As of June 15, the renter we’ve been subletting from will be returning to Cambodia, so, as poorly timed as it is - coming so close to when we’ll be leaving the country - it meant that Brendan and I were thrown back into the apartment search. Either that or I’d have the less desirable option of returning to a guesthouse for the remaining few weeks, which, at this point in my year, sounds less than appealing. I’ve gotten used to keeping juice in the fridge and not having to overhear directions to the city’s sites every time I return home. So although the time left is short, we’ve just transitioned to our second “penthouse” of the year, located on the top floor of a house in a three building “complex” East of Independence Monument and off of Sihanouk Boulevard.
In all honesty, knowing we would be switching apartments made me excited to be leaving the old place. Although charming, the leaking faucet, lack of screens, extreme heat, awful lighting, consistently wet bathroom floor, and pungent cooking smells from below have taken their toll on me. But, in other ways, it was a sign that the first of my many Cambodian chapters is coming to a close.
The new apartment doesn’t have nearly the same character as the old one, and it even has a guard, a sure indication that we’re no longer so seamlessly in the middle of a Khmer neighborhood. When I met Mon, one of the guards, he even stuck out his hand in expectation of a shake, which caught me off guard and is probably the first time I haven’t simply sophea-ed in that context since arriving. But I’m more than excited for my own bathroom, windows on four sides of the apartment, screens that will enable us to keep them open at night, a lack of dust coming through wall openings, air-conditioners that work (though, after a year without them, I don’t actually feel they’re that critical anymore), and bright fluorescent lights that may cast a somewhat unflattering light on everyone but which also wonderfully light all the rooms of the apartment. In fact, on my first morning, I reveled in being able to walk in and out of the bathroom without wiping the puddle water off my feet each time.
Additionally, the apartment is set slightly off the street and on a much quieter, leafier one than we were previously living on. Read: we actually have quiet time. With the bulbs fully illuminating the room, a breeze rolling through the open windows, and the sense that there were no longer neighbors who could hear my every step through the less than substantial floors and walls, I found myself completely content staying inside last night. It’s been amazing to discover how much time can change one’s preferences. If I had seen this apartment when I arrived, I probably would have passed it up, thinking that it was too isolated and too generic, but I’ve gotten to the point when that quality has less sway in my decision now that I’ve built a life in the city. In fact, it’s recharged me in a way that again makes me think that I could actually stay a little longer.
On my way out of the old apartment for the last time, I noticed something I hadn’t noticed for many months. Along the alley in front of me, a woman was cooking outside each of the downstairs doorways in fry pans set over small charcoal fires. The alley’s not wide, and whenever I walk by them, I always have to turn sideways while they duck into the doorway to make room as well. It’s unavoidable because of the narrow dimensions of the passageway. I do this nearly everyday, but I simply stopped noticing.
When I first arrived, however, it made more than a casual impression. I remember coming home those first few nights when the glows from the fires were going and the small fish were sizzling in the pans and thinking how great a sight it was and that I needed to take a picture of it. It wasn’t until I left for the last time that I remembered and then realized that I’d never gotten around to taking the picture. And I didn’t really have a desire to anymore, other than to document what my daily landscape was like. It just seemed too regular to me to think of as being picture worthy.
It’s funny how time and familiarity change one’s perspectives on things. In the May issue of Conde Nast Traveller, they mention a small hotel in Siem Reap and highlight how “the helpful staff can arrange a tuk-tuk there [to Old Market] or to Angkor Wat,” to which I wondered why that was worth mentioning. Of course, to me, taking a tuk-tuk is second nature, and it’s easy to forget that the ride might be intimidating, adventurous, or exciting to anyone not used to seeing them everyday. In a way, it was kind of disappointing to realize that the exotic of Cambodia is somewhat gone for me - but also rewarding to know that those previously interesting aspects of life here are things that I simply accept as part of my everyday world.
Even in my quiet, comfortable apartment, I was still awoken at 4 AM this morning after my first night of sleep there to the sound of amplified Buddhist chanting coming from the wedding across the street, which quickly reminded me that certain things here still grab my attention. And some things that would have never previously thrilled me now do, as well. Unlike in our old apartment, each of the bathrooms has a towel rack neatly mounted on the wall, making the everyday shower infinitely more enjoyable.