Life at a glance.
I drive through the city of Phnom Penh on a regular basis, my husband and I in our Kia Sportage (which starts now after 3 tries) weaving through the (generally) efficient chaos of motos, tuk-tuk’s, and an assortment of cars slowly making their way to their destination (the exception being the large Lexus SUV’s proudly displaying their signature over sized “Lexus” sticker and aiming directly for you with flashing headlights should they decide to utilize your lane as well as their own for maximum effectiveness of time and space).
We find ourselves venturing into town to retrieve pizza, groceries, or teams from a local guest house. Phnom Penh is a pretty small city that can take unpredictable amounts of time to navigate courtesy of the traffic. Within the confines of a city block we drive past a young woman in tattered clothing who carries a pained expression on her face and a baby in her arms. We drive further and I glance inside a jewelry store window where another woman, exquisitely dressed, adorned with gold and smiling broadly dotes on the small child laughing in her arms.
It’s a dichotomy that exists anywhere you go. None of us are strangers to the idea of poverty, the idea of luxury, and the reality of trying to figure out where the rest of us fit in the middle. I pass the former of the two on a consistent basis and struggle to know what to offer them. Sometimes I offer a small financial token out of compassion, out of kindness, sometimes as a fee to alleviate my own conscience, and sometimes I simply offer an uncertain look of pity with no monetary value attached. I am not certain I’ll ever master the balance of the options together.
There are markets in Phnom Penh that each have their own structure and specific type of feel to them. My husband and I watched the other day as vendors at the Russian Market went through the daily afternoon routine that finds them setting up stalls, slicing vegetables, hanging various meats, and making small talk with the sellers around them, perhaps continuing conversations from the afternoon before.
I would know more of what their conversations actually pertain to if I could ever grasp more than a few of the Khmer words I hear throughout the day. My husband’s advice on this topic? Stop translating. He went to language school while living in Thailand and this was the advice he received from a teacher. It is difficult to not want to follow each word that someone is speaking, to not subconsciously consult the running Khmer dictionary in my head and translate each word with precision. Sadly, by the time I am to the second word the conversation has usually ended.
So what can I do with my current language skill??
I can order you an omelet and bread for breakfast at your local Cambodian restaurant.
And this is how I plan to help change the world. One breakfast order at a time.
"Knyom rian piasaa Khmer, bon-dtae Knyom niyiay min-sieuw lau-au."
Rough translation: I study Khmer, but I don’t speak it very well :)
We find ourselves venturing into town to retrieve pizza, groceries, or teams from a local guest house. Phnom Penh is a pretty small city that can take unpredictable amounts of time to navigate courtesy of the traffic. Within the confines of a city block we drive past a young woman in tattered clothing who carries a pained expression on her face and a baby in her arms. We drive further and I glance inside a jewelry store window where another woman, exquisitely dressed, adorned with gold and smiling broadly dotes on the small child laughing in her arms.
It’s a dichotomy that exists anywhere you go. None of us are strangers to the idea of poverty, the idea of luxury, and the reality of trying to figure out where the rest of us fit in the middle. I pass the former of the two on a consistent basis and struggle to know what to offer them. Sometimes I offer a small financial token out of compassion, out of kindness, sometimes as a fee to alleviate my own conscience, and sometimes I simply offer an uncertain look of pity with no monetary value attached. I am not certain I’ll ever master the balance of the options together.
There are markets in Phnom Penh that each have their own structure and specific type of feel to them. My husband and I watched the other day as vendors at the Russian Market went through the daily afternoon routine that finds them setting up stalls, slicing vegetables, hanging various meats, and making small talk with the sellers around them, perhaps continuing conversations from the afternoon before.
I would know more of what their conversations actually pertain to if I could ever grasp more than a few of the Khmer words I hear throughout the day. My husband’s advice on this topic? Stop translating. He went to language school while living in Thailand and this was the advice he received from a teacher. It is difficult to not want to follow each word that someone is speaking, to not subconsciously consult the running Khmer dictionary in my head and translate each word with precision. Sadly, by the time I am to the second word the conversation has usually ended.
So what can I do with my current language skill??
I can order you an omelet and bread for breakfast at your local Cambodian restaurant.
And this is how I plan to help change the world. One breakfast order at a time.
"Knyom rian piasaa Khmer, bon-dtae Knyom niyiay min-sieuw lau-au."
Rough translation: I study Khmer, but I don’t speak it very well :)
Comments
In the end, I thought you were ordering breakfast, until I read further.
Take care