Other Lives

Other Lives
My ten day stay at a small guest house in Phnom Penh, produced some remarkable people learnings.
There are men here that appear to be my age or a little older that I find it impossible to have conversation with. To say that they are opinionated is an understatement. Their bristly behaviour spikes their body language. As a result caution is the newcomers leaning even before any words are spoken.
For these bristly warriors learning something useful or new would be an admission of inferiority that, apparently, must be avoided more avidly than an Iraqi bullet. The chosen method of defense against such discreditation is to adopt a bodily pose at the table that arted conversationalists would recognize as the Maori grizzle. Table time is spent thrusting their view and way onto others. Loud, bold declarations of how it is and how it must be done and the ridicule of even considering anything different. Later I came to understand that there is a simple descriptive term for these people that is appropriation personified. Blowhard! Attempts at introductory conversation on my part were mistaken for an invitation for full psycho-analytical assessment. My newfound shrink saw his opportunity to rise into a command and control position and launched himself into a half hour description of some ‘problem’ I was alleged to have developed (?) and how I must deal with it. At one point fairly early in the onslaught I turned to see if I was mistaken and he was talking to someone standing behind me. To be fair he gave me a choice on means of resolution. One option I was offered was to take a Khmere girlfriend. Now why would I want to do that? I smiled and nodded all the way through.
Self righteous. Deaf. Conceited. Pompous. Brash. Plus his mother countries presidents sirname rhymes with ‘Shush!’, surprise surprise!!. Occasionally he would stop and ask me what I thought so I just repeated what he had just said. He’d laugh and say..you see we doooo think the same way. If I’d needed to find a character that emissed every Northern Europeans idea of that great nations generic character I could not have stumbled upon a more appropriate individual. Or was it less a matter of stumbling and more a matter of luck that previous individuals that I had met from that great nation had been more of a gentle breeze than a ‘blowhard’. Anyhow as it was I didn’t need to find a character that emissed every Northern Europeans idea and image of that great nations generic character (who does?) so I was not unduly disappointed when he ordered himself another whisky and ice with the declaration that it would be his last before retiring for the night.
There is also an Englishman that bravely and regularly visits the table. In many ways he reminds me of a diminished Peter Cook. His ability to describe situations with enough sarcasm to raise a smile but not the hackles is well refined. He is a pleasure to listen to. He is a schoolteacher and his tales of classroom episodes in which he imitates the Khmere students and their overwhelming affection for UK ‘boy band’ music and their equally strong disaffection for the sun would make good material for a late night celebrity interview. In these little tales he is referred to as ‘Char’ (a seemingly affectionate abbreviation of teacher) by the Khmere students. He is my hero of the table. He does speak back, in an unfaltering matter of fact confident manner to the blowhards.
The mainstay of the table however is a lady. She is not English, she tells me, because she is from Guernsey. Time for everyone and only good words to say about them. One of the most relaxed members of the fairer sex that I have encountered. So relaxed that nothing needed to be done until it is time to panic. Unfortunately her original flight back home was missed because of a motorbike accident and a short stay a local hospital. As the end of March, the end of her extended visa period, approached I heard the words ‘I am beginning to panic now. I haven’t booked a flight home yet’!
I have wrestled with myself here. I was ill with chronic stomach pains and diahorrea for 3 days almost immediately I arrived in Phnom Penh. Making my way on the 2nd day from the guest house to a pharmacy a couple of streets away was a challenging task that will be etched in my memory for a very long time, because, quite simply, of the drama and desperacy of the situation. I must have looked like a windblown sheet of the previous Tuesdays Cambodia Daily. I certainly felt like one. Dehydrated, unshaven, listless and emaciated. I had lost my appetite about five days previous and clearly left myself bug prone. The pharmacy prescribed two boxes of pills and some rehydration drink. The climb up four flights of stairs on the return to my room left me in a bundle of litsless flesh and bone on the landing with hardly the strength to get my key in the door. However twenty fours of pills and pints of rehydration drink later, toilet visits had extended to six hourly and I had the beginnings of an appetite again.
I have found Phnom Penh a pleasant city to relax in. I have a nice room and some entertainment close by. The guest house staff are friendly and the food is good. I can sit and read or eat, or walk out to nearby entertainment.
With recovery and rehab rest nailed, I booked a bus trip to Siam Reap. 6hrs bus ride to the north to take in some of the incredible historic temples built around 1000AD.
The night before the trip I innocently sat in a bar for a brief beer before a planned dinner at a new location a couple of doors on from the bar. A fortuitous beer stop! Without it I doubt that I would ever have met ‘the demonstrator’. A UK guy around my young age also sat at the bar. After some minutes of niceties we touched on the subject of profession. Manufacturing is my stock response to the ‘what do you do?’ question. When I returned the question it was met with the alacrity of an excited teenager. I have the best job in the world came his boysterious reply; I am a professional demonstrator. Immediately I conjured up a picture of an all weather, grim faced, fist waving, placard touting, yomper inclined toward occasional bold verbal announcements in support of his current cause. This week ban vivisection, next week ban the bomb. No cause dismissed.
Further description of his tasks in this role took me into the realms of knife sales. He demonstrated how useful they were, what a good deal was on offer and, usually, people bought them. He gave me an example of the introductory crowd grabbing jibber and any shred of mendacity or prevarication that had crept into my mind was dispelled immediately. That was his profession! He was going to UK in a couple of days and would be picking up some demonstrator work in Tesco’s, Margate. A likeable, likely lad.