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Published: November 9th 2009
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We've had a few busy days since I last wrote, so it must be time to catch up a little. (Thanks to the occasional blog comment, I have reason to think that at least a couple of people are reading this. Remember, folks: a little comment and here and there provides further motivation for me to write.)
We left for the wedding reception soon after I wrote the last entry. We didn't leave at 4:00 or 4:30, but at 5:00, which is what the bride herself told us before she and Jaz and the rest of the wedding party left the guest house. At 4:30, Ponheary showed up and was shocked that we were still at home. Oh, well...we just do what we're told as best we can.
The reception was held at a big open-air restaurant a few minutes' drive from the house. It was much like an American wedding reception - a receiving line, many tables, a dance floor and a band. Jaz's duty was to stand next to the bride and groom and hold a tray of individually-wrapped ballpoint pens for them to give each guest on arrival. She looked absolutely lovely, and while she lacked the false eyelashes and other very heavy make-up, she blended in well enough that many people who know her didn't recognize her. Rithy, the Tchey school English teacher, pulled me aside later in the evening to tell me, "When I see Jasmine, I don't know it is Jasmine. She look just like the
groom!" Okay, so he had the terms "bride" and "groom" mixed up a little, but I understood the sentiment.
Course after course of food came out from the kitchen, served family-style on big lazy susans in the middle of the tables. Beer was already arranged on the tables when we arrived - warm beer, of course. Within 20 minutes of our arrival, they began delivering icy cold beers to our table - ours being the table for the foreigners, of course. As our table eventually became crowded with empty bottles, I wondered why no one was coming around to collect them. Then I looked around and realized that everyone else just threw their empties and their trash under the tables. I couldn't bring myself to do it, so our table became quite cluttered.
Finally, the dancing began. The band had been performing for quite and while, and at some imperceptible signal, a handful of men appeared on the dance floor. As always, it is the Khmer men who dance - occasionally women join in later. When they do dance, the women's style is usually very subdued while the men cut loose and gyrate around and around and around, always counter-clockwise around the dance floor.
It didn't take the men long to come and grab us from our seats, since our table was closest to the dance floor. I was the first to join in, and Steve and Mim soon followed. Mim was a bit reluctant, but the Khmer men are persistent and enthusiastic, and at a certain point it just feels impossible to refuse. So round and round the dance floor we went, trying to imitate some of the intricate hand gestures and avoid bumping into the men all around us. As the evening went on, the dancing became more exuberant, the dance floor became more crowded, and the men became more uninhibited. One man was determined to chat with me while dancing, though his English was limited to
"I am happy! Happy!!! You are happy?" As the dancing became more suggestive and his efforts to keep me on the dance floor became more persistent, I finally had to break his heart and tell him that I wanted to dance with my husband. He looked crushed for a second, then turned his attention to Mim.
I never know if my Khmerican-style dancing is scandalous (it would be if I were a Khmer woman), ridiculous, or just entertaining. Sometimes I worry about it for a few seconds, and then I just slip back into the general lack of self-consciousness that I enjoy here. I wonder if it's selfish of me to care so little at times about what impression I am making. I tend to think that I will be occasionally ridiculous or even scandalous no matter how hard I try
not to be, but that I have the privilege of being forgiven because I am an ignorant foreigner. Much like a small child, no one really expects me to fully understand appropriate behavior. I wonder how long I can get away with that?
Looking for wedding photos? Take a look
here.
On Saturday morning, Mim and Steve and I headed out to the temples with Ponheary's brother Dara as our guide.What can I say about Angkor Wat and the other temples? They are stunning and magnificent every time I see them. We all enjoyed Dara's style very much - just the right balance of explanation and time for quiet observation, punctuated by his subtle sense of humor and occasional personal stories. It was a delightful day, and if you care to see many photos of our morning exploration, look
here. More photos from our afternoon and evening will come later.
Sunday's event was cooking class at the
Tigre du Papier Restaurant. Steve, Mim and Lori cooked all kinds of beautiful Khmer food. Marina went along to observe with an eye toward starting a cooking school or restaurant at the guest house someday. Jaz and I stayed behind and lounged in air-conditioned comfort, until Steve called me to say he had run out of memory in his camera and could I please bring him another memory card. Those of you who know Steve well know that he loves to eat, he loves to cook, and he loves to take pictures of food, so imagine how happy he was that afternoon. For a manageable selection of photos, take a
look.
Later, a guest blog from Mim and some photos of Steve cooking with all the women of the house. In the meantime, I hope all is well for everyone back home.
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meda lowell
non-member comment
pens?
What is the significance of the pens. Was it just a token? Kind of like the matchbooks that people use to give out with their names and the date of their wedding? I seem to recall a few of those. Your writing is just blowing me away!! Had you thought of stand-up comic? Mom