Khmers do not, for the most part, celebrate Christmas. However this does not stop the residents of Phnom
Penh, including the girls in our dormitory, from donning felt Santa Hats.
The country may be 95% Buddhist, but come the middle of
December the markets fill with miniature plastic Christmas trees, garlands of
tinsel and mini stands of flashing, multi-colored lights.
“Happy Merry Christmas” signs abound. Christmas songs play in all the chic cafes
near independence monument.
Embracing the holiday spirit we bought a mini plastic fir
tree, strung up lights and tinsel and set about making paper snowflakes – notwithstanding
the fact that the girls at the dorm have never seen snow.
And then, a day before Christmas Eve, the thirty-four girls
threw a Christmas party. Preparation
started early with a morning trip to the market. There followed a flurry of meat chopping and
lime squeezing. In the lazy heat of the afternoon a table was laid in the
courtyard and speakers were set up.
The spread was not classic Yuletide fare: fried squids with
pepper lime sauce and chili sauce, cold nests of rice noodles –thin and
latticed, hairy rambutans and fingerling bananas. But it was certainly festive.
There was an exchange of gifts overzealously adorned with ribbons
,and lots of photographs. And then, the
dancing.
With speaker blasting and music videos streaming the girls
danced late into the night – skipping and twirling and stamping. Gangnam Style followed by Rhinana, followed
by traditional Khmer Apsara dancing, followed by Bollywood, followed by Thai
Pop, followed by . . . more Gangnam Style.
The usually studious and demure students danced late into the night.
New Years was spent in a slightly colder climate – amid the
curving hills and towering skyscrapers of Hong Kong.
Two years ago I visited Hong Kong on the heels of
contracting dengue fever. I stayed with
my Princeton roommate (who was pregnant at the time) in the heat of the summer,
amidst storm warnings. We cooked
curries, indulged in cheese and pastries (Thailand lacks both) and ate dim sum
and hand pulled noodles.
Now, at the end of December, Hong Kong balances on the edge
of brisk and the men and women of the city don jackets and scarves. I again stayed with my roommate Shobi and was
introduced to the newest member of her family: nearly two year old Rania. I have become “Aunt Jess.”
In a compact two days we ate our way through many dim sums
and, in a throwback to our dorm lives, sipped even greater quantities of tea. We hiked along the Dragon’s Back trail in the
mountain over the city and then through the dense forest of apartment
skyscrapers many with protruding poles of laundry that flapped precariously in
the wind, thirty stories high or more.
For our New Year’s meal we taxied to the heart of the city
to an elegant eight-table restaurant serving up the spiciest Sichuan food I
have ever consumed. We ate our way
through an intimidating twelve courses, which quite literally brought tears to
my eyes. The most interesting was a
fried chicken with a Sichuan pepper: rather than having the expected burn, it
numbs your lips and then makes them feel as if they were actually bubbling and
frothing.
Driving back to Shobi’s apartment New Year’s Eve, I reveled
in the holiday spectacle – a light show of skyscrapers decked like Hallmark
Holiday cards with building-sized flashing Santas, reindeer, wrapped presents
and tree bobbles.
We welcomed 2013 on the roof of a Hong Kong Apartment –
shivering in the cold, watching fireworks burst over the metropolis.
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