The best food I’ve had in Cambodia
The hostel is dead because of Coronavirus so no one’s turned up to the gender bender party. The Italian girl is really shy and the Canadian’s slightly racist, so I’m glad when Zach struts up to us.
“Hey,” he says. “Are you guys going to the party?”
I think the gender bender theme’s transphobic and Zach seems like a good person to ask seeing as he’s the campest man in the world. The others give non-committal grunts for answers, so I turn to him and say: “Don’t you think the whole gender bender thing is a little offensive?”
Zach looks at me. “No. Me and my theatre friends throw gender bender parties all the time. It’s a celebration, it’s like drag!”
I am unconvinced. “I don’t think straight dudes wearing dresses for a joke is the same as drag.”
“I think it can be,” he says. “I think it’s great to celebrate cross-dressing.”
I can tell he’s sharp right away. He has an American accent and speaks in intelligent, clipped sentences. His eyes are swamp-green and discerning. As we chat I think about how I’ve never seen a man so well put together. He’s about five foot ten and works out at least five times a week. I can tell because his Adidas singlet does a bad job of hiding his arms and it’s low-cut enough to show his familiarity with a chest press.
Speaking of chests, Zach’s sticks out more than most. His posture is rake-straight, giving him the stature of a muscular duck. He doesn’t walk so much as parade.
Zach looks almost exactly like Tom Cruise. He has two dimples, deep as craters, that wink when he speaks and crease when he smiles. Later, I tell him his teeth are ridiculous, because they’re so straight and white they could be in a Colgate advert. His hair is thick and the colour of wet sand and it’s parted and quiffed to look just like a Ken doll. I’m not particularly surprised when he tells me he works as a performer on cruise ships.
I ask him a million questions about cruise ships and he asks me a million about writing and he tells me he just inhales Fantasy series’ and then calls me a monster for confusing that with Sci-Fi. We’re both the kind of person that asks torrents of questions and it’s not long before we’re very good friends.
We give up on the gender bender and decide to wander the dusty streets of Siem Reap looking for cheap beer. We land on Mad Monkey Party Hostel.
On the stairs up I lean into Zach’s ear and whisper I think the Canadian is crazy. Zach looks relieved. “Thank God. I thought you liked him. I hate him so much.”
The bar’s on a rooftop and when we order drinks Zach hands me money and says he’ll have whatever I’m having. That’s when I realise I’m his best friend for the night. I feel good about that because he is bright and cutting and sensitive at the same time, and that’s my favourite kind of person.
Zach calls me a monster for ordering him a passionfruit mojito but downs it anyway and then says he’s glad he met someone as amazing as me on his first night in Asia. It’s funny, cos at that moment I look at him and my stomach does a weird little flip and I guess it’s just because he really is astonishingly handsome and his eyes are very intelligent and I get what he’s about and he gets me, too. I know that’s where the lightning bolt came from, but I remind myself he’s gay anyway, in case there’s any confusion.
The bar is full of sweat-glistened Aussie boys in tank tops and long-haired skinny girls in denim shorts. There’s a beer pong game happening in the corner and every 30 minutes a bell rings to signal everyone in the bar gets a free shot. The barman stands on a stool and yells “To staying positive! And testing negative!” And we all down them together.
Zach doesn’t seem to like it when I’m not by his side. When I order another drink he comes to find me. He let’s me know he’s there by doing a full body roll up against me and then chides me for choosing a drink that takes so long to make. When it’s ready he hastens me away to the balcony. I’m okay with giving him my full attention because it’s nice to be adored.
We sip our drinks and look over the rooftops. Hotline Bling bounces in the background and I ask him again about the gender bender party. I don’t think he’s given me the right answer.
“I mean, for straight men to put on dresses without understanding what it is to be trans, I just don’t know if I agree with it. It’s like when people wear kimonos.”
“Do you have Japanese friends who get offended when people wear kimonos?” He asks. “I think you need to be careful about who you get offended for. It’s problematic being a white person and getting offended on behalf of non-white people.”
Interesting. Something to think about.
“By the way,” he says. “I’m a straight man.”
I splutter up some mojito. “What?”
“You thought I was gay.” He shakes his head. “I’m straight. All my friends are gay. I wish I was gay. I tried it once, I sucked my friends dick, but I just wasn’t into it.”
My insides have turned upside down and I don’t know how to save it. I keep talking while my brain processes what he said but he must be able to feel the shift because he suggests we get out of there. He isn’t interested in saying goodbye to the others.
We comb the streets of Siem Reap. He’s looking for Cambodian red curry and won’t settle until he finds the exact one he wants. En route he stops and buys a frog from a street vendor. “Aren’t you worried about food poisoning?” I ask.
“It’s getting cooked right in front of us,” he says, “So no.”
It looks like a tiny little man, arms and legs muscular and splayed, and when it’s ready, without asking, Zach puts some of its leg meat in my mouth. For some reason I don’t mind at all; maybe because it’s nice not to be in charge for once. The frog tastes good, like barbecued chicken.
I tell him I haven’t had a good meal since I came to Cambodia.
“That’s because you play it safe all the time,” he says. “While I’m here I want to taste everything and see everything and do everything.”
We find a van with the red curry he’s looking for and while he eats, for some reason, I let him read a story I’ve only just finished. One that I wasn’t planning to show anyone.
When I get a tuk-tuk back to my hotel he jumps in with me even though it’s not on his way back. I feel intense and strange. I don’t know exactly what’s happening here, but I know the only way to stay in control is to make the decisions myself. I hug him goodbye and I get out quickly. “Tomorrow,” he says. “Message me.”
I’m not sure if it’s a plead or a demand.
The next morning he comes to my hotel and we hang out by the swimming pool. He struts over to my sun lounger like the world is his catwalk and my stomach does that little flip again. We chat a while but he can’t sit still for long so we go up to my hotel room. We argue about music, and while I shower I can hear him sing a broadway tune I don’t recognise. He’s nowhere near full-volume but it’s enough for me to imagine his voice filling up theatre-rooms on cruise ships.
He chooses where we have lunch, a rundown place I would’ve walked past, and I tell him that although I’m adventurous enough to travel alone, I still tend to stay in my comfort zone. He makes me order something I’ve never tried before.
That afternoon I go on a temple tour I’d already booked. He says he’ll be a little lost without me but I tell him he’ll make other friends. We plan to see each other later, maybe go to the circus, but we can’t stay out late because I’m leaving Cambodia early the next morning.
7pm. “Alice,” he says. “I’m going to have to take a MASSIVE rain check on the circus. I ended up doing a sunset tour and now I’m with a bunch of Cambodian kids and I’m moving hostel later.”
I say that’s okay but he owes me a circus. What’s he doing for food? But my ticks don’t go blue, he’s stopped checking his WhatsApp.
I feel that familiar pang of disappointment. I was great and perfect while he didn’t know anyone, but now he’s met other people he doesn’t need me at all. I pack my suitcase and think about how I got swept up in his enthusiasm, how actually he was just nervous and afraid of being by himself. Now he’s fine and I’m by myself and hungry and I don’t know what to eat.
I think about going next door to get some average Vietnamese food. I don’t feel good anymore and I don’t want to be far from my hotel, but I know there’s nothing nice to eat round here.
I think about how it felt to meet Zach, how he gave me energy and made me feel seen. Usually I’m the only person pushing myself forward, but he made me eat frog and told me not to play it safe anymore. Before I didn’t care, but now I don’t want to eat shit food on my last night.
So I get a tuk-tuk to the market, to the streets we wandered yesterday. I find a little cafe hidden away that looks grimy and cheap, one that Zach would approve of. I order Khmer, Cambodia’s national dish, because I haven’t even tried it yet. When it arrives I take a bite and all my sadness turns into gratitude. I’m glad I made myself come here, even though I didn’t want to, because this is the best food I’ve had in Cambodia.
–Alice Austin
