花地砖，高天花，门廊上的仿琉璃吊灯，中式的木雕床，泰式躺枕，散落在花园树丛中的帐幔木床，床上绣的繁花似锦的靠枕……The Pavilion，这个位于柬埔寨金边的雅致酒店正如其法文名字所指代的，像一座隐蔽于繁忙城市中的优美亭子，到处散发着浓郁懒散的旧殖民气息，藏在金边的皇宫后方，完美得宛如一个小小的世外桃源。

　　推开由两座白石象守护着的结实木门，映入眼帘的是满溢的绿。刚结束的夏雨，夹带着鸡蛋花香，清新的空气与外面的繁华仿如隔世，是那种爱丽丝掉进了她的梦境一般的感觉。

　　黄色主建筑前，是一个长14米的泳池。几张躺椅分布在泳池周围，环绕着的树丛荫下由是若隐若现的大木床，盖了白纱帐，泳池旁边的开放式厨房的小酒吧不 时飘出煮食的香味，游人，或从城市里逃出来偷闲的旅居者，或躺在椅上聊天，或靠在木床上读书上网，或坐在池边吃个午餐，撩逗在池边觅食的猫，或在小酒吧里 浅品下午鸡尾酒。小酒吧的菜单麻雀虽小，却五脏俱全。

　　踏进主楼，是酒店前台。前台经理似为法国人，简单介绍后，她大方地让我到处逛，还给我指路。一个短短的走廊由柬埔寨丝做的门帘隔开外界和客房。一排竹子后，有一对中年旅客静静地坐在他们房间外的小院子里看书。走上二楼，来到一个房间的外飘阳台，整个花园景色尽收眼底。

　　从泳池边穿过树木葱郁的花园，路边有一小木栅栏，轻轻推开，我惊讶地发现面前是一座木制房子，包围着它的大落地窗反映着外头层层的绿，难怪在外面难以 觉察。经过窄窄的院子，拾阶而上是一座小小的按摩泡泡浴池。如此发现，像极了童话里，白雪公主在迷失的森林中发现了小矮人的小木屋。

　　来到第二座稍微较新的建筑，白色的外墙上吊着仿琉璃灯，门两边挂着一副木对联，大堂中央放着一中式木雕床，安静地诉说着酒店设计人的东方情怀。房间里 的摆设各有特色，却都贯穿着含蓄简洁的东方情韵，如木桌子上一枝含苞待放的荷花，丝织窗帘。有套房还带了室外泳池，边上都植着树，贯承外花园的风格。

　　这样一个精致而又极富独特个人主义特色的酒店，虽然不大，对于空间的巧妙安排可堪称完美，每一处角落都可以成为一个私人院落，又丝毫不影响别人，酒店 人费尽心思灭蚊，所以花园里即使水多树多，蚊子却不多，可见酒店设计人的心思。酒店侍应英语都说得十分流利，几乎每句回答都带着发自肺腑的热忱笑容，对于 像我这种爱什么事都不做，只是躺着看书晒太阳的人，是一个完美假日，即使在拥挤的废气满天的城市，也触手可及；对于难得放一长假的游人，更是一个无可挑剔 的小天堂。

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Welcome to the Dark Side: Depression in Cambodia

By Bronwyn Sloan
07 Feb 2008

Hi. My name is Bronwyn, and, like up to 15 percent of the population, I suffer from depression. Unfortunately for me, although there is a group for recovering alcoholics in Cambodia, and even a group for recovering drug addicts, there is no 12-Step Sad Sacks Anonymous. I have a medical certificate that says I am not crazy, I have been assured by experts that I am not delusional, I am certainly not ashamed and I know I am not alone. Expats and Cambodians alike share dark days like I do, but few people talk about it.

Cambodia can feel like you are running on quicksand, or caught in a particularly bad scene of some kind of demented ethnic Days of Our Lives episode. It's nothing to be ashamed of.

When you become an expat, your traditional support mechanisms are sometimes just not there anymore. At home, I used to go to St Mary's and light candles, or go for long walks by beautiful, beggar-free Sydney Harbor before catching a ferry to a wonderful acupuncturist who spoke my language. Here I go to the pagoda or walk on the river, but it isn't the same because it isn't my childhood, and when you look for sadness in Cambodia, there is no shortage of it.

You can find yourself a long way from family and friends, and life in any culture, let alone a different one, can be stressful.

Cambodian days sometimes start with a sea of cheekbones and bewildered dark eyes staring up at you, and a smiling chorus of: "Yes. (long pause) Cannot." Some boss from a developed country is on the phone yelling that it simply IS NOT POSSIBLE that your staff have ALL gone off to lunch together simultaneously and will not return for three hours, nor that there has been no electricity for the previous three hours, and there is a guy on your doorstep you are positive you don't know inviting you to his wedding, which you will have to pay for with money you don't have. On the way to a lunch you don't want, someone in a Tico with military plates thinks it's ok to turn left from the right lane on a red light if they smile and for some reason the police then stop you.

And no, the story of the working single mother coming home and finding her toddler sticking the cat to the wall with superglue while the nanny laughs and explains "he play" is not apocryphal. Cambodian child care notions are sometimes radically different to ours.

When I first explained to my Cambodian partner that I had dark days when just getting out of bed seemed pointless and my body felt like it was made of lead, he was angry. He had seen his entire family die in various and increasingly gruesome ways at the hands of the Khmer Rouge by the time he was 13, he said, and he copes. Of course, he doesn't - he still fights the Khmer Rouge in his sleep and cries out to ghosts, but to a Khmer man, even making negative comments about his wedding tackle is less insulting than questioning his mind.

There is always a degree of guilt with depression - why should I feel like this when I have so much more than so many people? In Cambodia, with such a bloody history, that guilt can intensify into a terrible aloneness.

For a very spiritual people, Khmers seem to have an overwhelming need to make mental anguish physical. Like most Asian cultures, they don't face mental health issues easily. Better to moxy-suction a whopping great black circular spot on your forehead than admit to stress. You might look a bit silly at Sundowners, but at least you don't have to talk about it.

I have to admit I feel frustrated that I have such trouble communicating the concept of depression to Cambodians. The response is always "Don't think too much", but like many Cambodian suggestions, they have just given you the solution without providing the steps to reach it.

When I returned from a visit to the clinic this week the women of the house informed me the girl next door had just committed suicide. She had shown no symptoms of sadness - how could she in this culture? Her family was in complete shock. When they heard what was wrong with me, the women immediately began lighting a flurry of incense and planning a trip to the pagoda for a cleansing. I was, apparently, either contagious or infected.

There have been days that I physically could not answer my phone or touch a computer. Because any city in Cambodia is a village - even Phnom Penh - the gossip mill can also be hurtful. As a female journalist, I find my stories being judged in tandem with my looks on local blogs ("yes, I saw that story, and doesn't she look haggard/fat/old!"), and hard-won investigative pieces which happen to involve another woman being denigrated as mere cat fights.

But being a woman has its positives, too. I find it easier to talk through my problems than most men. I have supportive female friends, many of whom also see the dark and admit to it. As a single mother, I can afford wonderful staff here to carry some of the burden when it seems too hard to go on, and I have found a wonderful Cambodian man who has gradually opened and shared his amazing life with me.

Expat communities can sometimes be spiteful, but for me the most important part of healing has been overcoming that fear and reaching out. If you don't have a friend you feel you can confide in, go to an embassy-recommended clinic and get a confidential consult from a doctor. But whatever you do, don't think you have to suffer in silence and solitude.

I have found good rapport with a female GP, but there are a range of options and languages available at several good clinics and everyone responds differently to different people. Sometimes all you need is a shoulder to cry on and someone to tell you it's ok in your native language, but most modern prescription anti-depressants are available over the counter here if necessary. A good clinic can even order them in, and it is reassuring (and wise) to have a qualified person overseeing dosage and ensuring the medicine is genuine.

The problem is, the doctors available are mainly GPs with experience of your problem but no specialist knowledge. There are few qualified psychiatrists here, and most of them are Khmers geared to the cultural sensitivities and treatment of Khmers. The Soviet Friendship Hospital runs an excellent outpatient clinic, the country's most prominent psychiatrist, Ka Sunbunaut, has a clinic near the Russian Market which is listed in the Yellow Pages, and there is an inpatient hospital in Takhmao, but few non-government organizations deal with this massive problem so many Cambodians also struggle with.

For organizations, which work on five-year plans and quantifiable results, mental health is just too difficult. TPO is one of the few organizations here (perhaps the only one) which helps Cambodians cope with their past and future.

For expats, there are qualified counselors who can compliment a regime of medication or simply walk us through our problems in a confidential and compassionate way. They are most easily reached through the clinics, which can recommend a variety of selections so you can find a person who suits you. Most counselors do not advertise, but they are there.

The website Mind Gym has also been recommended. It's a self-help behavioral change site that has worked for some friends. I am one of those people who can't deal with that sort of interactivity when I'm down and feel no need to do it when everything seems rosy, but it is certainly an option.

Then there is the expat (and Khmer) tendency to self-medicate. Drugs like Xanax and Valium are easily available, and booze is cheap. It all helps to kill the pain for a while. Bars are full of expats and Khmers talking about anything but their feelings. My advice from bitter experience is, don't - instead admit to yourself that you have a valid health problem and reach out to a professional, or at least seek the advice of a friend, because in the long run it's cheaper and more effective, but pot, kettle, black. We all need to learn and cope in our own ways.

I have friends who have healed themselves just by talking things through with a counselor here. Somebody who understands the same day to day challenges telling you it's not the end of the world is sometimes all the medicine you need, although if your problem is clinical and has needed careful professional monitoring in the past, you need to understand the safety net is limited in Cambodia.

The point is, there are healthy, sensible options available here which can work. Some of my strongest friendships have been formed in Cambodia, and I often rely on these friends now to get me through, because sometimes only another expat can understand. A friend once told me the first six years in Cambodia are the toughest, but after that it gets easier because you stop trying to make sense of it. Cambodia can feel like you are running on quicksand, or just caught in a particularly bad scene of some kind of demented ethnic Days of Our Lives episode. It's nothing to be ashamed of.