Cambodia: Day 9

Wednesday, May 18th, 2011

Bungalow in Sihanouk Ville

11:32 PM

Our first day in Sihanouk Ville was interesting. We woke up around six in the morning so that we could be to Spencer's apartment by seven. We were planning on meeting in front of Om Loon's house at 6:40 AM, but of course we were delayed for multiple reasons. Tuni, Lauren, and I arrived at the apartment about ten minutes late. The six of us hopped in two separate tuk-tuks and made our way to the bus station. An hour-and-a-half later, we were on a bus headed for Sihanouk Ville.

Tuni and I crammed into two small seats, myself being squished to the window. I actually quite enjoyed the window seat because it gave me a chance to gaze out at the countryside. I saw an actual rice paddy for the first time in my life, so that was pretty neat. Scenes from the book I've been reading, "Survival in the Killing Fields", flipped through my mind. I could picture the "war slaves", tearing down and building up dykes, plowing and planting the rice in their struggle to survive.

We stopped for about an hour to take a break and then hit the road again. A young girl of toddler age who had screamed the entire way to our pit stop resumed her wailing. Thank goodness for iPods and earphones, right?

Finally, Sihanouk Ville was found. We came up over a ridge and we could see the ocean spreading in the distance. Large barges dominated one side of the coast and was separated from the rest of the coast by a large hill. We took a taxi and a tuk tuk to our place of stay, known as The Cove. A bald Australian man greeted us at an open-air bungalow which was functioning as a bar and check-in desk. We made our way up the hillside, walking up flight of stairs after flight of stairs. Our bungalow is probably the highest one up the hillside, with three bedrooms, a bathroom, and a living room. The porch allows us to enjoy a beautiful view of the coast. I sat in a red disk chair and stared out over the ocean. This is the life.

That thought process, however, was quickly shot into remission by a hoard of child salesmen. We were walking on the white sandy beach for less than five minutes when we were spotted by a group of them. They flanked us, asking us our names and showing us their bundles of bracelets and headbands that were for sale. They thrust "free" bracelets on our wrists and made us pinkie promise that we'd buy from them first. My instincts immediately told me that this wasn't a good situation for me to be in. I have a terrible phobia of offending people and this particular environment created the perfect storm for me to be taken advantage of.

One girl in particular stood out to me because of her shockingly red hair, something I hadn't seen while I'd been in Cambodia. Obviously it was dyed. She asked me my name, where I was from, all of the usual questions that would make us amount to friendly acquaintances. I politely gave her the answers and asked her the same questions.

"Rihanna."

Of course your name is Rihanna. I continued our small conversation as the herd followed us into an open-air restaurant and bar. Rihanna seemed pretty cool, so I agreed to buy a bracelet from her. She went to work on it while girl after girl continued to come up to me, trying to sell the exact same things that I had said no to five seconds earlier. At one point I looked up to see Spencer bent over the table with an old woman going at his back with a string, shaving the hair. I thought I was in paradise; now I’m in a circus.

Finally, we were able to eat our delicious shakes with a little peace. That space only lasted about five minutes, though, and then the kids and older women were right back at it. I paid Rihanna, made a bunch of pinkie promises to girls that I knew there was no way in heck I would be able to keep, and tried to keep my cool.

Once Rihanna had left the restaurant, Tuni and Mike made the observation that Rihanna was actually a boy. I didn't believe them at first, but after closer inspection their claims were confirmed. Just when I thought this day couldn't be any more bizarre ...

We headed for the beach, but I only got as far as my beach chair before an older Cambodian woman named Yung Yung came up to me, begging to give me a manicure for four US dollars. I kept telling her no over and over again, but she was extremely persistent. For the sake of being able to just have some quiet, I agreed. Suddenly that manicure turned into an entire leg shaving extravaganza. I sat in my chair, four Cambodian women around me tackling the jungle of hair on my legs. Teenage Cambodian girls came up to me, making more attempts to get me to buy their goods. One boy came up and started swearing at me after I told him no. He told me that I was going to go ride the elephants and that I would die. I stared straight ahead out at the ocean. This is not what I had planned. Thankfully Yung Yung told the boy to go away after he wished death upon me. I really appreciated that kindness.

When my hair was defeated, she gave me the price. Forty US dollars. Are you freaking kidding me? Forty bucks?! This plucking better last a whole two months like you said it would. I gave her all that I had, $27, and told her I'd pay three more dollars the next day. There was no way I was going to pay forty. She wasn't very happy with me, but I tried to communicate to her as best I could that I honestly didn't have any money left.

By that time, everyone was done playing in the ocean. I was frustrated. I had just spent all of my money on a manicure and a shaving that I’m pretty sure I could have done myself. Oh, well. That money just might go to good use. She was a smoker, I just funded her packs for the next week or two. Hooray for lung cancer.

I realized that I hate feeling like a tourist. I hate the attention. I hate the negative energy that comes when you don't fulfill peoples expectations.

At first I was sad and angry at the young boy for saying those rude things to me. After some thought, though, I realized that I couldn't blame him for his own anger. Probably about ten or eleven years old, he should have been out playing with his friends, enjoying his childhood and developing into a healthy young man. Instead he was stuck on a beach with a bunch of foreigners, trying to make some money to help his family out. To further justify his frustration, there was probably a good chance that he was going to arrive home that evening not having sold a thing. His reward for being empty-handed? A beating by those who should love him no matter what.

In addition to underage peddlers, many amputees also dot the beach. The majority of them have lost a leg and must scoot around by the power of their arms through the sand, begging for money.

Land mines.

The physical beauty of this place hides the sadness that happens in the lives of those who live here. Many of the teenage girls spend "quality time" with foreign men who are easily twice their age, hoping that they'll be seen as worthy to be taken home, far away from the shores of Cambodia...

[Serendip Beach at dusk.]

[This was me getting pampered. That smile is fake.]