If you ever need to curse someone…I have a detailed plan of action for you:

Have a moving sale in which you promise to hold items for people

(as long as they can pick up within a couple of days). 

Wait.

Patiently.

You will be bombarded within hours, minutes really.

Emails and phone calls.  Multiple texts.

It does not matter that you specifically stated “email or text please, no phone calls.”

Soon you will begin to receive emails demanding your physical address. 

Multiple emails. 

Along with those demands comes the questions:

Why don’t you answer your phone?  

Why doesn’t your phone ring?

Why didn’t you give us the address in the initial post?

Do not feel the need the need to respond to the ridiculousness.

The curse will come soon enough. 

Yes, your phone gets crappy reception at home and either does not ring or people can never hear you, so answering the phone inevitably causes more confusion. 

But do not feel like you have to explain yourself or be defensive, the forthcoming results will be taking care of everything for you.

It takes about three days for the curse to set in.

The people that promise to come on a certain day/time and do not will either forget you ever existed and suddenly stop checking their email and/or phone, or they will be cursed.   There will be numerous individuals that fall into each category. 

Sometimes you hear from the cursed hours before they have promised to show up, or merely minutes before.  Sometimes you hear from them after the terrible tragedy.  Yes, you have cleared your schedule so they can come get this item they just HAVE to have and are so incredibly excited for.  They insisted you hold it, they did not merely wish to come by to see the item.  They claimed it as their own. 

Here is when the cursed will explain to you how deeply sorry they are, but they will be unable to make it (and it is now you will begin to see the very tangible results):

***I got in a car accident and I cannot move.

***My home was broken into, we were robbed of literally everything we owned.

***My entire family is deathly ill.

***The in-laws made an unexpected visit, we are held up for two weeks.

***My phone was stolen and my money was stolen. I cannot buy anything.  

End of lesson.  

If interested, I can provide you the corresponding item requested with specific curse.  

Moto

For sale: 

2006 Suzuki Viva.  

Electric start does work.  

Has both side mirrors, basket, 2012 tax sticker.  

Fuel gauge works, blinkers work.  

Have gotten regular oil changes, etc since purchase in January 2012.  

Have replaced both front/rear brakes, battery, and spark plugs within the past 4 months.
Brand new rear tire and inner tube.  

Has scratches on front fender, as seen in photographs.

Asking $500.

Beautiful Kampot, Cambodia

People and Places

Today I was pondering the parallels between places and relationships. 

When you first step foot into a new country the surroundings are surreal: 

The faces new and somehow innocent. 

The landscape enthralling, “like nothing ever seen before.”  Every palm tree is unique and perfect.  The sky is the bluest you have seen.

The fruit…you cannot even describe the colors, the smells, the taste. 

Everything around appears so fresh and pure.  It is almost too good to be true.  You have yet to notice the giant cockroaches, the begging children, the armies (we are talking Red Army here) of ants taking over, the numerous fellows who appear to assume that the side of the road is a toilet (wonder what would happen if I assumed as well), and the “could be oh so beautiful” beaches littered with plastic bags, syringes, dead creatures, etc.  

You scoff at others’ discomforts, mock safety concerns, and admonish them for their negativity. 

You know what I’m talking about right—infatuation. 

Then you begin to wonder about little things... 

What makes that banana so small? 

Why isn’t this language tonal? 

Why are there different levels of sampeahs? 

What causes the monsoon?

Why does everyone always smile?

Does everyone in the world love rice?

Why do I need to remove my shoes?

Why do they use the US dollar?

Silly things. 

Then you consider the bigger issues.  The cultural norms that differ so greatly from your own.  Differences in gender roles, in parenting styles, and in beliefs and morals.  Your mind is not quite so open as it was previously.  You still want to learn, but your attitude has gained a little superiority.  You politely offer “well, this is how we do it,” while thinking “and it works for us so why don’t you try it out?”  You quietly contemplate all the reasons their way is “wrong” and yours is “right.” 

You really begin to get to know the place.  You meet people, you learn their stories and discover their passions.  It is enthralling to learn about life in another culture.  

The learning, or discovery stage.  

Then you have a negative experience.  

Whether it’s a stolen laptop, getting clipped by drunken and clueless Lexus, or hearing a story about a “local little girl” that tears your heart out piece by piece, you realize everything is not as it first appears.  At least not for us doe-eyed optimists. 

Ya, we’ve all been there—time to weigh out your options, right?  Should I head somewhere that is cleaner, maybe without any travel warnings? 

Some choose to  leave after this experience.  Unfortunately the negative taste will probably remain with them, influencing their stories and blog posts for years to come.  Maybe it’s for the best.  I say it is always worthwhile to tough it out.  Rainbows come after the rain, right?  Not before and not during. 

There are seasons.  Weeks and months of excitement and discovery.  Days of dreariness and not much hope.  Sometimes you look around and see only trash and beggars, other times you see only smiling sweepers.  

I could go on…but will keep it simple.

If we can get past the infatuation and find truth, it will be a worthwhile venture.  Reality is not always picture perfect, sometimes it hurts, sometimes it's ugly.  But it is always worth the journey.

Every place has its own quirks as every place has its own beauty.  Maybe certain places aren’t for all of us.  But we, who get to discover new places and truly learn about their histories, and their people, with open minds, are incredibly lucky. 

Ya it’s cheesy, but just like in relationships the enchantment will fade.  Reality will set in.  Don’t forget to look for the goodness.  It is always there.  And it is sure to outlast all of the corruption, racism, hatred, and negativity.  

Relaxing Sunday in Cambodia

Breathe some fresh air, right across the river from Phnom Penh!  

Just ten minutes on the ferry (from NagaWorld).

Rent a bike, grab some water, and prepare to hear a thousand and one smiling children call HELLOOOO.

Sovann Smiles, While Surrounded by Ignorant Half-Naked Barang

I've been a tuk-tuk driver for eight years now.  It seems every year more foreigners come to my country, some to visit and some to live.  A few of them are like family to me now.  I see them often, we share meals, we visit my homeland together, I know about their lives and they know about mine.  However, the many others are the ones I want to tell you about.  Yes, I appreciate the income when they hire me.  But sometimes I wonder, do they have any idea how utterly ridiculous they appear?

What I see: 

Scandalous women everywhere, they come in hordes.  They are oblivious to the world around them.  They do not dress appropriately or act like good women.  I hope my daughters do not get used to seeing women dress like that and think it is normal.  I tell them it is not acceptable for respectable young ladies to dress in that manner. 

People who have time for only themselves.  Why do they all walk around with their headphones blaring?  We are real people, with stories to tell, lives to live, families to support.  Do people intentionally ignore the world that is around them or do they simply not want to see?  Are they afraid someone is going to jump out and bite them?  Do they think we are snakes, looking for our next victim?

Unkept foreigners with baggy clothes and messy hair, touting their LP or some other guide book.  Assuming they know it all because they came armed and "prepared" with the latest, relevant information.  They have the craziest clothes, why do people wear those skimpy tank tops and short shorts?  Are they trying to get dengue fever?  Or are they trying to turn their skin brown?  Either way, they do not seem to have much common sense. 

People with such a sense of entitlement.  Why are people who have so much so demanding?  Why do they insist on things a certain way?  If you can’t handle one ant crawling on your arm, take a taxi.  If you need to be somewhere at exactly 4 p.m., you may want to leave earlier next time.  Please don’t yell at me because of the condition of the road, the fact that it’s raining, or the insane traffic.  I have no control over these things.  This is life.  What kind of life do you have that you can afford to become so angry about such mundane issues?

What I hear: 

Oh, I hear the funniest things.  People think they are so clever or so knowledgeable because they are from the “developed” world.  You cannot imagine the pity and “compassion” we involuntarily experience.  People look at us with pity in their eyes, while criticizing our government, our history, our very identities.  Do they even know how ludicrous their words sound?  Sure I smile, offer them a ride, surprise them with my English.  But inside, I am constantly rolling my eyes, thinking “get a clue.”

What I really enjoy is when foreigners decide to “educate” me about my own country.  Oh yes, they inevitably know more about our history, our government, our economy, and our language.  They get offended if I cannot understand their rubbish attempt of the Khmer language.  I always smile, thank, and praise them.  I insist their Khmer is the best I have ever heard.  Even though I have no idea what they are saying, shouldn’t I be offended? 

These foreigners also attempt to educate me about social issues in my country.  They tell me I must look out for certain people, in order to protect my family.  They throw all kinds of information at me about sanitation and pollution.  They tell me it’s dirty and unsafe here.  They are filled with pride for their own country, and yet fail to recognize I may have pride as well.  They treat us like their own little punching bags, insult upon insult.  My pride carries me through one day to the next, it enables to put up with one more foreigner.  This pride is what I know will carry us into the future. 

Weekly, I am given the amazing “blessing” and opportunity of learning a few new words of English.  These foreigners are so happy to engage with a “local” and teach a poor Cambodian some English.  The idiots never realize they are teaching me words I already know.  But hey, I have learned to go along with whatever makes them feel good about themselves.  Because then they are more likely to tip me or use my tuk-tuk again. 

What I know:

My people are strong.  They are clever.  My family works together.  We support one another.  We do not flit about the world, on vacation, or pretending to help everyone else.  My country is courageous, it is filled with overcomers.  You can read all your guidebooks, you can watch documentaries, you can visit us with a heart overflowing with pity, but why are you really here?  If you do not care about learning from us, about improving yourself, about being calm and mindful, about making friends that you actually spend time with, I wish you would just send your money and stay home.  I never asked for your pity.  It is not “helping” anyone.

I Want My Own Barista

          I worked as a barista for many years.  While, no longer employed in a café, I still sympathize with anyone in the profession.  No matter where I order my coffee or what condition it is in, I smile kindly, chat with, and sincerely thank the barista.  I realize that many would consider me a pushover, for not insisting my drink is perfect.  I choose to believe my barista did his or her best, and besides, a little pleasant conversation will improve any drink.  Recently, I decided I want my own barista.

I want a barista who will smile graciously at me when I walk into the café on my cell phone.  I want my barista to politely greet me, though I will carelessly avoid returning the pleasant greeting.  I expect my barista to address me in a calm, pleasant voice and to never be affected by my eye-rolling or otherwise ridiculously rude behavior.  I want my barista to patiently wait while I finish my enormously important phone call and ask the customers in the growing line behind me to calm down and “for heaven’s sake, practice a little patience”.  My barista will always put my needs before anyone else’s. 

My barista will know my precise expectations from the moment I walk into the café.  If, by chance, my barista needs a day off, he will train another barista who will gratefully undertake my numerous, but well-founded, desires and needs.  The barista responsible for me will know my name, my beverage, and the way I prefer my beverage  served.  My barista shall never write my name on my cup, I will not have Sharpie on my hands.  I am a professional, after all, not a junior-higher. 

My barista must know my beverage down to the exact temperature, weight, and presentation.  I expect consistency and I demand perfection.  I do not care how busy the café is, or how many others are waiting.  My drink is a Grande, five pump, whole milk, no foam, no whip, 140-degree mocha.  Let me tell you, I know when it is correct, and I know when it is not correct.

I now know that I must observe the process from start to finish or something will inevitably go wrong.  I attribute that tendency to the laziness of this current generation.  My barista must initially put the five pumps of chocolate in the cup, followed by two perfect espresso shots.  I am required to watch to ensure the barista stirs the chocolate into the espresso with a spoon or my so-called mocha is just a boring latte, with a clump of wasted chocolate on the bottom.  Don’t even try to tell me that swirling the cup is sufficient.  After he carefully and quickly stirs the espresso and chocolate, he must immediately add foam-free milk of just 140-degrees Fahrenheit. 

My barista knows he must then weigh my beverage.  If my beverage does not weigh exactly .544 kilograms, I assume my barista negligently allowed foam into the cup and this is, obviously, unacceptable.  I am paying for a sixteen ounce drink and I will not stand for some cheapskate company teaching their baristas to fill the cups with foam in order to save money on milk.  On a side note, I think cappuccinos and macchiatos were created solely for the purpose of ripping off the customer.  If it is the incorrect temperature, my barista will quickly and efficiently remake it.  If someone accidentally plops a tiny drop of whipped cream on my beverage, my barista will happily prepare another one.  If another barista accidentally fills the pitcher with two-percent milk, rather than whole milk, I will know as soon as I take the first sniff.  I will slam the cup onto the counter and demand a remake.  Now I will likely be late to meet my sister for CrossFit. 

My barista should be able to easily distinguish, by my apparel, whether or not I am on my way to work out.  If I am dressed for CrossFit, he should automatically prepare a Venti ice water for me.  When my barista forgets to take note of what I am wearing, I am forced to request my Venti ice water from the hand-off plane.  No matter how many drinks have been ordered behind mine, those customers will have to wait, while my barista stops to prepare a Venti ice water for me.

My barista will understand that when I hold up my finger, I expect him to drop whatever he is doing and focus only on me.  Whether I need to ask a simple question, demand additional stirring, or politely request that the disgusting floor be swept, I never interrupt unless is it important.  My barista will know I am really not that difficult to please and will always be delighted to serve me.  I am a paying customer after all, and this is America.  We have demands to be fulfilled, places to be, important meetings, and people to meet. 

I consider myself a true gift to these baristas.  I am an artist and a teacher.  I am showing them how to be meticulous, devoted, thoughtful, and consistent.  I know these are lessons they will be able to use in this job, as well as when they find “real” jobs in the future.  I want my barista to be incredibly grateful and even indebted to me for this selfless act I am doing. 

I want my own barista so I never have to worry about anything again while getting my morning coffee.  Life is difficult enough, why should I have to suffer first thing in the morning?  And one more thing, why the hell would I ever leave a tip?