The latest development in my housing situation is indicative of Cambodia, where - as cliche as it sounds - the truth really is stranger than fiction.

Two days ago, Sidara tells me that the woman from the house where Jon was staying had called the office to see if I was still interested in moving in with them. They were not moving until January, she told me, and when they do move, the new place will be bigger. This was pretty much opposite from what Jon had told me, but I decided that the native Khmer-speaker telling me this in good English probably knew what she was talking about more than the English speaker who had done his own translation of whatever it is the woman had told him.

Yesterday afternoon Sidara and I went over to visit the place so I could meet the family and have a look around. We sat down in the car port as Sidara and Visal, the mother, chatted. I could tell they were talking about me, because they would look over and laugh and go on talking for five minutes or so at a time. When I got the translation, it was about one sentence in length and certainly nothing that would warrant all the laughter. It was right out of the movie Lost in Translation.

Apparently they were also talking quite a bit about Jon. Through the translation, I learned that Jon was really interested in learning the language and being sensitive to Khmer culture and that he was easy to please. The family has a framed picture of him in a shrine of sorts, with candles and other things. Kind of weird. Visal says she felt pity on him since he was far away from his family and that she acted like a mother to him. But I sat there, smiling, sipping on a glass of water, wondering if I could ever stack up to the near-diety status my over-acheiving predecessor had clearly achieved.

So I will be moving in with the family early next week. They are upper-middle class, I would guess. The house has five rather narrow floors with a couple of rooms on each level. My room is up on the fourth floor. I have a bed, a fan, a bathroom, and somewhere to hang some clothes. My room doesn’t actually have any windows allowing direct sunlight, but has a window that gives me a great view of an unused family room kind of thing, which then has windows to the outside. Through the unused family room I have access to a balcony that overlooks the busy street below. Across the street is a restaurant that spills out onto the sidewalk with hungry locals and a few doors down, on the corner, sits the former American embassy, which will serve as my landmark when giving moto drivers directions.

The family, according to my notes, consists of Visal (the mother), her kids Phrith (oldest, a son), Phirun (middle, a son), and Srey Pic (youngest, a daughter), and then last but not least Ven (the house keeper, who will make sure I am fed and that I have clean clothes).

With this move I will begin the second half of my time in Cambodia, which leads me to believe the greatest adventures are yet to come. It would be easier in many ways to stay on with the Amstutz family, not having to learn the language or eat snails for dinner, but living with Cambodians, I trust, will allow for an even richer experience when it’s all said and done. And rich experiences, in my opinion, tend to be worth the inconvenience.