Sophie's Bar Phnom Penh - a touch of darkness - 1999 - 2007

Entry by Ty Spaulding

In 1999

Cambodia was at peace. No weapons were seen on the streets, but once off the main avenues the streets were unlit Phnom Penh landmark was located on an unlit side street. Nik and I were looking for Sophia's a notorious short-time bar. It is not easy to find even with the address. A taxi motorcyclist pointed out our destination. No lights shone behind the shuttered windows. Two scarred men on the sidewalk eyed our entrance, as if we possessed entry tickets stamped by the Arok or the Devil. We climbed up a decrepit set of stairs, which looked like the Khmer Rouge might have executed cadres against the walls. The second-floor metal door was securely steel. A knock opened an eye hole. A single eyeball approved entrance. The main room was a bar about the size of a Holiday Inn suite. Only there's no bed, just six stools and a few tables.

But no one visited Sophie's for the decor.

The flimsy attired girls were ages 18-30. They numbered around twenty in this evening. The attire was flimsy. Young and old, beautiful and ugly. Something for everyone's taste. They swore to be Khmer and not Vietnamese, as if working at Sophie's fulfilled a patriotic duty.

Once inside the red-lit bar four hostesses sat us on stools before auditioning to star in a remake of DEEPTHROAT in one of the two backrooms. Permission was not asked nor denied. Resistance was futile.

At this point the old hag behind the bar asked for a drink order.

A bottle of beer. Wipe the top. The male clientele were NGO pervs fighting off a heroin habit, incurable drunks, balding sex tourists on a Viagra binge, Euro-trash libertines, and missionaries seeking to save souls somewhere other than Sophie's.

Secretive glances. This was a very compromising situation and thankfully no CCTV cameras dotting the ceiling confirming the clientele wasn't spied on by the NSA or worst friends porno surfing the net.

About two minutes after our first breath in Sophie's (the smell of cigarettes, cheap liquor, and man sweat) the girls broke their crotch huddle and asked who was best and we wanted to retire to a side room for more research.

As sinful as it may have seemed, saying no was more damnable than saying yes. Two or three girls will drag us into a back room, where they will be darling for however long it took to achieve paradise. Jagged cracks decorated stained walls and soiled sheets spoke of hundreds of successful rendezvouses. Nik conversed with me about his experience through the tar paper thin walls, thin as cheap pizza and almost as greasy.

The menage-a-trois cost $20 and beers at $2 were the price for our souls. Eternal damnation.

In 2007 Nick and I had scheduled our Cambodia trip to avoid Songkran in Thailand. My wife thought this voyage was simply a sex tour, but we passed through Koh Kong and Sihanoukville without a passing glance at the local talent, mostly because S-ville’s Chicken Farm has been dramatically reduced by the port expansion and the bars of Victory Hill were devoid of pulchritude. The taxi drivers vainly attempted to hook us up, but we opted to wait until Phnom Penh.

We arrived in the capitol in the late-afternoon and installed ourselves at the Hope and Anchor Hotel on Quai Sisiwoth. Several beers smoothed the edge of a five-hour bus trip and darkness turned our minds to Sophie’s Bar.

The sleaziest bar in the world.

We rode our rented dirt bikes around 153 St.

For 30 minutes.

Finally finding the infamous haunt of sex tourists.

No lights.

The doors shut.

I asked the taxi drivers, “What’s up?”

They signaled with their hands.

Closed.

“Closed?”

Nick asked, “Why?”

“How the fuck should I know.” I tried to hide my disappointment, because I considered Sophie’s Bar one of the Seven Wonders of the Wicked World. Its closure was more tragic than the Taliban’s blowing up the giant Buddha statue in Afghanistan. After all those statues were stone and Sophie’s Bar was flesh and blood.

Martini’s and Sharkey’s were too tame for my taste and I returned to the hotel alone to drink with Peter, the owner.

“Is Sophie’s closed permanently?” I had to know for socio-anthropological purposes.

“No, only for the Buddhist holiday by order of the mayor. He didn’t consider it a holy place of worship. Not like some. But it will be open after the New Year.”

“I’ll be gone then.”

“Win some, lose some.”

“Yeah.” Next year I would have to plan my trip more carefully.

Sadly it’s gone now.

As are all good things and bad.