Cambodia’s unexpected gifts

I would have missed the red sunrise over the Mekong River if I hadn’t let myself get so out of shape. I had been in Cambodia less than 24 hours after a grueling series of flights and layovers, including 12 hours in the utilitarian Guangzhou, China, airport.

I was in no mood to go for a run.

But I’d gotten out of shape, and I’d made a rule I still follow: If I pack my running shoes on a trip, I have to use them at least once. So, only because I’d gotten mad at my laze-induced pudge, I grudgingly dragged my jet-lagged body, foggy-brained out of bed and laced up for an obligatory jog on the hotel treadmill.

It was in that early morning darkness – a mile or so hypnotized by the automated rhythm of my feet and the beat pumping through my iPhone and staring unseeing out the dark gym windows – that I became gradually aware of an unexpected gift Southeast Asia was offering.

Outstretched before me, the Mekong River was materializing out of the hazy grey, the sun rising, a deep red I’d never seen before – or since – growing ever clearer like the dissipating fog of a developing Polaroid.

A red sun so startling the thought crossed my mind for a moment that the world might be ending.

I wanted to grab ahold of that gift. I ran from the gym, scrambling around the side of the hotel toward the river….snap, snap, snapping phone photos, hoping to capture, before the blaze died, even just a little of that magnificent red; the crimson, orange, yellow sunrise flames licking at the famous river.

I failed to capture it. I got a nice picture, but nothing that comes close to the lusciousness of that red sun rising over the Mekong River, burned even now into my mind’s eye, a beautiful gift unasked for.

Cambodia is a special and complicated place. It’s a place of intensity and sadness. Cruelty and kindness. Joy, devastation and rebirth.

It’s a place I never wanted to go.

But sometimes, life gives you what you don’t think you need – or want – anyway. Exactly when you need it. Life, through my job, gave me a taste of Cambodia (that’s another story you can read here if you like https://kiwanismagazine.org/2016/01/11/pushing-potential/)

And I think about the gifts of that trip sometimes:

The contrasts of Phnom Penh: the glittering Tonle Sap River skirting the capital city; and the city abuzz with hustle, noise, dazzle and new construction, even as tin-and-cloth-covered marketplaces preserve older ways of life and tuk-tuks cram, dodge and zip their way through traffic in a mind-boggling dance of organized chaos.

Sleek, fresh highways that snake away from the city past rice fields, faded sentinel temples and schoolyards where row after neat row of bicycles lean in anticipation of their owners.

Rut-pocked red-dirt roads and gritty towns. Verdant pepper, coffee, cashew and rubber farms. And farms that fade to a dustier savannah-like scrub-and-shrub landscape, long stripped of its timber.

Grass jelly drink, food shared among new friends, Mondulkiri province coffee – like no other in the world, rich and chocolatey and decadent with sweetened condensed milk stirred into it. Breakfasts of geautieuv sop (similar to pho) or congee or dragonfruit. Crispy fried duck tongue. Fermented rice drink brought to life with a little water and time. And the “21 day” eggs (known some places as “balut”) I was not brave enough to try.

And the people. So gracious with their time, their hospitality and their stories. Many of whom lived through the horrors of the Khmer Rouge – and who have every right to as much sadness, bitterness and anger as they so choose. People who nevertheless give generously to help others in their beloved Cambodia and repay kindnesses shown to them during the most difficult times. People who’s eyes crinkle with easy smiles and laughter; not erasing the pain of very real suffering and loss, but offering an unexpected gift of hope.