The Russian Market (part 2)

Eveline selecting a pair of pants

(I recently added photos to the journal entry: The Russian Market (Psar Tuol Tom Pong). I inadvertently posted the journal entry before the photos were ready. Please revisit that entry.)

Today Eveline and I went to the Russian Market. The place is such a confusing maze of rows and alleys, I was impressed by her knowledge of the market. She could tell me where to find any particular thing. "Down this aisle you can find clothes" or "Right down here is where they sell antiques." She was like the best English speaking tour guide you could want. (As many times as she has been there, seeing someone driving a moto in one of the extremely crowded aisles always seems new. Today was no exception.)

Because I didn't bring any dress shirts to Cambodia (and I'll need one to wear to the graduation ceremony at ISPP) Eveline suggested that I have one made. Precisely where she knew they would be we found the tailors all working diligently at their sewing machines. I met a man (and his wife and young son) who promised to make me a shirt in a day for $15 (material included; an entire suit takes fewer than five days and costs $50 USD).

This was my second visit to the Russian Market and I saw it in a brand new light. The Cambodian vendors, who are mostly women, are shrewd business women not used to giving away their merchandise-- while bargaining just enough to complete the sale and just enough to make a profit. Somehow it works; ultimately everyone is satisfied.

At one stall I admired a hand-carved (so they said) Hindu inspired statue of Ganesha (the elephant symbolizing the god of wisdom and success. Only after I bought it did I learn that Ganesha is the god of education, knowledge, wisdom, literature, and fine arts--go figure).

It went something like this: "Today for you I sell at 25. Every day I sell for 30 but not today." "Fifteen," I said. "For you only today I sell 22. You buy 22." "Twenty?" I asked. "Cannot do 20. 21 you buy. That's it Sir 21." Twenty-one it was.

I said, "ar kun." "Ar kun," she replied and smiled.

The tailor's wife and son