Going Country [in Cambodia]

Road to the Pagoda

Naran and Myself

Posted by Aron Flasher
Star Tribune
Last update: July 26, 2010

After finishing up at Siem Reap, I decided that I wanted to see a more natural Cambodian town, so I hopped a bus to Battambang. Battambang looks like what Siem Reap probably used to look like. It's another quite river town with most of the action centered along the banks. My first night there, I was eating alone at a restaurant when I struck up a conversation with my Cambodian waitress, Naran. She invited me to go to the pagoda with her family for the final day of Chaul Chnam, the Khmer New Year. The next morning she picked me up on her moto and we rode out of town and into the countryside. We drove off the paved roads for about a half hour before we turned into her village. There, I met her whole family as well as her neighbors and friends. The floors of the houses was the dirt ground and the properties were delineated by chicken wire strung between shoddy wooden posts. Farm animals ran about freely: chickens, dogs and cats. All of the homes were built on stilts to prevent flooding during the monsoon season. Upstairs, the houses were two to three rooms. In the village, I saw one TV connected to a car battery, otherwise there was no electricity and clearly no plumbing. The heat was amazing, at least 80 degrees with 90 percent humidity, and it was still early in the morning.

We had to wait for Naran's sister to cook the mother lunch, so i was there for a good two hours or so. Everyone came to meet me and I tried to impress them with the few Khmer words I had managed to pick up. Naran kept apologizing to me for everything taking so long. She also kept referring to me as brother, which I wasn't sure if it was a term of endearment or the fact that this was, technically, a communist country. Either way, it was clear that she was aware of her family's poverty, yet despite this, she kept offering me food. I would watch the other villagers come by and whisper and I could only imagine what they were saying and what social toll Naran may have to pay for bringing a Farang into a relatively conservative society.

Finally, when the meal was over, we walked another dirt road through some rice wadis to the pagoda. As is the standard, the pagoda was the tallest, most magnificent building in the whole village (this always upsets me, but at least monks don't drive luxury cars or molest little boys). I won't say that the service stopped when I entered, but I definitely stole its focus. I did my best to remember anything I could in regards to customs when in a pagoda. I took off my shoes and bowed to anyone and everyone who made eye-contact with me. People laughed and whispered but again everyone was really nice. I had bought a doughnut as my breakfast, but my stomach wasn't feeling too great (re: Cambodian soup) so I had kept it. This was good luck as it became my offering to the monk (Monks generally collect food from the townspeople and carry little or no money themselves. Thus it would have been poor form for me not to have brought something). I bowed and prayed as I was shown, washed the stone Buddha's with water and lit incense. It was pretty incredible experience and I felt so grateful that Naran was willing to bring me along.

That night, I was sick as a dog. To make matters worse, there was a ferocious thunderstorm that literally shook the hotel. Still, that night I managed the strength to get out of bed, buy a gift for Naran, a handwoven coin-purse, and give it to her at her restaurant. She said thank you and bowed. Goodbyes here are really awkward for me. The people here are affectionate, but they don't touch as much as we do. A bow has never felt like an adequate way to show true gratitude and feeling in the way a hug can. Still, I didn't want to break custom so I simply bowed back and left. I hope it expressed what I felt.