To preface, the dolphins were worth the trip. It wasn’t like one of those whale-watching trips where you pretty much just see a lot of water. The dolphins were there, and there was a great feeling of being on the Mekong at this point where it’s flat and wide and reflects the enormous clouds in its mirrored surface. We huddled around in our wooden boats, with their flapping and faded Cambodian flags, and watched the dark gray endangered animals breach the water.
On our way back from the dolphins, I had requested that we stop at a hilltop pagoda that we pass between the launch spot for the boats and the town of Kratie. The other people on our boat and I got off our motorbikes and walked to the top of the steps to try to get an aerial view the Mekong through the shield of trees. Shortly after we “summitted,” a seemingly eclectic group of four Cambodians reached the top as well. There was a student, her friend of the same age that she was coming to visit, the mother of a friend of this friend, and the former teacher of the initial student, who also happened to be a friend of the friend’s friend’s mother. It was a little confusing, but they were very friendly, and the fifteen minutes of chat gave us an excuse to remain at the top while the light became nice. At some point, the reason for all of us being in Kratie came up, and I ended up mentioning that I taught at RUPP. The teacher took interest, as he graduated from RUPP before going into teaching, and asked a little more about what I did there. Eventually, he mentioned that he had taken the TOEFL exam at RUPP a couple of months ago in an effort to get a scholarship to study in the US but was disappointed with his result. When I told him that I had actually been one of the proctors for the exam, he confessed that he thought he recognized me and was trying to figure out if I might have, in fact, been the person he was thinking of. Between running into Dany on the bus and this guy at the pagoda, I was starting to reap the rewards of having been here for so long, finding some kind of connection with seemingly random people throughout my travels in the country.
I ended up having dinner with the other people on the boat (trump-carding them in the process), and I shared what travel advice I could give them when they asked. I realized how much I’ll miss traveling in a place where I feel knowledgeable. It’s funny - you’d think that being here so long would make me feel comfortable traveling anywhere in the world (and actually, it really has), but it’s also made me realize how ignorant I am and feel when I travel to places where I speak none of the language and, in the grand scheme of things, know little about. Very strangely, trips for weeks at a time are beginning to seem almost pointless to me. In contrast, here, I feel respectful and also, in turn, welcomed.
Someone I was originally trying to arrange a boat with this morning, Thaung, was working at the restaurant we went to for dinner. I spoke a little Khmer with him this morning, and more than that, we chatted about Cambodia and I could actually contribute more than the standard, “oh, yes, the Cambodian people are so nice.” He formally introduced himself, and for the second time in the year, I had someone shake my hand. When he simultaneously touched his elbow with his other hand, I instantly recognized this mixing of Eastern and Western traditions and shook with my left hand on my right elbow as well, reciprocating the sign of respect that he had shown me. At dinner, while everyone else was just a costumer, he called me Andrew the whole night (and, whether by coincidence or not, ended up bring me my drink and food before everyone else every time).
Traveling alone certainly comes with its challenges, primarily that it can sometimes be lonely and that you sometimes just want someone else to contribute an idea about what to do, where to go, or what to eat. But it also has a lot of benefits, including the spontaneity and ability to do exactly what you yourself want to do. If I’m feeling tried, I stop. If I see something interesting along a trip that I want to photograph, I simply tell the taxi to pull over for a minute. When I was in Snoul and was offered a ride the rest of the way to Kratie, I didn’t have to consult with anyone to decide whether to go. In addition to all of these advantages, though, I find that people are much more willing to approach and talk to you when you’re by yourself. It’s understandably less intimidating. The two-day connection that I built with Thaung and the hellos that I received from him when I passed him in the street might not have come if I had been occupied with a group of friends.
Before bed, I thought about why I was so sad to leave Cambodia all of a sudden. I’m even becoming sad about leaving my pool and gym at the Hotel Le Royal. Even my most recent visit there began to take on sentimental value. It seemed moderately stupid until I realized exactly what it was. Sure, I’ll admit that I will simply miss being able to swim outside everyday under palm trees and behind the elegant architecture of the hotel. But I realized that it’s not just the ability to swim in the sun that I’ll miss. It’s the fact that I know how to take a moto to Le Royal, that I know I’ll say hello and chat briefly with the guys who work at the pool and who know me, and that I’ll pick up the Cambodia Daily on the way in and read it with interest in the lounge chair. I think I’m afraid that, once I return home, I’ll lose interest in finishing the remaining Cambodia-related books that are still unread, that I’ll forget the names of towns that I’ve visited and where I can right now even tell you best places to eat or where to buy rain ponchos, and that I’ll lose touch, for example, with the AusAID friends that I’ve traveled with and have shared many stories with once we no longer have easy common ground to talk about.
There was also the originally weird feeling of not knowing whether I’d ever return to this place where I’ve spent so much time. I’d certainly love to come back to visit, but after all, there are so many other places in the world that I’ve never been before. It’s not like I’d come back as tourist to see the “sights.” I’ve already seen way more than most tourists come to see. It was somewhat unsettling to have that realization that I’ve lived a year of my life here and don’t know if I’ll ever even see it again. But recently, I’ve gotten a feeling that I’ll be back at some point, even if in an unplanned way or simply as a stop over on a trip with friends to somewhere else.