Talking to Strangers

Hmm..yep. I'm probably going to regret this.

It was our first morning in Kep, a sleepy seaside crab fishing town about a 4 hour bus ride from Phnom Penh. The "town" itself is now a bombed-out shell of the opulent resort city it had once been during the French colonial era in Cambodia. We had rented $2 bikes to explore the countryside and the ruins of French villas that hovered like architectural ghosts among the lush palm trees.



The ride had been pleasant enough, taking us about 15km outside of Kep's main drag. As you can imagine, $2 bikes don't pack a lot of punch. After about about an hour of biking and fawning over the adorable kids who darted out from their stilted homes to yell a million "Hello!'s" as we passed, we were ready to head back for a banana smoothie and a massage.

That was about the time I realized I'd made a mistake. Having set out at 9:30am that morning, I hadn't even thought to apply sunscreen. As we pointed our bikes back toward home, I noticed the familiar sting of a newly cultivated sunburn etching its way across my arms. For those of you who've never been to Cambodia, it boasts the most intense sun I've ever experienced. Think about the nastiest sunburn you've ever gotten on the Florida panhandle after an overzealous pursuit of tan lines, then imagine pouring scalding hot water on top of that sunburn, and you might have a fraction of the burn that I ended up getting in Cambodia.

But that's a story for another post. Needless to say, I was in a hurry to get off the relentlessly sunny country road and back to shady safety. Meghna (who, as most of you are aware, is blessed with a lot more melanin) was content to leisurely peddle home, so I forged ahead and soon lost her along the winding road.



The road itself was pretty sparsely traveled, and we were only accompanied by a few passing motorbikes and tuk-tuks. Assuming to be very much alone as I huffed and puffed my way towards a shady oasis, I was surprised to realize that a man on a motorbike had pulled up alongside me and tempered his speed to match my own.

Cue American mentality. Deserted road. Unfamiliar surroundings. Companion-less foreigner. Uncomfortably close stranger. Yep, all the facets of a good old-fashioned American horror film. We had also just come from Phnom Penh, where locals had told us of Cambodia's seedy underbelly where strangers were seldom trusted and vulnerable foreigners were often targeted for thefts or assaults. These warnings lept into my mind as I realized that the man was staring at me and had no intention of resuming his pace. I flashed my best tight-lipped smile and then pretended to ignore him (a social posture perfected through countless encounters with aggressive panhandlers in New York).

"Hello." He speaks.

"Hello." I glance back to see if I can spy Meghna's silhouette in the distance. Nope.

"Where you from?"

"America." Harmless enough.

"What is your job?" Oh wow, now we're getting personal.

"I work at a technology company."

A deferential expression crinkles across the man's face. He gives me a thumbs up. "Good job. Good job. I am a teacher. I teach exercise and history to children."

My American-instilled interpersonal walls start crumbling down.

"Where do you live?" I ask him.

"I've lived in Kep my whole life. My home is here, my family, my friends, my students."

My pace slackens. My concern for the imminent sunburn on my arms fades away as I'm drawn into a fascinating conversation with my new travel companion. He tells me about his classes, and, upon learning that I taught in China, starts asking for advice on how to keep them from "playing too happy" during class. We trade strategies for engaging students, and stories on the difficulties of learning a new language. It turns out he knows a little Chinese, and our conversation morphs into a choppy stream of alternating English, Chinese, and Khmer, depending on which language best conveyed our thoughts to the other person. He points out the middle school where he teaches, and tells me its the same middle school he went to as a child. Strange, I hadn't even noticed a middle school when I passed by earlier that morning. It's amazing the things you notice when you see with another person's eyes.

We ride leisurely back into town, where I dismount and wait for Meghna. The man waits with me, making sure I'm reunited with my friend before continuing on home. And he leaves as unassumingly as he appeared beside me on the road, with a smile and a wave and an offer to email him if I ever have trouble in Cambodia.



I'm always struck and inspired by the human connectivity that permeates Asia. How readily strangers jump into conversation, how eager people are to understand others. And how easy, once you push down those walls, it is to get to know another human being, even if only for a few minutes.

I wanted to rehash this bike ride for two reasons. One--it lays the groundwork for my second post about a certain disastrous sunburn. Two--it inspired my new blog title "Talking to Strangers" and a new goal I have back here in New York: to let human interactions happen, and to leave room for the possibility that a stranger can teach you something new when you least expect it.