I felt myself dreaming that night. It was a vivid dream, the kind of dream where you feel your soul leaving your body. I was physically there, in my bed beside Lucille, but my spirit wanted to wander somewhere else, confused, unsure where to go. I felt my soul flying above Cambodia, enjoying every colour the country had to offer; the green of the jungle, the yellow of the sand and dust, the red and blue of their flag, so many colours… I felt alive, although my spirit wanted to leave this place and… I woke up suddenly. A weird harmless dream, I thought.
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In the morning, I opened my eyes. I checked my new Instagram account to see how many new followers I had gained—twelve new followers. A few strangers liked the four pictures I posted. I was far from becoming an influencer but enjoyed my small success.
We went for breakfast in this lovely little French bakery. Certified and experienced French bakers had trained the Khmer employees working there, and the pastries were delicious. There was also a patio right outside—a nice little spot.
As soon as we sat at a table, Lucille looked fixedly at her phone, checking social media. She couldn’t take her eyes off her screen. We ate a croissant and gulped coffee down. Out of the blue, she made eye contact. “Any business requests?” she asked.
“Not yet,” I replied. Then I announced, “Bus transfer to Battambang leaves in 1 hour. Let’s go to the bus station.”
And we went, carrying our backpacks on our backs like two adventurers. On our way there, I saw a Khmer man on a motorcycle loading three kids on the back seat behind him, and the youngest sat in front of him. It looked precarious. I snapped a picture with my phone, posted it on my Instagram account and described it as “Rush hour in Cambodia.”
We made our way to the bus station, got our tickets and waited at our stop. Waiting with us was an old Buddhist monk. As he saw us walking towards him, he displayed a great smile, with a few missing teeth and some yellow ones. He looked scary and friendly at the same time. “Where are you from?” he asked in impeccable English.
We responded we were from Canada.
“Are you on your way to Battambang?”
“Yes,” I said.
He looked at us and asked: “Are you enjoying Cambodia?”
“Yes, very much,” we said. “It’s a beautiful country,” I added.
“It is a beautiful country,” he repeated. “Full of amazing places and pretty sights. Battambang is nice too. You will enjoy it. Not all foreigners visit it. Foreigners all want to see the same places, but there is more to see. Pictures of it don’t do it justice; there is much more to it,” he said and walked a few steps away.
We remained silent, looked at each other and decided to sit on the bus stop bench to wait for our bus transfer.
Everything got quiet. The sunshine was so scorching that the horizon blurred. The monk walked back towards us.
“We still have some time before the bus comes. Would you be open to listening to a story?”
Surprised but with nothing else to do, we acquiesced with a head nod.
The monk began his story very eloquently:
