{"id":386,"date":"2017-01-14T20:45:11","date_gmt":"2017-01-14T20:45:11","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.jesidewalks.net\/?p=386"},"modified":"2019-12-01T14:35:53","modified_gmt":"2019-12-01T14:35:53","slug":"highway-4","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.jesidewalks.net\/2017\/01\/14\/highway-4\/","title":{"rendered":"Highway 4"},"content":{"rendered":"
On the road from Sihanoukville, 21 September 2016<\/em><\/p>\n It is nearly 6pm as we drive northbound. Emerging from in-between Chu\u014fr Phnum D\u00e2mrei<\/em>, the Elephant Mountains, we enter the flood plains of Cambodia\u2019s capital, Phnom Penh. In the distance, dark clouds are slowly creeping up from behind the mountains, taking the place of the setting sun. And as the traffic slows down, I notice more details on the roadside, the opaque green of dusted trees, the greyed whitewashed walls of abandoned, empty constructions, and piles of plastic and trash glistening in the evening light.<\/p>\n The road stretches 230 kilometres in imperfect north-south fashion, cutting through the provinces of Kandal, Kampong Speu, Koh Kong and Preah Sihanouk. It is, for the most part, a narrow dual carriageway atop flood-eroded berms and scattered with potholes. The national Highway 4 is one of Cambodia\u2019s main arteries, connecting the capital, Phnom Penh, to Sihanoukville, the country\u2019s only international shipping port in the Gulf of Thailand. The road was paved with USAid money in the early 1980s after the fall of the Khmer Rouge, and then privately managed as a toll road until earlier this year when the government decided to nationalise it<\/a> in a populist move. There are fears this will lead to a worsening of the already poor condition of the road.<\/p>\n The road gets busier, its porous structure now bristling with motorbikes squeezing through cards, buses and trucks in all directions. \u201cLook at the markets. So many markets!\u201d says Juan peering out the windows of our minivan. As our pace continues to slow, I can see more clearly. There are markets, but only temporary ones. We are approaching a long strip of factories that I noticed a week ago when we were going the other way, but in the daytime they all seemed empty and bleak. Everything was hidden inside. Now it\u2019s early evening and the end of a day\u2019s work. People are pouring out onto the roadside. Stalls pop up at the factory gates, and from them, stretching all along the road, queues of people form, distant stories. A woman folds a newspaper and fits it inside her handbag, changes her posture, folds her arms over her chest, eyes fixated on the floor; a single man on a motorcycle rides slowly along the queue (offering a ride?); a group of three women sitting on a pale blue mat eat roasted meat from a bowl.<\/p>\n I sit in our comfortable air conditioned minibus watching this other world go by: now all is a tangle of buses, motorbikes, cars and trucks. Hundreds of trucks. Open-top, wooden-framed trucks. The trucks are full of people piled up like cattle. Those on the sides are barely able to stretch their hands out to hang onto the edges of the frame, as the wheeled machine embraces the heavily battered road.\u00a0 Some wear masks to shield the dusty evening air, and all look out. Tired looks, their eyes lost in the distance of transit. A growing knot forms in my stomach. I start to feel intensely overwhelmed.<\/p>\n