It was a simple place, this provincial Cambodian town near the border of Vietnam—a collection of stilted houses, animals, and some small businesses. No grocery stores or anything like that, just a market consisting of wooden stalls and stands and piles of food spread out on tarps. Fish flopped in metal tubs; slabs of meat sat out on tables for inspection, amongst generous mounds of lychee, dragonfruit, and green bananas. People sold frogs, snakes, crickets, and all sorts of dietary oddities, things we would only think of as survival food. We joked after about thirty minutes in the small town of Svay Rieng that we had seen all there was to do there.
There, life is just simple, the necessities of sleep and food being dictated by what is available. The bus driver slept under the bus, in the luggage compartment; the gas station attendant slept outside by the pump; the guesthouse attendant slept on the wooden bench in the lobby. If you were hungry your food was generally something that had been caught, gathered, or picked—and maybe cooked. If you were thirsty you found a cart on the street. If you needed to wash something, you found a puddle of water left over from the monsoons.
After being there just one day I was grateful for small things: fans, showers, clean clothes, some rice, and a cold Fanta. When we needed to go somewhere, it was easy—we just walked. We walked to the hospital, to the guesthouse where we stayed, to the market, or just down the quiet streets at night. In all of its humility, it was a beautiful, gentle place. To think of a generation lost to genocide in my lifetime in this place seemed unfathomable. The broad happy smiles, the thankful head bows, the children playing kick the flip-flop by the road made me smile. The household shrines and offerings constantly in view left me feeling peaceful, reflective. Even when taking a tuk tuk here or there in Phnom Penh, I saw beauty in the way that the motos and bicycles wove together with cars and trucks in an intricate and seemingly implausible polite dance.
I felt blessed to be a visitor in Cambodia for a few weeks. To once again be reminded that Americans don’t know it all, that in all our complexity, comforts, and busyness we lose things—good things, human things. My heart left Cambodia with new lessons in peace, resilience, and hope.
What experiences help you strip off the unnecessary trappings of life? Are there places that have changed your perspective?
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