Party at my landlord's
My landlord had a BIG party in front of our house to celebrate their mother, now that she is 65, to thank her for bringing them into this world, wish her health and long life. The extravagance could not be expressed in words, with a giant stuppa where she sat during the ceremony, a party tent taking up three-quarters of the road and extending down in front of 6 neighbors houses, a procession of monks, chanting... I forgot to call my mom on her 65th birthday until the day after.*
The street was blocked off during the party, which was the bulk of 2 days. My landlord is of an elite, educated, wealthy family, and is an engineer with the military police.
I put on my best shirt and went down for dinner. I placed a $10 bill in the invitation envelope and gave it to the layman, an older person like a monk but not an actual monk. He blessed me and I focused on his rotten front tooth, which was now just a sliver of a tooth really. I wanted to pull it out for him. We had been taking the kids to the dentist a lot lately and they are having a lot of rotten teeth pulled out.
After receiving my blessing, I was handed a whiskey and soda, and sat down at a table with several beautiful, single women. Everyone was toasting repeatedly, drinking lots, while I would clink my glass and pretend to take a drink. I tried to explain to my hostess that I had just taken Tinidazole to treat my Guardia, so couldn’t drink alcohol for 24 hours. She basically called me a wuss, a half man, and said she had a stomach problem too, but alcohol was no problem. It was almost enough to get me to drink. She wanted me to go dancing later, and she was put the whiskey back like an Irishman (it is not traditional for Cambodian women to drink much alcohol).
About the time the food arrived, a black Hummer pulled up, right to the front of the tent, even though there was no parking space. In walked a middle aged Khmer man with a really nice silk shirt. The shirt alone made me respect him instantly. There was some to-do about his arrival, and then he was sat right next to me. I don’t remember his name, but he is a general with the military police, my landlord’s boss no doubt. He spoke a little English, and we talked a bit. He was quite friendly.
As dinner wound down, the street kids started sticking their arms through the tent’s sides asking for the empty cans, Phnom Penh’s equivalent to the Serengeti’s raven. The elite have no illusions that there are not vast problems here, as you can’t get away from the poor children. As I was slipping away from a drinking frenzy, which seemed quite fun, a few of the street kids were allowed to harvest the cans and leftovers at one of the tables. A skinny young boy was popping food in his mouth with one hand, while grabbing cans with the other. I stood and watched him with amusement before retreating to my apartment, where I spent a Friday evening reflecting on the night’s activities. Street kids and Hummers; the absurdity of Phnom Penh.
*My understanding is this Buddhist tradition is not to mark a specific birthday, but to wish good health and long life as a woman gets older.
The street was blocked off during the party, which was the bulk of 2 days. My landlord is of an elite, educated, wealthy family, and is an engineer with the military police.
I put on my best shirt and went down for dinner. I placed a $10 bill in the invitation envelope and gave it to the layman, an older person like a monk but not an actual monk. He blessed me and I focused on his rotten front tooth, which was now just a sliver of a tooth really. I wanted to pull it out for him. We had been taking the kids to the dentist a lot lately and they are having a lot of rotten teeth pulled out.
After receiving my blessing, I was handed a whiskey and soda, and sat down at a table with several beautiful, single women. Everyone was toasting repeatedly, drinking lots, while I would clink my glass and pretend to take a drink. I tried to explain to my hostess that I had just taken Tinidazole to treat my Guardia, so couldn’t drink alcohol for 24 hours. She basically called me a wuss, a half man, and said she had a stomach problem too, but alcohol was no problem. It was almost enough to get me to drink. She wanted me to go dancing later, and she was put the whiskey back like an Irishman (it is not traditional for Cambodian women to drink much alcohol).
About the time the food arrived, a black Hummer pulled up, right to the front of the tent, even though there was no parking space. In walked a middle aged Khmer man with a really nice silk shirt. The shirt alone made me respect him instantly. There was some to-do about his arrival, and then he was sat right next to me. I don’t remember his name, but he is a general with the military police, my landlord’s boss no doubt. He spoke a little English, and we talked a bit. He was quite friendly.
As dinner wound down, the street kids started sticking their arms through the tent’s sides asking for the empty cans, Phnom Penh’s equivalent to the Serengeti’s raven. The elite have no illusions that there are not vast problems here, as you can’t get away from the poor children. As I was slipping away from a drinking frenzy, which seemed quite fun, a few of the street kids were allowed to harvest the cans and leftovers at one of the tables. A skinny young boy was popping food in his mouth with one hand, while grabbing cans with the other. I stood and watched him with amusement before retreating to my apartment, where I spent a Friday evening reflecting on the night’s activities. Street kids and Hummers; the absurdity of Phnom Penh.
*My understanding is this Buddhist tradition is not to mark a specific birthday, but to wish good health and long life as a woman gets older.
posted by drewmcdo at 2:30 AM
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