"We all could use a change of scene..."
-- Pippin
In Washington DC I am pretty much your typical run-of-the-mill guy-- white, average height and build, decently groomed and modestly dressed.
But in exotic ports of call like Ho Chi Minh City, this average daisy morphs into a budding bird of paradise. Suddenly I am a towering, pale, hairy beast that inspires either fear or fascination in children and adults alike. Blue eyed, a little on the chunky side, and hilariously flamboyant all reconfigure themselves in my chrysalis of transformation. A change of "seen" influences self-appraisal ... and worth ...
And my chin-strap beard is the stuff of legends ...
My face became like a pregnant woman's belly -- magnetizing people's attention, prompting profuse compliments and celebratory gestures, and the conversion of private to public property while grown men casually caressed my face like languidly stroking an idle cat.
Oh- and arm hair. Like a barbarian emerging from an isolated swampland, children stood transfixed and adults politely darted their gaze to and fro. While eating dinner one night, an unabashed little girl turned my left arm into her personal unconventional doll, tousling my hair and giving a good yank to ensure the stitching was intact.
Despite the initial awkwardness of unraveling this cocoon, I slowly began to flap my compressed wings and engage the "new" me. Unsettled, foreign, still a little on the chunky side- and downright PASTY white.
Pale skin is prized by some women in Vietnam. It is not uncommon to see a woman riding a motorbike in full-blown winter-time regalia, seemingly an ice princess escaping some brutal blizzard of the Arctic. Gloves, long-sleeved hoodies, scarves and face masks (not to mention stylish shades) could easily be mistaken for Muslim garb. Still, this does not seem to distract their epic pursuit of fair skin while being chased by 95 degree temperatures and 80% humidity.
In Cambodia, my height, weight, and skin tone are readily equated with wealth and lavish spending habits. As I flutter-by the shops and market stalls, my appearance elicits tirelessly rehearsed promises of amazing quality and great deals. I generously pollinate my American dollars from bud to bud, indulging in inflated prices and drinking the sweet nectar of a country so different from my own.
And indulging in a persona that is so different from my own ...
One evening at the Cambodian market (a late-night parade of carnival games and food carts - and unfrequented by tourists), my unusual presence drew a small crowd. I was attempting to unsettle a small stack of tin cans with a lightweight baseball ... and to the disappointment of the Cambodian public, this butterfly is ironically inept at handling balls. Appearances can be deceiving.
Being irrefutably unable to "fit in" is a mixed bag ... entangled in historically-woven stereotypes, uninhibited by the expectations and responsibilities of "normal" society, and exuding an air of mystery despite my admitted ordinariness. Nothing could be so wonderfully confusing and paradoxically coherent.
And so, just like the life cycle of a literal butterfly, this proverbial flight of fancy came to an end after 14 days of flitting, floating, and fleeing the gravity of every day life. It was, truly, a vacation from myself into myself.
And I had such a damn good time ... :-)
