Escape to Phnom Penh

Book 1 of "Hot Asian Nights"

Phnom Pehn, the Pearl of the Orient, is known for its nightlife and fast times. Sara and Gina have left Australia, along with husbands and lovers, looking for some of that adventure. SE Asia is an acquired tasted, but they find the parties and hot guys wonderfully addition. And here, where no one knows them, there seem to be no rules at all.

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

The Asian Nights Guesthouse and Bar sat on a busy side street just off the riverfront in Phnom Penh, incongruously tucked between a chain pizza place and a small store where an old woman sold almost exactly the same items as every shop near it—bags of sugary snacks, cooking oil, beer, bottled water, fish sauce, and tea. Like most of the buildings it was a narrow and deep shop house, left over from the French colonial era. Rattan chairs and glass-topped tables spilled out of the open front onto the sidewalk and a row of motorbikes cluttered the curb in front.

A bright sun shone clear and warm on Sara's first morning in Cambodia's capitol. It was so different from Australia where she’d been just a few hours and a lifetime ago. So far, she liked what she saw. "The Pearl of the Orient," the guidebooks called the city. The pearl didn't shine with as much luster as she'd expected, but it was interesting and different—and alive.

Sara ran her fingers through her shoulder-length black hair and smiled as she walked out into the sunshine to take a seat at the table across from her friend Gina. Gina the early bird had been up and out ahead of her. The dishes in front of her showed she'd finished breakfast.

Sara picked up a menu and stared at it, but she wasn't in a rush to eat. She let her eyes take in the scene. At a table inside an overweight man in his fifties sat alone eating a hamburger and drinking beer from a can. Anchor, the label said. He read an English-language newspaper, marking it up with a pen. He had a gray beard and a tee shirt that advertised some long-forgotten Rolling Stones tour. Probably a pensioner with a small income, she decided.

The rest of the tables were empty. A girl stood inside, out of the sun, watching a game show on television. The girl was a petite Khmer, Cambodian, and at first Sara had taken her for a teenager. None of the girls Sara had seen in the short time since she'd arrived looked old enough to be called young women, but she'd learned they were—Khmer women looked young well into life. She assumed it was one major reason so many men traveling alone came here. It seemed that depravity craved innocence.

The guest house pleased her—exactly what she wanted and expected. Reviews on the internet had prepared her for the basic level of accommodations. This one was typical for the area and price range. She'd picked it because it catered to those roaming on the cheap, wanting to make their money last.

The city, especially this area, had a ton of such places, each offering basic rooms with a ceiling fan (extra for the few with air con), a bar, and a minimal restaurant. Each place offered its own pluses and minuses, but they all catered to young travelers who would happily forgo room service and the other trappings of the business hotels for a cheap place to stay that didn't mind a little rowdiness from a party crowd.