Phnom Penh, 1994: a photo essay

Less than 30 years old, these images capture the Cambodian capital on the cusp of rapid change.

A young girl carrying a basket of dried shrimp walks across a busy intersection.

I landed in Phnom Penh in February 1994 knowing nothing of the country’s complex history beyond media stories of the Khmer Rouge and the Killing Fields. It was only a year since the first multiparty elections and three years since a United Nations-sponsored peace accord. The city was frenetic, chaotic at times, a mess of pedal-powered traffic, boys on scooters carrying rifles, amputees begging on street corners. It was oppressively hot.

With dreams of emulating Henri Cartier-Bresson (as if!), I took to the streets with a Canon AE1 camera, rolls of black and white film and two lenses: a regular 50mm and a 200mm telephoto.

I was lucky - right place, right time - and I think a few of these shots turned out well. I especially love the composure and poise of the young girl as she carries a wicker basket on her head amid the traffic. The cyclo drivers waiting for fares looked quite debonair in their pork-pie hats and white shirts.

But there was heart-breaking poverty too. I found these street kids playing with a cyclo in the dirt, apparently with nothing. They didn’t strike a pose, they just met my gaze. (Yes, I paid them for their trouble).

I had these images printed at a studio in Bangkok. I’ve scanned them for this article, but haven’t touched them up or repaired them. I think they’re better for that.

Bicycle repairs. I think this contraption was used to pump up tyres.

A typical scene. French-era buildings. Cyclos outnumber scooters.

Cyclo drivers. The 4X4 on the left is probably a UN vehicle.

From my journal written at the time:

“On the roads it is chaos in slow motion. Pedal power outnumbers engines but anarchy reigns. The best option is to hire one of the dozens of teenage boys who hang around on mopeds at every street corner. They’ll go anywhere in the city for pennies. Hiring motorbikes is cheap but ill advised. It is dangerous in the city and in rural areas armed gangs regularly hold up riders and steal their machines.”

There was no need for sightseeing in Phnom Penh. I would just sit outside a cafe with a strong cup of coffee and a bahn mi, watching the traffic:

“Mopeds weighed down with three and four people, toddlers balanced on handlebars, cyclos full of schoolchildren, motorised carts piled high with boxes of new TVs, gleaming Mercs with blackened windows. I saw two kids on motorbikes: one had a squash racquet slung over his back, another an automatic rifle.”

I haven’t been back to Phnom Penh since 1994. I imagine it’s changed quite a bit …?