Encounter with an American Ex-Patriotess

I go to see aspara dancing, unique to the Angkor region in Cambodia. I feast on fish stew, bamboo shoots and papaya while doll-faced Khmer women twist their wrists and ankles to drums and bells.

I notice the woman at the table next to mine is stunning, a Winona Ryder with sharper angles. She hears me thank the waiter and says, "It's unusual to meet an American woman traveling alone in Asia."

J, I will call her, is from Chicago, but has lived in Palo Alto, LA, Manhattan, Florence and currently resides in Hong Kong as an advertising exec. She invites me to a drink at Hotel de la Paix.

The lobby is the most modern I've seen here, lined with statues baring the all-knowing Angkor smile. In the outdoor restaurant, guests dine on beds suspended from the trees by vine-like ropes around a small pond. We enter the bar which changes color throughout the night. From mandarin to plum to cherry blossom pink. An exhibit of hanging oblong woven structures reminds me of Ruth Asawa's work at the de Young in San Fran. We lounge on black and white silk pillows, drinking gin and tonics to ward off mosquitos. In her flowing black dress, J kicks off her sandals and appears to be in her natural habitat.

J tells me of her marriage and divorce, about loving the discipline required to train for a marathon, of her sister's picture perfect lifestyle in contrast to her own, about the man she just broke up with and sent back to his wife and two children in the states. She describes night she fell asleep and woke up in tears. I tell her that though I am ten years younger, I too have known these nights.

I ask about her work and she explains to me the asian luxury market. In America, we define ourselves by finding something unique first. Our creativity is praised. But the Asian woman strives to meet the uniform requirements that equate luxury. She must carry this handbag, hobble around on those heels, etc.

"It seems like an assault on female individuality," I remark.
"Maybe, but it also makes consumer choices much easier." And she goes on to explain that the buyers are nouveau-riche and don't know how to spend their money. Hence, the flashy logos everywhere.

"What Louis Vuitton's worst fear is," J says carefully, "is what will happen when people wake up and realize 96 percent of the population is carrying his handbag!" How can luxury be considered luxurious when it is attainable by anyone?

Another thing she tells me: "I have yet to see an Asian woman act sexy. They are wearing miniskirts and stilettos and yet they are not sexy. A woman can be beautiful, cute, pretty, edgy here but she does not exude sex appeal." Given Asia's over-population, I assume our Western eyes must be missing something.

I ask if she plans to stay here or move back to the states. "You know, it really could go either way," she says. "If there was an opening in Buenos Aires, I would go there." Excellent idea.

I am beaming at the glimpse of her lifestyle and tell her so. We talk more about her marriage and I ask if she feels jaded by relationships. "It's not that," she says. "I've reached a point where I no longer feel marriage is necessary. But recently, I've really wanted a child. I don't have the same desire to give birth and have my own genes running around like many women do. I would adopt. I've had my adventures and now I feel that if I can make someone's life better, and it will make me happy, I should do it." This is the best reason I can possibly think of to have a child.

We talk of our shared desire to abduct a Cambodian child. J has actually looked into it. You have to be 40 to adopt a child here. She has only a few years to go.

It is late and time to part ways. The image I would like to leave you with is this:

In that restaurant, met two headstrong American women with their own bank accounts and university degrees, each having traveled half-way around the world on her own. On stage, in layers of silk robes, pancake makeup and heavy jeweled crowns, young women dance for a small sum. It's likely that they have never traveled out of this region and will probably never leave Cambodia. Afterwards, while we lounge at a five-star hotel with cocktails, they are working the bar, flattering and caressing the older overweight white men with thick pocketbooks, trying to supplement their income. It is merely chance that I was born an American woman and not Khmer. This I will never take for granted.