Same Same but Different

Chapter One

Cambodia has a very distinct smell. Occasionally the smell would waft into my nostrils in an alley or something and I would be taken back to my apartment in Toul Kork. The stench, a combination of incense, trash, humidity and fish, would hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. I was never mentally prepared to be back on the worn streets of Phnom Penh, even in my memories. As the plane taxied to the gate, I tried to brace myself for the emotions I was about to inhale. I wasn't ready for this. I'd never be ready for this.

Just breathe. You'll be fine. You can do this. This is it. Just this last stop. Then you're done.

With each deep breath, I actually felt more at ease. I didn't stand though. There was no rush. First class and business class deplaned first. Us lowly economy class folks then got to walk through the other classes and see exactly what we'd been missing for the last five hours. The thought of my lack of legroom made me stretch my legs as far as they would go. I twisted my ankles around and flexed my toes. It had been a very long day.

Hopefully Boupha remembered to turn on the aircon in my bedroom, I thought as I rose to my feet. The idea of stretching out on a bed in a cool room kept me going as I carefully pulled my carry-on from the overhead bin. I drew in an unsteady breath. This is it, Faith. Our final stop.

The line of people slowly crept through first class. Two flight attendants were almost frantic as they cleaned one small compartment. These first class passengers had their own little compartments! Not as fancy as the little egg-pod things on the long Korean Air flight from LAX to Seoul, but still way more legroom. I secretly hoped the work they were doing was due to some stupid rich person getting sick in their own personal little cubicle with their tv and legroom. When I realized how awful that would be for the immaculate Korean Air employees, I felt bad for even allowing such negativity to creep into my mind. My muscles were just so sore from being cramped up so long. I was tired, irritable and sad, a lovely combination of emotions to have when heading into customs. I sighed and began to fish for my passport, extra passport photo and some cash. If I remembered correctly, the visa was thirty bucks, give or take. I could have done this online, but had put it off. When Boupha responded excitedly to my near last minute email requesting my old place for a couple weeks, I tried to feign the same levels of enthusiasm as her, but I just wasn't looking forward to this leg of the goodbye.

Cambodia is the last place I actually saw my sister. As if the conjured by that thought, the smell hit me. First the incense, followed by moisture and then the hint of trash. I wasn't even outside yet. I had just exited the stupid plane. With a soft grunt and a grimace, I adjusted my backpack and went straight for customs. My eyes, as if by grieving reflex, welled with tears.

Keep yourself busy, Gracie. Do not lose it in the airport.

Everyone I passed seemed in a tizzy, frantic like the attendants cleaning in first class. Or maybe it was just that I was on edge and projecting it onto everyone else. Lost in my own thoughts, I approached the counter. In no time, I had a visa stuck in my passport permitting me to stay in Cambodia for a month. After picking up my checked bag, I'd be on my way to an aircon and Ambien induced sleep.

The crowd around baggage claim was small. I second guessed being at the right carousel, but recognized a man almost hiding at the edge. He had a well-trimmed beard, hat, new sneakers and a black jacket. I remembered seeing him get on the flight in Seoul because of the jacket. He boarded first with the elite status group. Who wears a jacket to Cambodia in the summer? People that get special compartments that probably had better air-conditioning, that's who. I mean honestly, a jacket? He noticed me looking and hustled away without a bag.

Weirdo.

I stepped forward when I saw my bag appear. At the same moment a loud clap of thunder rattled the windows. Cambodian monsoon season. Awesome. I hoped the rain would stay away long enough for me to get to my apartment in a tuk-tuk. I did not want to have to spend extra money on an actual taxi or car. I yanked my bag off the conveyor belt and dashed for the exit just in time to see the bottom let out. Sheets of warm water fell from the inky sky. Several people had retreated indoors. A large crowd, just outside the doors, was buzzing with excitement. You'd think they'd be used to this, I thought as I pushed through an adjacent door and into the deluge. I pulled my backpack around to my front and hugged it. The urn was waterproof, but this motion gave me an extra sense of peace. There were exactly two cars - a white van filling up with, what I assumed to be, college missionary kids. Another taxi was being argued over in the rain by a small Cambodian and a very tall and very loud American. I saw what looked like an Uber sign and felt instantaneous regret. If Uber was a thing here too, I definitely should've done that. I trudged on to the line of tuk-tuks where each driver had already pulled down all the tarps on the edges of their carts.