One of the most memorable moments in Cambodia was on our last night in Phnom Penh. Amy and I were walking along the river side where many locals hung out. They were playing games, eating ice cream and having fun with their family and friends. Everyone was staring at us as we walked by. I guess not many tourists came to that side of the road.

As we were walking an old Cambodian woman motioned to us to sit down next to her. We took her up on her offer. She leaned over to me and asked me in French if I speak French and where I'm from. In 1863, King Norodom signed an agreement with the French to establish a protectorate over his kingdom. The state gradually came under French colonial domination. For this reason there are still many Cambodians who can speak French and many of the tourists who vist the country are French. I found it interesting to see what influences from that period of their history were still around. To the average person the thing that they'd notice is the selling of fresh baguettes on every street corner.

Sitting there with the woman was lovely. I could see in her eyes that she had so much to share and for some reason I was the lucky one that got to listen. It's funny how I normaly get worried about what I'm saying and if the grammar is correct when I speak French. This time it just flowed out of easily. She had a bag with her that she tied to an unbrella and slung over her shoulder as she walked. In this bag were many wonderful things. She opened it and shared some fruit and pictures with me. She talked about Maria, a Belgian woman she met in some sort of Cambodian excercise class. They became friends and Maria eventually paid for this woman to take a trip to India. This was the first time she had ever left Cambodia. She described it as "very cold".

She asked what we were doing there and if her liked her country. She asked me many other questions and I eventually asked if she had any children. Her eyes got misty as she said that they're no longer around. She had 3, but they all passed during the Pol Pot Regime. I knew exactly what she was talking about and I knew that it would be rude to ask more questions. I pulled out the book I was reading "First, They Killed my Father". She had never heard of it. I guess it's more of a book that tourists read. It is the story of a girl who was 5 years old when the genocide began. She survived and told her story.
There I was, honoured to be sitting with a survivor. I wanted her to tell me more about that time, but it was clear that she didn't want to think about it. Understandable.

It's amazing that a 79 and a 25 year old could have such a long converstation. I was captured by her. She eventually had to continue on her way as this was just a little rest, as her knees often get sore from walking. This was one moment when I was so thankful that I learned French.

I wish I had a picture of her, but I didn't want to treat her like another "thing I saw" on my trip.