Soft Savages Cheering Genocide!

[Kracheh, Cambodia on 10/8/23]

The young man I met in Phum Cafe turned out to be a cop. Seeing him just now, I babbled about my recent visit to villages upriver. Knowing he couldn’t understand everything, I made sure to use simpler words, but this didn’t help much. Since he could only squeak out a few syllables in reply, I finally shut myself up. Finally, this cop could enjoy his morning cappuccino in peace.

I’ll talk to you instead. In Laos, the rural poor can escape to Thailand to make much more money. There is no language barrier. Cambodians, on the other hand, can’t just show up in Bangkok or Pattaya, so they flood to Phnom Penh, Siem Reap or Battambang, etc. In villages across the Mekong, I saw many children and old people, but not many in their 20’s or 30’s.

Having time to compose a sentence, our cop suddenly speaks up, “Today, my family, they go to Vietnam!”

“Ah! Which city?”

He’s blank.

“What city are they going to? What, city?”

He still looks confused. After much prodding, he finally says, “Hanoi.” Sick, his father must go there to check into a decent hospital. Unwell well off Laos travel to Thailand. All this makes sense, except Hanoi is a murderous bus ride away. The old man might turn stiff, with his mouth agape, before reaching Hue.

“In Saigon, there are excellent hospitals,” I tell him.

“Ah, they’re going to Saigon!”

Like most earthlings, geography is not this cop’s strong point. A typical man only knows his street, barely, plus four or five stores, two cafes and one bar. At this tavern, there’s a stool with an exact impression of his fat ass.

The cop himself has been to Vietnam once, but his pronunciation of that city’s name is incomprehensible.

As the cop composes his next sentence, I’ll tell you about a rice farmer in Khum Saob. Fifty years old, he has a wife, four daughters and three sons. The oldest has just gotten married, so is living with her husband’s family. This leaves two adults and six children to share a wooden shack. Even in the West, the concept of each person having his own room is very recent. In colonial America, travelers often shared a bed with a stranger at roadside inns.

Spending $15,000, the rice farmer is building a new house. Since another grand is needed, they can’t move in for another year, perhaps. Meanwhile, two hammocks are slung beneath this handsome home on 12 pillars, so the nightly congestion in the ramshackle shack is slightly alleviated.

Laughing, the rice farmer told me he wanted another child!

Despite his relative poverty, this man has most impressively raised seven kids, and his wife is chubby and cheerful. Spending two hours with his family, I heard constant laughter.

His English exhausted, our cop has left. Inside Phum, there are now four adults and a baby girl. Sitting on her dad’s lap, she’s eating some LaLa chocolate flavored rice puffs. On her pink shirt is Minnie Mouse. If its nuclear bombs won’t wipe us all out, cartoony rats will be America’s most enduring legacy. Without canned music to distract or derange them, people can leisurely talk. Often, they laugh.

Starved, a phoenix will eat chicken shit, says a Vietnamese proverb, so feast on steaks if you can afford them, but be prepared, without flinching, to swallow whatever’s available.

I’ve quoted this passage from Ben Franklin’s “Remarks Concerning the Savages of North America,” but it’s always good to be reminded. Here, an Indian chief is speaking:

Several of our Young People were formerly brought up at the Colleges of the Northern Provinces; they were instructed in all your Sciences; but when they came back to us they were bad Runners, ignorant of every means of living in the Woods, unable to bear either Cold or Hunger, knew neither how to build a Cabin, take a Deer, or kill an Enemy, spoke our Language imperfectly; were therefore neither fit for Hunters, Warriors, or Counsellors; they were totally good for nothing.

Compared to those “savages” from 1784, today’s Americans are much more barbaric, yet even softer than their weakest forefathers. As their society collapses, they do nothing but cheer another Jewish war, on their dime! Infantile in dress, speech and behavior, they sit in the dark to watch “Naked and Afraid.” Popping loaded nachos, they imagine being paired with some sexy stranger for three weeks in the wilds. I can deal with that!

A block from Phum Cafe, there’s a lady who sells fried insects at night. Strolling by, I was half tempted to give her cockroaches a try. In Vietnam and Laos, I haven’t encountered such munchies, while in Thailand, I’ve only seen them offered to tourists, so they can boast about it on FaceBook.

In Kracheh, I’ve eaten most often at Jasmine Boat, an excellent restaurant with Cambodian, Thai, Chinese and Western dishes, even Tex-Mex, though I wouldn’t recommend the last. Instead, order its snail amok, sour beef soup, steamed river fish or braised goat, etc. Its beefsteaks aren’t bad. If I didn’t have to abstain from potato, I’d order its Russian salad, a favorite.

With its long veranda facing west, Jasmine Boat is an unmatched spot to stare at the Mekong as our sun sinks.

None of Jasmine’s waitresses seems older than 15. Barely competent, they spend most of their shifts staring at a cellphone, chattering or giggling. I taught one girl two new words, “salt” and “pepper.” When I asked another for chopsticks, she had to run away to get help.

I’ve also had excellent Vietnamese beef soup, phở, at May Bakery. At $3, it’s a bargain, though still too expensive for most locals.

In Preaek Prasat, I’d pay 36 cents for a boiled duck embryo. Eaten with salt, pepper, lime and coriander leaves, it’s a cheap source of protein. Most Westerners would recoil at a cracked open balut.

Balut is a Filipino word. In that country, the poorest eat deep fried garbage called pagpag. Starved enough, we would too.

Let’s say you’re some fat cat in Saint Petersburg in 1917, Shanghai in early 1949, Saigon in January of 1975 or Tripoli in 2010. Gazing benignly at your wife or mistress, you suppress a burp after another heavenly meal, then, just like that, everything changes!

Depending on where you are, everything may seem normal, but only to the most virginal or willfully blind.

[Kampi, Cambodia on 10/15/23]

[Kampi, 10/15/23]

[Kampi, 10/15/23]