In Cambodia, a Lonely Man Finds a Bride
An American guy and his British wife are playing slot machines at a casino in Phnom Penh on a Saturday night. A maintenance worker from Rhode Island named Don sits down at the machine next to them, asks for help in figuring out how to play, and starts losing money.
Twenty minutes later, having shared the details of his challenged life, Don has invited the couple to his wedding. He’s marrying a Cambodian woman he met through co-workers in the US.
It’s not a joke. This happened. And, four days later, we went to the wedding.
The details of Don’s life are a bit foggy, mostly because I was focused on supplementing my meager volunteer stipend with an offering from the Gods at NagaWorld and thus wasn’t paying rapt attention to his rambling story. But here it is in a nutshell:
Dumped (twice) by US women, a despondent Don was chatting with some of his co-workers on the second shift of the maintenance staff at an undisclosed Rhode Island business who happened to be Cambodian women. “You should talk to our friend,” they urged him, though I’m not clear whether she was visiting and they met in person or if they met online for the first time.
Regardless, Don’s second-shift schedule proved perfect for the 12-hour time difference between Pawtucket and Phnom Penh, so Skype calls became a daily ritual between the two.
“I’d get off work and go home and we’d talk all night,” he told me in between earnest swats at the Golden Bull machine, losing 50 cents a pop. “I’d go to sleep at 6, get up and go to work later on and then do it all over again.”
At some point things became serious enough for him to pop the question, and her eager acceptance sent him shopping for a flight to Phnom Penh to tie the knot. He’s here on his own, as his family lacks the means to join him on the happy day.
“I’m just so happy that my mom will see me get married before she dies,” he said, more than a little choked up.
Don brought $4,500 to cover the cost of his first-ever trip to Southeast Asia (or anywhere, for that matter) and, as it turns out, to help pay for the wedding. (Weddings here are a big deal, with multiple changes of clothes for the bride and groom, live bands and lavish feasts with beer and scotch in abundance. For many families, it is the expense of a lifetime, and everyone invited to the wedding is expected to pitch in.)
Anyway, Don cashed out when he was up $20 – “her family don’t know I’m here. They don’t approve of gambling” and got ready to head for the door. Before he left he shook our hands and invited us to the bash.
“It’s at the Lucky Star on Wednesday,” he said. “I’d be honored to have you come.”
We initially passed it off as a nice offer we’d politely decline, but then I paused.
I thought about Don, an untravelled American in a foreign country, surrounded by people he doesn’t know speaking a language he doesn’t understand. I thought about the look in his eyes when he described his beautiful bride. I thought about his heartfelt words about his mother.
So I suggested to Gabi that we crash the bash and bring cash. Which we did, dragging our friend Clare along for the experience.
Suffice to say it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, yet typical of Cambodia with a health dose of confusion, chaos and embracing welcomes all around.
Passing by the maze of wedding halls, past countless nuptials on a Wednesday night- it’s the height of wedding season here and celebrations are in full swing – I saw Don’s bald pate and white face front and center on a poster-sized photo of the happy couple outside of Hall G. “Som chup!” (please stop) I shouted to our tuk tuk pal Tony, and we were inside in an instant, surrounded by gorgeous women in silk and rhinestone gowns and men in casual slacks and shirts.
A woman in red descended upon us and ushered us to a table with a half dozen Cambodians already seated, which was good news for them. Only full tables get served, and so we were off to the races. Beer was served with ice, and then the food marathon began.
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