Get Invited to a Private Event

A few years ago on a merry jaunt around Oxford, Carly and I stumbled across a karaoke bar and decided to invite ourselves to join a private party hosted by some Asian students. We thought that - at best - we would be welcomed with open arms and a microphone, and - at worst - would be told to bugger off.

The outcome was so much worse.

Instead, two representatives from the party came outside to speak with us for a full five minutes, assuring us that they had the utmost respect for teachers, who were valued members of society in their community. Ultimately, however, they could not let us in. There was much bowing and apologising and, overall, we felt terrible for forcing these polite people to forego their celebrations to deal with a couple of obnoxious westerners trying to gate-crash.

(Photo from a more successful Asian-themed karaoke session)

Since my first attempt at attending an Asian party went so abysmally, Jonny and I decided it would make a good challenge to be welcomed to a private event in Asia. We were fortunate enough not to have to wait too long.

While waiting at the Cambodian border for our visa, we were hounded by taxi drivers to spend a small fortune on a ride to Battambang. However, one lovely lady around our age heard we were heading that way and asked us if we wanted a ride. Srey Own even waited for us to get our visas before we all embarked on a 2 hour journey back to her home city. It was the easiest hitch-hike imaginable!

We stopped off for dinner at one of the street vendors, and got chatting about Cambodia, Srey’s family and her 50 year old pet tortoise (called Mr Tortoise). I had recently read a testimony called ‘First They Killed My Father’ about the genocide under Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge, and wanted to know if it was acceptable to discuss this with local Cambodians. Srey encouraged us to ask questions and explained how it had directly and tragically impacted her family. It was humbling to hear her story and yet seemed so natural to switch between topics of conversation, so that the next minute we’d be laughing at some anecdote involving her “monsters” (nieces and nephews) or criticising some rather suspect driving (switching on headlights in the pitch darkness, on the motorway, seems to be a choice rather than a necessity).

Eventually, we reached Battambang. As our hotel drew close, Srey pointed out a brightly lit street and told us that karaoke was popular in Cambodia. It seemed too good an opportunity to pass up; I asked Own if she wanted to join us for some karaoke the following evening, and she said yes! We parted ways and trundled off to bed, dreaming of K-pop and tortoises.

The following morning, we woke up excited for the day ahead in this bustling city. Jonny enjoyed a tasty breakfast with not one but two meaty flies in his noodles, before we scooted off to look round some nearby temples left over from the Angkor period (dilapidated but still extremely impressive). Next, we rode on the infamous bamboo train, though “train” is an overstatement, as the entire contraption consisted of a bamboo raft precariously attached to a moped engine.

Seemingly, this particular attraction used to be a white-knuckle ride, but it recently moved location and has become quite tame. Nonetheless, we met an interesting and insatiably talkative chap on the ride, whom we nicknamed ‘Fulton’ both due to the fact that this was printed on his T-shirt and because he was a self-confessed rather large man.

We finished our excursions with a trip to the Bat Cave to see millions of the critters flying out of their home before the sun set. It was a spectacular sight, went on for at least half an hour and we didn’t get pooed on once! Meanwhile, I befriended a kitten and lovingly fed it the head of a rat (it tasted a bit like pork, and was safe to eat because the rats that are caught are found on farms, where their diet consists of sugarcane husks and other nutritional pickings).

As dusk settled, we looked forward to our evening frivolities with Srey Own and her friends. However, when we got in contact, she told us that she could no longer make karaoke as she had a party to attend. Our hearts sunk for the shortest of moments before she asked us if we wanted to come along as her guests! The good news didn’t end there, as she informed us that the venue was practically next door to the Bat Cave (a pretty excellent coincidence considering we’d travelled an hour to get there). We were both sweaty from our day’s adventures and surrounded by what was possibly the musky scent of bat urine, but obviously thrilled.

A post shared by Jonatty (@yearofthechallenge) on Jan 17, 2018 at 1:39am PST

We didn’t know what to expect from the party, only imagining that it might involve booze, music and good company, so you can imagine our amusement when we turned the corner to discover the event was actually a children’s birthday party, complete with balloons, excitable kids and silly string! Srey tried to teach us to say ‘Happy Birthday’ in Khmer, but our western tongues were finding pronunciation tricky and eventually she thought it best we stuck to English. We were introduced to some of her family, including “the monsters” and a cousin, younger than us, who asked us to call her ‘Mom’. We felt truly welcomed.

The only way the party seemed different to kids’ functions at home was the food. Here, children aren’t fussing around only eating bland or sugary foods. Instead, everyone eats together: spicy, chewy, even bitter (this “bitter flower” dish was a little too much for us, although the other food was delicious). Jonny even sampled some cow gut, which he was more apprehensive about eating than the rat! Otherwise, the essence of the party remained the same: kids playing together whilst the adults shared stories over a beer.

As we had a boat to catch early the next day (and because Jonny’s blue hair seemed to be frightening the 3 year old birthday girl), we decided to take our leave. It was a shame to say goodbye to Srey and her family just after we felt we had become friends, but she promised to add us on Facebook and send over some shots of the party (note that these don’t seem to include many kids. Once again, we feel the blue-haired-ferang* might have been a bit too intimidating for some of the younger ones). We may not have accomplished our dream of karaokeing together in Asia, but we had been genuinely invited to a private function, where the evening ended on hugs goodbye instead of bows and apologies.

*For definition of ferang, read our blog post on eating food from a new primary source