Banteay Meanchey

Routines can be an excellent way to combat uncertainty and provide a sense of comfort in a new environment. For the past several weeks however, my routine has felt more like a rut than a source of structure. That is why when one of the English teachers asked if I would accompany him to his home village near the Thai border, I couldn’t help but say yes (plus my inner yes man told me to say so).

At times I feel as though I’m not really assimilating with the local culture. My frequent trips to the internet cafe to do work remind me of stereotypical NYC. I’ve been eating at the same restaurants, one of them a Mexican restaurant owned by an expat, and I really haven’t made an effort to explore unknown parts of the city in quite some time. I was excited to see a village far away from Siem Reap, as I was expecting to get a real taste of what it means to live locally.

The journey would be to the Banteay Meanchey Province, entirely by motorbike and about 3 hours each way. It was only about an hour and a half in before my ass was starting to become incredibly sore. Luckily, the beauty of the never-ending horizon in all directions was able to keep my head out of my ass. It was our first road stop where I’d really get to live like a local, and try some rather interesting cuisine that's normally found crawling on the ground. On the side of the highway was this little food stand with a few people seated and enjoying their meals. My first instinct was to peruse the selections, which consisted of fertilized duck eggs, grasshoppers, beetles, and snakes. There wasn’t anything normal to eat here, at least by western standards.

Instead of getting grossed out and refusing to try anything, I was overcome with joy as I’d have the opportunity to try some truly Cambodian cuisine. First up was Balut, or the fertilized duck egg. Before coming to Cambodia, I watched a video of Gordon Ramsay turn down the opportunity to try this delicacy, so I was feeling all high and mighty actually having the balls to try this almost barbaric dish. I cracked open my egg, and there she was. A little baby duck mixed in with the egg white and yolk, creating a gooey and mushy paste of gray and pale yellow. It was by far the most repulsive thing I’d ever seen in my life, but I didn’t just crack an egg open to see what was inside. I dug my spoon in, and pulled out a mouthful of egg innards. The duck's right eyeball looked up at me as I examined my spoonful. I took a deep breath in, and scarfed down the pile of goo on my spoon. To my surprise, it actually tasted like a normal egg, with just a little more pizaz. I was able to finish the entire egg and the only thing I could think of was: what’s next?

Next on the menu was the snake, which frankly wasn’t that exciting. It tasted like watered down chicken. The most disgusting thing I would try would be the beetle, as it’s texture was rather beetley and didn’t have any flavor to compensate for it. After my new palette expansion, we continued on our journey.

For the next few kilometers I’d be fishing beetle parts out of my teeth while undergoing the hypnosis of the Cambodian countryside. Whenever I venture to this region of the country it’s like being sucked into a National Geographic cover. Even today I still can’t believe that this is what my eyes are given the opportunity to see on a regular basis. After many more kilometers of expansive countryside and sore rear ends, we reached our destination, and it met my expectations entirely. No running water, dirt floors, and hammocks dominated as the main piece of furniture. This is what I thought of when I thought of Cambodia.

Our first order of business was to visit the pagoda, where people go to honor their dead. A celebration was happening as part of an annual holiday, and I was excited to see what was going on. As we got closer and closer to the pagoda, my excitement started to wane. The deeper into the village I ventured the stranger the looks became, and the more comfortable people were with shouting “barang” at me. I tried my best to smile and wear my scarlet letter with pride, however this only became more strenuous as time passed. At this point I was convinced I had been the only white person most of these people had ever seen, and I was damn sure I was the only white person in the village.

Every which way I caught people staring at me, talking about me, and pointing at me; with absolutely no regard for how it made me feel. At one point I tried whipping around at someone to make sure they knew I knew what barang meant, but it had been a pointless attempt at trying to make them feel any bit bad. As we walked in and around the pagoda I continued to receive strange looks and increased attention. I was the only barang in the entire complex. At night the pagoda would turn into something that resembled a typical Union College party. Dancing, ear-shattering loud music, and tons of people crammed into one small space was now the atmosphere of the once quite and peaceful pagoda I had seen earlier.

Towards the end of the night I joined Soben and his brother for some chicken heart and drinks. A street vendor pulled out the smallest child table and chairs set I think has ever been fabricated, and we, four grown men, proceeded to sit down and have a meal together. I imagine it was a pretty hilarious sight to see while passing by, but it was nice to relax and take in my surroundings.

It was only 9 o'clock before I was starting to feel sleepy, so we headed back and I was introduced to my bed for the weekend. My “bed” would be a thin blanket sprawled out on a hardwood floor, with a mosquito net draped above. My bony hips prevented me from sleeping on my side, which I always do, so my quality of sleep was that of a Union College student in their tenth week of Winter term. The litter of kittens didn't make matters any better.

Most of the weekend was spent waiting and relaxing, as there were about five young children that needed constant attention as they cried for food and mother's love. In this time I drew in my Batik Boutique sketchbook I made with Sydney and Gillian, and thought about Cambodian hospitality. Whenever you are a guest at someone's home in Cambodia, you are treated like royalty. You are offered the best seat, given as much food as you'd like, and everyone goes out of their way to make sure you don't lift a finger. It's hard to let my hosts do all this work for me, as I am the type who doesn't care for special attention. But I realized that turning down someone's generosity can be extremely offensive, so I complied and took some mental notes.

As I mentioned, the weekend was spent mostly waiting around, and I realized that even when there is no television and the language barrier prevents any sort of meaningful conversation, there is still no reason to be bored. As John Kabat-Zinn once said, "When you pay attention to boredom it gets unbelievably interesting."  And I found this to ring incredibly true. Most of the people in Banteay Meanchey don't have many possessions or gadgets to keep them occupied, but everyone still seems happy and content. Even when there is nothing to do there is always something to do. Whether that is to draw, or simply think. My new environment and interactions have allowed me to think about the world in entirely new ways, and I have discovered a newfound appreciation for the opportunity to simply sit and think like an ancient philosopher, asking questions that may never have a true answer.

One of the more exciting moments of the trip was my trip to the shower one morning. There was no running water and a squatter in place of the toilet, which I had always wanted to try out (everything they say about squatting is true by the way). There were two main sources of water, a large rectangular tub for bathing and one for "flushing" the squatter. You simply keep pouring water into it until all the waste is out of sight. I was brushing my teeth when I was looking at the selection of cleaning products on the edge of the tub. As I picked up one of the bottles to inspect it further, a large black spot quickly scurried up the wall in my periphery. I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was a massive tarantula, and it didn't move the rest of the time I spent in the enclosed washroom, ominously watching my every move. I hurriedly finished brushing my teeth and got the hell out of there, keeping a close lookout each time I had to go back in.

All that waiting around eventually led me to the end of my stay, with all my new country-life experiences fresh in mind. On the three hour trip back I had the chance to simply think about what I had seen and done, and it felt humbling to not only see how people in this region lived, but to experience it as well. One observation I made while we cruised down the highway was that the banks I had seen in different parts of Cambodia all have the same exterior; a towering reflective wall of opaque blue glass, which I believe is symbolic of the lack of transparency in the banking system as a whole.

When I finally returned to my apartment, I could not sit another second on the back of Soben's motorbike. I couldn't wait to lay down in my soft bed and relax for a few moments before I unpacked. I noticed that my apartment had a new look to it that I couldn't quite explain. But then it dawned on me, my short time in the country was enough to change my perspective of my own living situation, which now seemed luxurious and privileged. I cannot help but wonder what my perception of my home back in Stillwater will be after this experience, but I know for sure it will be drastically different than when I had left.

Unfortunately, it often takes a disaster to inspire change or reform, as history has demonstrated with various mass shootings, the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, and even traffic accidents. The same goes for appreciation. In order to truly appreciate something, you must lose it, and experience what life is like without it. So I encourage you, the next time you feel as though you are unhappy with what you have, imagine if you didn't have it at all.