More Stories From Cambodia….
Of all of my classmates that I meet during the first two weeks, one’s story is remarkably different. He is much older than all of us: most of us are somewhere between the ages of 22 and 27. He is in his late fifties, and also is from Cambodia.
I come in class a teeny bit late the first day because of jet lag (my teacher knew I was late because I was his roomate and he left before me!), so I had to sit in the corner of the room. I ended up sitting next to this man, and for the next two weeks was his partner in a lot of the class activities we did, as well as a buddy that you talk to when the teacher isn’t looking (funny how old habits from high school die hard).
His story is remarkable: he was in his 20s in the mid-1970s, when the Khmer Rouge controlled the country. He was able to escape with his wife to the jungle, and in 1979, was finally able to escape to Thailand. He told some of us his story at lunch one day; unfortunately I was sitting at a different table, and didn’t hear the details. But I do know that it was a horrifying experience.
Upon arriving in Thailand he and his wife were able to get a plane to America, where they ended up settling in Orlando. He raised a family and now has three kids, all in their twenties. Eight months ago, he decided to come back to his country of origin, to teach English. It was his first time ever returning. He is currently a teacher at an NGO about a half hour outside of Phnom Penh.
On one of the last days of class, we wrote a reading comprehension story and read it to the class. Most stories were fictional and funny; he told the story of his first day in America, which was spent at the San Francisco airport. He remarked that it was very cool outside, and that they were fed chicken with a strange sauce on it, and only two scoops of rice. Looking at the rice, he “knew they would go hungry that night.” They knew no English.
I guess I’m writing about this because now I consider him a friend; we exchanged a couple emails since I’ve left Cambodia, and if and when I return, will contact him. Maybe I’ve mentioned it because I’ve never met anyone before who has survived something like this; whatever it may be, I’m glad that I know him.
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Cambodia is pretty wild place. There are not a lot of rules that are enforced. For instance, marijuana is an illegal drug in Cambodia. If you are caught smoking marijuana, you are thrown in jail. Cambodia is not a place where one wants to spend time in jail, or atleast that assumption can be made.
All that being said, there are numerous bars where the smell of this particular herb permeates the air. One such bar has a stage with plugged in instruments; you can go up on stage and play. I played electric bass for the first time; I was booed off stage by about 25 people. There is also a chain of restaurants called Happy Pizza. They serve about 35 different types of pizza: I usually got the Hawaiian, it I would rank 7 out of 10 on the tasty scale. If you order the ‘Special Happy Pizza’ at Happy Pizza, then it comes out with a Special Herb on it. A friend from Cambodia told me that her friend ordered it and saw a dragon come out of the wall; he ran all the way home screaming.
The point of all this is that in Cambodia…..anything goes. There are laws on the books, but no one really cares to enforce them. Although I mentioned this earlier, it truly does feel like the Wild West.
The road is dominated by motorbikes, with a few sedans thrown in and a decent amount of sports utility trucks. I’m told by a teacher that the trucks are all stolen from the Middle East: they are primarily Hummers, Lexus trucks, and Land Rovers.
There aren’t any traffic rules; people drive on the wrong side of the street, sideways through traffic, whatever. It all kind of works out; the only real problem are the above mentioned trucks.
Its not uncommon to see a Hummer go barreling up a busy street on the wrong side of the road, wreaking havoc for anyone in the way. Bad driving doesn’t even begin to describe it; I would call it murderous. The mentality of the trucks is this: I am bigger than you, and you are in my way, therefore, I will drive directly at you. Again…….there really aren’t any rules for this stuff. Everything just sort of flies by the pants.
One interesting thing about the people Southeast Asia: they love fried chicken. When I saw the sign for Louisiana Fried Chicken in Phnom Penh, I just figured it was geared towards Westerners. But I’ve been told that actually American style fried chicken is a big thing here. Families go out and eat it with forks and knives. And everytime I walked by LFC, as it was called on its front door, it was filled with Cambodians.
There are KFCs EVERYWHERE out here. Back home in Boston, the only one I remember was in Allston, right near Twin Donuts. There may have been on in Central Square. And there was a Popeyes in Kenmore Square, near Fenway Park.
But out here…..KFC rules. I never would have thought. Speaking of which…….
There is Corn on the Cob everywhere out here! Its insane: if there was one type of food that I figured would be kissed goodbye upon moving out here, it would be the almost obnoxiously American corn on the cob. But there is no escaping Corn on the Cob, whether one is Cambodia or Vietnam.
Pushcarts sell corn on the cob grilled on the street, for something like 15 cents a pop. Fresh popcorn is to be had on the street everywhere! I still haven’t gotten any (I’ve never been a big fan really), but it starting to look good. I might have to take a gander…..
Before I go, here are some assorted picks of Phnom Penh. I’ll be back with more stories.
Until Next Time,
Greg
