Cambodian engagement photo shoot

How to: Get dolled up for a traditional engagement photo shoot!

Step 1: Select flashy dress.

Step 2: Select a fancy piece of jewelry, be handed 5 pounds of other matching pieces: tiaras, necklaces, brooches, earrings.

Step 3: Get painted.

Step 4: Get hair did.

Step 5: Get crowned.

Step 6: Get pinched and pinned into dress.

Step 7: Waddle to photography studio.

Step 8: Accept cheesy props from bashfully enthusiastic photographer. He pretends he doesn't always use them, but he is persistent and then thrilled with the result. Mentally prepare for him to later photoshop you to within an inch of your life.

Step 9: Get into it.

Voila!

8 months in

I'm at my 8 1/2 month mark and can't believe how fast it's gone and what a wonderful experience it's been. I had no idea what Cambodia would be like, for those two rushed days in January when we were pressured to decide whether or not to move here, and the following weeks when I shivered in our Paris apartment trying to image the mysterious, warm, jungly country that would become my home. I feared the trailing spouse experience, picturing myself alone and isolated and jobless, I dreaded a somber culture burdened by the darkness of a recent bloody war and present rampant prostitution (notoriously involving children), I anticipated the dizzying heat of Cairo, and I dreamed of somehow getting by in English and avoiding taking on another language and alphabet. 

I was incredibly, wonderfully wrong in so many ways. Thanks to many friends visiting, who encouraged me to get out and explore the country, and the luck of landing my dream job, I've gotten to experience places and personalities (and animals!) I never expected. I traveled around the west of Cambodia with Lindsey, east with Clementine, the south coast with Julie, and back again to the Angkor Wat ancient temple site in the northwest with Mathieu and his mom. 

There are still days when I feel totally lost and utterly confused, and I run to my fellow expat friends for therapy, theories and understanding. The reserved culture is a blessing and a curse - All discussions and even arguments are usually conducted with an ear to ear grin, no matter how infuriating they get, which is either ingeniously therapeutic or crazy frustrating. In Cairo, everything is done screaming and laughing, sometimes at the same time. I can hear my friend Claire (in her 40s) saying how it was exhausting but necessary if you wanted to survive in Cairo, to be ready to light up or blow up at a second's notice. In Paris, the culture and language and way of life were much easier to grasp. The weather and people were colder, but there was warmth to be found from regular faces in my own neighborhood and networks of friends and acquaintances. Even strangers didn't seem that difficult to crack; the culture's just not as different from my own.

But in Phnom Penh, the sun is shining, the people are smiling, and the little city is bustling in its own relatively quiet way. Motorbikes weave through traffic and nearly cause accidents, they pause and sometimes glance at their almost victim, then without a word or any change of expression, continue along. I dare not say that there's no road rage here, but I have never once seen it. Things are so calm sometimes that it's almost eerie. How am I supposed to know if I've upset someone, if they just keep blinking and smiling either way?

I've been relying on some English speaking colleagues for retrospective explanations - mostly regarding interactions with my non-English speaking colleagues! My Khmer language skills are still limited to basic greetings, animal names, verbs like come, go, like, eat, want, how many guests we have on tour that day, and a few emotions that I actually can't keep straight. The nursery keeper said the baby monkey was scared, not strong, and the tiger keeper said the tiger wanted to kill me, not stay with me. Usually the guys laugh lightheartedly at my clumsy Khmer, then help to correct me.

I've got a very long way to go, but I'm contentedly counting my baby steps.

Egypt Nostalgia

Just as I was really missing Cairo - friends, the electric vibe of the city, midnight strolls, watching the sunset from a felucca gliding on the Nile, sidewalk sheesha cafes, basic comfortable command of a language, the warmth of strangers and the overcomplimenting of acquaintances - this thoughtful man reached out and sent me a Facebook message:

• Conversation started Thursday
• 

  9/19, 4:20pm
  

  Marry Buba
  

  
  

  Hello How Are you? My Name Is marry Buba.I came across your profile and decided to contact you.I believe and also have the feeling that in today's world,neither race, sex, age, nationality nor religion will any longer posse a barrier to male/female relationships. Here are my email contact me through my email address (marrybuba734@yahoo.com)

Preach it, Marry Buba! Though I'm sure my Facebook suitor Mohammed from Egypt has moved on and entrapped, I mean found, someone else, I wonder if I should suggest he take a leaf out of Marry's book on how to charmingly introduce oneself? Mohammed seemed to think that, rather than preaching against the injustice of prejudice in the world, he had to automatically defend himself against an imminent bad reputation:

April 13, 2011

Mohammed Salah

• hiiiiii
  i know that u will say that iam lier and guy play but plllllz read it carfully , i was on the street and i found you and saw you u r so sweet u like red flower special between milions of flowers but u r special , and i hope to be friends. iam normal one my name is mido and i'm from egypt sorry for disturb u but plz dont hate me
  ...continued here

"Work"at the wildlife sanctuary

Name: Tori Evans
Job Title: Behind-the-Scenes Tour Guide
Location: Heaven

Actually it's located at Phnom Tamao, about 40 km south of my home in the city of Phnom Penh. But it is literally a haven for 1200+ animals, most of them rescued from the illegal wildlife trade. I give behind-the-scenes tours at the sanctuary to raise funds for the rescue and care of Cambodia's wildlife. We have over 100 different species:

tigers

elephants

(one of whom has a prosthetic foot!)

baby leopard cats

macaques

* bears
* pythons & crocodiles
* civets & binturongs
* gibbons (lesser apes)
* leopards, leopard cats & clouded leopards
* many, many birds

...and even lions, because someone thought (wrongly) that lions would make good pets. Lions are one of the few animals we have at the rescue center that are not native to Cambodia. 

The animals are confiscated from homes and markets by the Rescue Team established by my organization (Wildlife Alliance) and the Cambodian Government. If the animals are healthy and safe, they are returned to their natural habitat. If not, they come to the wildlife rescue center where I give tours. Some of them are then rehabilitated and released.

Here is my director feeding a rescued baby sun bear, an animal that is often exploited for bear bile or bear paw soup (yes it's as gruesome as it sounds):

It's safe to say I have found my dream job. Though I never thought that would mean coming home from work covered in elephant snot, monkeys' masticated bananas, or possibly (it hasn't happened yet) tiger urine, and often paint.

Our elephant Lucky was humanely trained through positive reinforcement to follow instructions, dance (swaying to some tunes)...and even paint! While elephants are usually controlled through coercion and abuse, none of our animals receive anything but humane treatment through rewards-based training. It's basically giving treats (bananas or - YUM - turnips) to encourage good behavior.

The behind-the-scenes wildlife tours are described on this page. Come on over!

If you're stranded far away from Cambodia or have an aversion to 24-hour flights but still want to help in some way, why not spread the word and help us collect funds to support the animals? Donations are accepted through www.wildlifealliance.org; be sure to choose "Fund: Care for Rescued Wildlife" in order for the funds to benefit the wildlife sanctuary.

Yes but No.

It's been a few months since writing so I revisited my first impressions to see how they've held up.

I'd still say that "Smile and Nod" is the national motto. At least now I understand it a bit better. Since starting lessons to learn the Cambodian language ("Khmer") I've discovered that "yes" can mean:
- yes
- yes, I did hear you
- okay
- maybe
- uh huh
- ummmmm
and even:
- no.

It is maddeningly confusing so I am slowly collecting other indicators of comprehension. E.g., blank stare? Gaping mouth? Shifty eyes? These yes's likely mean, "WTF did you just say?" Or, "I don't know but I'd rather get run over by an SUV than admit it." Or perhaps, "Can I go crawl in a hole now? This question is making me uncomfortable."

Instead of demanding a direct answer, I try to reroute and ask in a different way, or smile back and slowly abort. I had heard about cultures wanting to save face, but it is a dizzying concept when actually encountered.

I picked up a book of cultural tips and taboos called "DOs & DON'Ts in Cambodia" and it reveals that "Silence means 'No'":

"Cambodians do not like to say 'no' and will really avoid saying it. This means there is a 'yes', which is the affirmative and a 'yes' which is a polite way of saying 'no'...Silence means a definite no and that the person dissociates him/herself from the issue completely...Some people will say 'yes' to please you...but really it should be understood as 'no'."

Thus, I must say it is counter-intuitive when the book later instructs:

"DON'T expect people to be able to 'read between the lines' - be clear and explicit in your requests."

The subtleties of the language aren't the only challenge. I'm also trying to learn the alphabet, which is phonetic (yay!) but has 23 vowels (boo...) And to my untrained ear, they sound like a cassette tape getting tangled. My tutor is very kind and patient with me. I think he notices when my brain is about to explode, 30 minutes into the evening lessons, and he goes off on little storytelling tangents from Buddhist tales or cultural lessons. He was a monk for 12 years, an unusually long time in Cambodia.

From the various snippets I've heard about becoming a monk, it seems like a common choice for people who do not have enough money to put themselves through school. The temple is a place to sleep and study, though I've heard that monks rely on their morning rounds, visiting houses and businesses and giving blessings, to beg for food.

I still have so much I don't understand and so much to learn. I can't remember if Egypt was this confusing at first. In Egypt, emotions are so outward. The loudest, fiercest man wins. I observed many shouting marathons that persevered until the most red-faced vein-popping finger-waggling contestant reached near-foaming point and unnerved his or her opponent. The argument deflated, the battle was won.

In Cambodia, it seems that everything is done with smiles and stone-faced submission. When driving, people are constantly cutting each other off but there is no visible road rage or retaliation. In Egypt, a relatively safe country (at least before the revolution), that would merit honking, shouting, or physical threats (e.g., a man banging on our taxi window while removing his belt).

Still unable to comprehend anything, I can't tell a friendly conversation from a row. In the section of my book called "Displays of anger" it commands:

"DON'T DO IT - NEVER DO IT - A MAJOR MISTAKE. It is regarded as impolite to speak loudly or to show anger or any form of violent behaviour...Whatever the situation, the foreigner is advised to keep smiling at all times!! ...As in any other Buddhist country displays of anger are a sign of lack of control."

How do people not burst under this pressure?

Trailing

It's my one-week anniversary! Every day has seemed like an eternity, and yet this week has flown by when I look back on it.

Being a "trailing spouse" (or fiancé, to modify the term I learned in Egypt), I have long open days to fill while my partner is off at work. Every day I give myself a mission. So far I've been searching and applying for jobs, hunting for hiking shoes for my round-Cambodia trip next week, meeting a few other expats in town, applying for a new passport, and browsing for an apartment. Amazingly, the easiest task by far has been finding an apartment.

Last weekend Mathieu took me to see the apartment he had already booked for us, but unfortunately our reservation was messed up and we had to backtrack to the hotel. Having excitedly anticipated settling into a home, I was struck with frustration at Mathieu's colleague who'd made the mistake. That feeling quickly died when I found out that he was a sweet guy with no family, who had self-educated himself on lonely nights as a child because his mother had fled to France with her oldest children (not him) during the bloody civil war, and his father was taken outside and shot, as was the fate of many educated people then in Phnom Penh. The person who told me all this said, "Everybody here in their 40s or so has a story like that."

It's a recent history that is hard to imagine, and even harder to swallow. Even more maddening is that the war criminals are still on trial. Just the other night the former Khmer Rouge Minister of Foreign Affairs died. Ieng Sary had the privilege of living until the age of 87, when in just four years (1975-1979) he oversaw a genocide that slaughtered 1.7 million people. As the criminals die off and the justice system crawls along, the Prime Minister Hun Sen (a former member of Khmer Rouge - someone please explain that one to me) continues to obstruct justice and protect the old regime.

Sobered, I took on our change of plans with new perspective. I found a new place and we're scheduled to move in at the end of the month. 

It feels ridiculous to write about anything else after reflecting upon injustice and genocide, so I will just leave you to meditate on this irresistible pitch:

First Impressions

Landed in Cambodia! My warm welcome was a smack in the face of steamy air as I got off the plane. It was a predictable surprise after having been chilled in Paris for nearly a year, but it amazes me how the body doesn’t seem to remember the feel of temperature. It doesn’t seem right to pack suitcases in a different climate than what will come. I already feel stupid for some of the things I brought, and I cringe every time I glance at the jeans lying in my bag. It’s that kind of sticky heat.

On the other hand, all my worn-out clothes from Cairo are making a comeback! Plus some shoulder-showing and knee-boasting items, since I’ve seen local girls wearing tiny shorts, and then of course the tourists wear whatever they want. I was immediately presented with people-watching opportunities in the taxi ride from the airport to hotel, while we crawled (about 4 miles over 40 minutes) alongside hoards of little motorcycles topped with young friends and couples going out on Friday evening.

I started soaking up what I saw. Nearly all wore flip-flops, save a couple girls in heels. Few wore helmets (already more than Cairo!) and few impatiently zigzagged through traffic to get ahead of the slow traffic (ditto), though since then I have seen a handful of daredevils taking roads in the opposite direction, sometimes jumping onto sidewalks. The outnumbered cars, mostly massive SUVs with tinted windows, chug forward as the motorcycles dart around them.

Roadside buildings looked simply like shacks with green leaves bursting out around them. The trees seem to dominate the manmade structures. Our hotel is so swallowed by greenery that I can walk by it without recognizing it. The ground level open-air restaurant is a cozy jungle haven decorated with purple flowers and fountains fashioned from clay pots and thick bamboo stalks. To top it all off, the restaurant’s sautéed dishes and fruit juices are amazing.

As for the room, I’m wondering if we scored the honeymoon suite. 

I wish all showers had a pebble moat.

Mathieu and I spent a very lazy weekend here, just venturing out a bit to dine, stroll, get SIM cards, and visit our future apartment building, where we’ll move tomorrow (though for how long, we haven’t decided). Today Mathieu went to work somewhere near the crack of dawn and I headed out to find the Institut Pasteur. Rabies and Japanese encephalitis are only recommended vaccinations, but my doctor in Paris stared me down and made me promise to get them.

With her stern voice in my head, I set out walking in the direction I’d seen on the map and took the first couple turns I was sure of. Reminiscent of Cairo, I dodged motorcycles, negotiated the sidewalk with food stalls and parked vehicles, tried to ignore the sun beating down on me, and brushed off propositions for tuk-tuk rides.  Unlike Cairo, however, no one sexually harassed me – and I walked for nearly half an hour! Finally I saw some street numbers in the mid-200s, and as I was looking for #5, I popped into an electronics store to check my route.  

Most of the local people I’ve interacted with so far – and in these first 3 days, it’s mostly been people working in restaurants and hotels – react to everything I say with a vigorous nod, a glazed look in their eyes, and an ear-to-ear grin. It’s the look that all language students give their teacher they don’t want to be discovered for not having understood a single word.

It's next to impossible to tell if the person has understood me, or if I need to repeat myself and throw in some large hand gestures, which I’m happy to do. Having been an English teacher, I over-pronounce and speak with my hands as a given. Already a couple of drivers have given us that vague grin, then sped off in one direction before asking for a repeat of the destination, just to realize what we really said and have to turn back around.

I’m also trying to get used to the accent here, where the end of every word is cut off and many English sounds are discarded and replaced with others. I’m glad I had already set my mind to learning some Khmer, because getting by only on English is not going to work. If I could pull out at least some basics, these exchanges would be much less painful. I’ve tried saying thank you, but without the right accent or choppiness, I am completely unintelligible.

So in the electronics shop, I got lucky enough to find a salesman who could understand my problem and figure out where to go. After a solid 10 minutes of googling, searching on the map and even telling me what price to pay to get there, once my problem was solved and I started to thank him and his colleagues, he was struck with a sudden spell of amnesia. It was like I didn't exist anymore. Maybe this is paranoia, or me trying to study and overanalyze people within the first few days (so bear with me), but any conversational excess like “How are you,” “You’re welcome,” “Goodbye,” or even a little joke have been hard to come by. So as he ignored me and took to Facebook, I said thank you again and at least hoped that he heard me.

I made it to the Institut Pasteur and the tuk-tuk driver, who hadn’t spoken a word of English, showed me that he at least knew “NO” when I paid him less than what he had been hoping for. He grimaced and looked like he was about to cry, but I left the money in his hand and tapped my temple, hoping that it was a universal symbol for "I know [the right price]." Probably not.

Inside the Institut, I was greeted with various mixes of French and English (in the same sentence) as the Cambodian women working there tried to figure out what I wanted and get me in the appropriate waiting rooms. It was actually really organized under the disorganized surface, and every once in a while when a number was called I would show my ticket to a neighboring patient to ask if it was my turn yet. People voluntarily helped me and the receptionist even came back to check how all the patients were doing. Everyone was quiet except for the occasional screaming baby (only natural) and seemed, fittingly, patient. When a woman brought out her little boy with a swollen, closed eye who was crying from the injection, everyone in the waiting room gathered around, clucking their tongues and speaking to him in soothing voices.

When a German guy came in, we talked about his experience working at an orphanage for the past 10 months, where nearly half of the kids had AIDS. He had some bizarre stories, like how the kids liked to cut the stinger off of scorpions and let them crawl on their arms like pets. He said he never got stung, nor attacked by snakes or worms, but just the mention of them made me feel a bit nauseous.

My shot was quick and sterile, and I was told to come back for the next one in one week. On the way home, I stopped at a huge market to have a look around. I’ve been told to haggle prices down to at least half of the original offer, but I was too hot and nauseated by the smell emanating from the dried fish stalls to expend the energy. Luckily vendors here are not pushy, so I had no trouble just browsing. As I moved throughout the enormous complex from fake jewels to clothes to accessories, I found myself right next to the food section and had to call it quits.

The meat and fish stalls struck up a fond memory of a market that Noelle and I stumbled upon in an alleyway in Alexandria, a union of vegetables and fruits and live (and dead) chickens and goat heads and blood and guts and donkey manure and bowls of watery cheese (there’s my gag reflex…). While this Cambodian market (the Central Market) had a cleaner floor, its smell was at least as strong. Maybe when I’ve acclimated to this heat, I’ll go back to look for tarantulas on a stick.

And now here I am, back in the cool breeze of the hotel garden. Tonight I’m meeting some other Couch Surfers who have newly arrived in town, some of whom are settling down in Phnom Penh. Hopefully a few weathered expats will decide to come too, so I can fire my questions at them before I travel around the country with Lindsey next week. Linds, I hope China is warming you up for Cambodia!