Andrew Turco - A year in Cambodia

I had been sick, it was hot, Brendan had gone to the US, Rabia was back in Pakistan for two weeks, and Fi was in Mondulkiri for the holidays. Christmas in the tropics had not been living up to the thrill that Thanksgiving in the tropics had. In fact, because I hadn’t been feeling well, I hadn’t even gotten around to figuring out what I was doing for Christmas or New Years, and besides, I was still trying to stick mainly to rice, bananas, water, and other bland foods. When I stayed the night at the Le Royal, all of the Christmas decorations were up, but since I didn’t have any plans yet, it only made me that much more conscious of that fact.

Back pre-sickness, though, when Dad was here, we had walked past the US embassy on our way back to the hotel from dinner. The embassy is near the Le Royal and in an area I don’t usually have an excuse to pass through on a regular basis, one with wide boulevards divided by skinny parks and lined with official-looking schools and ministries.

Until that walk, I hadn’t known what the embassy had in store for the Christmas season. I soon discovered that they really went all out, in a big way. In front of the main blocky building and behind the black metal gates and road barriers, they’ve erected enormous, three-story poles, from which they’ve strung lines of Christmas lights to give the effect of giant cone-shaped trees. On the roof of the building itself, animated lights show Santa and his reindeer prancing across the roof. There are snowmen and giant light-up wreaths. Actual trees in the playground off to the side of the compound blend the Americana and Christmas theme by glittering in red and blue strings of lights.

To be honest, the whole set-up is both over the top and a little amateur at the same time. It’s Mr. Pond’s house on an embassy scale and paid for, I assume, by a government-size budget. It almost looks as though someone obsessed with the holidays was allowed into a giant Christmas store and told to buy all of the decorations that he liked - and big - without really giving much thought as to how they’d all come together. Even the lights strung on the trees in the playground are so unevenly distributed that they look as though maybe they were actually arranged by really big kids who came over from the swings and were allowed to climb up the ladders to reach the tops of the trees. The display isn’t exactly elegant, but it’s festive and certainly appealing. And it’s Phnom Penh’s very own Fifth Avenue window display.

The only other place in the city that has more decorations per square foot would have to be the US ambassador’s residence. I love it, even if I feel like it is a little excessive in an overwhelmingly Buddhist country. To put the contrast into perspective, the blitz of decorations occurring at these US outposts is happening for a holiday for which I receive absolutely no days off from teaching at the national university of the country. Plus, to blow the political correctness horn, if there are even any New Years or “Happy Holidays” decorations, I certainly didn’t notice them among all of the Santa glitz. It just seems a little Christmas-in-your-face at a time of year that isn’t a big holiday time in this country.

Even International New Years, as it’s called here, is pretty much a non-holiday since Khmer New Years in April is the significant date with big celebrations. Although Cambodians get New Years Day off, it’s really a technicality, as most people don’t even go out to celebrate or even stay up past their usual bedtimes, unless they’re brought along by expats in the city. Plus, the decorations are nice, but it’s not like I had been invited to any holiday parties by our overly festive embassy. Share the wealth.

But now that I’ve gotten out my system how weird the enormous display seems on one hand, I’ll follow it by saying that it is very cool and a wonderful treat to stumble upon. I’m kind of glad it’s there. The city is gaining the holiday feel. “Happy New Years” signs have been erected at Wat Phnom, across the rotary, and even the giant clock there is lit in green and red. Plus, foreigners and Cambodians alike are enjoying the display, and who ever complained about a little holiday cheer? Anyway, when I stayed at the hotel while I was recovering, I made a note to myself that I wanted to bring my camera and tripod to take some pictures the next evening, so I went on Saturday night, two eves before Christmas’s.

As I got closer to the complex on this night so close to Christmas, I realized that, not only were the lights flashing, but the embassy had also started playing Christmas carols from enormous speakers throughout the property that carried into the adjacent parks and roads. As I walked through the park across the street with my camera in my hand, one of the many teen or twenty-something Cambodians who often gather there in the evening, noted his approval of the display to me. Then another one smiled and started humming one of the jingles wafting from across the street. The park was littered with Cambodian teens escaping from the confines of their homes and sitting with their friends or crushes, staring up at the display.

I stepped down from the curb of the park, walked across the street, and stepped over the low chain that blocks people from driving up onto the sidewalk that runs along the perimeter fence of the compound. Unlike in the park directly across the street, it was just me. (In reality, I can’t imagine the guards standing at the corners are too hospitable to people setting up their picnic dinners on the sidewalk there).

The rest of the city was drowned out by my proximity to the speakers. I looked up to start looking for photos to take. I was standing there by myself, listening to familiar carols from home drifting out into the dark Cambodian sky and looking up, when I caught a glimpse of the American flag directly in front and above me, partially obscured by the brightness of all of the Christmas decorations in the background. And at that moment, I felt like this was all there for me and that I could have run into the embassy to give the flagpole a big hug. It was my embassy. To be in such a foreign place and have the feeling of seeing the flag in that peaceful context and around the holidays is an indescribable feeling. It gave me the chills, and I could have stood there for hours. I’ve gotten so used to seeing the red, white, and blue of the Cambodian flag that just seeing the stars and stripes of the American flag in their familiar arrangement gave me a rush

I then went and had some freedom fries. No, not really. But I have to admit that, a lot of times, going abroad can make one reevaluate US policies when one sees their sometimes negative effects in other parts of the world. Luckily for me, China’s never too far away in this part of the world, and there are just simply too many Australian, European, and Asian visitor here to make it possible for Americans to look like their often depicted image as ignorant travelers.

Although I love China itself and have such personal and strong memories, the more I’m here, the more I believe it’s government is one of the most harmful and detrimental in the world, whether it’s the support it throws behind brutal and murdering regimes, like the Khmer Rouge here in Cambodia or the junta in Burma, or the oppression, intolerance, and human rights violations with which its treats its own people, from the Great Leap Forward to Tiananmen Square.

For all of their reputation as ignorant and insensitive travelers, Americans blend in more than most here. It may be that people who travel this far from the US have a strong interest in the country or in the region or in travel, or it may be that we just get a bad rap. Either way, I’m here to dispel the myth and say that, though Europeans might appear more cultured when traveling through their own continent or Latin Americans more knowledgeable about world affairs, all travelers are a little ignorant and a little insensitive when they travel. So I’m standing up for the American traveler right now, and turning it towards the Australians, the Asians, and, yes, most definitely the Europeans as well.

The majority of Americans that I’ve met here quietly blend in, or at least have a friendly disposition, while I’ve noticed more people from other countries who are more culturally insensitive, more boisterous late at night, far less fit, more demanding and intolerant, and less interested in respecting the history of the country than many Americans are. (I’ll leave the guessing up to you about which countries’ visitors fall into which descriptions).

But back to Christmas tales. Since I didn’t have firm Christmas plans yet, I went out on a limb and took up an open invitation from someone I’ve met who’s here through a missionary to join her and some others for what I thought was cookie decorating on Sunday afternoon. I’ll start by saying that I knew that it was being held at the church’s rec hall, that I was told up front that it was mainly for neighboring Khmer families and their kids, and that it was very sweet of this person to have taken me along, introduced to everyone, and generally been incredibly hospitable. I think I was picturing a little more holiday dinners from home and a little less dirty Phnom Penh. Soon, I found myself somehow being picked at one point to be the person to act like a monkey in front of everyone for some game I can’t even remember, I was definitely asked if I was “a Christian” (not if I was Christian), and I sat through an eternal play about baby Jesus that paled in comparison to our Passover plays with the Lopatins (not judged on stories but purely on production value). Anyway, I was so happy to see Buntha pull up in front of the house at 5:00. The cookies were good, though.

Nonetheless, between the embassy and the cookie saga, my mood had changed, and it was beginning to feel a lot like Christmas. I listened nonstop to my own Christmas carols at the apartment until Christmas, whether it was at night before going to bed or out on the patio under the Cambodian sky when I came back from work. Additionally, even though it was pretty much just me, I finally came to my senses and scrapped the frugal meals to treat myself for the holidays.

For Christmas Eve, I went to Comme a la Mason, one of my favorite restaurants in town, for a French-style Christmas Eve dinner. For Christmas dinner, it was Java Café, where I sat on their veranda having their excellent Christmas special, which consisted of Cambodian flavored Christmas dishes like chilled green cucumber soup and warm cinnamon and pumpkin tomato soup. By the third dish, I was moderately in disbelief that there was still more to go. This was not the Cambodia I was used to. I finished late (with the peppermint schnapps hot chocolate), and there weren’t any moto nearby (gasp). The waiter was heading home anyway, though, and called down from the veranda to tell me to wait and that he’d give me a ride home on his bike. It was the perfect ending to the perfect Christmas dinner.

Earlier in the day, I got to chat with everyone at home who was over for the annual Christmas Eve dinner, which was a nice touch of normalcy during the holidays. After lunch, I went to the university and was greeted with a standing ovation when I walked into my first class. I chuckled. It was very cute, and I think that was their way of either celebrating Christmas with me or showing their appreciation of the fact that I came to school that day. Maybe it was a combination of both.

I had two enjoyably casual classes, to which I brought Christmas cookies. We read The Night Before Christmas, Lots of Latkes, and The Seven Days of Kwanza. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve learned about Kwanza since kindergarten, but it was the best book because it consisted of a song (definitely made up - it was to the tune of “On the Twelfth Night of Christmas”), which made for a good activity and lesson. My students all enjoyed the fanciful pictures in the copy of the Night Before Christmas that I had, and going through the Christmas and Chanukah stories were really enjoyable for me because I felt like being with my class was how I was celebrating with a family this year. Talking about the traditions that I normally take part in every year made up for missing out in actually participating in them. Plus, because it was such a personal class, I’ve felt infinitely closer with my students ever since. It was something about those classes that broke the sense of reservations between them and me.

In my second class, two of my students spotted that I had brought cookies before class started. I noticed them see the box and saw them frantically chatting together and with their neighbors. They soon asked if they could be excused for a few minutes before class started. I played dumb and let them go, and they “subtly” came back with a bag of something from the school store. When I started giving out cookies for some of the games I had planned, they “surprised” me, stood up, and announced that they wanted to give something to me and wish me a very merry Christmas. They then handed me the can of Coke and said that they also had prizes to give the winners of the games to compliment my cookies. It was very sweet, and soon everyone was busting out whatever small snacks or candy they happened to have in their bag and sharing it around the room. The class moderately degenerated (in a good way), as everyone tried to outdo each other with what they could offer the rest of the class from their bags.

Lesson learned by the end of the class: don’t assume something a Cambodian considers to taste good will actually necessarily taste good. The crisis happened when one girl passed around a bag full of these small, peanut M&M sized snacks. They weren’t completely solid but were firm and had a salt coating. If you ever see them, DO NOT EAT them! I put one in my mouth, and I think I wanted to throw up immediately. It was like a really salty piece of gross.

But there I was, standing in front of the whole class. I put it to the side of my mouth, as far from my tongue as possible, and could feel the saliva building in my mouth. I couldn’t talk much because that would move the flavor through my mouth, but even tucked away to the side, the taste was still emanating. It was too solid that it didn’t just disintegrate or disappear. It was really crisis time. Finally, I realized that turning to write something on the board would mean they couldn’t see my face. So I did. I pulled a tissue out of my pocket to pretend to erase something and the casually swiped it in front of my mouth and spit. All eyes were still on me, but I was beyond caring. The taste remained to a certain extent but I was in the clear, if now realizing that I felt a little sick from the Coke, all of the candy, the cookies, and now this awful taste.

By the day after Christmas, my time, I was surprised it was still Christmas at home. What had been a holiday with such disappointingly little buildup had now lasted for a long time and was filled with lots of good memories stretching from my morning of Christmas Eve Day and lasting until Christmas Day’s night on the East Coast.