A month ago all the surgeons were ignoring me, yesterday the deputy surgeon (Dr S) invited me around his house for dinner. I would like to quote Bella from the Twilight movie - "your mood swings are giving me whiplash".
As most things in Cambodia have the tendency to do, a simple dinner invitation came a blog-able event.
The invitation - 5 pm at work and my phone rings with a unknown number. With no messaging service here call screening is less of an option so I answered;
Me - Hello
Caller - Hello - long pause
Me - Hello
Caller - Hello. I am Sokun
Me - Oh Hello
Caller - You come to dinner this evening
Me - Oh, OK - Erm, Where?
Caller - My house
Me - Where is your house?
Caller - 7 O'clock
Me - OK, where?
Caller - My House
Me - Where is your house?
Caller - 7 O'clock
Me - 7 O'clock, dinner, your house BUT where is your house?
Caller - Yes - hang up
R & J beamed at me - they seemed very excited that this heralded a level of acceptance in Cambodian culture & it was absolutely essential I attend. I just felt quite anxious.
But there was still the small inconvenience of not actually knowing where his house was. However R was very confident he knew the location as Dr S had been his teacher when he was a nursing student at BTB. He drew me a very detailed map, I don't think it is unfair to say that the Cambodians I've met (particularly tuk tuk drivers) are not the best at reading maps. My level of anxiety heightened.
Dr S rang me back, perhaps having realised I didn't know where he lived. To add further uncertainty to answering my phone he had used a different SIM card. My cultural norm is that multiple SIM card owners are drug dealers, just for clarity this is not the case here.
We established that I had been given directions to his house and dinner was at 7 pm at his house.
Before cycling across town to dinner I decided to drop in on Katie for a pre-dinner coaching. This inevitably involved G&Ts so by the time I went in search of P'tair Dr S I was feeling more relaxed and a little less inhibited.
Arriving to where R's directions led me it became apparent that they had been for Dr S's private clinic and NOT his house.
Dr S rang me but was speaking in very fast and unintelligible khmer then he hung up on me. I rang J who advised I ring R. R call screened me.
I began to wish I hadn't had 2 G&Ts as I had appeared to have lost the ability to cycle, problem solve, understand khmer or use my telephone. I waited.
At 7 30 pm I rang Dr S who told me to "Cham" - wait. I waited some more.
Eventually Dr S called back saying in khmer that he was parked outside Hotel Asia. My bike would not fit into his Micra so we parked it outside his private clinic (NOT his house).
All the way to his house I apologized profusely in khmer, english and french.
His house it transpired is 250m from my house.
Three very pissed off looking surgeons were sat in his front room waiting for the slightly inebriated english doctor whose school girl french has almost completely been replaced by khmer.
They were a delegation of french proctologists visiting BTB for a fortnight which explained why, since coming back from the retreat, all the doctors had started greeting me with "Bonjour! Ca va?"
One surgeon had worked in the states and had fantastic english - he had been coming to Cambodia since 1992 and was impressed by URCs renovation of the Surgical building, apparently before it had a moat of raw sewage. His only complaint was they need a better light.
They are operating in the dark is an expression you could possibly use in more than one way.
The other surgeon had english but like most french I have met wanted to make me suffer for being an island dwelling, arrogant, imperialist, xenophobe.
The third 'surgeon' looked very young and when I queried if they all worked together this caused much hilarity. He was in fact the grandson of a famous french proctologist - mais naturellement!
We proceeded to have a smorgasbord of cambodian cuisine - some a little tepid due to the rude, inebriated, ignorant, monolingual volunteer getting lost.
The women of the family knew their place & remained in the kitchen venturing out only to bring more delicious creations. (X-ref future blog yet to be titled)
Dr S looked at me meaningfully and in khmer explained that there was no alcohol in this house and we only were to drink water - the shame, I obviously smelt like a gin house.
The over-dinner conversation was conducted in a french mainly with some english translation from the kind proctologist and khmer between me and Dr S.
The moment the last dessert spoon had been put down Dr S leapt up with his car keys and we all piled into his 'other' car - an SUV of course for him to take us home. The whole event lasting easily under an hour.
I was reunited with my bicycle and then with less gin coursing through my veins I cycled back in the direction I had just been driven.
And that is the closest I get to a dinner party these days.
But there was still the small inconvenience of not actually knowing where his house was. However R was very confident he knew the location as Dr S had been his teacher when he was a nursing student at BTB. He drew me a very detailed map, I don't think it is unfair to say that the Cambodians I've met (particularly tuk tuk drivers) are not the best at reading maps. My level of anxiety heightened.
Dr S rang me back, perhaps having realised I didn't know where he lived. To add further uncertainty to answering my phone he had used a different SIM card. My cultural norm is that multiple SIM card owners are drug dealers, just for clarity this is not the case here.
We established that I had been given directions to his house and dinner was at 7 pm at his house.
Before cycling across town to dinner I decided to drop in on Katie for a pre-dinner coaching. This inevitably involved G&Ts so by the time I went in search of P'tair Dr S I was feeling more relaxed and a little less inhibited.
Arriving to where R's directions led me it became apparent that they had been for Dr S's private clinic and NOT his house.
Dr S rang me but was speaking in very fast and unintelligible khmer then he hung up on me. I rang J who advised I ring R. R call screened me.
I began to wish I hadn't had 2 G&Ts as I had appeared to have lost the ability to cycle, problem solve, understand khmer or use my telephone. I waited.
At 7 30 pm I rang Dr S who told me to "Cham" - wait. I waited some more.
Eventually Dr S called back saying in khmer that he was parked outside Hotel Asia. My bike would not fit into his Micra so we parked it outside his private clinic (NOT his house).
All the way to his house I apologized profusely in khmer, english and french.
His house it transpired is 250m from my house.
Three very pissed off looking surgeons were sat in his front room waiting for the slightly inebriated english doctor whose school girl french has almost completely been replaced by khmer.
They were a delegation of french proctologists visiting BTB for a fortnight which explained why, since coming back from the retreat, all the doctors had started greeting me with "Bonjour! Ca va?"
One surgeon had worked in the states and had fantastic english - he had been coming to Cambodia since 1992 and was impressed by URCs renovation of the Surgical building, apparently before it had a moat of raw sewage. His only complaint was they need a better light.
They are operating in the dark is an expression you could possibly use in more than one way.
The other surgeon had english but like most french I have met wanted to make me suffer for being an island dwelling, arrogant, imperialist, xenophobe.
The third 'surgeon' looked very young and when I queried if they all worked together this caused much hilarity. He was in fact the grandson of a famous french proctologist - mais naturellement!
We proceeded to have a smorgasbord of cambodian cuisine - some a little tepid due to the rude, inebriated, ignorant, monolingual volunteer getting lost.
The women of the family knew their place & remained in the kitchen venturing out only to bring more delicious creations. (X-ref future blog yet to be titled)
Dr S looked at me meaningfully and in khmer explained that there was no alcohol in this house and we only were to drink water - the shame, I obviously smelt like a gin house.
The over-dinner conversation was conducted in a french mainly with some english translation from the kind proctologist and khmer between me and Dr S.
The moment the last dessert spoon had been put down Dr S leapt up with his car keys and we all piled into his 'other' car - an SUV of course for him to take us home. The whole event lasting easily under an hour.
I was reunited with my bicycle and then with less gin coursing through my veins I cycled back in the direction I had just been driven.
And that is the closest I get to a dinner party these days.
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