A Break In, A Lock Out, and A Wedding

A Break In

At 4:30 in the morning last Tuesday, Shanti and I were woken by a rumbling. At first, we thought nothing of it; the wind usually blows our doors a bit, a feral cat can sometimes be heard shrieking, and, during the rainy season, the rain can pound the metal roof. After several minutes, however, we were convinced it was neither wind, nor rain, nor cat. We lay in our bed, stiff as boards, contemplating what we should do.

I volunteered to peek out our bedroom window, which looks into the living/dining room and out on to the terrace. As I drew the curtains back just enough to be able to see from the darkness of our bedroom to the darkness of the terrace, I could have sworn I saw the silhouette of a figure moving about. Closing the curtains, I turned to Shanti, "There's somebody out there." She thought I was joking until she saw my face.

I tried calling the police. My phone didn't work. Shanti tried with her phone. No answer. She called His Excellency. He picked up, but in his freshly-awake state, he didn't understand. I called back, saying "robber" and "help" in Khmer. He said he'd be up in a few minutes. Between the time I called him and he came up, the shaking stopped. Frightened and hidden in our bedroom, we heard His Excellency call us to the terrace. I checked to make sure it was him through the window and we headed outside.

His Excellency came upstairs with a full entourage - his lovely wife, his driver, his maid, and two girls who help with the kids and around the house. The driver, wielding a flashlight, searched around for signs of an unwanted presence while His Excellency calmed Shanti and me. Pointing to the barbed wire around the terrace, he told us we were safe and that in all the years he had lived in the house he had never been robbed. A short, but thorough search revealed nothing. As the entourage headed downstairs, we thanked them and began to head inside. And then, on our welcome mat, I noticed something: a whole lot of feathers. The cat, it seems, killed a bird while banging up against our door. It brings a whole new meaning to the term 'cat burglar'...

A Lock Out

After the "break in" incident, we couldn't fall asleep. I went in to work not feeling well and ended up returning home at 10:30 with a bad stomach virus. I split the remainder of my day between the bed and the bathroom. By evening, having taken some medicine and drank a lot of water, I felt a bit better. My friend Nick, whom I had worked with in Washington, was heading back to Australia the following day and I wanted to say goodbye to him, albeit quickly, before officially calling it a night.

As we were leaving, I asked Shanti if my keys were on the table. Receiving a reply in the affirmative, I locked our bedroom door. My keys, however, were not on the table. They, along with Shanti's, were in our bedroom and without them, we couldn't lock our front door or get back in to the house. Shanti went downstairs to get a spare key. The maid came up with a bucket full of keys, each apparently to some room in the house. Of the perhaps 100 keys, none of them worked.

Not feeling well, and annoyed at the obstacles between me and going to bed, I sat and watched as events unfolded. The driver came upstairs and he too tried all of the keys with the same result. He then tried reaching through the bedroom window to open the door, also unsuccessfully. His next plan was to somehow climb up into the rafters of the guest bedroom and over to our bedroom. Thankfully, he thought better of this and headed into a storage room. He grabbed a long plastic pipe and a small piece of metal wiring and headed into our kitchen. He turned on the stove and did something which I could not see. After a few minutes he emerged with the piece of metal wire molded into a hook and attached to the end of the pipe. Skeptical, and still annoyed, I watched as he pushed the pipe through our bedroom window, over our bed, and to our nightstand, where my keys lay. On his second attempt, he was able to lift the keys, pull them over the nightstand, the bed, and through the window. Unbelievable. Not only do I live with His Excellency, but with His Excellency's driver, the Cambodian MacGyver. We set off for to say good bye to Nick and, though I only lasted twenty minutes, we made it.

A Wedding

On Wednesday evening, fully recovered from the stomach bug I had the day before, Shanti and I went to our first Khmer wedding, for our Khmer teacher, Sokha. In preparation, Shanti had a traditional Khmer wedding outfit made: a patterned silk skirt and a silk blouse. Though the blouse is usually absurdly overdecorated, Shanti had hers made in a more simple fashion, with a little bit of lace around the neckline only. We set off with the invitation, which had a map in Khmer on the back, and our favorite tuk tuk driver. We got a little bit lost on the way to the bride's family's house outside of town, but such is life in a world of unmarked, unlit, unpaved roads.

From far away, we could hear the music and see the lights. We pulled up and, as is the Khmer tradition, an enormous tent was set up outside of the bride's house and an enormous speaker system blasted Khmer music (if in an urban area, the wedding tent would have blocked public streets and the music blared until three in the morning). We were greeted at the entrance by the bride's parents, who ushered us inside. Looking around the several hundred guests, the women's outfits were ridiculous. Bright-colored dresses, like orange, pink, and yellow, with lace, trim, sequins, frills, and everything else you can imagine. Their makeup was equally garish. Meanwhile, most of the men - myself included - wore very unassuming clothing; slacks and a button-down shirt.

There were no assigned seats, so we just sat at a vacant table, as one of Shanti's co-workers and others filled in around us. As soon as we sat, we were given drinks and the first of many courses of food. One man at our table insisted on filling our drinks every minute or so and bowing to us in some sort of a traditional Khmer "cheers." While eating, Sokha and his bride, Chea Kim, scurried about making sure everyone was having a good time and somehow finding time to change their outfits several times.

Just as the main course came, the cake cutting and other traditions were to occur, so we got up to watch. Rows of people formed a path from the entrance to the cake, which was a massive three-tiered cake that had plastic bridges to additional cakes on either side. As Sokha and Chea Kim walked the gauntlet, everyone threw flower petals at them and once they arrived at the cake they really got it: all the kids had silly string and confetti which were mercilessly sprayed at the groom, bride, and cake. Once the cake was cleared (mostly) of silly string, six pieces of cake were cut, one for the groom, one for the bride, and one each for their parents. First, the groom and bride fed cake to the bride's father and mother, respectively, and next fed the groom's mother and father. After Sokha fed Chea Kim and vice versa, it was time for the big kiss(es). Traditionally, the groom kisses the bride on each cheek and the forehead before she does the same, the first time that one has kissed the other. Though the tradition of abstaining from almost all physical contact may be changing, it was fairly evident that this was Sokha and Chea Kim's first kiss. Their cheeks grew red, even through the rouge that was spread on their cheeks.

Following the first kiss, at which most of the men were as rowdy as high schoolers, there was much dancing. Shanti and I were poked and prodded into joining in, dancing around a table, apsara-style. Somewhat grudgingly we obliged and danced much to the amusement of the mostly-Khmer guests. It was quite fun and certainly an experience. Before departing, we were issued an envelope, in which we gave our cash "gift," the custom for weddings and most other celebrations.