Friday, October 14, 2011

Life on a graph


When students study abroad, their first lesson inevitably focuses on the emotional ups and downs that will assault them throughout their semester. This process has been repeatedly mapped out in graph format, and every student is expected to follow the same pattern, albeit at their own individual pace. As much as I hate to admit it, this proved true when I was in both Senegal and India. The novelty of a distant and foreign land full of adventure was displaced by the frustration of constant sweat and mud and unbearable heat. And then we took an upswing - travel was great, my language skills were noticeably improving - and then back down when I missed eating pizza and had eight hours of class on Thanksgiving day. The ups and downs of a predicted emotional roller coaster were sudden. I learned to chart my progress objectively with the understanding that "this too shall pass". Some lows were really low, and some highs were really high, until I began to find equilibrium just before jetting off and beginning the process again.

So I believed it would be safe to expect the same process to occur here in Cambodia. Except this time, something is different. I began on a low - frustration with my housing situation, a total vacuum of information about my requirements for work, and the return of constant sweat. "This too shall pass", I told myself during my first week of chaos and confusion and helplessness.

Halfway through week 2, I noticed my ascent on the gradual upswing of an early abroad experience. I arranged for my own reliable transportation to work! I provided dinner for myself! I met some interesting people! And the upswing continued, expanding to include specifically Cambodian aspects of my life. I fell in love with moto rides and fried noodles. I set up a hammock, from which I can enjoy the cacophanous music of street vendors and ice cream motos. I spent an hour sitting, chatting with a monk, and I played chess with the old men sitting on my corner. The upswing continued, but I was wary. "This too shall pass." I wondered when I would fall back to the reality of living in the developing world on my own. Another week of bliss passed, and then another. I continued to climb higher on the emotional graph - I visited the temples of Angkor, I swam in a pool with an ocean view at Kep, I made plans to go to Singapore and Malaysia (yes, that is happening). I ate fried rice and onion soup, and I took my first Khmer lesson. I found myself falling in love with the easy pace of a peaceful Cambodia. I enjoyed my work, and tested the fantastic Phnom Penh restaurant scene (Indian! French! Chinese! Mexican!).

The weeks have continued to pass, and here I am now. About six weeks after I noticed my upswing, I am still up. I am still happy! Sure, there are moments (the smell of Thanksgiving, an old John Denver song in a cafe, the everpresent sweat) that bring me down, but these are always short-lived temporary falls. How long will it last? I ask myself, afraid that my fairy tale might end. Or, I tell myself optimistically, perhaps I have broken the cycle.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Restaurant Etiquette

I like to think that I lead a quiet life here, but really I am shrouded in a strangely conspicuous anonymity.

I go to lunch alone, thinking that I am a Strong and Independent woman. As I enter the Khmer cafe I am greeted by the sensuous dance of ginger and lemongrass and garlic. The staff snaps to attention, suddenly straight-backed and busy. I notice that all eyes are on me as I walk to a quiet, well-lit corner. A petite, uniformed waitress follows one half-step behind with a placid smile and a laminated twelve-page menu. A third of the dishes have halfhearted English descriptions, but most are accompanied by identical images of fried rice and fried noodles.

This menu is complicated and nearly unreadable, and I struggle to find any difference between "Khmer fried noodle with chicken" and "fried noodle with chicken Khmer". Diligently, I wade through the murky options reading page after page of soups and entrees. The entire time, my eager waitresses stands just beside my shoulder, watching, waiting. I feel rushed to decide quickly and place my order.

I point to an image of chicken and rice, and my waitress cheerfully scampers off.