Global Reflections

Every time we move, we become part of a different culture.

No, we don’t become a part of our host culture; that’s not what I’m talking about. We adapt to some degree; that’s just a part of showing respect, and it is necessary. But the host culture isn’t the only new culture to which we are exposed.

Each embassy also has a different culture. Sure, they all fit under the umbrella of “American,” but there are nuances.

The U. S. Mission to Egypt was so large—it was the largest permanently staffed embassy in the world during our time there—that much of it felt impersonal. There were people there who cared, but overall it felt institutional. Although most employees who worked within the embassy compound at least recognized each other, it was not expected that everyone would know everyone else, especially with mission personnel divided among at least three large compounds. Subgroups and cliques formed; my primary social group became non-mission expats, though it included a few embassy wives whom I met through non-embassy activities such as Maadi Community Church or the Maadi Women’s Guild. Overall, my impression of the embassy was that it was a large, professional institution, with a professional culture that encouraged individuals to be friendly.

The U. S. Mission to Cambodia was much smaller and more personal. The employees, for the most part, worked on one mid-sized compound; most of them knew each other, or at least could provide a name and section (office) to go with each face. From what I recall, the Community Liaison Office was more active, and there were more “everyone’s invited” parties and gatherings hosted by individual mission members than there were in Cairo. Again, however, my primary social group became non-mission expats, once I was able to find them. My impression of the embassy was that it was a professional, but friendly, institution.

The U. S. Mission to Kosovo, from what I can tell, is even smaller and more personal than the Mission to Cambodia. Currently there are two compounds, but they’re within walking distance of each other, and most mission personnel live near each other, though there’s beginning to be more of a separation into two distinct residential areas. Everyone knows everyone else—they can tell you name, section, spouse, kids, pets, home state if not hometown, often previous posts, of just about everyone else. Everyone knows who’s departing—and who’s arriving—this summer. I lost count of how many people, upon being told that we were new to post, said, “Oh, you must be the Smiths*! Good to meet you!” I haven’t had the opportunity yet to meet any non-embassy people, but I have attended six social events (only two of them semi-official) organized by embassy personnel in the four weeks that we’ve been here, and we’re going to another one tomorrow. From what I’ve seen so far, the CLO is trying to be active and provide social events and outings, though I’m not sure how many people participate in those activities (we haven’t been able to participate in any of those yet, though I’m hoping to in future). Overall, my impression of the embassy is that it is a very friendly, yet still professional when it needs to be, community.

Part of any culture is the prevailing attitude toward children, and this aspect of culture also differs among embassies.

I didn’t really notice Embassy Cairo’s professional attitude toward children, as Alexa was born after I’d already begun spending most of my time with people unaffiliated with the embassy. I have no idea what, if any, official events occurred for children. Many embassy families hired nannies for the kids, but other families included a stay-at-home parent. Those stay-at-home moms were the mission members whom I tended to meet and socialize with, and most of them had school-age children, so they were free and clear during the school day. I can’t really characterize the embassy culture’s attitude toward children one way or the other.

Embassy Phnom Penh seemed a bit conflicted about embassy kids. On the one hand, there was a playground right there on the compound, and when I arrived there were kids’ story hours every month—or maybe every week?—in one of the conference rooms, and there were children’s Christmas and Easter parties at the ambassador’s residence, and the CLO occasionally organized weekend playgroups at Monkey Business. On the other hand, I never saw any children using the playground except when the embassy hosted a local orphanage, and the story hours were discontinued soon after our arrival—I think the person who organized them rotated out and no one else volunteered to organize them—and the weekend playgroups were rare and always on Sunday mornings, so we never went to them because we went to church. I think most embassy spouses worked, so most hired nannies for the kids. I went to a few of the monthly social gatherings for spouses who didn’t work, but I left Alexa with our housekeeper during those events, as that seemed to be the norm. So there was an official effort to be a child-friendly embassy, which I appreciated, though it seemed to me that children were an afterthought rather than a feature of embassy social life.

Then we arrived here.

If Embassy Phnom Penh was conflicted about embassy kids, Embassy Pristina is determined not to be.

This embassy is in transition. Children were not allowed to accompany their parents to post for a long time—I’m not sure how long—because of the potential for violence here. Not too long ago, it was deemed safe enough for children, and two years ago, the first children arrived at post. The first school-age children are scheduled to arrive this summer; apparently educational options had to be evaluated before the post could be opened completely.

As with any transition, opportunities co-exist with problems. Most parents here tell us that things are improving. Only one has made clear just how bad it was for children at post when he brought his family here two years ago. His words, as near as I can recall, were, “They cared more about pets than they did about kids.” I had assumed that a post where adult dependents were allowed but child dependents were not would consist of two types of families: those who were young and either single or married but childless for now, and those who were older and whose children were grown and gone. Apparently I was wrong; most families consisted of married couples who had chosen not to have children in favor of making it easier for both spouses to pursue their careers. Understandably, given the circumstances, the embassy culture was unsympathetic to children and their parents; I don’t know that it was hostile, though at least the one father thinks so, but children just didn’t enter into the thinking of most mission members.

That child-free culture has changed. Those who have been here for a year or more—we’re the first arrivals of the summer, so everyone else has been here significantly longer than we have—may not recognize how child-friendly this embassy is now, as they remember growing pains to which we were not exposed. My experience, however, as a recently-arrived mom, is that this embassy is incredibly focused on children, and this focus is a direct result of the problems experienced by the first wave of parents and their children. Not only does this embassy have a playground—and an indoor playroom as well—but it hosts weekly playgroups there. When the CLO sends emails about the events and outings they sponsor, they almost invariably specify that “Children are welcome!” When I declined an invitation to a social event hosted by the Deputy Chief of Mission because I didn’t have anyone to care for Alexa, I received a reply to bring her; childcare would be provided—and when Alexa refused to stay with the other children and the caregiver, she was welcomed to the adult gathering. Children have been present at almost every social event I’ve attended (one was a ladies’ night out; most attendees were moms, but the kids stayed home with Dad), and one was planned specifically to introduce us to the other parents and children at post. Alexa even was welcomed into all the offices we visited during our newcomers’ orientation briefing.

I’m certain the growing pains are not over. With older children arriving for the first time this summer, education will be a concern, and the activities that welcome new preschoolers won’t be appropriate for teens, tweens, or grade-schoolers. And stay-at-home mothers aren’t particularly common here yet—the response when it was discovered that I don’t have a paying job was “Oh, we can fix that!”—but there are a few of us, and maybe there will be a few more after this summer. The culture is still changing and probably will continue to change throughout our stay here. It will be a fascinating experience to watch and participate in this shaping of a culture that will impact families for years to come.

In the meantime, I’m enjoying an embassy culture that truly welcomes our entire family.

*Our last name isn’t really Smith, but we’d rather not put the real one on here.

As I write this post, I will be leaving my home in Cambodia in approximately 24 hours. There will be the ride to the airport—not too far, really, but in the rush hour traffic, it will seem so incredibly far. Then we’ll arrive at the airport, check in to our flights—hopefully with no last-minute issues regarding the cats’ reservations in the hold of our plane—and wait. I probably will be surprised yet again by how small the airport is; I never seem to remember just how small it is compared to what you would expect for a capital city’s connection to the world. We’ll wait for several hours, as our allowance for rush hour traffic probably will put us at the airport, checked in, and through security with more time to spare than we would prefer, but we know not to test our luck when it comes to traffic.

How will I feel tomorrow? I’m not certain. Probably stressed most of the day, as I finish the packing, take a last shower to hold off the grime of the journey as long as possible, and prep the welcome kit for pickup by embassy personnel sometime after our departure. Once we’re in the van, my anxiety will shift focus: the packing and preparation will be done, but the next hurdle will be delivering the cats to their check-in area, and preferably leaving them with some confidence that they will be cared for adequately. Then, finally, I’ll be free to relax—at least as much as it is possible to relax in an airport with an almost-3-year-old who’s approaching, and then passing, her bedtime.

Underneath those emotions, I expect to feel others. Excitement about what God has in store for us in Kosovo. Anxiety about our adjustment there, especially Alexa’s and mine; Jeff tends to have an easier time of it, since his daily routine doesn’t change as much as ours. Sadness at leaving our friends here in Cambodia. But what I wonder is how I will feel leaving Cambodia itself—the country, and the city of Phnom Penh—not just at leaving my friends here.

In the past, I’ve felt nostalgic for places that I was leaving before I even left. I would look out the car window at the trees lining the highways in Maryland, or the domed mosques in Cairo, and I would feel a sense of loss. I’ve felt that here, too, right after we were asked to leave early and again when the date was set. I would look out the side of the tuk tuk—no windows needed—and see the distinctive Cambodian rooflines, the monuments, and the parks, and I would feel a sense of loss, a grief that these scenes no longer would be everyday sights for me. I haven’t felt that for a while, probably because I’ve felt busier and under more stress with this move than with past ones. It’s sad to say, but the fact that neither Alexa nor I have been sleeping well the last few nights is probably causing me to feel less of an emotional connection with the whole country!

Regardless of my emotions right now, I do know that I will miss Cambodia. I will miss the spirit houses outside each building, the brilliant saffron robes of the monks, the friendly greetings from strangers I pass on the streets. I will miss the people and their dedication to children, their willingness to work extremely hard, and their commitment to education and self-betterment. I will miss the stories of people like our long-distance driver, who could have had a good government job because of the identity of his wife’s relatives, but who chose to make his own way in life instead. And I will miss my housekeeper, not only because of how clean she keeps my house, but because of the obvious love with which she and my daughter regard each other, the humor she brings to our days, and the insights about Cambodian life that our conversations have given me.

Right now, Cambodia is a country caught between two worlds. Rural Cambodians live much as they have for centuries—no electricity or running water, strict social rules that give everyone a role, and hard work. Urban Cambodians enjoy more modern conveniences, but still miss out on many that Westerners consider basics (washers and drying machines or dishwashers, for example); they have a more relaxed attitude about what behavior and dress is proper; and most still work very hard. In each Cambodian with whom I have regular interactions, and in most Cambodians with whom I’ve had more intermittent or single interactions, however, I’ve noticed commonalities: intelligence, a strong work ethic, and a desire to be and to do better—for themselves and for their country. Maybe I’ve interacted only with the cream of the crop; stories certainly abound about lazy workers and corrupt officials, but my experience—with my housekeeper, our tuk tuk driver, our driver for long trips, the employees at our favorite children’s venue, the locally employed staff at the embassy, the movers who packed our things—has been different. My experience has been of a society that wants to retain the best of the past while pushing forward into a better tomorrow. And I wish them the best of luck, and more importantly, the blessing of God, in that endeavor.

Fare thee well, Cambodia. I will miss you.

When we arrived here in Cambodia, the transition was difficult for me—so difficult that Jeff asked a few times if I needed to curtail our tour here and go back home to the States. I’m not certain why it was so difficult for me here, but I have a few theories: a part of me didn’t want to settle in too deeply here because of the recently experienced reality that I could be ripped away at any time with little warning and without my consent; the logistics of being here with a young child were more difficult than the logistics of being in Egypt without a small child; I was more well-informed and better prepared for life in Egypt than for life here. I believe that all of these factors played a role in my difficult adjustment. They were not, however, the most important factors, though they are the ones I blamed at the time.

I believe that the reason why it was so difficult for me to adjust to life in Cambodia is that Julia wasn’t here. Who is Julia, and why have I not mentioned her before? Juliais a friend whom I met in the U. S. shortly before she and her husband moved to Egypt, where Jeff and I soon moved as well. We were there together for most of my three years in Egypt—and I have mentioned her before on the blog, once in passing by name that I recall. While talking about what I’d been doing with myself since our arrival in Egypt, I said “I've gone out for a least a couple of hours most days with Julia, who is walking me around Maadi to help me get familiar with my new neighborhood.”

Along with our wonderful office sponsors, Julia played a critical role in helping me to settle in and feel at home in Egypt. She’s a high energy, outgoing woman who loves to explore—and she had done a lot of exploration in the time in which she was in Egypt before my arrival. When I did arrive, she was eager to take me out exploring and show me everything she’d found. I never doubted, in Egypt, that anything I wanted to see, do, or buy had been seen, done, or bought by Julia, by one of her many contacts, or by our office sponsors. I stepped out of a supportive network in the U. S. and stepped into an even more supportive network in Egypt. I never felt alone or insecure, and I felt lost and confused only as long as it took me to pick up a phone, send an email, or walk to the nearby apartment where Julia was living. Over time, I developed other friends, but Julia, along with our office sponsors, was there immediately to support me through the hardest days, weeks, and even months: the first ones.

When I arrived in Cambodia, I didn’t have a Julia. We had a good sponsor, but she and her husband both worked and were not available for casual exploration during the day—and even if she had been, Alexa’s jet-lagged sleep schedule wouldn’t have allowed me to take advantage of it the way I did with Julia in Egypt. Jeff’s office sponsor didn’t really get involved with any non-office-related settling in activities like our office sponsors in Egypt had. And I’m really bad about recognizing when I desperately need social support and reaching out for it—the very thought of asking for help makes my palms sweat and my stomach lurch. I had no social contacts here, and although I needed them, it took a while for me to find them.

Then I met Jen.

We’d visited a couple of churches, only to realize immediately that they weren’t for us, before hitting pay dirt at the third. We realized quickly that we had some doctrinal differences that made the church a less than ideal fit for us, but the people were so incredibly friendly … and we needed that so much … and so we decided to tolerate the doctrinal differences and accept the friendships that were offered so freely. We eventually realized that we could not tolerate the doctrinal differences after all, and we left that church, but before we left, we made my first friends, and Jeff’s first non-embassy friends, here in Phnom Penh.

Chris and Jen welcomed us to that church immediately. We quickly became friends with them—they came over for pizza and just to hang out; we sat near them at church; Jen became my go-to question answerer. Jen introduced me to a playgroup, which provided me with the social contacts for which I’d been longing. She offered to share a tuk tuk with me to attend those playgroup meetings, so I rarely showed up on my own and I never got lost on the way, not even when it took almost an hour to get to one friend’s rather distant house. By the time I met Jen, I’d already figured out most of the practical things I needed to know, but she introduced me to the part of Phnom Penh that I needed more than the practical part—she introduced me to the social circle where I would make my home for the rest of my time here.

Too soon, Chris’s contract expired, and due to organizational policy, he was unable to renew it. We’d known from the start when the contract would expire, but promises had been made about waiving the rules and letting him stay for another year, and by the time it became clear that they really would be leaving Cambodia, there wasn’t a lot of time left. Practically overnight, I watched Jen go from crying at the thought of leaving to being excited to begin her life back home. I watched her say her good-byes to the playgroup. I heard her schedule last lunches, brunches, and dinners with those to whom she was closest. And to my shame, I felt hurt and abandoned. Although I was glad that she was happy about leaving—she had no choice, so much better for her to accept it than to dread it—I worried about what my life would become after she left. I had leaned on her more than she realized, and I was not eager to stand on my own.

After Chris and Jen left, my life continued. Without Jen to lean on, I slowly began to feel more like a part of the playgroup, rather than like Jen’s friend who also comes to playgroup. One of the drawbacks of being an introvert is that it takes me a long time to connect with people—and often, once I connect with one person, I allow that one person to be my link to the group rather than becoming part of the group myself. That’s what I had done with Jen, and it wasn’t until after she left that I forced myself to make more of an effort. That effort was worthwhile; there are some wonderful women in the group, and I’m extremely glad to know them—but it was an effort.

Not long after Jen left, about the time I started feeling at home in Phnom Penh and in the playgroup, Jeff and I met a new family at a church we visited, the one we’ve attended since that time. Jesse and Sarah, along with their adorable daughter, were new to Phnom Penh. Jeff and I both realized quickly that we enjoyed this family, and we wanted to be friends. And we did become friends. I offered what assistance I could to Sarah, remembering well how lost I felt those first few months. I couldn’t help with most of the practical issues Sarah faced—the embassy takes care of most of that for us—though I could help with some things, like where to find cornstarch or other specific grocery items. And I could introduce her to a group of good women who could help her a lot more than I could—the playgroup.

Eventually, Jesse and Sarah started a Bible study group. We were the first to join, and we offered our house as a meeting location. The group grew in number and in closeness. We developed a whole circle of shared friends and acquaintances, rather than just the his-at-the-embassy, hers-at-playgroup circles we’d had before. The way I see it, the friendship, the support, and the social network that Jesse and Sarah have given us far outweigh anything that we’ve given them—and when you add in the understanding and encouragement and friendship that I feel from Sarah personally, I definitely come out ahead.

Apparently Sarah disagrees.

As we’ve gotten ready to depart Phnom Penh later this week, I’ve said my round of good-byes, much like Jen said hers so many months ago. The playgroup hosted a Kosovo-themed party in my honor, to which Sarah and Clara rode with Alexa and me. The Bible study had a very special time of sharing and prayer for our family—and although Sarah was unable to attend because Clara was ill, she was the one who organized it all. Our church had a special prayer time for us—no doubt suggested by Jesse and/or Sarah. And at every turn, Sarah has made it clear that she will miss us, that she will miss me, that she is sad to see us go and really would rather we didn’t. In a note that Jeff found for me after our last Bible study meeting and that I always will treasure, Sarah credited me with making her adjustment to Phnom Penh easier than she anticipated.

I’ve been thinking of Jen a lot lately, seeing some similarity between my situation when she left and Sarah’s situation now. Jen was my first friend in Cambodia, and I was Sarah’s. Jen introduced me to the playgroup, as I did Sarah. Jen provided both practical and social support that I desperately needed, and I provided what support I could to Sarah. I hated to see Jen leave, and Sarah isn’t very happy to see me go.

But there are vast differences, too, between my situation and Sarah’s. Sarah has branched out and made more friends—she’s fully a part of the playgroup already, and she has social networks outside of it as well. Sarah and I lean on each other in different ways, whereas my friendship with Jen was more one-sided, with me needing much more than I gave. There is no doubt in my mind, and hopefully none in Sarah’s, that she will thrive for as long as her family remains here. Yes, there will be hard times (there always are, especially when living in a country and a culture not your own), but she has everything she needs to push through those times. I see her already befriending and supporting new arrivals, providing them with the soft landing that we all need so much when we first arrive in a new country.

The soft landing that Julia and our office sponsors gave me in Egypt.

The soft landing that I didn’t have at first here, but that Jen tried to give me as soon as she met me, and that the ladies of the playgroup extended after Jen’s departure.

The soft landing that I tried to give Sarah, though she returned the favor much more than she realizes.

The soft landing that Sarah is giving now to those new women who cross her path.

I think of all these adjustment periods, the soft and not-so-soft landings I’ve seen and experienced, and it drives home to me just how important friends are—how important thesefriends are. Not only Julia, Jen, and Sarah, but the ladies in the playgroup. The men and women in the Bible study. The men and women who were in our life group back in Egypt, and the women in my Bible studies there. The men and women who were our “office family” in Egypt. All of those people who come together to help each other and support each other and just live life with each other during these times of transition and adaptation. Those people who become an international family. And most especially, those people who keep an eye out for newcomers, making a deliberate choice to help them.

I’m grateful to these people—to Julia, to Jen, and to Sarah; to the members of the playgroup and the Bible studies and the churches to which I’ve belonged; and to God, for channeling His blessings through His people and for putting us into each other’s paths to help and support each other.

And I’m hopeful that not only will I meet my next Julia, or Jen, or Sarah soon after my arrival in Kosovo, but that I will have the opportunity to be someone else’s Julia, or Jen, or Sarah, both in Kosovo and wherever I end up next—even if that’s the United States.

On Saturday, we checked one item off our Cambodia bucket list—we visited Phnom Tamao Zoological Park and Wildlife Rescue Centre. Phnom Tamao is advertised in Phnom Penh as a zoo, but it’s much more than that—it’s one of the best wildlife rescue centers in Southeast Asia, where the goal is to treat the animals’ medical needs and release them back into the wild, not to display them to the public. The animal handlers that I saw wore Wildlife Alliance t-shirts, so I assume there’s a relationship between Phnom Tamao and Wildlife Alliance, though I’m not certain exactly that that relationship is.

Rather than going on our own, which would have been entirely possible, we arranged to join a tour run by Betelnut Jeep Tours. Their website promises exclusive access to the animals and to not-open-to-the-general-public areas, as well as transportation and lunch. Overall, we were happy with their services and with our experience at Phnom Tamao, but I was disappointed that some aspects of the tour didn’t quite match up with the website’s promises or with the experiences that I know others have had with them—we weren’t able to go into the tiger house, nor did we have any up-close interactions with the animals that weren’t available to everyone (except for going “backstage” between the otters and the leopards, which did get us significantly closer to the leopard than we would have been out on the main path—but I’m not sure that counts as an “encounter” since it would be foolhardy at best to pet a leopard); of less importance, there was no traditional Khmer wine or betelnut chewing lesson after lunch. (To be fair, I was dehydrated enough that I would have turned down the wine, and I’d already decided to watch but not participate in the betelnut chewing. I mostly was interested in the photographic opportunities of the betelnut lesson.) Despite my awareness that parts of the experience were not as advertised, however, it was a good day, and I do believe that it’s worthwhile to visit Phnom Tamao for the first time with Betelnut. Subsequent trips, if you’re in the area long enough to have them, would be equally enjoyable on your own, once you’ve had the guided tour once.

Our day started out at the Lazy Gecko Café & Guesthouse, which I believe is run by the same couple that does Betelnut Tours. We confirmed with Aram, the owner-operator and our tour guide, that we’d be able to interact with the elephants that day (we’d rescheduled twice due to elephant unavailability), paid our fees ($33/adult, with a discounted price for Alexa), and settled in alongside the 9 or so other tourists to wait for the Jeep to arrive. We were all hatted and sunscreened, expecting a full day in the sun, with transportation by open-top Jeep, so I was pleasantly surprised when Aram offered Alexa and me the covered passenger seat by the driver. We all settled in and enjoyed the just-over-an-hour drive, especially once Alexa settled down for an early nap.

Once at Phnom Tamao, our first stop was a huge enclosure in which a herd of Sambar deer roamed freely. The deer came right up to us, accepted food from our hands, enjoyed some petting, and even head butted a few of us for neglecting the wrong deer. Fortunately, close attention is paid to the deer’s behavior, and the ones that are a little more assertive have had their horns cut. The ones that are aggressive are in separate enclosures within the larger one.

 

Several other animals also are in smaller enclosures within the large Sambar deer one. We saw Siamese crocodiles, rox turtles, yellow tailed squirrels—according to our guide, the only two in captivity—and a couple of storks who were recovering from broken wings. We also met a few macaques—several wild ones that had wandered into the enclosure on their own, and one male gibbon who has to be kept in a separate, small enclosure because his cataracts have caused him to lose his sight almost completely. The blind gibbon had been raised as a pet, loves human attention, and never will be released into the wild. A charitable organization is trying to raise money for surgery on his eyes so that he can regain his sight and be placed in a larger enclosure, possibly even with a mate.

 

After leaving the Sambar deer enclosure, we walked past several other enclosures of varying sizes—a relatively small one with a few more Siamese crocodiles; a huge one with some Sarus cranes, Eld’s deer, and beautiful Green peafowl; and another smaller one with an iguana that was confiscated while being imported illegally into Cambodia. We also saw a silver langur and some Cambodian jungle cats.

 We also met a family of pileated gibbons, which included an adorable infant, the two parents (mated for life), and an older brother. This family lived in their own enclosure, which shared a wall with the enclosure for a widowed pileated gibbon—she never will mate again or be part of a family group, and family groups don’t share territories with other gibbons, but proximity to other gibbons is good for her. This particular widow tends to get a little angry and hold grudges: some tourists once gave her a can of beer, which she proceeded to enjoy until Aram took it away from her—beer is ok for them in small quantities, but a whole can is too much—and she proceeded to shun him for the rest of that visit and for his next one. When I stopped petting her a little too soon, she literally showed me her backside, another behavior that Aram said is typical.

 

After a few more enclosures (myna birds, chickens, and bats), it was time for lunch. We ate on one of several raised platforms under a wood roof. While we had been meeting the animals, Aram’s wife had cooked a delicious Khmer meal for us: rice, loc lac, a noodle dish, sweet and sour vegetables, and a few meat-in-sauce dishes whose names I don’t know. I briefly considered taking a photograph, but we were all pretty hungry, and we just dug in instead. Water was included with the tour, but Jeff and I chose to purchase fresh coconuts (only fifty cents each) and drink the coconut water instead—it’s tastier, it replenishes lost electrolytes, and two coconuts was more than enough for all three of us. Fresh pineapple for dessert rounded out the meal and utterly delighted Alexa.

 

After lunch, it was time to meet Lucky, one of the Asian elephants who live at Phnom Tamao. Lucky came out and did a little show—taking a bow, playing limbo before deciding to just break the post instead, lying down, and playing soccer with his handler—before coming to greet his fans and accept his payment: pets, pictures, and sugarcane. When Alexa got up the courage to try to feed him (she’d been a little iffy about petting or feeding all the animals, as she’s cautious by nature), Lucky didn’t seem to notice the sugarcane she held out toward him. Aram’s wife gave her a mango to try instead, and sure enough, it worked like a charm: Lucky not only took the mango from Lexa, but started accepting sugarcane only to throw it on the ground, holding out for more mango.

After Lucky’s show, we piled into the Jeep to head to a slightly more distant section of the rescue center. There we saw five Burmese pythons huddled together in their enclosure and learned that they each eat one live chicken a week—they only grow as large as their diet allows, and they don’t require much energy at all, so those kept as pets may eat as little as one mouse a month.

 

Then we went into a restricted area beside the enclosure that holds two otters, allowing us a closer look than we’d get from the public area. It’s a testament to Phnom Tamao’s status as a rescue center, not merely a zoo, that the otters have two rather large areas, connected by a small gate. One area has toys and a more “homey” feel—that one is their living habitat. But in the wild, otters do not hunt where they live, so the other habitat is designed to be their hunting habitat, preserving the separation that they prefer.

After we’d finished looking at the otters, we turned around and prepared to follow Aram to the next enclosure. He cautioned us to stay to the otter side of the narrow (maybe one meter across) path, and then I saw why: a leopard was lying on his side of the chain link fence, mere inches from the path, watching us closely—and the fence actually had a little outward arc to it that suggested that the leopard was not content always just to lie there. It’s easy to see how he could have gotten a swipe at us had we not avoided that side of the path. We saw two leopards in that enclosure, though only one came close, and were told that another male was in the building; he and his brother aren’t getting along right now, so they have to take turns being outside.

Then we headed across the street to the binturongs’ enclosure. These animals were the strangest ones we saw, without a doubt. They looked like a cross between a bear and a squirrel, smelled like popcorn, and giggled like little girls. Jeff was fascinated with these creatures; Alexa was trying to decide whether or not they were interesting enough to stay awake and watch; and I was frustrated that the darn things didn’t want to go anywhere that would allow me a good picture—they’re nocturnal and mostly were interested in lying around on platforms high off the ground.

After checking in with a couple of solitary gibbons, we headed over to the tiger area. We saw all three of the tigers who live at Phnom Tamao—the father, the mother, and the now-adult son who was conceived and born at Phnom Tamao when mom’s birth control failed. They try not to breed any tigers at Phnom Tamao, because tigers born into captivity never can be released into the wild.

We walked by the elephants’ enclosures but weren’t able to get close to them. Aram told us the histories of the animals there, including the one who lost his leg to a snare. He now has a prosthetic leg, which is replaced as necessary as he grows. Apparently he’s ok with his keepers now, but for a while after receiving his prosthesis, he would cower in a corner when they came near for fear they would take it away from him (they had to take it off periodically to check his stump, or for maintenance, or to fit a new one).

Our last stop of the day was the area reserved for bears. This area is a project of Free the Bears and currently houses around 220 bears. Many of the bears were rescued from restaurants that illegally serve dishes such as bear paw soup—cutting the paw off the live bear in front of the customer to ensure its freshness. Others were rescued from traps, from smugglers, or from owners who mistreated them.

 

After the bears—and a few lions who wouldn’t come near enough the edge of their enclosure for me to get a decent picture—it was time to pack it up and go back to Phnom Penh. Since there wasn’t room for everyone in the Jeep (as we traveled around Phnom Tamao, a few were hanging off the sides, which was neither practical nor safe for the trip back to Phnom Penh), our family and another couple rode with Aram’s wife in her comfortably air conditioned car. Alexa quickly fell asleep, Jeff dozed a bit, and I just relaxed, content to be sitting down and cool after a good but hot and tiring day at “the zoo.”