Ask anyone to name their ideal activity in their ideal romantic city and the usual answers will come up: a gondola trip in Venice, strolling along the banks of the Seine in Paris, throwing coins in a Roman fountain, or dancing the flamenco in Seville.
But I doubt very much that anyone is going to put Phnom Penh high on their list. To many it’s an ugly, odorous, and at times brutal city. Arriving at the airport and taking transport into the city proper, your first impressions are of chaotic, almost psychotic traffic, a litter disposal scheme that seems to consist of just dumping everything by the roadside, and smells that veer from the wondrous olfactory waves of cooking street food to the nefarious stench of the overworked sewers. Then there’s the noise, sheer cacophonic noise that assail
