"Did you miss me?"

That's the question Cambodia kept asking me on my first day back.  Having arrived late the previous night after two months in the US, I woke up early on Sunday, July 27, ready to run errands before starting teacher orientation started Monday.  The errands were successful, but I kept having to laugh along the way at just how blatantly...well, Cambodian my day was.  It wasn't a bad day, just full of Cambodia's idiosyncrasies.

Here's the rundown:

6-7 AM: Sunlight is pouring through my windows.  I feel worn out but wide awake.  Thank you, jet lag.

7 AM: I get up just before power drilling starts at the next door neighbor's.  Good timing!  My roommate Annalisa is already downstairs, and fills me in on some of the drama I've been missing: namely, big bags of rice and laundry soap disappeared, and our house helper Khouch was worried she'd be blamed or even fired.  We suspect it was the landlord's distant relatives who came to help with some repairs at our house while we were gone this summer.  That's one of several recent frustrations with the landlords, another being that these relatives kept turning off our water unannounced, interrupting showers and laundry, because one of our pipes was leaking on the bed that they'd set up on the landlords' driveway.  By now, it's all over: the relatives have left, the pipe has been fixed, and Khouch's calmed down about the missing supplies.

7:30 AM: I walk my bike to get its tires filled.  I can't find the friendly couple who always sit on the corner near me with their air pump, so it's about a ten-minute walk to the nearest shop with a pump. I continue on to several nearby errands, including buying new bike lights since mine were stolen from the school parking lot in May.  When I pay with a $20, the cashier asks me if I mind receiving change back in riel instead of dollars.  I've never understood that question, especially since I speak Khmer and I'm clearly not a tourist about to leave the country.  Of course I don't mind: we're in Cambodia!  I find it convenient that US dollars are as ubiquitous as Cambodian riel, especially since their largest denomination is worth only $5, but most people mix and match without thinking anything of it.  (Riel are artificially linked to USD, 4000 riel to $1.  A wallet full of hundreds means you're basically broke.)  Plus, you can't use US coins here (or any coins), so Cambodian riel are the only option for amounts under $1.  

A similar moto repair shop.
http://blog.rideforcambodia.com/

8:30 AM: Back at home, I try to start my moto, but unsurprisingly after two months of disuse it only coughs and sputters.  The next step would be to kick-start it, but I'm not quite strong/coordinated enough to pull it up onto the main stand.  Usually that's when I throw a helpless glance toward our friendly neighborhood motodup drivers, but this time Annalisa offers her assistance.  Together, we easily slide my moto into position.  It then starts great on its own without any kick-starting...go figure.

8:45 AM: My newly functional moto and I arrive at the market, where I make the rounds of vendors I always buy from: the fruit lady, the vegetable girl, the egg lady, and even the snack lady, whose cart happens to be parked right outside the market today.  I can't resist buying from her...for 1000 riel (25 cents), she sells kind of a breakfast burrito, with sugar, beans, coconut, and three types of sticky rice wrapped inside a tortilla.  Burrito in hand, I pick out a couple of dragonfruit.

I always have to guess...will my dragonfruit be pink inside or white?  I prefer white.

http://www.123rf.com/photo_14629719_dragon-fruit.html

9 AM: While the fruit stand and the "burrito"cart are along the front of the market, most stalls are inside.  To get to the main entrance, I have to weave between the motos parked on the street and the stands that reach to the end of the sidewalk, and the space between them is pretty narrow.  At one point, I see a small puddle of yellowish liquid on the concrete in front of me, but it wouldn't be easy to detour, so I decide I don't care if my ancient Old Navy flip-flops get dirty.  As my foot squelches down several inches, I realize the reason for the liquid: this concrete is freshly laid!  All the motodup drivers, waiting for customers, laugh and laugh.  That's the beauty of cheap rubber shoes on errands - you can hardly see the gray concrete stuck to my shoes' faded blue soles.  Inside, I wait while Buddhist monks in bright orange robes finish praying a blessing on the egg lady, who just donated to them.  Once they finish, they move on to another stall, and she tells me the same thing as the other vendors: "Bat p'oun yu hawie!" Literally it means "lose little sister long time already," but they use it like "Long time no see!"  It's nice to be missed.  :)

An oh-so-tasty burrito

A monk at the market.  My market is darker and more crowded.
http://contour-map.blogspot.com/2013/05/new-futures-organisation-takeo-cambodia.html

10:30 AM: I stop by Lucky Supermarket for some international groceries.  There's a funeral across the street whose music and chanting are audible throughout the entire store.  The cashier asks me if I have a Lucky card, which I've never heard of.  When I ask her for details, she points me to another employee, who explains that the card tallies my spendings and gives me one point per $10 I spend.  Earning 80 points (that's $800 of groceries) will get me a $5 voucher.  My points expire every year, I don't get any special discounts, and the card costs a dollar.  Wow, what a ... bargain.  Since she's given me some good practice speaking and listening to Khmer, and since I feel bad wasting her time, I go ahead and sign up.  I can't imagine I'll spend $800 here this year, but at least I'll find out how much I do spend.

That employee is lucky I agreed to spend a dollar.

11 AM: Putting away my groceries, I realize that of the five lights controlled by our kitchen light switch plate, only two currently work.  One is as bright as a small candle, and the other is referred to as our living room's Party Lights: brightly colored recessed lights vaguely resembling Aurora Borealis.  A third switch has never worked, but Annalisa points out that we recently replaced a fluorescent tube in the kitchen, so it shouldn't have burnt out yet.  I stand on a chair and wiggle it around, and it magically lights up.  Sweet success!

The party lights are the only lights that ALWAYS work.

11:15 AM: My clothes are damp with sweat by now and I haven't washed my hair since boarding the plane, but there's no point in doing so now.  Instead, I stay sweaty while I unpack all my luggage in my bedroom, which is rapidly heating up due to its south- and east-facing windows.  There's a reason I wore old, gross clothes this morning.  When I finally finish around 1, the "cold" water feels more like a US-style hot shower.  It's great to be clean, though.

3:15 PM: On my way to church, I stop at the first little restaurant I see and ask for an iced coffee to go.  It's completely open-air, with plastic chairs and shiny metal tables along the road.  The only employee in sight is chopping up a whole de-feathered duck.  I stare at the duck's beady eyes as the employee sets down the knife, wipes his hands on his apron, and proceeds to make my drink, reaching barehanded into an orange cooler to fill my cup with ice.  I know it's anything sanitary, but it's deliciously sweet and has the caffeine I need to make it through the next few hours at church.  I pay my 75 cents, take a big gulp of coffee before too much contaminated ice melts into it, and pray I won't get a stomach virus as part of my welcome package.  (Note: I was fine, as usual.)

Iced coffee in a bag fits perfectly onto moto handlebars.

The rest of the day: Church is great, I mostly avoid dozing off, and afterward I even manage to make a simple dinner with my housemates before crashing in bed.  Acclimating back to the heat isn't too bad - unlike last night, I'm not even tempted to use my air con.  I think back to Cambodia's question.  Did I miss it?  I was eager for a break, and two months in the US certainly didn't feel too long.  On the other hand, I'm so glad to call this my adopted home.  This country keeps me guessing, laughing, and sometimes groaning, but it's great to be back.