Mekong is available in most bars and restaurants across the city but I chose to drink mine in the back of a tuk-tuk going up and down the side of the Mekong River. Occasional stops were made so as my driver could momentarily join me in the back for a quick sniffle.

The first taste felt more like rum than whisky but after 2 or 3 the drink was sliding down my throat like a greased Khmer moto-driver through hot rush hour traffic. My drinking buddy also helped add to what felt like an extremely Cambodian experience.

New business ideas

So I'm trying to think of a few ways to earn a bit of scratch/save a bit of money. The first advert is for a business idea Victor's been pursuing for about 6 months.

The second advert is for a business I'm planning to start if his idea really takes off.

Race Wars.

So there's a well-founded rumour flying about at the minute through out the Barang community.

Word on the street is that due to the tightening of Thailand’s employment laws a lot of expats currently living in Thailand are planning on making the move over here to potentially start teaching jobs in Cambodia.

That’s right the Falang are planning on coming over here and taking away jobs from hard working Barang.

Well the Barang ain’t happy with these Falang opportunists.

Coming over here with their superior fake Degree certificates that they got on the Ko Sang Road. (I don’t know how to spell it but you know the road I’m talking about).

Coming over here with their fancy technology and there genuine teaching experience. Taking valuable classroom hours away from our inexperienced Barang builders/teachers.

Coming over here with their Chang beer T-shirts and better quality flip-flops.

Next thing they’ll be after our Khmer women.

Those Falang are sexual deviants. Give them the chance and they’ll be grabbing up our taxi-girls and sleeping with our prostitutes.

Look I’ve got nothing against Falang yeah.

I mean I went to school with one.

I’d even say some of my best friends are Falang.

But I wouldn’t want my sister going out with one, yu know what I mean.

It seems the message on the lips of the majority of Barang is the same.

“Oi Falang this is our country. Fuck off back where you came from!”

Bat Shit Nuts. (Don't Smoke Ice).

What you're trying to tell me that just because a guy barricades the entrance to his business in order to put on a 36 hour blindfolded air guitar concert on Cambodia's freedom over regime day that he must be nuts?
Or just because this same guy repeatedly pisses himself and aggressively rants at his own psychosis whilst attempting to conduct the sounds of traffic that means he must be smoking ice?
I mean, what is the world coming to?

2HOT2FROTT Phnom Penh

A and E.

So when you’ve just had what felt like a really good first interview for a job you definitely want. And you’re just about ready to go and prepare your self for your next interview before popping off to the grand opening of a new shop that you’re contracted to be covering for the magazine.

The last thing you want is to be injured whilst sat on the back of a motorbike whose driver you’re paying to take you home.

That’s what happened to me today.

Bad news eh.

Long short: 6 stitches and no dancing for at least 4 weeks.

Here are the details.

Basically I know the guy. He works part time as local security liaison for the lakeside area. He’s also a moto-driver. Basically his duties as a security liaison involve holding a walkie-talkie and trying to get the bar-owners to give him free beer. If he manages to successfully negotiate the beer deal he uses the walkie-talkie to call other security liaisons and military police to inform them of which bar’s giving it out.
His duties as a moto-driver include wearing a helmet and charging the equivalent of a day’s wages for a 5-minute lift.

Anyway I get on his bike and he pulls off fast.
I shout “No! Ot Lune-Lune” (not fast-fast)
He laughs and tries to weave through the stationary traffic parked up the alleyway that acts as a main-road for the lakeside.
As he does he smashes my leg into a parked tuk-tuk.
I’ve literally been on the bike for about 35 seconds at this point.
So I’m all riving in pain and he’s still laughing.
2 minutes later we stop at the place where I’m staying and I roll up my trousers to see the damage.
He looks worried and tells me to get back on his bike.
He takes me to a chemist.
The chemist looks at my leg and tells him to take me to hospital.
We leave.
40 seconds down the road we turn back around because he left his helmet in the chemist.
We arrive at what looks like an abandoned hospital and some Bong on the gate sends us round the back.
The sign above the door we walk through says optical specialist.
Minutes later I’m lying on a fold out bed in a small dusty cell of a back room. 3 Khmer nurses are examining my wound.
Some talking takes place between them and him and eventually he turns to me with the information that it’ll cost US$15 and as soon as we pay they’ll start.

I tell him he needs to get his money out and he gives it “oooh, me no have money.”
A phonecall or 2 later and I’ve managed (with the help of Nam’s girlfriend Hoi) to get an 8 person lakeside landing party into the hospital to sort this shit out.

Upon the arrival of team lakeside the nurses start stitching. It felt/looked more like they were improvising based on something they'd seen on animal hospital. Oh and only one of them was wearing gloves or as far as I could tell had washed their hands.

In the end his mum fronts the charge (now $10) and then they all leave.

Later I receive a phonecall from Nam who reckons everyone in the area thinks it was my fault because he’s told them I had my legs hanging out the sides like I’ve never been on a moto before.
He’s also telling them I told him to go quickly.

Now the worst thing about this whole situation is that I was actually on my way to another job interview for a positon as a breakdance teacher starting Jan 25th. $160 a week.
Unfortunately I now can’t do that now and even though I think I got the other Job it don’t actually start till March.

So bad news for me eh.
On the up side chicks dig scars and I got a load of cool meds to ingest for the next few days.

So every cloud eh