Notes to self: No whites please

If I could offer you one piece of advice about living (or travelling) in a developing country, it will be — don’t wear white clothes.

I’m not sure what I was thinking when I packed. I knew Cambodia is a hot, humid and dirty place, yet I packed chunky jumpers and a large amount of crisp white shorts and shirts.

One thing I hadn’t reckoned on was Cambodia’s seemingly complete lack of hot water, and — unfortunately — cold water and stain removal don’t seem to go hand-in-hand awfully well.

When I first moved to Phnom Penh, I didn’t have a washing machine, so all my washing was done at the local laundry. It took two days — yes, that is right, two days, and cost a mere $5 (Dh18). I arrived to pick up my freshly washed clothes and found them beautifully folded and neatly packed away in a plastic pocket. However, when I opened the clothes parcel at home, I was pretty disappointed to discover that my beautiful Laura Ashley whites were more stained than they had been when I took them in (how??), and everything had a bit of a grey-ish grimy tinge.

I was pleased when I moved into a new flat — complete with a primitive-looking washing machine. However, what my landlord failed to tell me was that we didn’t have any hot water, either. This means that my washing looks equally filthy when I hang it on the line as it does when I peel it off after a day stomping through the dusty, dirty streets. It also means that showers are a bit of a psychological battle every morning.

My showers are freezing cold, and Cambodia is not so hot that you want a nice, cool, refreshing wash every morning. Instead, I have a few moments of gasping for breath as a step under the icy (but surprisingly high-pressured) flow of water. I suppose in some ways it is good — I am wide awake within seconds of starting my morning routine, and I have perfected my yogic backbends (trying to wash your hair under the shower but without getting the freezing water on any of the rest of your body will do that).

I also discovered another problem with wearing white here. I bought a stunning, fitted white dress here a few weeks ago, and for some reason, I decided, while wearing it for the first time, that it would also be a good time to try side-saddling on a motorbike for the first time. People in Phnom Penh don’t take taxis very often. In fact, you barely see them. Instead, people take tuk-tuks or motorbikes (moto), which are much faster, and about a quarter of the price of a tuk-tuk. For this reason, I usually take a moto, even though they scare the life out of me.

Anyway, this particular evening I was feeling attractive and confident. So, to save my modesty, I sat sideways on the back of the moto, my friend sat between me and the driver, straddling the bike. I’ve seen people ride like this a million times. Generally they don’t use their hands, and they often sit and read books, or eat their lunch while they are travelling. I thought it would be easy.

You now what happens next, I’m sure. The bike started off and turned a corner, and not ten seconds after I had sat on the bike, I was landing hard on the road, on my bottom. Of course, I did this in the most busy part of the city at the busiest time of night, so a large crowd gathered to see me sitting on my bum in the middle of the road.

My friend gathered up my belongings, and rushed to see how I was (before bursting out laughing at my traumatic experience). My ego and derrière were badly bruised. But, most embarrassingly, my beautiful white dress, that had been making its first outing, was now smeared with brown filth from the road. I still went on to the next bar, though, because in Cambodia, nobody will look twice if you are covered in brown filth — it is just part of everyday life here.