Favourite bars of all time in Phnom Penh
Great Read
I never went into peacemans places until Broken Bricks. I think I needed a quick drink in whilst waiting for someone or whatever and it was the closest bar . I think dave poured me a drink before disappearing up the hatch to places unknown and the boy was playing on or in the bar. Some skank came and went. I was just sitting there thinking.....wowsers.
a mate of mine bought and renovated the now stunning top floor French colonial apartment in that building. It was quite the project.
Good times.
I never went into peacemans places until Broken Bricks. I think I needed a quick drink in whilst waiting for someone or whatever and it was the closest bar . I think dave poured me a drink before disappearing up the hatch to places unknown and the boy was playing on or in the bar. Some skank came and went. I was just sitting there thinking.....wowsers.
a mate of mine bought and renovated the now stunning top floor French colonial apartment in that building. It was quite the project.
Good times.
Rated R for Ricecakes
Great read, although you did emphasise the sex part a lot!
It’s a shame if you don’t reply, maybe you’re expecting some abuse. This isn’t KiR days.
Ones things for sure - I doubt the two meth heads were cute! I think your memory and drug addled brain were paying tricks.
It’s a shame if you don’t reply, maybe you’re expecting some abuse. This isn’t KiR days.
Ones things for sure - I doubt the two meth heads were cute! I think your memory and drug addled brain were paying tricks.
pew, pew, pew, pew!
I'm so glad you were able to get out of a foreign owned bar in Riverside. This business even eats up some of the most hardened people around. The survivors are gone right now, appear to be only the iron-steel types made left post covid. And just a few oddballs you still wonder why they are still alive. Cheers.
Thanks for Up Down, I was trying to recall the name. And Nay Nay Star! I thought it was awful. What about the ones at the Lake? There were so many to choose from all over town. It’s a shame the era is long gone. I would do it all again.
I can repeat my mistakes to the letter. Australia is expensive and very boring. Although my recent experience with the Thai and Australian local crime gangs has been interesting. Federal and State coppers have enjoyed my input. Quite a criminal underbelly here for a small town. Vice, drugs and gun running from PNG seems to be the go.
Ho hum, just like Cambodia with wanna bes lining up to kill me.
How much are hostess bars going for now? I may need a bolthole.
I can repeat my mistakes to the letter. Australia is expensive and very boring. Although my recent experience with the Thai and Australian local crime gangs has been interesting. Federal and State coppers have enjoyed my input. Quite a criminal underbelly here for a small town. Vice, drugs and gun running from PNG seems to be the go.
Ho hum, just like Cambodia with wanna bes lining up to kill me.
How much are hostess bars going for now? I may need a bolthole.
Up DownTutt Bryant wrote: ↑Sun Nov 07, 2021 10:21 amThanks for Up Down, I was trying to recall the name. And Nay Nay Star! I thought it was awful. What about the ones at the Lake? There were so many to choose from all over town. It’s a shame the era is long gone. I would do it all again.
I can repeat my mistakes to the letter. Australia is expensive and very boring. Although my recent experience with the Thai and Australian local crime gangs has been interesting. Federal and State coppers have enjoyed my input. Quite a criminal underbelly here for a small town. Vice, drugs and gun running from PNG seems to be the go.
Ho hum, just like Cambodia with wanna bes lining up to kill me.
How much are hostess bars going for now? I may need a bolthole.
Aka
Chez KiR
Aka
The house of the rising shrub.
Rated R for Ricecakes
- Felgerkarb
- Sir Felgerkarb, Kt Pb
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Good to hear from you, Brother. Glad you are doing well.
The journalist you mentioned hated my guts too, but for other reasons.
The past is the past, wreckage and all. We either all learn from it, or let it destroy us. A few learned...the rest...well, most of them went up the chimney a long time ago.
====================
Why are the gods such vicious cunts?
Where is the god of tits and wine?
Why are the gods such vicious cunts?
Where is the god of tits and wine?
Goes to show that you should not believe everything you read about on online forums newspapers etc.The-Peace-Man wrote: ↑Sun Nov 07, 2021 12:28 amEven after all these years have gone by, that accusation, that I was “beating a waitress in the street” or variations on it, still hurts me because it’s simply not true. I think enough time has passed and I am now so completely different to the person I was then that, if it were true, I would simply say so.
Nevertheless it has taken on a truth of its own, not least because it was the story put out by the police, one that the media ran with and a story that those who wished me ill were happy to believe and repeat. Who was I to refute it. My own reputation was mud. Trashed, in no small part by myself I know it. I was a meth head junkie, sitting in a detention cell, waiting to be deported. My word was worth nothing.
However, perhaps now, enough time has passed for me to attempt to put the record straight and to offer a more objective and accurate account of the events that led to my departure from the kingdom. The irony is, the hard cold objective truth doesn’t really do me any favours either but here goes.
It has taken me years to come to terms with what happened or to admit to myself the truth about who I had become in those days. For just over a year, I was a total meth head junkie, completely immersed in the habit . I was using all day, every day. I smoked a pipe the moment woke up and continued until I burned out and crashed several days later. I routinely stayed awake for 48 hours at a time, sometimes more. I rarely ate. Sleep became a kind of enemy, something to be avoided and dealing, scoring and smoking became the principle focus of my attention and of course, it didn’t take long for both myself and the bar to gain a notoriety for drug abuse and the chaos that surrounds it.
Chem sex played a huge part. I lost all interest in sex without meth. It simply didn’t interest me. The two went together and each fuelled a fascination, obsession even, with the other. Of course, as the bar’s reputation for drugs grew, meth using hookers, yamma hoes, would hang around the bar, so the opportunity for druggie sex was always there. In the last months of my life in Phnom Penh, I don’t think there was a night when I didn’t smoke with and sleep with a meth using whore. I would just close the bar and choose one to join me upstairs. If a hooker didn’t smoke, I wasn’t interested in her.
At its best it was mind-blowing. The best, filthiest , sleaziest most uninhibited animalistic sex I have ever had, almost primal in its intensity and with a girl who is also really into it. A rare thing with sex with whores. Meth loosens inhibitions, enhances stamina and increases sensitivity, so at its best the sex was awesome. More often than not it was disappointing, not quite reaching the promise and only offering a frustrating glimpse at what was possible. This of course, merely increased the desire for the next experience.
I mention sex here because I have to admit, it was intimately tied up with the whole meth lifestyle and given the wide availability of both meth and of hookers who used it, it made any attempt at giving up all the harder. Not that I particularly wanted to. Self-destructive as it was, I was simply having to much of a good time and anyway, there was always the promise of the next hit, the next girl, the next fuck, held out in front of me like a carrot in front of a donkey.
I knew it would all crash and burn eventually. Unconsciously I think I hoped for it. I was trapped. The bar was making little money and was drowning in chaos. I was over my visa and I was in the middle of a raging addiction. I had completely trashed my good name and reputation and I was heading to the grave. I knew there was no way I was ever going to kick it while I stayed in Phnom Penh, not with all the ingredients to feed my lifestyle so freely available. No, if I was ever going to kick this habit, I was going to need to leave the country but I was trapped.
I also had a kid to take care of and that was the most selfish of all. Although I did my best to keep it all away from him, and I think I did a pretty good job of isolating him from it all, the chaos inevitably impacted on him and that was not cool. Not cool at all. For his sake too, I knew I had to get out.
It was also destroying me. Meth is a dirty drug and a dirty lifestyle. I had lost weight to a startling extent. I had sunken cheeks and a gaunt expression with dark black rings around my eyes. Meth was stripping the enamel of my teeth which added to the image. I looked fucking terrible. I looked like a caricature of meth head junkie which, of course, was exactly what I was.
So, for a few weeks I had been sleeping with this one particular yamma whore who I had met in a noodle shop outside Walkabout, She met my standard for fucked up sleazy meth fuelled sex, so I kept her around. Now I am aware that any sentence that begins,” I was sleeping with this yamma head whore” is not going to end well but, what can I say, she was great in bed and, as I have explained, fucked up druggy sex with sleazy yamma whores had become a rather important life goal for me.
The previous night she had thrown one of her moods, an unattractive and boring habit I had seen her pull on previous occasions, moody sulks for no apparent reason that went on for hours and ruined the evening. When under this cloud she was impervious to conversation or reason and was best just ignored and left alone to come out of it. Nevertheless, It wasn’t something I was going to indulge for long. I was far too self-absorbed and selfish to accommodate her bullshit, so I resolved if she didn’t pack it in, I was going to dump her and find someone else
She didn’t like being ignored so she stormed out after telling me she was leaving me to return to her Khmer boyfriend, in, I guess, an attempt to elicit jealously. I was beyond such bullshit. I said bye and waved her off which only infuriated her more.
She left, and I shrugged, there are plenty more fish in the sea and I was remembering this cute couple of whores I had seen hanging around the riverside. It didn’t take long to find them and I brought them both home. Yeah, both of them.
Morning came and I left the girls in my bed while I sorted out my son’s breakfast. He ate and was out the door to play with his mates, leaving me alone with the two cuties upstairs. The morning was looking promising. I had the house to myself. I had a bag of drugs and I had two naked girls in my bed. What could possibly spoil such a lovely day.
I had given Kenny my barman a key to the bar so he could open up and he arrived at about 7.00 am. He knew me well enough to keep quiet and leave me alone. My first mistake however was not giving him instructions to not let any girls in. I can’t blame him but, yeah, he opened the door to the girl who had stormed out the previous night. This was a big mistake. She then proceeded to act like the wounded cheated on girlfriend, conveniently forgetting that it was her who left . She stormed up the stairs, took one look at the two naked whores in my bed and proceeded to throw a tantrum, crying and wailing and demanding they leave.
I have long since learned not to play these stupid games. Access to the upstairs part of the bar is via a pull down hatch. I simply pulled the hatch down, locked it and ignored her. My barman was downstairs. Let her rant and rave. What harm could she do? It was preferable to a row which she wanted and which I was determined not to give her. As far as I was concerned, I owed her nothing. She wasn’t my girlfriend. She had left. It was all theatre and anyway, I had a bag of ice and two naked `20 year old whores in my bed. I wasn’t going to waste my morning on her bullshit.
However, she didn’t leave as I had hoped. Instead she grabbed a bottle of Johnny Walker Black (They always go for the top shelf) and proceeded to down it, shot after shot after shot. all the while crying and wailing and pulling her hair out. Kenny later told me he tried to grab the bottle but she snatched it back and snarled at him like an angry dog. She went on and on, whining and crying and wailing while getting more and more pissed.
A neighbour complained and shouted “shut up” through the window. It was becoming increasingly impossible to ignore her but I knew, I just fucking knew, that engaging with her would only make things worse. I was determined to avoid this at all cost and the only way I knew how to do that was to stay upstairs, keep the door locked and ignore her.
It worked for an hour, and in the meantime I turned my attention to the girls in my bed and my big bag of drugs…..then I heard a smashing sound.
This I couldn’t ignore. Enraged by my ignoring her, the girl had gone completely berserk and started smashing everything. She swept her arm across the shelves smashing all the bottles. She threw bottles at the wall smashing the framed pictures and exploding booze all down the walls. She smashed the glass drinks fridge, she pushed the computer monitor off the bar and pulled over the cupboard housing the PC and amp ripping them all out of their wiring. She completely wrecked the bar,
I rushed down the stairs to find the girl absolutely pissed out of her head, completely hysterical, sitting in the middle of the wreckage of my bar, screaming and crying with snot and tears running down her face and matted into her hair. She had destroyed my bar, in one insane moment, she had trashed the place.
My barman Kenny had stood by and watched the whole thing uselessly. I couldn’t really blame him. He wasn’t paid to put up with this kind of shit and frankly, I didn’t know how to deal with it either. As I stood there, staring in horror at the wreckage of my place, I couldn’t help but consider the juxtaposition., on the one hand I had heaven upstairs, two cute naked girls in my bed with a big bag of drugs and the invitation to sex and, on the other hand, the sight in front of me, like a vision from a fucked up nightmare, A smashed up bar, broken glass and spilled booze everywhere, furniture turned over , appliances smashed, and this fucking maniac sitting like a drunken demon in the middle of it.
Now the question I have to ask anyone who wants to judge me is this. What would you have done? What would you do if you came downstairs to find this absolutely hysterical destructive goblin smashing up your home and business. “Not get myself into this mess in the first place, you idiot” is a smug but honest reply to which I can only put my hands up but, again, what can I say, I did and I was. My bad.
I have been over this in my mind time and time again over the years, replaying the events and considering what else I could have done and I have no hesitation in saying that I acted correctly and I would do the same again and so would anyone. I could do nothing else.
I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. She struggled and fought like a possessed banshee. I restrained her as best I could. I grabbed a handful of hair and I held her arm behind her back and I shouted at my barman to open the door. I marched her to the door and I simply threw her into the street where she collapsed in a heap. I pulled the door closed behind her, locked it and took a deep breath.
She wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. Now things were completely out of my control. She started banging on the door trying to get back in. A crowd formed. I don’t know what she told the crowd, whether she encouraged the belief that I was in the wrong or whether the police, who were already looking for an excuse to shut me down, simply made that assumption and ran with it. I will never know
There was a knock on the door. It was the police, two cops. I opened the door and let them in. I tried to explain. I pointed to the scene of destruction in front of them. “You do”. The cop said. “You do this”. He was blaming me for the damage and he wasn’t interested in listening to any alternative explanation. My barman tried to intervene, tried to explain, bless him and the cop turned and yelled at him in Khmer, telling him in no uncertain terms to shut up and stay out of it. He had his story, nothing was going to interrupt it.
One of the cops grabbed my arm and marched me out into the street, ignoring my pleas to allow me to put on shoes. I had walked maybe 2 steps from the bar when I felt a punch to the side of the head, then another and another. I I went down under blows and did my best to curl up and protect myself from the punches and kicks that were raining down on me. It was all very blurry and it all happened very fast but I recall the police joined in, I remember glimpsing the colour of police uniforms as they swung, punching me several times in the face.
Somehow I managed to get to my feet and I made a beeline back to the bar. The two cops chased after me and tried to stop me. Later I thought about that, I was fleeing from a lynch mob, what did they intend to achieve by stopping me reaching safety? I don’t think the cops wanted me dead. Rather I think they joined in with the mob as a way of demonstrating to the crowd that they were one of them and perhaps avoiding the crowd turning on them.
I made it back to the bar with the cops hot on my tail. Once again they grabbed me and, after a struggle, marched me, still barefoot, into the street. This time the crowd had been dispersed and I made it to the police station which was literally over the road.
From the moment I entered the police station, it was clear that the police narrative had been accepted. The duty policeman had to be restrained from attacking me, and took great pleasure in handcuffing me as tightly as he could. I knew it was over. I was way over my visa and it was only a matter of time before the cops figured that out and kicked me out. Part of me was relieved.
I was never charged with anything. My only “crime” was a visa overstay and that was not a criminal offence. The girl never tried filing any charges, though the police wanted her to. She vanished and I never saw her again. After a night in the cells, I was taken to a detention centre near the airport where I was locked up while I waited for the embassy to sort my son’s passport out, then after about 3 months of 23 hrs a day solitary confinement, I was reunited with my son, put on a plane and sent packing.
Following my arrest, the police spun this story of how they heroically “rescued me from a mob” According to this story, the one repeated here, I was in the street beating either a waitress, my wife or my girlfriend, when my angry neighbours decided to teach me a lesson. The police intervened and heroically saved me from certain death. I particularly like how this story not only damns myself but at the same time portrays the local sangkat as heroes too.
.Variations on this story were quickly picked up by local media including this website which ludicrously claimed the girl was in a coma. The Phnom Penh Post too repeated the police line almost word for word. A few regional websites also picked up the story and repeated the police line. I was sat in a detention cell for 3 months but not one of the journalists or bloggers who wrote about me bothered to ask me for my side of the story.
As is well known, KIR the former owner of this site had a personal axe to grind with me after being thrown out of my bar and ensured this site flamed me mercilessly while locking me out and ensuring I couldn’t defend myself. Most damaging of all, an Australian expat “journalist” called Bronwyn Sloan who I had fallen out with years earlier, took my misfortune as an opportunity for revenge and, in the spirit of kicking a guy when he’s down, ensured the story was picked up as widely as possible. I have no hard feelings. They are both dead now. I’m not.
The truth is, getting thrown out was the best thing that could have happened to me. Well, perhaps I could have got by without the kicking from a lynch mob. But leaving undoubtedly saved my life. If I had stayed, I would have died.
I want to be clear. In the end, only one person is responsible for the mess I got myself into and that is me. It was my choices, my vices and my selfishness and hedonism that was behind every misfortune that befell me. There are no excuses, no attempts at mitigation. No one is to blame, only me. I am the author of my own fucked up story and it I own it
I’m a different person now. That morning, upstairs, in bed with my two cute yabba whores, was the last time I touched meth or any drug. Leaving the country, completely removing myself from the toxic environment I was in, was the single most effective technique for getting clean. I heartedly recommend it to anyone attempting to kick a habit. I just stopped. I did it easily, permanently and instantly. I never looked back. These days I live very quietly. I don’t even drink. I do however; still ride a motorcycle that is a habit I picked up in Phnom Penh that I will never give up.
The events I have written about above all happened a long time ago and I have no interest in rehashing them beyond the account I have given. I won’t be responding to posts or questions about it. . It is as honest and accurate an account of what happened as I can remember. I hope it puts any misunderstandings, deliberate or otherwise to bed once and for all and, if not, at the least I hope it provided an entertaining story of days gone by. It is what it is.
Peaceman
Respect for kicking the habit, think you owe those 2 policeman a thanks in a way lol. Or maybe the crazy woman. They kinda saved your life while wanting it to end. This is my take on drug addictions, that the situation is more of the problem in a lot of cases.
Would be great to hear that your son is ok, assume he is well and happy.
I'm more inclined to believe what objective reporters and police said at the time than to believe the denials 13 years later of the guy accused of beating a woman. We was well known for being fighty.Guest wrote: ↑Tue Nov 09, 2021 3:36 am
Goes to show that you should not believe everything you read about on online forums newspapers etc.
I suggest you never do jury duty.quail wrote: ↑Tue Nov 09, 2021 7:28 amI'm more inclined to believe what objective reporters and police said at the time than to believe the denials 13 years later of the guy accused of beating a woman. We was well known for being fighty.Guest wrote: ↑Tue Nov 09, 2021 3:36 am
Goes to show that you should not believe everything you read about on online forums newspapers etc.
You believe what the police say?
You believe what objective reporters say?
- spitthedog
- Is the World Outside still there ?
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Interesting post from Peaceman.
I feel i haven't lived.
I made some bad wrong turns on my travels.
Lucky to still be here looking back.
I feel i haven't lived.
I made some bad wrong turns on my travels.
Lucky to still be here looking back.
"I don't care what the people are thinking, i ain't drunk i'm just drinking"
- badboybubby
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whatever happened to samnang and her sister bless their hearts!?...i'm guessing they'd gone by this time...wonder what they made of it all...don't think they would have experienced quite the same shananigans in prey veng...
He's been in his room 35 years...time to let him out!
- Lucky Lucan
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Samnang is a chef, and has done okay as far as I know. I think she married and moved abroad. I can't remember the details. Her younger sister has been married for years and has kids.badboybubby wrote: ↑Tue Nov 09, 2021 9:41 pmwhatever happened to samnang and her sister bless their hearts!?...i'm guessing they'd gone by this time...wonder what they made of it all...don't think they would have experienced quite the same shananigans in prey veng...
Romantic Cambodia is dead and gone. It's with McKinley in the grave.
- badboybubby
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^
cheers big ears
cheers big ears
He's been in his room 35 years...time to let him out!
Re: Peaceman post. Just wanted to say enjoyed your prose on setting the record straight D. Love to you and H.
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