I CAN'T AFFORD BREAKFAST
I CAN'T AFFORD BREAKFAST
NUMPOW. (sic)That's how to pronounce it-just one of a variety of Cambodian Street pastries. NUMPOW are hollow and shallow fried. If I was having a good day and good afford it, I'd have 4, bought from a street stall in my neighborhood near street 172 in Phnom Penh. Before eating them, I'd cycle 4.5 miles to my private student's residence, to build up an appetite, even though I was already hungry. On some occasions I'd had no food the night before, and had to subside on tap water because bottled water was out of my price bracket. Sometimes to provide energy, I would pour sugar into the water. When a person is short of food, and doesn't eat often, you can feel the difference sugar makes. You 'Come up'-the thoughts are more clear. But I digress.
*
You're probably thinking how I'd ended up in Cambodia drinking tap water and budgeting 50 cents so I could eat breakfast. Yes, we are in agreement that it's a good question. Well, let me start from the beginning. The first teaching position was in the North of Thailand, a position generously provided for me by the TEFL company I signed up for. The city was Khon Kaen, not only a city but the regional capital of the province of Khon Kaen. In my opinion, Khon Kaen was more town-like; it was not reminiscent of a city-minor industrial works sprawled down the roads out of the 'town', going on forever. The town was pleasant enough, with amenities, but rather dull. The teaching position was easy enough-a beautiful government school; polite respectful students, and friendly helpful staff. The teaching involved using pre-written slides on a power-point layout, provided by a large British based teaching company. The facilities were also good. I know this seems like an oversimplification, but compared to my second position in Nontaburi, the school in Khon Kaen was light years ahead. We will look into my second position shortly; I will not be brief and am not in a hurry, there is lots I want to explain.
And so the contract was finished-after six months, because I'd joined in the middle of a semester. CV's were sent out. I had overreached myself; become arrogant. A polite invitation to remain with the company and the school was emailed to me, only to be spurned. I was a 'Big Shot' now, not satisfied with my 33,000 baht and cosy clean accommodation just a minute from the school. Greed, and the desire to live nearer the capital had taken over, and nothing could dissuade me.
An offer arrived from a place even further north, near Nong Khai, practically in Laos. The salary was 38,000, and I toyed with this for a while, before settling on an offer from a Private school in Nontaburi. The new place was an hour and a half from Bangkok by train. Things weren't what they seemed-during the interview, both their faces sank when I said I'm just an English teacher, and would not be able to teach other subjects, but the job was still offered to me. I believe I was used as a 'stand in' given the worst, most disruptive classes, until a poly-subject teacher came along. The new school was dark, like castle Greyskull. The atmosphere in the office gave me a stress headache, and even on the approach in the taxi, the place looked so derelict I thought it was closed. There were no multimedia in the classrooms; I had one class that would turn up 20 minutes late every week, with no explanation or apology. I believe the students had been informed from the beginning that I was a stand-in, a temp, as had the teachers. Meanwhile, I had been left in the dark.
From the start, I had a gut-feeling I would not pass probation. This is not a carte blanche device so I can behave how I like; as I said, it was a gut feeling. There was a strange demeanor and conduct from the staff and the students, as though they knew something, and this was from the start. And so, when the probation came round, they decided to extend it. This was when I knew it was time to leave. This was when the real travelling began. I had by now been in Thailand for a year, and wanted to see somewhere else, but also, somewhere close by. All I had was $200. That was all. No safety, no savings, no security. I quickly went to a cyber cafe nearby the school, and fired off some CV's to Cambodia, and quickly got a response from a private teaching agency, offering me an interview on the Friday. It was presently Wednesday. I had a final KFC, feeling giddy and high from the freedom, but also apprehensive, and swung my heavy sports bag over my shoulder, full of clothes and sundries, and boarded the BTS to Bangkok.
After a final night in Bangkok which felt more like a wake than a celebration, compounded by lack of savings and ruminations, I booked a 5am bus to Phnom Penh. At the station there was a college offering free haircuts because the staff were trainees. I viewed this as a symbolic cleansing, but I suppose sometimes a haircut is just a haircut. After sleeping a bit in my hotel room (The Swan Inn, Bangkok, 700 baht a night) I took a taxi to the bus station. My ticket lay crumpled and gamely in my wallet, a license for freedom, but also the keys to the unknown. I tried sleeping a bit in the bus station, but got prodded by a guard: 'You, go that way.' At 3:30am even though the bus was at 5:00am. I didn't argue, and sat in a seat nearer the bus park. Eventually, the hour came round, and I saw my bus arrive. A fellow Westerner, an Australian, was loading boxes onto the bus. He said with an apprehensive tone: 'Are you going to Phnom Penh?' As if he were Charon and I were boarding a vessel to navigate the Styx. 'Yes' I replied, plainly enough.
The journey turned out to be great; no problems. The driving was smooth, there were no hold ups, and the passengers friendly. It was much easier than the bus journey from Khon Kaen to Bangkok; it was as though fate were agreeing with a more suitable decision, and was responding in kind.
When it was time to eat, the differences between Cambodia and Thailand were readily apparent-we were eating a beef-based soup. I'd never had local fare in Thailand that consisted of beef-the Thai's being slightly more ardent proponents of Buddhism than Cambodia, but only slightly. Cuisine speaks a lot in these countries; I appreciate this is a broad clumsy generalization, but the difference in food really did mark the end of Thailand and the beginning of my experience in Cambodia. I befriended two Thai people on the bus; one of them said Phnom Penh is near, and when we got there he said 'We've arrived.' It was now night, and I was apprehensive, never one to get frightened, but yeah, I was in a new city in Asia, had only $200, and knew nobody.
The Tuk-Tuks were bizarre, totally different from the ones in Thailand. They consisted of a scooter with a carriage attached to it. Before boarding I doubted the things were structurally sound or properly balanced, but after I boarded with my new companions, there were no hiccups.
'Street 172.' The guy said, the Thai who was more talkative than his friend. With hindsight, I think his friend was under the influence of something. After a brief stop to sort a Cambodian sim card out for my Huawei phone ( A phone I later sold 3 weeks later for $15 to a Tuk-Tuk driver) it was time to go to the accommodation, as mentioned, on street 172. The Anglophone Thai guy paid for the Tuk-Tuk, and disappeared into the night. There was a mix up-he'd made me share the room with his friend, which I was not happy about; I wanted my own room. Thankfully, he kept himself to himself, and I had a pint of Cambodia ( A successful local beer) in the bar, then went to a girly bar across the road. My job interview was on Friday, and I had a bit of time to kill.
After checking out of the apartment, I found a new place the next day, 'Bamboo House' be-decked with bamboo painted green. This was found for me my a Tuk-Tuk driver who charged me $50 for one day, a mistake I never repeated; he took me for a right fool, but I respect the fact Cambodia is a very poor country and people have to make a living. The driver took me for the interview at the private teaching agency, located on street 205. I met my new boss, who was thankfully not the same as the old boss. I signed on the dotted line, and became acquainted with my new students, a 12 year old boy living in an exclusive part of Phnom Penh, Camco, where the wealth is still impressive by Western Standards, (automatic gates, Greco-Roman pillars) and expensive German cars. My second student was a 40 something company owner, a woman, who was ethnically Chinese but born in Cambodia. I taught these students for five months, on a part time salary, because I wanted to honor the company and work the agreed 3 months. In the past I'd been immature with jobs, and wanted to make amends. The salary turned out to be unlivable, and I soon moved out of the Bamboo house to a place tentatively called 'The Happy House Zone' which was not Happy, or a Zone, where I encountered a schizophrenic American Vietnamese Gentleman who wanted me to ask the Queen of England to remove the communists from Vietnam. I didn't agree, but smiled and nodded. I continued to scrape by on this part time salary, and often things got extremely desperate; I'd have to borrow a dollar here and there from people, would sometimes not eat at all and cycle to work in the tropical heat (over 4 miles) then back again. A Danish woman was charitable enough to let me use her bike, which was an absolute god-send: it meant I didn't have to waste money on transport to work. Hannah, I will always be thankful to you, and will send renumeration soon.
After a few months in the Happy House Zone, I moved into the hostel owned by the Danish Woman and her Brother, located on a slightly quieter street. I lived in a dormitory, and the place was a lot rougher than it appeared, guest: wise-drug addicts, people on overstay, refugees, people coming in at 3:00am shouting, fights downstairs. An English gentleman from Northampton even died on the bed opposite mine, a few days after I checked out. This was of course not the fault of the owner, but I'm glad I checked out when I did.
The students were great-the woman would give me bananas and food, and had a good sense of humour and was warm, and I was always deferential to her because she was a company owner-in these societies, respect is the name of the game. The boy was a bright student, respectful, interesting to talk to, and clued up. He owned three large dogs (German Shepard Derivities) and the Alpha dog would sometimes walk into the classroom and put it's head on my knee, sometimes gazing up into my eyes, begging to be stroked. Despite these positive points, the salary was just not high enough, and I eventually secured a position with a Business School, which mainly taught accounting. The new school was walking distance from my neighborhood, a welcome relief after having to cycle 4.5 miles to work everyday when it's over 30 degrees.
The business school was incredible. My interview was conducted at the Hard Rock Cafe Phnom Penh, by a Russian lecturer, of all things, who bought me a latte and extolled the virtues of staff earning a good salary at the school so they'd be able to eat at said cafe. What a warming, egalitarian statement. In my underfed, thirsty, hot daze, I'd begun to realize I'd come home; the hardest part was over, and after-all, I might be able to afford a plane ticket back home, to see my family for Christmas. A second interview followed, this time with a Scottish man with a Polish surname, who said it wasn't a second interview but a formal offer: I had got the job, and would be a lecturer on an Intensive 'Summer' course (summer in that part of the world) for three weeks. I would be earning $25 an hour. I could not believe it; I was so happy I could've cried, but thankfully, didn't.
The school was amazing-fairly small, yet perfectly formed. On the induction day, the American owner of the school wanted a word with me, said I needed new clothes, and with good reason-by current attire was dust covered, sweat stained, faded and torn. A new wardrobe was provided, and I began to feel like I was in the land of the living again, after all the hardship. I know we have it easy in the West, and I have a British passport, but I had been working here, did not come with any savings, and was not expecting handouts. The owner was helping me to help myself, and I think he knew I'd deliver.
I taught at Cam-ed for three weeks, the duration of the contract, and collected my final salary on the Friday, not quite being able to take in the money I had now. Yes, a plane ticket could be bought. Yes, Pizza was consumed more than 2 nights a week. But so what. I'd earned it. There was a final hiccup where I reserved a coach to take me to Bangkok, to shave some money of the flight price, but after the coach didn't arrive outside the restaurant like they said it would, and after having to take a Tuk-Tuk to wait inside a shop for the coach, (which still hadn't arrived by 21:30 pm, despite being told it would depart at 21:00) I'd had enough, and hailed a Tuk-Tuk for the airport. I flew to Bangkok in style, spending one more night there before leaving for England the next day. I touched down in Manchester, wearing just a T-Shirt. Mourinho had left united; with a generous wage packet. I shivered on a bench at Piccadilly, without a jacket. For dinner I had a Turkey and Bacon sandwich, A Terry's chocolate orange, and a packet of ready salted crisps, also a bottle of water, paying over the odds because it was from a train station.
A Scouse guard informed me my train had been delayed, but of course it eventually arrived, and with a bit of assistance from the ticket seller, he said it would be possible to stop at Loughborough. From here I went to the boonies, to Shepshed, provinicial Leicestershire, originally known as 'Sheepshed.' I really had come home, and South East Asia could've been a dream, but was very much a memory.
POSTSCRIPT
I learned about humility-with the Thai and Khmer, conduct yourself with humility, smile, laugh, be generous, give gifts. This is not a patronizing attitude, and I am not undermining the complexities of their cultures, but a loss of tempers in these countries is a terrible insult. If you remain calm, you'll feel better, and this builds up. Eventually, you feel much more relaxed over all.
I found that the natives are rarely, if ever a problem; it's the Westerners who are the main issue-drunk, under the influence of drugs, drunk, entitled, deluded, aggressive, or living in South East Asia for the wrong reasons. Some feel only they should be there, and that they can decide whether other Westerners have the right to be in the country. I met a few of these.
Despite the hardships, I am grateful to have had these experiences. They have shaped who I am, and who I will be in the future. I would like to thank the people of Cambodia for offering me an alternative to Thailand in terms of both a place to live, and a place to work, but also as a place I can happily call a second home.
NUMPOW. (sic)That's how to pronounce it-just one of a variety of Cambodian Street pastries. NUMPOW are hollow and shallow fried. If I was having a good day and good afford it, I'd have 4, bought from a street stall in my neighborhood near street 172 in Phnom Penh. Before eating them, I'd cycle 4.5 miles to my private student's residence, to build up an appetite, even though I was already hungry. On some occasions I'd had no food the night before, and had to subside on tap water because bottled water was out of my price bracket. Sometimes to provide energy, I would pour sugar into the water. When a person is short of food, and doesn't eat often, you can feel the difference sugar makes. You 'Come up'-the thoughts are more clear. But I digress.
*
You're probably thinking how I'd ended up in Cambodia drinking tap water and budgeting 50 cents so I could eat breakfast. Yes, we are in agreement that it's a good question. Well, let me start from the beginning. The first teaching position was in the North of Thailand, a position generously provided for me by the TEFL company I signed up for. The city was Khon Kaen, not only a city but the regional capital of the province of Khon Kaen. In my opinion, Khon Kaen was more town-like; it was not reminiscent of a city-minor industrial works sprawled down the roads out of the 'town', going on forever. The town was pleasant enough, with amenities, but rather dull. The teaching position was easy enough-a beautiful government school; polite respectful students, and friendly helpful staff. The teaching involved using pre-written slides on a power-point layout, provided by a large British based teaching company. The facilities were also good. I know this seems like an oversimplification, but compared to my second position in Nontaburi, the school in Khon Kaen was light years ahead. We will look into my second position shortly; I will not be brief and am not in a hurry, there is lots I want to explain.
And so the contract was finished-after six months, because I'd joined in the middle of a semester. CV's were sent out. I had overreached myself; become arrogant. A polite invitation to remain with the company and the school was emailed to me, only to be spurned. I was a 'Big Shot' now, not satisfied with my 33,000 baht and cosy clean accommodation just a minute from the school. Greed, and the desire to live nearer the capital had taken over, and nothing could dissuade me.
An offer arrived from a place even further north, near Nong Khai, practically in Laos. The salary was 38,000, and I toyed with this for a while, before settling on an offer from a Private school in Nontaburi. The new place was an hour and a half from Bangkok by train. Things weren't what they seemed-during the interview, both their faces sank when I said I'm just an English teacher, and would not be able to teach other subjects, but the job was still offered to me. I believe I was used as a 'stand in' given the worst, most disruptive classes, until a poly-subject teacher came along. The new school was dark, like castle Greyskull. The atmosphere in the office gave me a stress headache, and even on the approach in the taxi, the place looked so derelict I thought it was closed. There were no multimedia in the classrooms; I had one class that would turn up 20 minutes late every week, with no explanation or apology. I believe the students had been informed from the beginning that I was a stand-in, a temp, as had the teachers. Meanwhile, I had been left in the dark.
From the start, I had a gut-feeling I would not pass probation. This is not a carte blanche device so I can behave how I like; as I said, it was a gut feeling. There was a strange demeanor and conduct from the staff and the students, as though they knew something, and this was from the start. And so, when the probation came round, they decided to extend it. This was when I knew it was time to leave. This was when the real travelling began. I had by now been in Thailand for a year, and wanted to see somewhere else, but also, somewhere close by. All I had was $200. That was all. No safety, no savings, no security. I quickly went to a cyber cafe nearby the school, and fired off some CV's to Cambodia, and quickly got a response from a private teaching agency, offering me an interview on the Friday. It was presently Wednesday. I had a final KFC, feeling giddy and high from the freedom, but also apprehensive, and swung my heavy sports bag over my shoulder, full of clothes and sundries, and boarded the BTS to Bangkok.
After a final night in Bangkok which felt more like a wake than a celebration, compounded by lack of savings and ruminations, I booked a 5am bus to Phnom Penh. At the station there was a college offering free haircuts because the staff were trainees. I viewed this as a symbolic cleansing, but I suppose sometimes a haircut is just a haircut. After sleeping a bit in my hotel room (The Swan Inn, Bangkok, 700 baht a night) I took a taxi to the bus station. My ticket lay crumpled and gamely in my wallet, a license for freedom, but also the keys to the unknown. I tried sleeping a bit in the bus station, but got prodded by a guard: 'You, go that way.' At 3:30am even though the bus was at 5:00am. I didn't argue, and sat in a seat nearer the bus park. Eventually, the hour came round, and I saw my bus arrive. A fellow Westerner, an Australian, was loading boxes onto the bus. He said with an apprehensive tone: 'Are you going to Phnom Penh?' As if he were Charon and I were boarding a vessel to navigate the Styx. 'Yes' I replied, plainly enough.
The journey turned out to be great; no problems. The driving was smooth, there were no hold ups, and the passengers friendly. It was much easier than the bus journey from Khon Kaen to Bangkok; it was as though fate were agreeing with a more suitable decision, and was responding in kind.
When it was time to eat, the differences between Cambodia and Thailand were readily apparent-we were eating a beef-based soup. I'd never had local fare in Thailand that consisted of beef-the Thai's being slightly more ardent proponents of Buddhism than Cambodia, but only slightly. Cuisine speaks a lot in these countries; I appreciate this is a broad clumsy generalization, but the difference in food really did mark the end of Thailand and the beginning of my experience in Cambodia. I befriended two Thai people on the bus; one of them said Phnom Penh is near, and when we got there he said 'We've arrived.' It was now night, and I was apprehensive, never one to get frightened, but yeah, I was in a new city in Asia, had only $200, and knew nobody.
The Tuk-Tuks were bizarre, totally different from the ones in Thailand. They consisted of a scooter with a carriage attached to it. Before boarding I doubted the things were structurally sound or properly balanced, but after I boarded with my new companions, there were no hiccups.
'Street 172.' The guy said, the Thai who was more talkative than his friend. With hindsight, I think his friend was under the influence of something. After a brief stop to sort a Cambodian sim card out for my Huawei phone ( A phone I later sold 3 weeks later for $15 to a Tuk-Tuk driver) it was time to go to the accommodation, as mentioned, on street 172. The Anglophone Thai guy paid for the Tuk-Tuk, and disappeared into the night. There was a mix up-he'd made me share the room with his friend, which I was not happy about; I wanted my own room. Thankfully, he kept himself to himself, and I had a pint of Cambodia ( A successful local beer) in the bar, then went to a girly bar across the road. My job interview was on Friday, and I had a bit of time to kill.
After checking out of the apartment, I found a new place the next day, 'Bamboo House' be-decked with bamboo painted green. This was found for me my a Tuk-Tuk driver who charged me $50 for one day, a mistake I never repeated; he took me for a right fool, but I respect the fact Cambodia is a very poor country and people have to make a living. The driver took me for the interview at the private teaching agency, located on street 205. I met my new boss, who was thankfully not the same as the old boss. I signed on the dotted line, and became acquainted with my new students, a 12 year old boy living in an exclusive part of Phnom Penh, Camco, where the wealth is still impressive by Western Standards, (automatic gates, Greco-Roman pillars) and expensive German cars. My second student was a 40 something company owner, a woman, who was ethnically Chinese but born in Cambodia. I taught these students for five months, on a part time salary, because I wanted to honor the company and work the agreed 3 months. In the past I'd been immature with jobs, and wanted to make amends. The salary turned out to be unlivable, and I soon moved out of the Bamboo house to a place tentatively called 'The Happy House Zone' which was not Happy, or a Zone, where I encountered a schizophrenic American Vietnamese Gentleman who wanted me to ask the Queen of England to remove the communists from Vietnam. I didn't agree, but smiled and nodded. I continued to scrape by on this part time salary, and often things got extremely desperate; I'd have to borrow a dollar here and there from people, would sometimes not eat at all and cycle to work in the tropical heat (over 4 miles) then back again. A Danish woman was charitable enough to let me use her bike, which was an absolute god-send: it meant I didn't have to waste money on transport to work. Hannah, I will always be thankful to you, and will send renumeration soon.
After a few months in the Happy House Zone, I moved into the hostel owned by the Danish Woman and her Brother, located on a slightly quieter street. I lived in a dormitory, and the place was a lot rougher than it appeared, guest: wise-drug addicts, people on overstay, refugees, people coming in at 3:00am shouting, fights downstairs. An English gentleman from Northampton even died on the bed opposite mine, a few days after I checked out. This was of course not the fault of the owner, but I'm glad I checked out when I did.
The students were great-the woman would give me bananas and food, and had a good sense of humour and was warm, and I was always deferential to her because she was a company owner-in these societies, respect is the name of the game. The boy was a bright student, respectful, interesting to talk to, and clued up. He owned three large dogs (German Shepard Derivities) and the Alpha dog would sometimes walk into the classroom and put it's head on my knee, sometimes gazing up into my eyes, begging to be stroked. Despite these positive points, the salary was just not high enough, and I eventually secured a position with a Business School, which mainly taught accounting. The new school was walking distance from my neighborhood, a welcome relief after having to cycle 4.5 miles to work everyday when it's over 30 degrees.
The business school was incredible. My interview was conducted at the Hard Rock Cafe Phnom Penh, by a Russian lecturer, of all things, who bought me a latte and extolled the virtues of staff earning a good salary at the school so they'd be able to eat at said cafe. What a warming, egalitarian statement. In my underfed, thirsty, hot daze, I'd begun to realize I'd come home; the hardest part was over, and after-all, I might be able to afford a plane ticket back home, to see my family for Christmas. A second interview followed, this time with a Scottish man with a Polish surname, who said it wasn't a second interview but a formal offer: I had got the job, and would be a lecturer on an Intensive 'Summer' course (summer in that part of the world) for three weeks. I would be earning $25 an hour. I could not believe it; I was so happy I could've cried, but thankfully, didn't.
The school was amazing-fairly small, yet perfectly formed. On the induction day, the American owner of the school wanted a word with me, said I needed new clothes, and with good reason-by current attire was dust covered, sweat stained, faded and torn. A new wardrobe was provided, and I began to feel like I was in the land of the living again, after all the hardship. I know we have it easy in the West, and I have a British passport, but I had been working here, did not come with any savings, and was not expecting handouts. The owner was helping me to help myself, and I think he knew I'd deliver.
I taught at Cam-ed for three weeks, the duration of the contract, and collected my final salary on the Friday, not quite being able to take in the money I had now. Yes, a plane ticket could be bought. Yes, Pizza was consumed more than 2 nights a week. But so what. I'd earned it. There was a final hiccup where I reserved a coach to take me to Bangkok, to shave some money of the flight price, but after the coach didn't arrive outside the restaurant like they said it would, and after having to take a Tuk-Tuk to wait inside a shop for the coach, (which still hadn't arrived by 21:30 pm, despite being told it would depart at 21:00) I'd had enough, and hailed a Tuk-Tuk for the airport. I flew to Bangkok in style, spending one more night there before leaving for England the next day. I touched down in Manchester, wearing just a T-Shirt. Mourinho had left united; with a generous wage packet. I shivered on a bench at Piccadilly, without a jacket. For dinner I had a Turkey and Bacon sandwich, A Terry's chocolate orange, and a packet of ready salted crisps, also a bottle of water, paying over the odds because it was from a train station.
A Scouse guard informed me my train had been delayed, but of course it eventually arrived, and with a bit of assistance from the ticket seller, he said it would be possible to stop at Loughborough. From here I went to the boonies, to Shepshed, provinicial Leicestershire, originally known as 'Sheepshed.' I really had come home, and South East Asia could've been a dream, but was very much a memory.
POSTSCRIPT
I learned about humility-with the Thai and Khmer, conduct yourself with humility, smile, laugh, be generous, give gifts. This is not a patronizing attitude, and I am not undermining the complexities of their cultures, but a loss of tempers in these countries is a terrible insult. If you remain calm, you'll feel better, and this builds up. Eventually, you feel much more relaxed over all.
I found that the natives are rarely, if ever a problem; it's the Westerners who are the main issue-drunk, under the influence of drugs, drunk, entitled, deluded, aggressive, or living in South East Asia for the wrong reasons. Some feel only they should be there, and that they can decide whether other Westerners have the right to be in the country. I met a few of these.
Despite the hardships, I am grateful to have had these experiences. They have shaped who I am, and who I will be in the future. I would like to thank the people of Cambodia for offering me an alternative to Thailand in terms of both a place to live, and a place to work, but also as a place I can happily call a second home.
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