Becoming a True Cambodian

I don't think I could ever be considered a true Cambodian, but I definitely think I've come a long way from when I first arrived. My first initiation: wearing a mask while riding on a moto through town. My driver pulled over to a little shop and bought me a mask and told me the roads ahead were very bad, so I needed to put it on. Well, as the paved road turned to dirt and huge trucks kept passing by blowing dust and who knows what else, I was very thankful to have that mask on! I now keep it with me for any time the roads get bad and I don't want to eat dust.

My next initiation was eating with chop sticks. I did it. I learned how to successfully (this is a relative term) eat with chopsticks. And I must admit, it makes eating noodles way more fun! Finally, I choose by my own free will to sleep in a hotel room with a fan, rather than the ac. The one night when they had no fan room available and I was forced to sleep with the ac, I woke up the next day with a cold. Go figure.

I still can't, however, eat anything that is put before me and think nothing of it. The other morning, I went to breakfast with some men that were helping me administer my surveys in Banteay Meanchey. I thought some noodle soup would help sooth my sore throat,but looking at the food around me, I was hesitant. I told Lin Nihm I wanted noodle soup with vegetables only, thinking I would be safe with that. Well he told me they didn't have vegetables. I pointed to the brussel sprouts in his soup and told him I wanted that. Apparently he misunderstood me, because a few minutes later a bowl of soup with a HUGE mound of horribly unidentifiable parts of who knows what animals was placed before me. I ate what I could, but left most of it untouched. The next morning I got up early and went to breakfast on my own before they picked me up.

I had a great week out in Banteay Meanchey administering my surveys in several of the villages there. I feel so fortunate that I've been able to meet hundreds of people in the villages and get a feel for how they live their lives in the rural areas.

Every day I was picked up from my hotel at 6:30 am and then we rode about an hour and a half down bumpy dirt roads out into the villages. At the very last home we went to before the rain got so bad that we had to leave before the roads got too bad to drive back, a tiny old lady came out wanting to meet me. I have no idea how old she was, but the term "skin and bones" has taken on a new meaning. Looking at her smiling face with her shaved head was literally like looking at a skeleton, with several teeth missing, and what teeth left horribly stained and decayed. She sat next to me and grabbed my hands and kept saying "awcoon, awcoon" (thank you, thank you). I'm not sure what she was thanking me for. But I sat there, looking at my hand in her's and looking at her worn bare feet, I had the greatest longing that for those few minutes I could speak Khmer. I wanted so badly to be able to talk with her and know her life story; to know the things she's experienced and seen throughout her life out in rural Cambodia. Well, once the rain starts, it doesn't take long for those dirt roads to turn into a slippery, muddy mess. We had one heck of a time getting out of there. People all around us were sliding all over the roads, little kids falling off the bikes into the mud. We slid out a few times, and had to quickly jump off the bike to not get squished and try not to fall in the mud. We were wearing ponchos and I was holding on tightly to my precious data to prevent it from getting wet and muddy. It was quite hilarious! Big trucks would zoom by us, splashing us and covering us in mud.

Saturday, I was headed back to Phnom Penh, and was not looking forward to the 7 hour bus ride. I have had the worst luck ever with these bus rides. One time, the lady sitting next to me hadn't bought a ticket for her 6 year old daughter, so I shared my seat with her. Another time, the guy next to me had a huge bucket on the floor under our feet. This time, we were driving along and all of a sudden I felt a bump and heard the dreaded noise: a flat tire. Nooooo!! We pulled over and had to wait out in the heat while they changed the tire. Luckily, they had a spare and knew what they were doing, so it didn't take too long.

I arrived back in Phnom Penh an hour late and the moto driver I hired was a joke. People automatically assume that if you're white, you don't have a clue what's going on. Well, I have been initiated as a true Cambodian, so I personally take offense to this! My driver wanted to charge me $3 to drive me home (I had just paid $5 to take a bus across the entire country; I was not about to pay $3 for the 5 minute drive home!) He told me it was very far and that gas was very expensive. I told him I knew it was not far and that it cost him $4 to fill up his gas tank. He kind of laughed sheepishly and we worked out a deal. Poor tourists that don't know any better getting taken advantage of here. Thank goodness I'm not one of those ;) ha sure.