For The Win

Cambodians are pushy.
Or what is more accurate is that everybody else in Southeast Asia is pushier than Thais.
I was wondering why halfway during the day I was exhausted, barely able to keep up with Ryan as he climbed our third temple. I had done more physical exercise than I'd done in a long time; some moss covered temple steps were steeper than others and at some sites there was much more to see but my head buzzed with mental fatigue. My refuel sirens were screaming. I had given my introvert soul to literally calvacades of Cambodian hawkers.

In all of my travels, I don't think have ever met a more persistent people group. I mean it can be rough when tourists meet vendors anywhere in this world but I was unprepared for this kind of attention. Coming out from underneath jungle canopies and dirt paths waiting for you are at least 4 groups of men, women, and children determined to get you to walk away with a guide book, scarf, bracelet, t-shirt, sarong, fiddle, or bottle of water. Never say die was the motivation and if you were lucky you could get away before you were separated from your tuk tuk.

In massive Angkor Archaelogical park there has to be at least 300 independent vendors working for other people.

"Laydee! You want scarf! You buy scarf for your mother!"
"Laydee. Water! You buy WATER! Just one dollar. One dollar."
"No. T-shirt. Madam, you buy. You buy t-shirt from me. From me"
"Lay-dee. You buy for your tree. Your christmas tree. Only 2,000 riel!"
"You come back you buy postcard from ME!
There has also never been a squad appealing so much to the principle of fairness in my life. I made the mistake of buying bamboo bracelets I liked better from a latecoming child and the early boy and his sister floated around my restaurant seat for half-an hour chastising me harshly for my sheer discourtesy. "I asked you first,"the little boy hissed in my ear. Ït not fair. I asked you first. You no buy from meee." Yes, take my heart and serve it to me on a plate. Fork, please. I thought this might be just for the children, but when i kept my promise to a breakfast vendor who found me at daybreak for my business, her brother complimented me profusely later when he overheard me tell another vendor I had a promise to keep. You can't come to Cambodia and not do what you said you're going to. You have got to be fair about this tourist business.

They remember. And they are expressive about it.
I sighed to myself, as a woman pushed the same Angkor guide book on me that had been offered to me for the past four hours. I had been wrangled into three t-shirts, 4 bottles of water, 10 bracelets, 10 postcards, one scarf, and one dress. I didn't want another thing. The children were brutal. Their big eyes and shiny hair, little hands spreading out all of their baskets of jewelry, their words moving too fast for you to interrupt them. They're terribly cute but can be the meanest.
"Sorry doesn't give me anything."
"You can pay! You have credit card!
"You no buy because you hate Cambodians!!
"YOU BUY!!
Anna may or may not have been been called "whore" by a 6-year old.

You had to hand it to the Cambodians. Their agressiveness made sense. There were less tourists to Cambodia these days. If everybody in the group was agressive, you had to be more aggressive to beat the heads of the pack. If you wanted to eat, send your children to school, and pay person you were renting your stall from, you had to go for the gusto. It's like having a bucket of ice water thrown over you in bed when you cross the border into a land where anger, dislike, irritation, amusement, and appreciation is so open on the countenances of people you encounter. Thais would never spend their time trying to pry money from anyone--they're too proud for that--and if they did become upset over something you had done, they'd have negative emotions and lose face. Foreigners just aren't worth that much. We were leaving the second temple and I began to start wincing. God Almighty, they're going to try to sell me water and a magnet again.

The great thing about being here was that in one hour you had more interaction with a group of Khmer than you have had for 2 months with the Thai and they were cunning. They played tick-tak-toe and devised puzzle schemes to secure sales. We, tourists, DID have more money than them, but if I gave 70 people one dollar for all of their wares, I'd have hostel room I couldn't pay for, full of things I couldn't transport, and I wouldn't be able to eat for the rest of the week. If you treated them with respect, they'd forget you were a tourist for a minute and shower you with conversation and laughter. But I'm sure most European backpackers became fed up half-way through and probably yelled at them. Four temples in, I decided I had to do something. How could I keep my money but be an honorable person at the same time? I prayed to Jesus, God, please show me the Third Way. It hit me when a Khmer child rattled off my nation's capital. Most widely used tactic: ask immediately where the tourist is from when they deny you. If it is America, the capital was Washington D.C. and their president is Obama. Now buy from me. But....did they know the capital of Arkansas? Did they even know that midwesty state even existed? If they had, I decided, they deserved my money.

They gave me the opportunity and I tried it. If you can tell me the capital, I will buy whatever you have. A group of girls hmmed and hawwed. They mispronounced it. They asked each other in Khmer. Nothing. No one knew and instead of bothering me for another 20 minutes, they bothered me for another 3. They acknowledged what's fair was fair. I went the rest of the way dangling the bait and they laughed at their cleverness turned back at them. Most thought Montana and Louisiana were countries. Sometimes it worked better than others because many wanted something easier! And telling me countries to guess the capital of wasn't working either (Thanks, Roinilla). They slinked away as I kept walking trying to figure out where in the world Maryland could be.

At the final temple, I walked slowly and heavily with the day pressed on my shoulders. I sat down as I saw another beautiful little girl walk over to me with sarongs and t-shirts draped over her shoulders. She asked if I'd buy, I denied, she asked my country, I told her, she told me the capital and I smiled weakly in lethargy. I laughed, okay. One more time. I have a deal for you. Are you good at capitals? Ï am!"she piped quickly with confidence. "I know!"and I laughed again. They all knew. If you can guess this capital, I will buy something from you. But only if. What's fair is fair." She nodded quickly and waited in excited anticipation. The silence in which she stood was astounding. "What--is the capital of Montana?
"Helena!!!" She burst, jumping up and down.
Holy crap, Are you kidding me!?!? Ryan and I clapped in hysterical disbelief! She knew it! I had done this alll day and she was the only one! I had lost! I informed her she had surely won and we practically skipped to her stall and she glowed in her win. I thought that Montana might have been a lucky guess but she kept going, just as pleased at winning as I was for her, intent to show me she really was good at this. "And the capital of New Mexico is Santa Fe! And the capital of Arkansas is Little Rock! And the capital of Vermont is Montpelier! And the capital of Nevada is Reno....no, no, CARSON CITTTYYYYY!" she crooned through laughter that boisterously sparkeled. It was incredible. This teenager made my heart burst with joy. We talked, we laughed, I purchased. It was great.

At her stall, we found out that she and her (almost identical) sister knew 6 languages at conversational levels. Ryan spent the next 15 minutes talking to them in Spanish. As I sat there waiting for Ryan to finish buying a t-shirt from her sister, I spotted the Capital Genius asking two more westerners to buy her wares.
I called out to them, "Buy from her! She is incredibly bright! She knows that the capital of New Mexico is Santa Fe, and that the capital of Arkansas is Little Rock, and that the capital of Vermont is--

"Montpelier!" the American exclaimed in pleasure. "I know! She told me! That's where I'm from!" and my new friend and I laughed together, the American in the chair, and the Cambodian with silk sarongs hung over both shoulders.