Saturday, July 2nd, 2011
Tuni's Host House in Phnom Penh
9:52 PM
I have learned things in the last 24 hours that I never thought I'd learn, especially in Cambodia.
#1. Nothing can hold me back from a good dance party.
#2. I have a keen eye for finding places to puke.
#3. I always thought I'd never be able to puke in public, but sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures.
#4. Nigerian dancing is SO FUN.
#5. Being sick forces you to not procrastinate because working on your paper is better than lying on your deathbed while you stare up at the ceiling for hours on end.
Try and keep up as I attempt to explain.
Yesterday started out like any other "normal" day. I woke up, ate breakfast, and made my way across the street to Tuni's house to use the internet. After doing my web chores (e.g. checking my email, browsing Facebook, updating my blog, checking my email again, browsing Facebook for another half hour, and then repeating the process eleventy billion more times. Yeah, don't act like you don't do it, either.), I set to work on the papers that I had been procrastinating like a champ. I worked through the usual afternoon thunderstorm, only going home once to eat lunch. Before I knew it, it was nearly dark outside, signaling that it was time to eat dinner.
Lars and I gathered at the table, eating our Khmer dinner of steamed rice, pineapple, beef, and greens. Once finished, we retreated to our air conditioned room upstairs to enjoy some down time before heading out to the clubs.
Yes, you heard that right.
I was laying on our bed, playing sudoku and listening to music when the food in my stomach began to get confused. It couldn't make up it's mind of whether it wanted to go up or down. Maybe I just ate too much ...
Plans were confirmed. We were set to meet up at Club Spark with everyone else at 9:30 PM. I got changed for the occasion, hoping that my stomach would come to a final verdict before I left. Unfortunately for me, though, no decision was reached, so I hopped on the tuk-tuk in hopes that things would change as the night went on.
We pulled up to the club, a couple of security guards standing outside the door. Shoot, was I supposed to bring my ID? I'm underage, I won't be able to get in! We walked up to the door and were waved through, no questions asked. What was I thinking? This is Cambodia. They could care less about age.
Club Spark proved to be a dud. Granted, 9:30 PM is pretty early for the clubbing world (so I've heard. This isn't something that I do on a regular basis, trust me), but that's when Desmond wanted to meet, so we just went with it. We sat around for a good half hour inside the club, waiting for everyone to show up. Jeni eventually suggested we go find somewhere outside to hang out while we waited for things to liven up.
We found a place to buy some food nearby. I began to feel worse than I had and decided I needed to buy some water. I sat at a table, sipping on a bottle when I felt overwhelmingly tired. I laid my head down on the table, Jeni and Tuni asking me if everything was ok.
"You don' t look very good."
"Yeah, yeah, I’m fine."
Next thing I knew, I was in the bushes in the parking lot, puking my guts out. A couple of security guards stood nearby, watching me. These guys undoubtedly think I'm plastered, and it's only 10 PM. What a way to start the night.
Despite my embarrassing display, I immediately felt one-hundred percent better as I walked back to the table. Well, at least I thought I was one-hundred percent better. Thirty minutes passed and I was in the bathroom, puking again.
Our next stop was at a club near the riverfront. I wasn't sure how I'd react to the atmosphere, especially with suddenly being sick, but I really wanted to see what it was like.
We made our way into a small room where people were packed in like sardines. Luckily our small group was able to find some safe space to move. I immediately felt better as I began to dance; anyone who knows me knows that I love a good dance party, and this one was long overdue.
At one point I found myself stepping on someone's foot. I turned around to find an older white man and young Cambodian girl dancing in a manner that was a little too close for comfort. It was pretty much PDA at it's finest. Or worst, depending on your view of the matter. Normally I would have felt bad for stepping on the toes of someone else, but I'm not a big fan of that type of behavior, so I went on like nothing happened. Maybe that was rude of me, maybe it wasn't. Let's face it though, he probably didn't even notice.
I joined Tuni out in the sitting area, watching people conduct themselves in various social situations that were foreign to me. Maybe it was my queasy stomach that led me to this conclusion, but in that moment I decided that clubbing probably wasn't the thing for me. I love to dance, there's no doubt, but not necessarily in that type of atmosphere.
Desmond and Paul found us and told us we were going to be moving on to another establishment. This place was actually a Nigerian restaurant and dance club, geared towards Africans who are more permanently settled in Phnom Penh. I never realized that there was a large enough African population in Cambodia for such a place, but apparently there is. A majority of them play soccer in a Cambodian league, including Desmond and Paul. I wasn't feeling too good, but this was a great opportunity to be a part of a culture that I had not had the opportunity to be a part of before. My curiosity got the best of me and I agreed to go.
I wasn't feeling up to dancing, so Tuni and I sat in the restaurant and watched Wimbledon while the rest of the crew went inside. Rafa was kicking Andy Murray's butt well into the third set when Desmond came out and begged me to go inside for five minutes. Wanting to finish watching the match, I reluctantly got up and followed him in, my stomach churning. Once I heard the music, though, I quickly forgot about my conflicted digestive system and began dancing. This particular dance floor was much nicer, with a lot more space to move and better music than the last one. They taught me some traditional Nigerian moves, laughing while I attempted to do what they did. It was so much fun!
About ten minutes passed and I was beginning to get very thirsty, so I went back out to join Tuni in the sitting area. I plopped down in a chair and watched the conclusion of the match, my stomach returning to its conflicted state. I was exhausted. The combination of stress that comes from being sick, the vomiting, and the constant motion from dancing was proving to be a little more than I could handle.Guarantee I'd fall asleep right in this very spot if they only gave me a pillow.
Nope, scratch that. Here it comes again. I ran outside to the street and made my way to the other side near some stacks of trash. I would go into detail, but I think you have an idea of what happened next.
I walked back into the restaurant, defeated. I was ready to throw in the towel. "I'm going to head back now." Thankfully everyone agreed it was time to go home, so we grabbed a tuk-tuk and made our way back to Om's house.
Needless to say, the contents of my stomach continued to flow before I went to bed and then after I woke up this morning. I slumped my way to Tuni's house to finish my second paper and to Skype my parents to let them know I wasn't feeling too hot. I've been laying on Tuni's bed all day, stressing over my paper and taking short breaks to sip on Sprite and sleep. Thankfully I have Nurse Tuni; she put me on a basic ORT (oral rehydration therapy) regimen. She's going to be a great mom someday.
And that brings me to this point. I've finished my paper, downed two Sprites and a Coke, pounded water like a champ, and managed to hold down some bread. Things are looking up!
[This is me chugging a 1500 mL bottle of water. Snaps for staying hydrated!]
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