Rambling on quiet holiday streets

Cambodia was of course part of French Indochine, and the architectural influence of that colonial era is still evident.  The buildings are falling apart in many cases and being demolished in many more, but as I walked and cycled around the city during the Pchum Ben holiday, I found quite a bit of architecture to appreciate when the streets were mostly empty.

Many of Phnom Penh's colonial buildings have rounded corners, but this one, a hotel, also has some gorgeous art deco details.

On the opposite corner is another hotel, somewhat puzzlingly named Le Grande Palais Boutique Hotel.  (Are boutique hotels grande?  Never mind, this one is.)

Many of the two- and three-storey apartment buildings in the city also bear the sort of rounded corners I associate with Francophone cities like New Orleans. This one is near the Orussey Market.

I don't know enough architectural terminology to describe the vertical lines on this building's corner. Modernist?  Modernish? Superfluous?  Anyway, I do like them. This photo also illustrates one of the frustrations of photography in Phnom Penh:  the ubiquitous clumps of electrical wires strung everywhere. There's just no avoiding them. 

Contemporary Khmer architects have a new take on the rounded corner.  Many examples of this "glass rocket ship" show up in the Facebook group, "The Ugliest Buildings in Cambodia".  This apartment building is in the posh expat neighbourhood, BKK1. I presume there are foreigners who actually pay a hefty amount of rent to live in this aesthetic atrocity.

This building does not have rounded corners, but it does have lovely arched windows and green shutters, and I hope it will assauge your outraged senses after the photo above.

One of the things I most wanted to do over the holiday was cycle over to the neighbourhood known simply as Olympic.  It's home to the Phnom Penh Olympic Stadium, designed by the country's most noted architect, Vann Molyvann, built in 1964.  It was the site of mass executions during the Khmer Rouge years, and now there is talk of demolition as the developers of high-rise buildings look at the site and wring their greedy, greasy little hands.  I'm not sure if the site is officially open to the public; the guards behind the main gate seemed puzzled that I wanted to come in and look around, but they eventually opened the gate and waved me in.

This is the indoor stadium.  

It echoes now; the only sounds are dripping water and nesting swifts. It's an eerie space. 

The indoor stadium is three or four storeys, and although there are reflecting pools throughout the lowest level, I saw no sign of a swimming pool.  

The only other people I saw at the stadium on that day were three students of Urban Planning from the National University of Singapore. They didn't seem to share any of my fondness for the stadium and didn't seem at all bothered by the fact that it faces demolition. The fact that it's one of Molyvann's most admired works didn't impress them a bit. "I don't know," said one of them. "It's just kinda old, I guess."  They went off in the direction of the encroaching high-rises.

The outdoor stadium is simply massive. I just took a couple of photos of the berms into which the seating is built.  I think there may have been some pop concerts held here in the past few years. 

For whatever reason, they've removed all the toilets from the indoor stadium and dumped them on one of the access ramps.  Any hope for using this facility again for its intended purpose (or any purpose, actually) is dim.

I pedalled home thinking about the stadium, its past and its future.  I spotted a foreign man walking down the street carrying an unusual-looking stringed instrument, and as the streets were empty, I zipped across and interrupted his walk. His accent gave him away as a North American, and although he seemed shy, he was happy to tell me about his chapei dorng vwairng, a traditional Khmer instrument whose name translates simply as 'long necked thing'.  He'd bought it here in Phnom Penh. He showed me its bone frets and the little bone pick that is parked in a hole in the center.  He had adapted the instrument so he can connect it to an amplifier. He graciously allowed me to photograph it (though he declined to pose with it).

One oddity:  The chapei dorng vwairng player strums only two strings. You'll notice, however, that the instrument has three pegs.  

There is in fact a third string that runs beneath the other two; it runs through small holes drilled in each fret.  Because it's behind the other two strings, it's impossible for the player to pluck or strum it, so what is its purpose?  No one has been able to tell him, so the musician surmises that it is simply to keep the frets from falling off and getting lost if they come loose from the neck. I really enjoyed his impromptu concert, and was thankful to have crossed paths with him.