His backpack was a Vietnamese brand, MrVui, and featured Captain America. Though he was much bigger than the girl, his practice sentence was just as basic, "cha' »? kha ngha' »? hà ¨ a' »? sa pa" ["sister kha took a vacation in sapa"], so either he was huge for his age, or just dim.
To both of the other kids, he would say, "Get away from me! Your breath stinks! Did you brush your teeth this morning?"
"Yes, I did," and the girl opened her mouth to show her clean, straight and white teeth.
During recess, I noticed that half of the kids streaming out from the church's gates were barefoot. They went into the cafe' to buy food, with the richer among them splurging on a 25 cent cup of instant noodles.
Inside the cafe', there was a young man who was different from the rest, for he had tattoos on his arms and neck, stretched earlobes, dyed auburn hair, all black clothing and stylish sandals. Was he the local pimp or drug dealer? No, sir, the soft spoken young man was actually an aerobics instructor, as I would find out when I suggested we had a few beers together, which he declined, for he wasn't keen on alcohol in the morning.
"Do you know where the Vietnamese Cambodian Friendship Monument is? That's where I work. I teach hip hop."
"Wow!"
"I'll be there this evening, at six."
"How much do you charge?"
"1,500 [38 cents]."
He and his partners would set up two booming speakers, and the exercisers would come. They're mostly women above 40, for those younger are still effortlessly svelte and lovely.
A Vietnamese identifies with his original village, so even if he was born in Saigon, he's likely to say he's a Soc Trang person, for example. Recently, I was asked if I was from Nam Dinh, simply because I had absorbed its accent from my father, so yes, in a way, I am a Nam Dinh person, although I had never been there. My new friend couldn't name his "quà ª," or original village, however, and knew nothing about his parents, besides the fact that his absent or dead dad had been a Vietnamese Army soldier.
Settling here in the 80's, the Vietnamese started out as fishermen, but have branched out into many other professions, and nearly all speak Khmer fluently. Sitting in a dingy coffee shop, I witnessed a Viet woman conduct her business in Khmer when necessary.
All this time, there was a faint smell of rot in the air, and I discovered its source when I strayed into a dirt alley, leading to the river. Though used to all things unpleasant, I nearly retched, for the sweet stench was overwhelming, but only for a moment, then my system adjusted. It was clear most of the houses here had neither indoor plumbing nor trash pickup, so the river shore was a festering dump. I goofed around with a bunch of laughing kids. Across the Mekong, Phnom Penh's best buildings gleamed, but on this side, all the boats were decayed, and much more miserable than anything I had seen in Vietnam.
Back in Phnom Penh, I'd run into a 64-year-old Vietnamese who had managed to survived in Cambodia for 35 years as a practitioner of gua sha, cupping and massage, "In Saigon, I cut and dressed hair, but I had so many customers, my electricity and water bills got so high, I got cut off all the time, so I came to Cambodia."
The math didn't make sense, but I kept listening, "First, I carried water for hire, then I got into gua sha. You have to understand, the medical care here was practically nonexistent, so I got a lot of customers. If you go to Orussey Market, they all know me."
To both of the other kids, he would say, "Get away from me! Your breath stinks! Did you brush your teeth this morning?"
"Yes, I did," and the girl opened her mouth to show her clean, straight and white teeth.
During recess, I noticed that half of the kids streaming out from the church's gates were barefoot. They went into the cafe' to buy food, with the richer among them splurging on a 25 cent cup of instant noodles.
"Do you know where the Vietnamese Cambodian Friendship Monument is? That's where I work. I teach hip hop."
"Wow!"
"I'll be there this evening, at six."
"How much do you charge?"
"1,500 [38 cents]."
He and his partners would set up two booming speakers, and the exercisers would come. They're mostly women above 40, for those younger are still effortlessly svelte and lovely.
A Vietnamese identifies with his original village, so even if he was born in Saigon, he's likely to say he's a Soc Trang person, for example. Recently, I was asked if I was from Nam Dinh, simply because I had absorbed its accent from my father, so yes, in a way, I am a Nam Dinh person, although I had never been there. My new friend couldn't name his "quà ª," or original village, however, and knew nothing about his parents, besides the fact that his absent or dead dad had been a Vietnamese Army soldier.
Settling here in the 80's, the Vietnamese started out as fishermen, but have branched out into many other professions, and nearly all speak Khmer fluently. Sitting in a dingy coffee shop, I witnessed a Viet woman conduct her business in Khmer when necessary.
All this time, there was a faint smell of rot in the air, and I discovered its source when I strayed into a dirt alley, leading to the river. Though used to all things unpleasant, I nearly retched, for the sweet stench was overwhelming, but only for a moment, then my system adjusted. It was clear most of the houses here had neither indoor plumbing nor trash pickup, so the river shore was a festering dump. I goofed around with a bunch of laughing kids. Across the Mekong, Phnom Penh's best buildings gleamed, but on this side, all the boats were decayed, and much more miserable than anything I had seen in Vietnam.
Back in Phnom Penh, I'd run into a 64-year-old Vietnamese who had managed to survived in Cambodia for 35 years as a practitioner of gua sha, cupping and massage, "In Saigon, I cut and dressed hair, but I had so many customers, my electricity and water bills got so high, I got cut off all the time, so I came to Cambodia."
The math didn't make sense, but I kept listening, "First, I carried water for hire, then I got into gua sha. You have to understand, the medical care here was practically nonexistent, so I got a lot of customers. If you go to Orussey Market, they all know me."
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