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Published: April 11th 2008
(A teenage take on Cambodia)
Our teenage son finally agreed to visit cambodia with us - or rather, didn't protest too much - and somehow the XBOX and Sebastien were to survive this forced separation. Their first but oh, what a reunion it would be! Known only by name, this was to be the initial sighting by my Khmer friends of "The Boy Who Dances", and they were not disappointed. He charmed every one of them. Tall, extremely thin and white skinned (XBOX addicts avoid the daylight), he willingly engaged those around him in conversation and, like the Khmer is always quick to smile, flashing orthodontics that become a hot topic in themselves. I know, I traveled with them in my own mouth during my first visit here until something broke, couldn't be fixed and required removal by my own fair hand, using long nosed pliers.
Anxious to leave 'The City', he lounged back against me in the taxi ride to Stung Treng and began his commentary on Cambodia. I'm unable to duplicate his quick wit but his observations were insightful and showed an unusual understanding of people in one so young and hormone riddled (yeah, I'm a fine one to talk). Not quick to judge, he showed a careful consideration of circumstances surrounding events, and his fresh eyes often gave me a new perspective. We didn't always agree but had some interesting debates non-the-less. At a young age Sebastien joined us backpacking around several continents, especially during his "homeschooling" years which, I confess, I saw as unencumbered travel time. Poverty is familiar to him, and I refer to the desperate poverty only found in the undeveloped and developing countries, but although it affects his sensitive soul he has a practical attitude towards the misfortune of others, offering very real suggestions that might make a long term difference even if only to one family at a time.
Easily amused, the incongruity of items for sale in a single stall at a crowded Phnom Penh market caught his attention. How odd, he mused, to see little kids shirts being sold next to saws and little kids shoes next to wrenches, but then, having raised his eyebrow in wonder, he willingly accepted this anomaly and moved on. It was his next interpretation that had us all laughing. Most dwellings have a small brightly decorated replica of a pagoda placed in the front of the home on a pedestal near the roadside. This ancestral spirit house is important to ensuring the welfare of all who live and visit there. Another floor level ancestral shrine will be found in front of you upon entering the abode. Sebastien mistook them for post/mail boxes and seemed quite impressed at the level of organization needed for such service to occur, especially as organization is generally a rare feature of Cambodian life. Further into the journey north, he was already describing odd things as being found "in this weird place, of weird folk" and set his sights on some "weird stick thingy's" either piled high on ox carts, trucks or just sticking out of the ground in upright 'teepee' style arrangements. It was not until he had left the country that I found out how easily they root when placed in soil to produce a large potato like vegetable and are a staple food at this time of year.
During his brief trip, few mental stones were left unturned. Amazed that the rich red dust could actually be removed from his clothing when laundered without any mod cons or harsh chemicals, he formed a theory that market stall clothing was so cheap it was more profitable for the women who took his clothing away with them to just throw them out and replace with with new ones. For the more expensive clothing on better heeled tourists, this theory would not hold up, but Sebastien has never owned anything that didn't come from a Goodwill store or from the sale rack at Ross. He couldn't care tuppence for clothing and with a likely future as an artist such parsimonious habits should stand him in good stead.
"DO NOT DISTURB THE NINJA!" whispered Sebastien in an urgent tone as he spied someone stealthily drawing near to the side of our taxi, a mask over his nose and mouth to filter polluted air and a Kromaa covering all but the man's eyes. Then he realized he was surrounded by this deadly fighting force. Some were trying to disguise themselves as Doctors behind surgical masks but NO, they were Ninja and all eye contact was to be avoided according to his new rules of the game. Well It's difficult to avoid eye contact with so many would be assassins, and we had to leave him alone in his fantasy world, his fix for XBOX withdrawal. Later on during my unexpected overnighter in the Cardamom mountains, Sophat was to refer to me as Ninja as I settled in the sand by a river for the night, wrapped in every piece of clothing I had carried with me and just my eyes peering out of the black hooded jacket topping it all. The "Ask a Ninja" theme tune stayed with me through to the end of that ordeal.
Five days in my son's company was not nearly enough and I hope he will trek and explore some more remote places by bike next time. Visual and audio recording media will be a necessity. There's only so much one can write about when in the presence of one so profoundly prolific without it getting lost in translation, and also getting writers cramp.
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Eunice
Eunice Kim
like mother, like son...
hi juanita! sounds like you're, again, having an awesome time! we feel your absence... we have snacks left at the end of the day! ;) i'm so happy for you and your son that he was able to share in your khmer experiences. he sounds like quite the imaginative, witty character... i hope to meet both your men. i'll be at a local LB park this weekend, partaking in the Cambodian New Year festivities with some friends. I'm so excited for my first real cultural experience. Happy New Year! sur sdei chhnam thmei eunice