-^-for posterity-^-

i lied. i never really experienced cambodian new year. i was there and did dance and did sing but i never really got the real thing.

one of my good friends, a khmer teacher, invited me to come to his home yesterday. we were going to go in the morning and come back in the afternoon. he lives in the tri ton district which is the home to many khmer people. many have lived there for generations and others fled there during pol pot’s reign.

the motorcycle ride was numbing to say the least and the scenery became more and more rural as we drove. the road followed a straight portion of the mekong and we raced boats carrying rice, chicken and anything else worth transport. a mountain appeared. the mekong is flat and rock hill looked like a tumor. we turned down a thin, paved road and soon found his home. the mountain towered directly behind us.

the driveway was dirt and arched to the right. the house was set back behind a small grove of trees and people milled about. there were two separate houses and two separate families living there. it was a very close community. the houses were wooden and weathered. they looked ancient. chickens, pigs, dogs and cows ambled about. behind the house there were wide fields that had recently been cultivated. the sun was high and it was hot.

i met his parents, grandparents, sisters and neighbors in one incredibly awkward minute. everyone spoke kmer and i didn’t understand a word. his father is tall and muscular. he has a bald head and looks a bit like a superhero. his mother has a wonderful smile with surprisingly straight, white teeth. his grandparents look as if they have seen everything. they quietly sat in the back of the room observing. his grandmother had only one beetle-juice stained tooth. it looked a bit like a fang but was cute, not threatening. his grandmother and grandfather were both bald. i also met jota’s mom. she is tall, lean and has an oddly large chest. her stomach is thin and she looks a bit like a greyhound. she had the same face as jota and similar markings. she made it a point to sit down next to me which made me feel good.

we went to the market to get food for the cambodian new year’s celebration. before we reached the market, my friend took me on a tour of the mountain that overlooked his house. we turned into some sort of park and it turns out we were standing at the foot of ‘two million dollar hill’: the hill that american’s spent around two million dollars bombing but to no avail. i had read about and couldn’t believe my luck. here i was, an american living in vietnam and about to spend cambodian new year with a rural farmer at the base of ‘two million dollar hill’. thirty years later so much has changed.

we climbed the hill and walked through the rock caves. the rocks on the hill are massive and round. they do not fit together and there are a number of caves and holes you can hide in. all of the caves were linked and each small tunnel had an explanation. i squeezed my body through the cracks. at times i could see the blue sky. i imagined planes flying overhead screaming and dropping bombs. the thought even scared me a bit. that piece of land had seen so much suffering. i stood looking down at the fields that surrounded the hill from inside one of the tunnels. i could see tanks and tents and all sorts of army-type men standing in the distance. i wondered what it would have felt like. the constant fear of death but the relative safety of the rock castle. it was mother nature’s fortress and, for a moment, it felt like no amount of napalm cold destroy her.

at the market, we bought fish. they were half alive and flopping around in a thin pool of water. the fish-lady grabbed them, clunked them over the head but it didn’t really kill them and began scaling them. she also cut their faces off. not their heads, their faces. i bought a new shirt because i found out i was staying the night and had only expected to stay until the afternoon. i also needed something nice to wear for the new year’s party.

they told me to take a shower. i went in the back to the shower room and found a small tub of water waiting for me. i dolloped water all over and pretended to have soap. while i was standing there naked, i looked to my right. no less than five feet away were the women cooking supper. they didn’t seem to notice me and some bamboo appeared to be covering most of me. the shower was absurdly refreshing.

we had supper and i met a number of farmers. these people are poor. these people live off of the earth. they were all dark and muscular. they all smiled. we ate together and they all thought i wasn’t eating enough because i was worried that they were all too poor. they thought that i was trying to save their food and i was insulting them. i spent the rest of the meal gorging myself on rice and fish.

the next stage of our adventure was at the local pagoda where we danced. there was a band playing all of the modern, coffee-shop hits in khmer and some older, traditional sounding songs. a large group of people had gathered around a small light-bulb hanging from a bamboo pole. they formed a circle and danced traditional khmer dance. i was pushed into the circle and did my best to emulate.

people approached me and touched my skin and hair. some tugged at my hair. not many white people make it down to these parts.

we went to bed on a large, wooden mattress. i slept next to my friend under a thick mosquito net. his parents slept behind us and his grandparents slept to our side. his parents had a bit of a conversation before bed and it all felt like one great big cultural slumber party.

the next morning we woke up at four thirty to drive home. i had to teach at seven. my friend didn’t want to drive so i drove most of the way. that was a completely different adventure involving lots of bugs, bumps and gear-shifting.