It was crowded and noisy. We were sitting on the floor at the low tables in the only room of the small Sushi restaurant that we frequent monthly for birthdays. They were set out with an array of foods -- starfish carcases piled on plates, fresh sliced fish nestled in beds of cabbage salad, cuts of succulent Japanese fried chicken, deep flavored green tea roll cakes -- the remains of an amazing feast rising out of a graveyard of used plates and wooden chopsticks.
When my friend turned to me amidst the muddle of Japanese and English and boisterous laughter, the last thing I expected was, "Do you want to go to Cambodia with me?"
Certainly, Cambodia was the last place I'd thought of going. It's hard to say I had ever considered it at all.
Living in Japan, I realized that I have much closer access to a lot of places that would be much more expensive to travel to from America. I have friends who live in Australia, South Korea and China -- plenty of other friends who have been to Thailand -- but I knew little to nothing at all about Cambodia. At best, it was some forested, rural country near Thailand, and the most I'd actually heard of it was in conjunction with Laos and "Khmer Rouge" at a time when I was much too young to understand the news.
At that moment, I realized just how little of the world I actually knew. Well, know. I mean, I know there's a lot out there, but it hadn't occurred to me how many things are out there, ya know? And a new culture, and a new language?! All for one super-duper inexpensive cheap price? OF COURSE I SAID "Yes!"
It was a short trip -- three days, perhaps the shortest trip abroad I've ever had -- but it was, hands down, one of the most rewarding trips of my life so far.
We departed early one Saturday morning in April, taking a bus from Kumamoto City to Fukuoka airport, where we took our first 5-hour leg of the trip on Vietnam Airlines. The service was surprisingly wonderful, including some delicious food and coffee, and fragrant wet towelettes. The service at the Vietnam airport, in contrast, was much less welcoming. We deplaned into the hot, humid air of the afternoon, and took a small bus to the airport. Passing through security was easy enough; we lined up with the sticky, sweaty masses, and it went quite quickly, if not pleasantly.
The atmosphere - not the weather - was stifling; guards in their army green uniforms all but yelled at an old lady as she passed through security, and the guy who took my passport glanced disinterestedly away before handing it back to me without even opening it to my picture. The airport staff wasn't much better. A small airport with two floors, the layout of the shops is oval shaped like a running track, with glass-cased kiosks lining the center ring and the large, duty-free shops the outer rim. Monica and I had a small emergency, and the store clerks were beyond unhelpful as we looked through the hodgepodge of goods -- strawberry cream Oreos next to scorpion alcohol on a shelf above small change purses crushed next to hand crafted jewelry boxes. Between the two of us, we managed to scramble up an "excuse me" in Spanish, English, Japanese and Chinese, yet the women who worked the shops wouldn't even look at us unless we were ready to pay.
The heat of the airport -- unconditioned as most in southeast Asia -- added to the uncomfortableness of the situation. Though I have never been to Cuba, I couldn't help but feel a mild sense of dread, like something wasn't right; the military security uniforms, the uncaring, almost disdainful attitude of clerks towards customers...a slight paranoia that seems to run in most Cubans, perhaps a remnant survival instinct that runs in the blood after the traumatic aftermath of the revolution, one that can't help but equate Socialism as a euphemism for Communism...
But there was no time for that. Not with a 5 hour layover and way too much time to think. We found our supplies in the last store, and begrudgingly bought it from the most uncaring clerk of them all. Then we found the only place with airconditioning: a small cafe with peeling red vinyl booths and wireless internet, and an overpriced menu.
Make it more interesting: USD is the name of the game.
In an airport in Vietnam, where you could only pay in USD. Traveling from Japan, my companions and I brought Yen of course, which we planned to exchange when we got to Cambodia. My Japanese friends had no reason to have USD, but luckily I had quite a bit left over from my initial voyage to Japan -- something I carry in my wallet just in case of emergencies. It was enough to get us in and buy us some overpriced tea and coffee. While it was pure chance that I had it, I will certainly keep some on me just in case from now on.
Cambodia and Vietnam were like night and day. We took our short flight to Siem Reap, and landed easily in a balmy, tropical night so reminiscent of home. Again, there was no bridge connection into the airport, so we walked. The staff at the airport was polite, nice even! The tour guide, a small slip of a man, dark gold like the natives, picked us up at the airport and took us with the rest of the Japanese tourists to our hotel for an incredible evening meal. The hotel itself was beautiful; French colonial style like so many others, with a wide open lobby flanked by two large staircases, and floor-to-ceiling glass windowed dining area in the back which led to the pool. Of course, there was no time for that.
We were tired, exhausted really. The beds had us fast asleep, but not for long enough it seems. At 4 am, Monica and I woke up for the optional portion of our tour: going to watch the sunrise at Angkor Wat. The boys decided to sleep in. Balmy but cool, it was an entirely worthy view.
We reconvened at the hotel for breakfast, which was an amazing spread of tropical fruits and western/eastern style breakfast (why not try some lemon chilli pepper pork congee with that baguette, madame?). Energy restored, we set off again to Angkor Wat, where the adventure really commenced.
Angkor Wat, now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, has not been fully roped off from tourists. This allowed for climbing and exploring the ruins easily, like Indiana Jones sans the lethal snakes and death traps.
Despite the heat, I was relishing the sweat, the sun, the organic scent of the red clay dust and forest and history. It smelled pure, natural. Paired with the magnitude of Angkor Wat, the complex temples surrounding the area, stones all intricately carved by hands who knew nothing but crude tools; "exhilarating" is just the tip of the iceberg.
"Third-world country."
You heard the world in school. On the news. You've probably used it, talked about the situations in such countries, possible solutions even, in conversation with friends and coworkers. I certainly had, growing up. But the knowledge of it was nothing compared to seeing it first-hand.
Humbling. Incredibly so.
The poverty was striking. In a country where public education, while offered, is not compulsory at any level, children become the weights at the end of the heartstrings, used by parents to sell their merchandise. Promise one 5 or 6 year old girl to buy a refrigerator magnet, and immediately you'll find yourself flocked by kids trying to sell you postcards, travel books, t-shirts -- all in nearly perfect English, rehearsed, and all pleading for you to buy from them with stories. "A landmine killed my father," one boy told me as I moved to walk away. He must not have been more than 11 or 12 years old. The next day I met another 12 year old boy who was working on a river boat, pushing off and docking, and giving $1 massages in between.
As refugees, my grandparents worked day and night so that my mom and aunt could go to school to better their futures. My initial reaction was, "Where's the responsibility, the priorities of these parents? Of society?" But the more we drove into the jungle, the fewer schools I saw, the more I came to realize. Especially if you live in the rural areas, your house is a wooden shack raised on stilts. You've got one big room, maybe a back room if you're lucky. Everyone lives and sleeps together. And if you've got 6 or 7 mouths to feed (or 10, like the tour guide's siblings), you don't have time to walk your kid 4 miles or more to school; you need to use as many resources as possible to make ends meet. That might include making a pact with a travel agency, so that they can bring foreigners to see your house, how locals live, just so you can earn an extra bit of money. Our tour took us to such an area, and while it was interesting, it seemed like such an absolute invasion of privacy; the necessary evil of foreign intruders in impoverished homes, almost wrong in the casualness of it all.
Trash was the other wonder.
I'd never given much thought to trash, besides taking it out on trash day. Of course, I've seen trash on the streets in America here and there, as much as I wish people would just put it in the can. In Japan, it's virtually unheard of to litter. While in Cambodia, the poor seem to dress cleanly even if their clothes are old, both in Siem Reap (the main city) and the countryside trash was amazingly abundant on the streets. We saw people taking out trash bags at night, so there must be some kind of disposal system in place; but either the dogs or other night animals must get to it often, and the people walk past without a care. I suppose, again, when you've got more important things on your to-do list like feeding your kids and paying bills, the trash conditions of your city take a back seat. It really made me think: At what point of a country's development does strict trash disposal become a commonality?
The Kingdom of Cambodia is young yet, only about 20 years old since civil war ravaged the country and a shaky facade of stability was pieced together, slowly making progress. Now, it has reportedly the third fastest growing economy in the world, but it still has a ways to go.
