Mourning the Loss of an Ipod (and Celebrating the re-discovery)

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I have never listened to so much Neil Young in my life, as I rediscovered the song “Out on the Weekend” in a hot bus on the way to an overnight excursion in Kampot. I played it over and over again, working it into the scenery: dry fields, roadside sugar cane vendors, and brushfires.

When we all arrived in Kampot at Blissful Guesthouse, the multiple hammocks and nooks to rest your head and feet were countless. I had not had a day to be alone since my first week in Cambodia, and I needed to feel grounded. Blissful Guesthouse was the perfect re-grounding zone—gardens, breeze, and DVDs.

On Sunday after the others had left for a jungle trek and a trip to Bokor Hill Station (the haunted hotel complex), I wandered around the quiet river town with “The Universe in a Single Atom,” a book relating science and Buddhism by the current Dalai Llama. I sat under a tree to read the chapter on physics and in an open-air café, sipping jasmine tea to read the chapter on the beginning of the earth.

On the walk back a man on a moto named Sophor road alongside me.

“Where are you going? I can take you.”
“No thanks,” I said, walking over the gutted pavement of a massive rotary construction site.
“Where you from?” Sophor continued, smiling kindly.

My initial hesitation as a lone female in a small town dissipated quickly. Sophor rode his moto alongside of me for the short distance back to the guesthouse. He told me that he was a teacher at a nearby school where he “get many foreigners to teach for a month.” I told him I would certainly be back, recording his phone number in the back of my Lonely Planet guide, next to the names and numbers of other strangers that I’ve met in new places.

After 2 months in Cambodia, filled with everything new and adventurous, on this Sunday I was craving the predictable. I listened to Neil Young one more time and then picked out “The Notebook” from the stacks of DVDs in the common lounge. Every sentence of the movie was sappy and I knew the outcome at the opening credits, but it was exactly what my afternoon needed. (And yes, I cried during the scene when the older couple dies in bed, hand-in-hand).

When the other volunteers came back to meet me in my day-alone bliss, they showed me photos of their adventures in the mist of Bokor Hill. It was beautiful and eery, something I certainly have to see, yet I wasn’t jealous. My predictable, lazy afternoon was exactly what I needed to remind me who I was when I wasn’t doing something new.

The taxi ride back to Phnom Penh was turbulent. We drove past the sunset and into the dark as we sharply cut corners and swerved to avoid motos coming at us on the thin road in the opposite direction. Our taxi driver only knew the English word “wow” and would say it with laughter periodically throughout the journey before almost hitting the oncoming traffic. I put on Paul Simon’s ‘Graceland’ and closed my eyes jolting between asleep and awake for the rest of the ride.

Stopping at a brightly lit Phnom Penh gas station, our taxi driver said “wow” with a shoulder shrug. It became obvious that he did not know the directions to the school. I ran quickly into the bathroom and then back again to find all of the other volunteers standing in front of a group of competing tuk-tuk drivers. It was decided that we would take a tuk-tuk the rest of the way to the school.

“Did you leave anything in the car?” Hilde asked.
“Just my water,” I said running over to the taxi to reach under the seat and grab the bottle.

Sometimes interrupting my daily routine is a brief 2-second panic attack where I think of an important object (i.e. passport, glasses, journal) and wonder where I left it last. With the tuk-tuk halfway to the school I thought of my ipod. My stomach jumped. I reached in my bag, dumping out articles of clothing with diminishing hope that it was in there. No luck. This was my ipod—I had worked arduous hours at Maine People’s Alliance to earn this gadget. Not only that, but the music was one of my comfort foods in Cambodia.

I expressed my frustration in the tuk-tuk with the other volunteers watching wide-eyed at my panicked ramblings.

“I would rather lose my cat then my ipod! How can I be in Cambodia for 4 more months without my music? I guess this was a $400 weekend trip then…” and I went on. I suppose I can laugh at my tantrum now, but at the time, losing my ipod really did feel like the end of the world, or at least my sanity.

Lita unlocked the door at the school as I burst in first, wiping frustrated tears from my face to quickly replace my expression with a smile, to save face. It was of no use—my guise was uncovered—five Cambodian women surrounded me, stone-faced.

“Do not cry, teacher,” Srey Lin said with a smile. “I do not like it when you cry, I only like it when you smile.”

Muoy called Blissful Guesthouse (which arranged the taxi) and then Puthy (the manager of Muoy’s boat restaurant and a close friend of the guesthouse owner). It was decided that Puthy would work to resolve the issue as quickly as possible.

“I am sure,” Muoy said, “if no one else gets in that taxi, you will have your ipod.”

It was too late for me to hear that though. Normally optimistic in situations like these, I felt defeated. My ipod was gone, how could I make it a positive experience for myself?
I sat on the common room couch and listened to the ‘House of Pain’ music blasting from the next door neighbors’ basement. Maybe my ipod was too much of a vice. Maybe the music was interfering with an ‘authentic’ Cambodian experience. It was ridiculous, anyway, for me to be stressing out over an ipod when the people who sleep on the stage in the bottom of the school, would do different things with $400. I slept well with these knew understandings, convincing myself ultimately that the ipod was material and Neil Young would still exist without it.

The next day, I sat side-saddle on Puthy’s moto. We drove to central market to meet the taxi driver and search his taxi. He told us in Khmer that he did not have the ipod. He pulled up car floor upholstery, scoured the trunk, and took everything out of the car door pockets. Puthy and I drove off to the taxi driver shrugging his shoulders in an exaggerated, innocent way. Puthy and I both had our doubts…

Back at the school, people had heard the gossip: Teacher Alex cried last night! I received gifts and hugs from many of the children and consoling glances from the cooks. Sympathy has never driven me this crazy in my entire life.

Even though I was ready to forget the rectangular piece of metal and plastic, Muoy was not ready to give up on it yet. She said, under her breath, “I am very cross.” She went personally to meet the taxi driver again and proudly described the scene as such:

“I told him this girl is working here for free. She got this ipod as a gift from her mother . It is very special. Now, do you want this girl to leave Cambodia and tell people in America that there are cheaters in this nation? The pride of our nation is on your shoulders.” I couldn’t have imagined Barak Obama giving a better speech…

To continue my loss of ipod healing process, I reminded myself of an anecdote that I had read in Kampot. It describes a man who gets an arrow in his back. Instead of taking the arrow out and healing himself, he asks questions about his assassin: Where is he from? Why did he do it? What does he look like? I wanted to take the metaphorical arrow out of my back by forgetting about the extenuating circumstances surrounding the ‘loss’of the ipod. I didn’t want to blame myself or anyone else.

While sitting in a circle with the children on Tuesday, Muoy tapped me on the shoulder. “He has your ipod!” She said emphatically with a hug. The taxi driver said that his nephew had taken the ipod to listen to the music without telling him. He would give it back for a small reward. Whether it was the taxi driver or his nephew, someone had used up the batteries on my ipod. I wondered what they listened to as they wore my headphones…I quickly recharged it, listening to the music cravings that I had bottled up from Monday and Tuesday, indulging in this material object that I so quickly went from stressed to unstressed about.

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Comments

[Terri Sanzenbacher]

smiling to you
Dear Teacher Alex, Thank you so much for sharing your adventures with us. I smiled throughout your amazing ipod story, thinking about the ipod that my wonderful husband gave me 2 years ago. I still haven't used it due to "many other things to master and to do." One day I will learn how to download tunes on it and join you in your enjoyment of that little piece of metal and plastic. May you continue to enjoy your adventures and receive the love that you so freely give to others. I look forward to more journal entries. Love, Terri (Badger) Sanzenbacher