moderatelyExcessive

My last day in Siem Reap was spent outside of Angkor, outside of the temples and the jungle. First was a trip to Western Baray, a strip of “beach” along the Tonlé Sap Lake. Bamboo huts line the beach for shade, with hammocks strung up every which way, and straw mats covering the sand and dirt right up to the waterline. After a few minutes considering the possible health ramifications of swimming in the murky brown water, the heat gets to me and I throw myself in. Near the surface the water is uncomfortably warm - like a cooling tub of hot water. Far below the surface is where the cool water is, and I spend most of my time in the water holding my breath and diving below, staying there as long as I can hold my breath. On the surface, many children and adults play with inner tubes and every one of them smiles and says, “hello” when I surface near them.

After a dip, two of my Khmer friends bring a lunchtime feast bought from the roadside stalls every guidebook warns against: a large smoked fish, several smaller fish, cucumbers, roasted frogs, salads and sauces of unknown origin, and fruits which even the Khmer people there cannot identify. Again I experience an initial hesitation before chowing down with abandon. The ritual of eating consists of grabbing some of the fish or the frogs with bare hands, taking a bit of the sauce just the same, and pressing this handful into the some of the rice we each have in bags in front of us. Once this mixture has formed something close to a ball, we eat by hand. My friend Channy gets visibly flustered with how I manage this process and starts shoving handfuls of food into my mouth. At some point, she grabs some of the cooked organs of the largest fish and mashes them into my rice, and my first thought is, “Thank God for travel insurance and a nearby airport.” My fears were unfounded, and after three weeks here, I’m looking at the guidebooks’ warnings regarding Cambodia as alarmist, and only vaguely resembling reality. By the way, this feast which could have fed six people cost less than $4.

After another dip, we head to the “Khmer Cultural Village.” This was an unintended stop for me, as it seems it was negotiated between Channy and Pagnarith during one of the many moments when my inability to speak Khmer leaves me out of the conversation. I have no idea what this place is, and in looking at the map I’m provided as we enter, I get the feeling that I’ve entered an Epcot Center of Kampuchea for Kampucheans, but on a much smaller budget.

The first stop is an ultra-creepy wax museum depicting the history of the Khmer people. There are oddly constructed displays of the Khmer as hunters/gatherers, displays of sitar musicians, apsara dancers, and on and on. One of my two ‘favorites’ is a depiction of a 60’s era Khmer family living in a suburbanites living room: Dad is on the phone, the little girl plays with a toy truck, and a small boy with the head of a 50-year-old man does his homework. The plaque in front of this display says, “Happiness Family.” My second favorite display is a line of figures, each described on plaques as well, starting with “60’s Movie Stars”, “70’s soldier”, “90’s movie stars”, and ending with, “Khmer girl dates UN soldier.”

After the wax museum, I’m wishing to just skip the rest of the village… to just get home and out of the heat and away from the kitsch. But then it all changes…

As I walk past a miniature model of the Royal Palace, I hear the chanting of children, and I walk towards it. Rounding a corner, I’m suddenly facing a room full of young boys and girls, practicing the traditional apsara dances. I’m glued to my spot for the next half-hour.