new years on the beach

there’s a little dread before embarking on New Years alone. A real “here goes nothing” moment. While I was am definitely situated in an area that caters to western travelers, with every business serving the needs of white people (just a single sighting of a black chick, though I read that beyonce and jay-z’s recent visit to dubrovnic has put Croatia on the list as an in spot), Internet cafes, laundry, book exchange, stores where u can fill ur iPod with new music for $1 an album and travel agent after travel agent, walking just half block in the other direction takes me to a street fair with a ferris wheel and thousands of people who couldn’t care less about backpacking culture. all vietnamese here.

Guard rails-shmard rails; only an unmarked wooden crate keeps you from getting close enough to being smacked in the head by one of the rotating cars, which would kill a person instantly. On a stage, comedians were doing a skit, and while Its unlikely that I’d understand even a word of it if I lived here for ten years, it was easy to laugh along to the silly sounding voices they were making, though I couldn’t tell for certain if that wasn’t just the weird sound of Khmer. Food stalls were selling all the usual, noodles with nasty bits of unidentifiable meat parts. If eating an ear turns your stomach, this is not for you. While i will take my chances at a restaurant, and have generally been delighted with meals priced at the very reasonable rate of $2-4, market purchases, while cheap, get u what you pay for. Not feeling particularly adventurous, I tried a steamed bun, which was filled with sweet paste.

while mildly entertaining, it was time to get my party on. I took a moto to victory hill, thinking that the strip of bars full of graying middle aged men and throngs of young girls and boys employed in the sex trade might be fun leading up to the midnight hour. Instead I wandered immediately into a European couple I’d met earlier on the beach, dressed smartly, sitting in the front table at a spanish restaurant. while I couldn’t refuse the invitation to join them, you just know that this very pleasant mid 30’s duo would be yawning at 11:30, and calling it a night at a quarter after 12. i was somewhat relieved to have company on new years, but what i could really use is a larger posse, where im not the 3rd wheel, or a wingman. I stayed for appetizers and a glass of wine, but then ditched them, finding the same crew of drunk French chain-smokers at a place around the corner that had been there on a visit days earlier. An older guy in a wife beater with tattoos inked before they came popular for cute suburbanites was buying all drinks, I was told, so I had a couple on him. But all conversation was conducted in François, and I soon tired of the many toasts I was obliged to take part in, having no idea at all what was being cheered. Long live the kkk! To bestiality! Toenail fungus for all! and I’d have raised my glass!

Was getting close to midnight and I had clearly not found the right party or crowd. Grabbed a ride to Shivas Place, a large venue down at the far end of the beach that I was told had a more local scene and possibly a more desirable female to male ratio than the sausage fest on hookers row. Definitely true, but what was not mentioned was that the average age hovered in the teens. Place was packed with young kids dancing to Khmer versions of hip hop.

When its fat geezers with local sweethearts, you know it’s a business deal, but its hard to say whats up when its young douchey white guys sport lovely cambodian girlfriends. Meantime im receiving a different type of unwanted attention from gay Cambodians, on acct of wearing nail polish. Ok, my toes are painted too. Seemed like something fun to do for new years. who can resist a $2 for a mani-pedi on the beach? I don’t stay long.

Small time fireworks were shooting out to the water, further polluting it, but producing a pretty effect. For the very first time, motos are helpless, unable to maneuver around all the vehicles that are blocking the road immediately after the festivities. I opt instead to walk on the beach which is totally littered with styrofoam take away containers. crabs, shrimp and lobster, their shells all littering the beach have little to celebrate for this holiday. The air is thick with the smoke and the smell of little grills that old ladies carry around over their poor shoulders, using one of those wooden bars that allows u to support an equal load on either side. something youd expect a cow or donkey to haul. fish kebabs, 5 for a buck fifty. a bunch of cambodian students who are chowing down on the same snack invite me to share their table and beers. they get to practice basic English, I’m told their names which are a series of unpronounceable sounds. They don’t seem to have any trouble with eli.

its 1ish when I finally hit the cluster of bars with western travelers and the possibility of meeting some new friends i can actually converse with. sadly, I see none of the women I’ve flirted with during the preceding few days in the sand. but more disturbing is that I am already fading. but im just getting started! the name of the club is poorly named Nap Bar. how I’m going to power thru the fatigue involves nothing illicit. southeast asia is the home of red bull which supposedly gives you wings, but apparently, I wasn’t the only one thinking this and they were all out. Though I have nobody to share it with, a single drink costs a buck, while I bucket of Mekong whisky and coke that could get a half dozen people loopy is just two dollars fifty. Purely based on value, I order the massive serving that comes with a handful of straws and try to make a dent in it. I offer it to everyone around who looks thirsty, sharing spit with a variety of euro strangers. they are all around twenty and are too young to have many communicable diseases, I tell myself. At the line for the bathroom, two girls offer to hold my bucket while I pee and are gone with it when I return. I am relieved in both respects.

somehow, thru the winning combo of dance and alcohol consumption, I’m no longer tired. I hit the last bar, a place called utopia, whose logo is the same as the orthodox union of rabbis, which determines which foods are up to the strict laws of kashrut. It’s the good-housekeeping symbol of orthodox Jews, without which, the food item is considered treif, or verboten. good enough for Gentiles, but does not live up to a “higher” standard. All similarities to my jewish upbringing end right here. Big open air bar, with dj booth pumping rave music, and a flaming torch lights and lasers light the dance space. When the sun rises, those of us remaining on the dance floor strip down to our undies or bikinis or swim in all their clothes. While the pool looked alluring by lantern light, daylight proves how murky the waters are, making me wonder how often dudes get urinary tract infections.

the girl I’m dancing with is a tall blond in a bikini, her only attire for the entire evening. within minutes of our first dance, she makes it clear that she won’t sleep with someone she just met, and that if I so much as tried to touch her, she’d slap me. When not dancing half naked in the clubs of Cambodia, she practices law in England. Its new years eve and her birthday, but I don’t even try to kiss her.