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Published: April 24th 2009
This entry is a collection of writing done at odd times over the past few days - some while still in Asia, some since arriving home Wednesday morning. I make no claims that it makes any sense, but “post another blog entry” is on my list of things to do, and whether I can write a coherent entry or not, damn it, I WILL post! But be warned, this is about the journey going on in my head, not any exciting travel tale.
Monday, April 20 (Bangkok)
"Same same but different" is a ubiquitous phrase heard in this part of the world. It has many uses, can be applied in many situations, and appears on many T-shirts.
I think that one of the lessons learned by traveling is that we are all the same same but different. We may eat different foods and speak a different language and live in different kinds of houses and wash our clothes differently, but we have an awful lot of similarities. We're all trying to make a living, seek some kind of success, connect to other people, understand our place in our communities, and just plain get by. We may define success and happiness somewhat differently, but we're all looking for it.
We all have the same basic needs for food, shelter, clothing and human relationships, though some of us don't struggle nearly as much as others to meet those needs. As Americans, or Westerners in general, we rarely understand how rich we are and how easy we have it, and we can easily be oblivious to the struggles that so many others face every day. By virtue of knowing that our basic needs are met, we can focus on other things we think we are suffering without, but travel brings a whole other perspective to those desires.
Thoughts on organizing my thoughts
E.B. White said, "Analyzing humor is like dissecting a frog. Few people are interested and the frog dies of it." Maybe analyzing this experience isn't necessary, or even desirable, though I continue to feel the compulsion to be able to put it all into a nice neat package of words. Perhaps I don't need to put everything into words. Perhaps some things defy articulation. And really - perhaps no one is interested!
I also realized that what I'm experiencing in terms of inarticulation has a perfect analogy in my computer. Sometimes, particularly if I have several programs running, my computer appears to come to a standstill. The cursor icon changes to show that it's
trying to do something, but nothing happens, or things happen very slowly and in an unorganized fashion - a window opens, but to a blank page, or things flicker a little. If I go to Task Manager, I will see that CPU Usage is at 100%! (MISSING)My brain is like my CPU at 100%! (MISSING)So much is trying to happen, so much information is being processed, but none of it is actually producing a useful result. Perhaps I need to Control/Alt/Delete my brain. Or Restart.
Maybe the loooong plane ride home will allow for that process a little. Maybe some re-entry time at home will allow some perspective that will facilitate clarifying things - but I fear that being home will in fact make it more difficult. The culture shock and jet lag and overstimulation of life at home, not to mention my return to work next Monday, may erase some of what is still so raw and unprocessed.
Thursday, April 23 (home)
It’s 2:23 am on Thursday. I’m awake, tired but not sleepy. 48 hours ago I was still in Bangkok. Thirteen days ago I was still in Siem Reap. Now I’m in Vermont, where everything looks simultaneously familiar and foreign. Everything is intensely colorful, except for the people, who are pale. I haven’t interacted with anyone outside of my family. I don’t know what that will feel like.
The house was clean and stocked with our favorite foods when we came home. Steve brought us flowers at the airport and made us quesadillas for dinner, as we had requested weeks ago. He had my car detailed, so it looks like new. It feels so good to be together.
My bed feels as comfortable as I remembered, but I was startled by the feel of carpet on my feet when I got up. Now I’m wearing socks because my feet are cold.
Airports are such strange and unreal places. They somehow exaggerate the time and space warp that happens with long distance travel - I think that perhaps the human mind just can’t keep up with air travel. How can I be in Bangkok, and then 28 hours later, be home in Vermont? The fact that every one of those hours is spent in a plane or an airport makes it all the more surreal, because for all the timetables and schedules and check-in times, they seem to be places without actual time as we know it. We took off from Hong Kong at just before midnight on Tuesday, and ten hours later we landed in Vancouver at 8pm Tuesday, four hours earlier than when we took off, thanks to the International Date Line. No wonder I’m confused. Now it’s 2:30 am here in Vermont, but 1:30 pm back in Cambodia. This side of the world is asleep, while there everyone is at school, at work, going about their business, sweeping.
I can’t sleep, so I’m reading other people's blogs about Cambodia. Does it still exist, even when I’m not there in the middle of it? What are other people doing there right now? What would I be doing there right now?
I miss Cambodia in a different way than I missed home. There should be two different words for “missing” something, or somewhere.
Do I miss the place, the people? Do I miss who I could be there, the lack of expectations, the lack of self-consciousness even though there was logical reason to feel more of it than usual? Do I miss people waving hello and smiling at me everywhere I go?
Do I miss the lack of responsibility?
Do I miss the time to read and write?
Do I miss the luxury of a new perspective, new experiences, and new experiences becoming familiar ones?
Yes to all of the above.
Certainly, being there for a several weeks allowed an attachment to people and places that doesn't happen on whirlwind tour. I miss "the people," and I miss
specific people.
Thursday afternoon
I made a list of things I hoped to get done today. It was a simple list of simple tasks: Call car insurance agent. Sort mail. Write one blog entry.
Sorting the mail has proven to be an interesting experience. It turns out that LL Bean sends me seven catalogs in eight weeks. There were lots and lots of credit card offers and Geico still tries to sell me car insurance on a weekly basis. I guess that every one of the pieces of mail I handled - and it was quite an impressive pile - was someone’s attempt to sell me something or to notify me of payment due for something already purchased (electricity, internet, etc.)
Nowhere is the juxtaposition of life at home and life in Cambodia more obvious than in the glossy pages of catalogs and advertisements. Nowhere else do I feel that home is more “foreign.” I read the ads and catalogs with a sense of wonder and disbelief:
Bed Bath & Beyond would be happy to sell me an
Oversized Recliner with Adjustable Canopy (“20%!w(MISSING)ider!”) for $79.99. That’s funny, that’s the exact amount we spent on buying some basic necessities for the family whose house burned down. You mean, for that same amount (also equivalent to almost three months’ salary for a teacher), I can buy a lounge chair for my fat ass to sit in and do nothing??? Fantastic! While I’m at it, can I get one of those
GelPro kitchen floor mats for $99.99 so I won’t get back strain while I stand at my kitchen counter? And thanks for the reminder that
“Between ‘I Will’ and ‘I Do’, there will be shopping!” That’s what marriage is all about, after all: retail opportunity!
Moving on to the Costco ad, I see a
Kids’ Adventure Playset (aka, a swingset) for the greatly discounted price of $1499.99. Thank goodness, because what would kids do all day without the appropriate props???
Most interesting of all was the catalog for “The Container Store.” I will admit that I usually drool over this catalog - nothing appeals to me more than innovative ways to store and organize my stuff, but the very idea that there is a whole store devoted to such a need is suddenly shocking. Imagine - we have so much stuff that we need a whole industry to help us figure out how to store it when we’re not using it. (Let’s not forget there are whole industries that rent us storage units in which to store the stuff that we have, and apparently want to keep, but just don’t have room for in our own enormous homes.) The Container Store would like to help me have an organized closet - aren’t I lucky to have a closet at all, never mind anything at all to put in it? The most ridiculous of all to me was a
Flip Flop and Sandal Holder - “A must for summer months! Organizes up to six pairs and is easily hung over a hook in your closet.” All I can think of are the piles of sandals outside the guesthouse or temples.
Let me be clear that I have purchased before and will purchase again from all of these retailers. I have bought items even more unnecessary than some of these, and I am likely to re-offend in the same way in the future. I have not intended this as a holier-than-thou, how-could-you-waste-your-money commentary, but just as an observation. I have just come from a place where most people are working just to put enough food on the table (which is just an expression; they may not actually have a table) and are not always able to do so, where children play with cardboard boxes or bits of string when they are lucky enough to have time to play at all, where a cast-off cookie tin can be used to store all sorts of other important treasures, where it might be a luxury to own one decent pair of flipflops and a comforting sight to see a few pair piled up at the front door.
We get such a barrage of messages about how much stuff we need, and about how much more fulfilled and satisfied we will be if we have it. I knew this already, you all knew this already, but there is something so bone-jarringly shocking about being sheltered from that message for a while and then returning to the thick of it.
I guess I miss that - not constantly being told that I need moremoremore of everything.
And then I wonder if there’s something awful about me enjoying being with people who have so little. Despite the guilt and embarrassment I feel about my own privileged status, is there something appealing about it? I’d hate to think so, but the thought keeps coming back to nag at me. This will require more thought.
I don’t think I ever mentioned how few boundaries there were in Cambodia about discussing money (among other topics.) It was not at all unusual for someone, even a complete stranger, to ask how much something cost. Working at my laptop one day at a restaurant, the waitress asked me how much it cost. I reluctantly admitted that it cost $300. Her eyes widened, and she said, “Oh, just a dream for me to have one.” The kids in Jaz’s class were so predictable in their questioning that one day when Jaz borrowed my alarm clock to bring to class, she made sure to ask me how much it cost because she knew they would ask. People freely discussed and offered information about their own status - how much their salary was, how much a bag of rice cost and how many bags per month were required to feed their family, how much the used tuktuk cost, how much a wedding would cost and who was responsible for paying for it.
Other topics weren’t off-limits either, especially issues of size and weight. It was an everyday occurrence to be walking past a clothing vendor in the market and have her call out to me, “Lady, I have large size!” Lori had lost a lot of weight over the last year or so and no one hesitated to comment about how much fatter she had once been. Interestingly, while any of these sorts of comments would be considered rude and offensive at home, it was clear that the intention was nothing of the sort - it was an honest assessment or observation, and no offense was meant, so none taken. (Though having a sense of humor helps!)
So, yes, I am twice the size and weight of your average Cambodian, and everything I own costs a ridiculous amount of money. On the other hand, they think I have “beautiful white skin” - which I’m desperately trying to darken at the same time they’re covering up every inch with sleeves and gloves and scarves in hopes of staying lighter. If they can afford it, they’re buying whitening cream like Americans buy bronzer and tan-in-a-bottle. The grass is always greener…
You know, I really do miss the smiles. I find it curious that Thailand is known as “The Land of Smiles” when they can’t hold a candle to Cambodians. I was reminded of that our last night in Bangkok. Jaz and I wandered out of our hotel looking for some street food and discovered a little neighborhood bar where a small band was playing American music. We stayed to listen for a while, which was a lot of fun, and I noticed that the percussionist was playing with a big grin on his face and making eye contact with members of the small audience. I found myself feeling more relaxed and happy than I had in days, and realized that I had my own big grin on my face. The power of a smile is amazing - and I hadn’t been on the receiving end of that kind of genuine smile in a week or so, since we left Cambodia.
Some would argue that they don’t feel the smiles are genuine at all. I’ve actually heard other travelers say that they felt that people were “just being nice to get money or sell something.” That wasn’t my experience. While it may be true sometimes - and what’s wrong with that, anyway? - I certainly had many experiences where there was no potential economic gain for someone to smile at or engage in conversation with me, and yet they did.
I realized today that there is another cultural difference that I genuinely enjoy, and that is the lack of publicly-expressed anger. I’ve never been a big fan of anger - I don’t suppose anyone really is - and Asia is the place to be if you prefer to avoid it. Despite a million opportunities a day in the crazy un-regulated, disorganized traffic, there is no road rage. Despite the constant haggling and negotiating in the market over every purchase, there is no expression of anger or offense. Today, I heard Steve sputter and swear out of frustration with something that wasn’t working they way he wanted, and I felt a prickling of alarm that is my response to anger, something I haven’t felt for two months.
Again, this isn’t necessarily a value judgment. There is a place for anger and ramifications for having no acceptable outlet for it. Outrage and demonstration of intense feelings are often agents for important change. But given a choice, I personally much prefer a society in which I don’t have to witness other people’s anger over little everyday frustrations.
I'm home. It feels good in all the ways I expected it would, and I am already missing all the things I expected I would. But mostly there's a lot of hazy half-conscious staring into space, not feeling totally connected to any place just yet, not able to write anything that feels at all coherent because I'm not having too many coherent thoughts. At the start of this entry, I warned you it would be about the journey going on in my head - and now you know that my head feels like a foggy, poorly-lit labyrinth of cul-de-sacs and circuitous paths leading nowhere in particular. I'll stop torturing you now - but thanks for hanging in there with me!
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Sara Denny
non-member comment
Back in our world
Good to have you home, and I will miss your travel blogs. I loved every one of them. I am very proud of you two (three really, Steve, too). You help me to think about new stuff. I look forward to seeing you once you've settled in. Love, Sara