[Phnom Penh, 12/2/23]
Though your average Oriental doesn’t crave cheese, I did spend decades in the West, including +4 years in Europe, so yesterday, I paid $7.02 for 300 grams of Danish gouda, speckled with cumin seeds. From that Lucky Supermarket, I’ve also paid the same for English sharp cheddar. A week ago, I had feta cheese, plus falafels and hummus, at Hummus House. Since that joint was so busy, I never got a chance to chatter with its Lebanese owner. One of my poetry books is Some Kind of Cheese Orgy. As a long-time Philadelphian, I’m justly proud of its eponymous cream cheese, though it was not invented there or, frankly, has anything to do with that disastrous city.
In Certaldo, I was told by my friend Cristiana that pecorino is an endearment derived from pecora, sheep, so if you’re intimate with an ewe, you can whisper in her hairy, vulva shaped ear, “Oh, my pecorina!”
So I’m a fussy animal, but who isn’t? Even if you’re a lifelong resident of, say, Walla Walla, with a simple, down home diet much fortified by domestically produced American Cheese, Cheez Whiz, Cheese Doodles and Cheetos, you’re still getting your tomatoes, lettuce, broccoli, strawberries, asparagus, avocados, cocaine and fentanyl from Mexico, and your grapes come from Chile, 6,300 miles away.
On my last day in Cambodia, I’m having lunch, again, at Klang Boy Bak Kut Teh. Its amazing Chinese Malaysian dishes I first encountered in Kuala Lumpur, Malacca and Penang. This morning, I had a $1 pork and quail egg steamed dumpling [bánh bao] that had arrived from Saigon, after a seven-hour bus trip. Many Cambodians also prefer it over their locally made baozi. Else it would make no sense to import them daily.
In Don Det, Laos, excellent baguettes are delivered almost daily from Pakse, four hours away by minibus and boat. Even on that tiny and remote island, there are those who are disgusted by inferior bread.
Now, I’ve written about Cambodians who eat nothing but bread for breakfast or on long distance journeys. I’ve had many instant noodle dinners with a can of tuna, just an egg or by itself. I’ve made soup with water and ketchup. Of course, there are millions starving right this second. On the whole, though, we are still living in the age of unprecedented abundance, mostly due to oil, natural gas and their byproducts. Cheap oil means dozens of slaves for each slave wage, even.
Born in 1841, an English boy could expect to live until he’s 40 years old. Born in 2011, he’s supposed to see his 79th birthday. The life expectancy for Cambodians is 71.46 years, and here, even slum dwellers have access to a cellphone. Of course, a very long life can be more miserable, and more meaningless too, than super brief ones. Still, it’s nice to have extra time to reflect on your few successes and countless failures.
Born into this relative affluence and comfort, it’s hard to imagine any other life, so there’s considerable rejection and resistance to dire predictions. There’s no economic unraveling, America will be great again, California is sinking, true, but only because of bad local governance, the Ukraine war is limited and will soon be over in any case, Gaza genocide must happen to rid Muslim terrorists from the Holy Land, Biden is a bit embarrassing so he’ll be voted out and, finally, only cowardly losers flee the USA or the West to settle in shithole countries, so good riddance!
With two blogs called “Postcards from the End of [the] America[n Empire]” and “Postcards from the End,” I’m certainly among the doomsayers. Plus, I left the US with much relief five years ago. Pushing back against my bleakness, “tt” commented on 11/28/23, “Meanwhile Black Friday in the US of A generated $9.8 billion in online sales—up 7.5% from last year. Thanksgiving Day saw $5.6 billion in online spending, up 5.5% year over year. Just like your friend in Saigon would say, everything is fine.”
At first, I thought he was being ironic, but then he repeated the same message two days later, so let’s consider this online surge. Since yearly inflation is certainly more than 7.5%, this spike only means you’re getting less. You’re paying $107.50 for maybe $90 of merchandise. There’s much more air in your bag of potato chips.
Plus, since your nearby Old Navy, Banana Republic, Gap, Foot Locker, JC Penney, Nordstrom, Buy Buy Baby and Best Buy, etc., have all been shuttered due to shoplifting, flash robberies, smash and grabs and sluggish sales, you have no choice but to buy even a toothbrush online. Though all your credit cards have been cut up eons ago, you still have your Affirm buy-now-and-pay-later plastic, so yeah, there are some made-in-China junk beneath your ratty Christmas tree. Happy Hanukkah!
Fact is, most Main Streets are dead and big city downtowns are filled with the dazed, delirious or dangerous, squalid tents and empty highrises. Upright citizens are reluctant to laze in some noisy bar or overpriced cafe. To simply stroll through a park has become dicey. It’s safest to be triple locked inside to watch another tedious game, stare at porn or shop online. Once there were bright, antiseptic malls to waste an hour or two, but most have become comatose, with those still twitching risk being jolted by rampaging “youths” or pranksters. It’s not fun to be sucker punched.
It’s a land populated by those who chose or were forced to flee there. Its most troubling arrived in chains. It’s a nation of the deracinated if not self betrayers. Still, it could have been held together by ideals, except those had been turned into jokes.
In Vung Tau, Vientiane, Pakse, Siem Reap or Phnom Penh, I hear an entirely different laughter, and instead of being blocked from life by windshields, steel, walls, squeamishness and conventions, I’m soaked in it.
On 11/1/23, Lazyeyewitness commented after one of my videos, “Your ability to get people to open up and talk to you is great!” Without lapsing into self congratulation, I do have that knack, but in Southeast Asia, it’s not too difficult to have windows into people’s lives.
Where I had bánh bao was owned by a 58-year-old Vietnamese. She came to Phnom Penh ten years ago.
“How did you end up here, sister?” I asked. “I mean, what brought you here?” I was sitting on a low steel stool next to her drink and snack stand. She was making banh mi.
Her in-laws were here, she explained. At 19, she married a Cambodian-born Vietnamese. Fleeing Pol Pot, he was living in Saigon.
“I didn’t want to. It was my mother’s idea. I didn’t even know what love was! It didn’t last, but I had my daughter. We were together just three years. He has had two more wives.”
Born poor, she never got past the 6th grade, but she did know how to sew and cook. In Phnom Penh, she sold vegetarian food, but obesity and diabetes weren’t yet problems, so she switched to selling clothing imported from Vietnam. That went very well, then Covid came. With a lockdown, many Cambodians got used to buying online, so she had to add a sidewalk cafe, with salt coffee its specialty.
In that three-story building, she lives with her daughter, a niece and a Cambodian worker. I was astounded to hear her rent is $1,000 a month. Chinese money has jacked up real estate prices.
To survive what comes next, you must be stoic and adaptable, just like that lady. This age of the demanding and fussy is over. In my mini fridge, I still have some of that Danish gouda. It is exceptional.
1 comment:
“Still, it’s nice to have extra time to reflect on your few successes and countless failures.”
Well said and spot on accurate. It’s amazing how the self aggrandized never factor in “dumb luck” - as if born into something is some kind of achievement. I was walking poverty until I was almost fifty, and I consider success as “prepared for the opportunity but mostly just dumb luck”. Still to some it may sound like I was running away from something - how weird is that?
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