37 hours of travel. That’s a lot.
Like, I’ve traveled a bit in my short lifetime and I’d like to think I’ve been on quite a few planes, but crossing the Pacific Ocean is way outside of anything I’ve done so far.
The funny thing is I never really looked at how long the flight was.
Like, what?
I kid you not, I got to the Salt Lake airport and STILL did not realize that 13 hours of stuffy suffering lay ahead of me.
Like, I don’t know what I was thinking it would be? 8 hours? I don’t know. I just didn’t think about it, which is so weird.
It’s really surprising because I’m not like that at all. Usually, I would know that information, right? I would have probably made a chart for it and blocked out the time and when to take a sleeping pill what time zone we land in and all that nonsense.
But my control freak just took the day off I guess.
So here we are.
Getting on a 13-hour flight and having no freaking idea.
Anyways,
after the overgrown Boeing 737 safely made it across the ocean, we stumbled out into South Korea starving, scared, and constipated.
I paid $5 for black beans boiled in soy sauce out of a bag.
Honestly, that was the beginning of the end for my poor intestines.
moment of silence
I can’t even imagine what we looked like, staring in awe at a robot helper that was roaming the floor of the airport.
There was also a parade. Like seriously, 30 people in (what I assume to be) traditional Korean garb were walking down through the gates with dragons and incense.
Imagine not sleeping for two days, having a Japanese woman drool on your shoulder for three hours, and then stumbling upon a literal Mulan-esque parade.
I thought the Huns were about to pop out of the dragon.
Because what are the odds? I mean, really.
“Happiness comes from the heart”
5 hours of sleeping/watching a weird Asian game show on a wooden bench and we’re on our flight to Phnom Penh.
Addy and I were quite enchanted by the Korean flight attendants.
They had beautiful traditional embroidered aprons and poured tea out of a skinny metal pot.
They were a lot kinder than the ol’ American gals and just seemed so surreal. Like we were in our own film or something.
Glorious.
Impeccable English, to boot.
The difference between Korea and Cambodia is night and day, so as much as we would have hoped our little stint with the dragon parade was a peek into our new life, it was just a nice mental detour.
We landed in Cambodia (finally), got through customs, and acquired our visas (stressfully since Addy forgot her documents in her checked bag), and after rolling our bags through another set of glass doors we were outside.
Outside!
Yes, and there’s no way to get back in.
Crap.
We have another 12 hours before we get picked up.
We were hoping to sleep on a bench, and my grandiose visions included the indoors. But alas, the 5’4″security guard in flip-flops would not oblige us.
So, we changed into the coolest thing we had in a handicap bathroom, wheeling the entire bag cart in there with us.
After sweating for 3 hours on a concrete ledge they properly kicked us out of the airport because it was “closing.”
???
Do airports close?
News to me.
So we walked to a pavilion with some slatted benches and very paranoidly slept among the friendly rats.
Fast forward to getting picked up in a van with 5 other interns and arriving hot and sweaty at Le Mont Hotel.
Don’t let that French fool you.
There is nothing French about this hotel.
We meet KimLay- our on-the-ground guide for the program. His English is like regular English except English went to a hair salon, asked for a trim, and got 4 inches cut off.
In Khmer (pronounced Kuh-my) they cut the ends off all their words and typically don’t pronounce the last third.
That, along with various vowel sounds I didn’t even know were humanly possible, combined for a fun game of “sorry, what?”
Addy and I are just a little tired at this point and let’s just say it was something our brains could hardly process at the time.
I’m nervous that my duffel is ginormous compared to what other people brought.
And it was.
Most of the other people are backpackers, nomads traveling from place to place, and they pack light.
I had the most luggage until my homegirl from Georgia rolled in and then I felt just fine.
Her name is India and she’s hilarious.
At some point, I’ll introduce all the interns, but for now, all you need to know is that India came with three duffels and I came with one.
A little silent thanks to India for letting me not be the high-maintenance one.
Addy was craving Domino’s (the nicest building I’ve seen here so far)
Orientation was a whirlwind.
People and food and heat all fly around in a tornado of first exposure.
We didn’t have electricity for 2 days.
Or A/C.
Honestly, though, we were just stupid and didn’t know you had to put the card in the switch so, as much as we’d like to blame that on this third-world country, it was actually just a first-world privilege problem.
The Europeans were just laughing at us because of course they were all familiar with that system while Americans were like “What? energy conservation? Do you have to PUT in the CARD for the air conditioning to work? like it’s not just going all the time?”
But as much as we were laughing that the fridge was pointless (because it turns off every time you leave the room) we had no idea what living conditions were to come.
KimLay did his best to prepare us for the worst.
Our orientation sessions included long explanations of how our situation at our schools would be horrible and nothing like what we’re used to and to expect cockroaches, burning heat, tight spaces, and no running water.
To quote Kim, “Happiness comes from the heart, only insight can you change your situation”
Happiness comes from the heart.
All Addy is hearing is:
“there’s no place to wash your hands there’s no place to wash your hands you’re kidding me There’s no place to wash your hands”
Well, we got transported to our schools and I’m happy to report that there is a place to wash your hands. It’s called a bar of soap floating 3 inches of water in a small plastic container on the back of the toilet.
We had to do some germaphobe deep breathing exercises before Addy self-combusted.
No, but actually she did great.
She’s doing amazing things (germy things) that would normally push her over the edge.
If you don’t know us, Addy and I both have places that push us to the edge of irrational behavior.
Addy: germs.
Sydney: biting bugs.
Just a little perspective; once in Germany, a horsefly was freaking me out so badly I was running and running and spazzed out into the street and a herd of bikers almost hit me. Luckily they were screaming “ACHTUNG” really loud so I heard them over the uncontrollable panic of 3 fat-biting flies.
And my fears might seem unwarranted, but trust me if there’s an insect out for blood it will find me and it will suck me dry.
Anything, anything at all.
So after a very long day of meeting the school director, getting set up in our little space (a room in the school sandwiched between classrooms), and walking around the area nearby, I was hardly surprised to wake up the next morning with irritated, red welts all over my body.
At 7 am it’s our job to welcome the students and parents to the school by standing outside the doors, Downton Abbey style, and sampeah, or bow/greet, by pushing your palms together and inclining your head.
Along with the Khmer staff, we sampeah to every child that walks in.
That was all good and dandy, except when you have an irrational fear of biting insects and you’ve just discovered you have 14 new acquisitions and they’re NOT from mosquitoes.
All my mind is doing is “uh huh uh huh cute kid bow cute kid bow ITCH ITCH ITCH WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED LAST NIGHT cute kid bow jeez that kid’s lunch looks disgusting OW ITCH IIII THIIIINK I HAVE BED BUUUUUGS”
The very pretty and very annoying German student (Carolihhhne) who has been there 6 weeks assured me that yes, it was bed bugs, and yes she couldn’t get rid of them- so there’s no way on earth that I could.
This is the same girl that promptly knocked on our door 20m after moving in and very subtly let us know that it used to be her room, leaving us to sit with the fact that we were in that room now.
Unpacking our suitcases.
Hmm looks like one person got moved to a one-person dorm, while TWO people got the two-person dorm. I don’t think Caroline is very good at math because she seemed very keen on letting us know it wasn’t fair.
She kind of redeemed herself by taking us to a good-ish restaurant (that’s super authentic with zero Cambodians eating there), however, I could have done without the spiel on how they make their homemade noodles.
The redemption was short lived however because she asked me for $40 the next morning in between sampeahs.
Tsk tsk. Don’t you know Sydney Whitby? She’s worse than George Costanza!
!
(Redemption restaurant. If you look closely you can see a guy making noodles. But, we were blind, that’s why Caroline explained it to us)
Sophia, our director, is a Khmer woman who was adopted by a Khmer mother and English father. She spent her life traveling the world and her English is quite good. Sophie is extremely blunt and a little bit annoyed with everything. Her facial expressions are honestly the most dramatic I’ve ever seen, rivaling even the best of Spanish soap operas.
Sophie showed us around the vertical school (5 stories of tinyness) and went through paperwork, logistics, and class schedules with us.
We are there with two Brits, John and Michael. They are in a room next to us.
Michael is the most British-looking guy you’ll ever see. With a Londoner’s swanky walk and an eye for being scammed, he’s amazing to have around.
John is ethnically Sri Lankan, a bit of a polite English womanizer, and is always on top of directions.
Between the two, we’ve got a squinty scam spotter and a tour guide leader, who is easily spotted by the signature backpack-over-one-shoulder.
The four of us get on really well and I consider us quite lucky to be in the area that we are with the people we’re with.
We all go out and get food together, along with a girl from Essex and a Norwegian cutie pie just down the street at another school.
Food.
Okay, so the food is great, right?
Like the actual food, once you find it, tastes pretty good 73% of the time.
But here in Cambodia, you have to really squint to find stuff.
There aren’t obvious storefronts, and most everything is covered in a layer of debris, run-down tin, and fabric that it really takes an eye to find a gem.
Who says we don’t hunt for our own food anymore?
Here, there are at least 20 minutes of stalking before any chopsticks are picked up.
Street food carts are sandwiched between garages cleaning motos and locksmith stands. Everything is a bit random, and squished, and since we can’t read Khmer, a mystery.
However, it only takes one bite of rancid fried rice to put some pieces together.
The food here is basically one of three things:
noodles, rice, or soup.
These of course have a myriad of variations.
But mostly it’s either fishy, meaty, organ-y, or vegetable-y.
I’ve learned that “wheat” is not an ingredient people know much about.
Even the translation srauvsaali, doesn’t do much good.
So, being gluten-intolerant I stick to rice.
My poor stomach is not adjusting as well as the rest of me.
I’m in constant crampy pain, but I honestly expected that.
I don’t eat a lot, but when I do it comes with a consequence, let’s just say that.
Solid poop is a thing of the past.
Do I even remember what that was like?
It’s been so long.
Such a distant memory.
A song of my youth.
Welp, pray for my intestines, they honestly need it.
In the meantime, I mix oatmeal with hot water in between long stretches of fishy curry.
Sometimes I treat myself to a banana.
Luxurious.
This post is already super long, so I’ll update you on exactly what the school is like, the teaching schedule, and other fun stuff later.
For now, know that we are alive.
Itching and sweating, but alive.
