That Time in Kep
A Peace Corps Cambodia story
April 20th, 2019
My mind needed an escape. My body craved the sea. The two weeks of In Service Training were just over and the combined fatigue, starting way back since Staging in San Francisco, made everyone desperate for a breather. Hard to believe that was nearly six months ago.
The bus ride to Kep beach from Phnom Penh was four hours, maybe more. I could smell its salty breeze before the bus doors swung open. On a personal note, I always thought seeing more locals than tourists at tourist attractions to be a more pleasant site and Kep didn’t disappoint. It’s small beach was filled with families, pros and sreis and jiejs and tas, all splashing each other in the calm waves, with one or two foreigners sunbathing, their ultimate goal being: trying to get as red as lobsters to be sold in the local crab market for just ten dollars apiece. I remember a friend of mine once told me I was a sissy for putting sunscreen on. Imagine someone thinking he’s tougher than the Sun. The Sun!
A Khmer woman greeted us and pointed to an inflatable pyramid so far out at sea it could have been easily confused for another Vietnamese owned island off the Cambodian coast. “It is said that if you reach the pyramid, you’ll be enlightened and all your questions will be answered,” the woman said. “You’ll know what projects to do, how to become better teachers, speak Khmer well and you will find a sense of direction, purpose and belonging.”
We all stripped down to our bathing suits and ran to the sea with no hesitation. My buddies Todd and Jared were the first in the water. We rammed through the waves, battled against current. The urgency was felt with every breath drew as we lifted into the mercy of the sea.
For the past five months my day to day diet had been a combination of coffee, fish heads, mangosteens, Ichitan green tea, prahok, pork dumplings, sugar and, of course, rice; and I was starting to realize that that wasn’t cutting it. Mid swim in, I lagged and was abandoned by my friends. I grew tired and sleepy, took a big breath of air and sunk into the ocean hoping my paddle arms would recover.
A school of Catfish was swimming around me all along! Their scales glittered against the sunlight, their mouths opened and closed as if trying to speak to me.
“Come on, speak!” I said. “I know you can. I’ve spoken to other animals before. Dogs, monkeys, racist bigots. Say something!”
One swam up to me and said: “Have you finished your VRF yet?”
Huh? I was hoping I misunderstood that.
“Have you been planning your secondary project?” another said.
Wait, what the —
“When are you going to start teaching outside of the English For Cambodia books?”
I like the stories! And the books aren’t that bad…
“You haven’t been practicing your Khmer, have you?”
“I’M ON VACATION!” I yelled but only bubbles came out. I gave the Catfish the bird and swam to the surface.
When I eventually made it to the pyramid, my friends were already on top.
“Where is it? Our purpose, I don’t see it. It must be around here somewhere. Where are the answers?” Jared said, appearing more desperate than the others. They all had the same look of despair, of exhaustion, of doubtfulness, of dying hope.
“It’s not here! Why would that woman do that to us? We’re barely holding ourselves together as is,” Saul said. He let out a muffled shriek that sounded more like a whimper.
“I say off with her head!” Erin shouted and a communal uproar followed.
“No! Wait, look!” Jane pointed to the crimson sunset that lit the sky ablaze. We watched in awe as the horizon bled into the far reaches of the ocean. Jane continued: “Maybe we’ve always known the answers. It’s a matter of finding ourselves. We knew our direction once we got on that plane in San Francisco, we knew our purpose once we swore in as Peace Corps Volunteers, we knew — “
“What a load of crap,” I interrupted. Everyone nodded in agreement and we all back-flipped back into the water. One by one, we all made it back to shore. While using the Sun as a towel, an old foreigner approached us.
“You should cover-up,” he said in his thick European accent.
“Excuse me?” we replied, taken aback.
“Your concerns regarding your future and your doubts in your capabilities as volunteers are showing. You should cover them up more.”
I thought he was talking about my Speedo.
I lodge at Casa Kep, a bed and breakfast about ten minutes walking distance from the beach that was run by a Scottish man named Andy. I introduced myself and said with my best attempt at a Scottish accent at my disposal: “Damn Scots! They’ve ruined Scotland!” He didn’t find that so funny. I didn’t know why; most of my American friends do.
“I practiced extreme sports before Cambodia,” he said with his authentic accent. “Freestyle solo rock climbing. As in, no ropes or other gear.”
“You consider that a sport?” I asked.
“Of course it is! How is it any different from what you play across the pond? Say, for example, basketball or American football.”
“Well, it’s like if Peyton Manning were to not complete a pass and then get executed for it. The stakes are higher.”
“Indeed they are. Makes it even more fun.”
“The only other sport equivalent to freestyle rock climbing that comes to mind would be, I don’t know, Russian Roulette?”
“And I’m sure the Russians consider it a National pastime. Those who would argue against it probably lost. But that’s behind me. Now, I have someone who takes care of me, who I love dearly, and I have someone who needs taking care of. And that someone is Molly, ain’t that right beauty?”
Molly came rushing out and popped up from in between his legs. She gave me a big smile and slobbered all over my hand when I greeted her. She was a beauty.
“I was searching for so long and I eventually found it. A place where I can wake up every morning and say ‘aye, this is where I belong. This is where I’m meant to be.’”
“I’ve traveled halfway around the world with that concern and six months later it’s still alive and strong,” I said.
“And you’ll be torturing yourself even more if you’d fancy because ye looking with ye eyes and not ye heart.”
Whatever the hell that means. Still, under the polka-dotted black sky, I reflected on what he said. I heard nails on tile closing in.
“Hey boy! Come to stargaze with me?”
“The night would be a beauty if it weren’t for all the mozzies.”
“Huh…”
“The mozzies! Americans don’t call mosquitos mozzies?”
“You can talk…”
“And I’m not a boy. I’m a Sheela,” Molly said.
“Oh! You come from the land down under? Would you like a shrimp on the bar — “
“Don’t you dare or I’ll bite your bloody gonads clean off. You’re lucky I haven’t already with your little spat about my main mate Andy.” (Who even says gonads now) “And we Australians don’t say shrimp on the barbie. Ever.”
“What do you say then?”
“We say prawns.”
“WHAT?!”
“So you feeling kinda overwhelmed, stressed out even, after In Service Training, am I right? You just realized there’s a lot of weight on your shoulders and what lays ahead gots you feelin’ worried. Don’t deny it, I can smell it a mile away.”
“If your sniffer is that good why do you get so close to sniff asses?”
“This isn’t about me, this is about you.”
“In that case, I don’t know what you are talking about. I’m on vacation. I’m re-la-xing.”
“Aye, but that’s all you can think about. IST was a milestone in service, and now you’re really in it. And whether this becomes a spectacular, heart-warming and overall amazing experience or not depends entirely on you. It’s what you make of it and guess what? Hold on,” Molly lifts her back foot and ferociously scratches the back of her ear. “This little bugger been bothering me for ages. Now, where was I? Yes, you are the captain of this vessel. You’ve known your direction all along.”
“What a load of cra — “
“Oh, shut it! You’re looking at it differently. Or are you going to give me the bird as well?”
“Wait a sec. So, the woman and foreigner on the beach?”
“Ye?”
“The Catfish…”
“Ye…”
“My friends on the pyramid!”
“Ye!”
“That was all in my head.”
“Ye. You’re stressed out. You volunteers go through a lot. And it’s alright to talk about it. Who knows, you might learn something about yourself or something you needed to be reminded of.”
“I flipped off a bunch of Catfish for no reason. And that old foreigner was talking about my speedo, telling me to cover up more.” Molly didn’t respond. She smiled and lay on her back awaiting a belly rub. “Nice talking to you Molly.”
The next morning an elderly French couple checked in when I was about to check out. Andy greeted them and from across the garden I heard them say “damn the Scots! They’ve ruined Scotland!” Andy didn’t seem too pleased about it.
“Oy!” I called out to them. “You best be leaving my main mate Andy alone or I’ll bite your bloody gonads clean off!” The humans looked puzzled, even Andy, but Molly, who was beside my wagging her tail, smiled in approval.
When I was packing my stuff and getting ready to leave, a folder fell to the ground and the mail I finally had picked up from the PC offices in Phnom Penh spilled all over. I picked up a letter that I had written to myself during Pre-Service Training. It read:
Dear Dumbass,
I know you’re deep in high tides of concerns and worries, of hardships and struggles, but remember that everything makes it to the shore eventually. Whether you make it whole depends on you. So the next time you’re struggling on the squatty potty, lost in translation with your Khmer community or curled up in a ball under your protective mosquito net with thousands of critters trying to get at you, keep in mind that maybe things won’t get better, but you’ll probably get better at handling those things.
With love, Marco
A reminder. The first thing I did was text Jane. I told her she was right, she was always right but never wanted to give her the satisfaction, I apologized for my bluntness for I was lost and afraid and afraid of being lost. I shouldn’t be feeling this way, not this far deep into service. These sentiments should only be valid in the beginning. Wrong. I’m aware. I sent her a photo of the letter as well. She replied to me in a single sentence:
“What a load of crap.”
