The Day of Departure
As much as I’d been preparing for weeks, it still ended up being a little bit chaotic and last minute frantic. And as much as I wanted to be clean and fresh for my long distance flight, Cambodia is merciless with its heat and I still ended up sweaty and in need of another shower by the time I’d gotten my bag out of the apartment and into the tuktuk.
In a standard expat ritual I’d spent the preceding weeks doing a number of pay-it-forward aka handing-over-my-shite type exercises. In this, my second residency (of three years) in South East Asia, I had managed to accumulate far too much “stuff” even with my very enthusiastic attempt to “keep-it-light” this time round.
There is, however, a definite sense of pleasure passing on your loved but (now), surplus to requirements clothing, toiletries and minor household items. It’s enjoyable wearing (yes I too happily taking departing friends hand-me-downs) or seeing friends wear some article of pre-loved and still awesomely wearable clothing.
And so finally, my life is reduced to a mere 16kg’s carried on my back. The last of my final meet-ups have taken place, a final coffee at my favorite coffee shop had been drunk, my last inexpensive foot massage had and my airport-drop-off tuktuk driver bid adieu.
Then a wonderful send off from Cambodia follows thanks to the friendly, smiling and joking Cambodian airport staff. Yes, Cambodia this is why I love you. The check-in guy chats to me about New Zealand being very strong. His reference is the rugby and in particular the haka. He asks me why I go to South Africa and not back home to New Zealand. He grins, and he smiles throughout our exchange and wishes me good luck.
The Khmer chat as I pass through immigration, as a result of my Khmer greeting, has me lost fairly quickly. He’s smiling and grinning and asking where is my husband and I reply “ot mien”, “don’t have”. I tell him I may not be traveling if I had one and he nods with a smile his acknowledgement of that statement. I tell him it’s easier without one and he agrees telling me to have a safe trip and to enjoy my freedom.
I pass through the baggage inspection area and one of the staff runs after me as I’d forgotten my silver bracelet (ok so perhaps I shouldn’t have tried to drink what remained of my bottle of Jim Beam before I left) I thanked him profusely in Khmer which again brought about the smiles and a whole gambit of Khmer exchange which I tried to participate in.
If nothing else, those Khmer classes have paid of purely in bringing me some joy as I once again leave Cambodias lovely shores.
How is the African continent going to compare? But more importantly, how am I going to learn so many different languages?
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