The rest of the story...

I need to finish telling you about the rest of my beach weekend so I can start writing about other things that have been going on...

It was one of those trips where all things come together in such a way that you have to realize, on some level, things don't just happen randomly. My very first hour on the beach, after securing a room, I went for a walk. I try to avoid tourists at all cost, especially those at the beach. Tourists in Cambodia generally look like they've washed up from a shipwreck. Just think Jack Sparrow and you're not far off, and many have the bodily aromas to match the appearance. Don't get me wrong.......some are nice. Anyway...

I went for a walk seeking solitude and a place to eat, hoping I could marry those two goals. I landed in a little hut-on-the-beach establishment called PURPLE. It may sound like a shady name, but Cambodians often use English is strange yet innocent ways - I didn't think anything of it. Had it been in the States I would have kept walking. The place looked great - papasan chairs on the beach, large umbrellas, a nice menu and pleasing smells wafting from the kitchen, and no white people... I plopped down and ordered a plate of fried noodles. Quickly, two Cambodian girls I assumed to be employees were at my table asking questions - the usual, "What is your job? Are you married? How old are you? Did you come here to find a wife? What do you think of Cambodian girls? how big is your salary?" They enjoyed my Khmer-speaking in much the same way one might enjoy a five-year-old's piano recital. "Awwww! Isn't that cute!"

I ate my noodles and ignored embarrassing personal questions for about 30 minutes. Eventually, one girl left and the other started to get that look in her eye, so I feigned sleepiness and split. She made me promise to return that night, so I did. It was the best thing I ever did.

When I came back that night, having rested on the beach all day, I was quickly introduced to the proprietor of PURPLE. He looked like any other Cambodian 30-something male, wearing dress pants and a Mao-ish buttondown. "You're at the beach, people! Lose the flat-front slacks and live a little!" Anyway, this guy had been informed that there was a white, Khmer-speaking guest from earlier, and he put my language ability to the test. After an hour of question-answer time with yours truly, he was more than satisfied and even told me I was the best Khmer-speaking foreigner he had ever met. The French, he said, were horrible Khmer speakers. I decided at that moment I liked him.

This guy, Sophiep, the shop owner, turned out to be a soldier. In that first night we met he taught me about soldier/military vocabulary, including "paratrooper" which turns out to be his profession. The idea of Cambodians with Cambodian equipment jumping out of Cambodian planes flown by Cambodian pilots is the stuff of nightmares, yet Sophiep showed me video and apparently has made hundreds of jumps safely. I never knew the Khmer military had a paratroop division. Sophiep has promised me I can come watch, maybe even fly up in the plane. I'll have to pray about that one...

Sophiep is like any other secular individual in our own society. He's after money and happiness. After the getting-to-know-you phase was over, he wanted to know who I was sleeping with while at the beach. This isn't so uncommon a question among men here. Sex, and very often promiscuous sex, is just a given, and Cambodians see that most of the foreigners here are here for the easy sex. I told him I was sleeping alone. He wanted to know if I have a girlfriend. To avoid being put in the frequent and awkward position of "Hey, will you marry my sister?" I told him that I have a girlfriend in the States. Though not exactly true, it's easier that way, I've learned. He wanted to know if I missed sleeping with her. "I don't sleep with her," I replied. "What? Why not?" he demanded. "Because I'm waiting until I get married. This is God's plan for our happiness." He didn't seem to relate but was impressed none-the-less. He also assured me he could get me a women should I need one and wouldn't tell my girlfriend. "Thank you for your kindness." Also, he wanted me to know that the girl from that morning was a "taxi girl," Cambodian slang for "prostitute." She apparently was searching for new clientele on the beach. "Be careful..." he told me solemnly

Our talks turned to topics of salary and material possessions. He was shocked to learn I don't make a salary but volunteer. He wanted to know how I live. I told him I live on the charity of people in the United States who give so they can help me help Cambodia in its educational development. He was really shocked. Now, when he introduces me to people he says, "This is my American friend. He works for free in Cambodia because he has a good heart and wants to help. He has no salary." Every time without fail....

While at the beach I had breakfast with Sophiep every morning. He and I share a passion for Cambodian noodle soup and iced coffee. It's $1.50 worth of pure goodness. Sophiep would get a coffee, eat, and smoke three cigarettes back-to-back while updating me on the demanding life of being a soldier and shop-owner. I was surprised to find out he has two homes - one near his shop at the beach and one in Phnom Penh that just so happens to be ten minutes from where I live. More about his houses in a later blog...

My daily ritual included breakfast with Sophiep, catching some sun on a giant boulder at the end of the beach, reading, sleeping, reading some more, eating grilled squid and shrimp for a $2 lunch, walking down to the shop and talking to Sophiep...

Serendipity beach is quite possibly one of my favorite spots on the planet. It's not as glamorous as other tropical resorts, and it's in no way large-scale, and it's certainly not populated with attractive tourists. The beach curves into a rocky point and the land rises to around 40 feet in a little prominence at the point. Every day I would walk down a little path to this point and climb the rocks that sit in beautiful, clear blue water. My room was a little wooden bungalow up on this prominence, complete with private balcony and indoor plumbing. The balcony had a hammock which was perfect for after-lunch naps or for reading. At night, the beach turns into dining and partying at various spots, but the point remains calm and serene. It's fun to walk down the beach, checking out the night life, and then coming back to the bungalow and watching the moon rise. All for $10 a night.

While hanging out with Sophiep at his restaurant, I met two Asian-Americans who were just opening a little kayak rental shop next to Sophiep's place. John, a Laotian-American, and Dara, his Khmer-American wife, were very nice people. Having grown up in Oregon, they spoke great English and were fun to be around. They had adopted a little Khmer girl a couple years ago, not knowing it's illegal for Americans to adopt Cambodian children. (Remember that "Khmer" means "Cambodian," it's just the proper name for the people here.) So Dara and John are now "stuck" here because they can't get a visa for their little girl. The Cambodian government recognizes the adoption, but the US embassy will never grant a visa for the child as long as Cambodia remains on a list of nations where adoption is not recognized by the US government. She was cute as a button running around in her little sun dress and white hat. Samnang - meaning "lucky" in Khmer - is her parents' pride and joy, and even though they can't return home they say they wouldn't give her up for anything, not even life back in the States. During my stay, John and Dara let me take out one of their kayaks for free. What a great time!

The providential encounters didn't end with Sophiep or John and Dara. My last day at the beach I was wandering around on the road behind the beach, and I discovered a little hunt that claimed it had "real" pizza sold by the slice. I decided to try it for dinner. The little hunt had a nice tall bar under the thatch roof and a kitchen in the back. I walked up - the only customer - and started to regret my decision when the white girl behind the counter just stared at me. It's not uncommon to see white folks working at such places in and around the beach. Many of these "shipwrecked" tourists I described earlier kinda wander in and end up hanging around, doing odd jobs to make spending money so they can party and chill for an extended stay. This girl with short-cropped blond hair and piercing blue eyes grabbed my attention. When she finally asked me what I wanted, I decided from her accent that she was Irish.

I'm usually the sort that sits, eats, watches, pays and leaves. In an effort to break out of that mold I've started making myself speak to total strangers. With the girl behind the pizza bar, it turned out to be worthwhile. I asked where she was from and was surprised to hear Finland. The only other person I've ever known from Finland was an exchange student from back in high school. When I asked her name, this girl said, "My friends call me Nero." I thought it sounded a bit like a drag queen's stage name, but....you know....whatever. I said, "You mean like the crazy Roman emperor?" She laughed, and we talked for two hours the rest of the night.

There seemed to be a great deal of sadness and a bit of longing in this girl. Once she opened up, she told me about how she was raised in Saudi Arabia as her father worked in the oil business. In Finland, she said that she was a welder on an oil rig. She was a bit boyish, so I wasn't terribly shocked when she told me about her being a welder, but it's still an unusual trade for a woman. In Finland, she said, many women work on oil rigs. She also told me that in Finland violence and suicide are such social problems because of the perpetual darkness for half the year. Apparently, she saved her money for years and in an effort to escape the darkness and depression she made her way to Southeast Asia where she's been wandering around for months. In Thailand, she met up with a British guy who told her about this beach in Cambodia where he was going to open up the pizza place. Now, for $60 a month, she watches the bar for this guy. She sleeps in a little room on top of some one's house in an obscure part of the town. The simple life and the sunshine are all she wants, and she's not leaving, she says. I asked her about money, and she told me that life was better without it. "I get to eat from the kitchen or I'll eat a cheap plate of Khmer food. Other than that, I have clothes and a roof and a fan to keep me cool at night and that's all I need. Life is much better this way. It's simple. In Finland I could only afford to pay my taxes and live in a tiny apartment with none left over for any kind of life, and even if I could there's nothing there I want to do because people are so rude and depressed. There's no happiness." She did tell me that her saved money will run out eventually and she'll have to find something that paid more than $60 a month.

Through all our talking about life in Finland and Saudi Arabia, I was struck by the pervasive loneliness that was woven throughout this girl's story. She seemed disconnected from family and generally friendless. She knows her family will never come see her, and she doesn't want to ever return home. "I'm never going back there!" she said in her near-perfect English. In all my efforts to identify with someone who wanders the third world simply because their own country is so depressing, I can't seem to fathom what it must mean to be this girl. I'd have as difficult a time trying to grasp life on Mars. What a blessing it is to have roots, family, sun, warmth of weather and of friendships... My heart went out to her as I realized I am the antithesis of what she represents. As she escaped home searching for that ever elusive something, I left home longing to keep what I left but taking part of it with me to give to others.

It all sounds so existential and reflective, but a lot of the conversation was good-hearted joking and laughter. I learned much about Finland. It's the sort of socialist nightmare I fear our country will become. High taxes, endless social programs that fail to accomplish much, government involvement in all aspects of life yet a depressed and socially bankrupt population remains. Finland is actually not part of Scandinavia - did not know that - but is considered part of the Russo-European landmass. Unrelated to neighboring languages, Finnish is closest to Hungarian to the point of limited mutual understanding, much like Spanish and Italian but perhaps a little closer to each other than those. The Fin's also have Swedish as a second language, but there seems to be some resentment there. Oil and oil rig production are the life's blood of the nation.

I left Nero with my phone number and a nice tip and half my pizza. She has never been to the capital, but I promised to show her around should she ever venture that way. If I can provide any sort of brightness in her life then I want to make an effort. Since then I've heard from her once. She hopes to make it in to town soon.

I left the beach relaxed and refreshed. Although I went to get away from people I was actually more social during those five days than I usually am during any given week, and the better for it. On my last morning, I had breakfast with Sophiep who then took me to the bus station. Since meeting, we've spent some cool quality time together, and I'll save that for another blog.

To see pictures of the beach, please follow the link up top to "My Photos."

Grace and peace,

Bryant