Lost in Translation

When one lives in another country, one of the greatest challenges is communication. Americans (and visitors from other English-speaking countries) often make a somewhat arrogant assumption that host nationals "should" be able to speak English, rather than the American visitor honoring the culture and people by attempting to learn a few phrases of the land that is being visited. I've seen this phenomenon far too many times to count, and it can be an embarrassment, although granted, the lingua franca in today's global community is English by default, and it is very helpful to have a native speak your language.

Because so many services and products are now targeting multiple languages, one often sees English (as well as German, Russian, Swedish, Spanish, Chinese and Japanese) on labels to assist consumers in the purchase and use of various goods, and on signs to better help tourists.

Very often, the translation is downright puzzling. Menus in Asia are notorious for fractured English translations, and often the result is humorous. Take for example the following brewing instructions on a package of Cambodian coffee, which we brought back with us because we were struck by its flavor and aroma. I'm still stymied by Step 3.

Visit to a Cambodian Mountain Village

"For a long time, living in Cambodia was like being a frog in a well," my Cambodian friend told me. "When I was young, and the Khmer Rouge controlled everything, I was like the frog. All I knew were the walls around me, and the small circle of sky above. I knew nothing about the rest of the world." He paused, thoughtful. "But then the Blue Caps came, and everything changed." Blue Caps? "The U.N. peace forces," he explained.

We were riding to a mountain temple, a two hour trip from Siem Riap. When I was first in Thailand in 1988, I could not go to Cambodia. In 1993, however, Cambodia gained its freedom from the cruel grip of the Khmer Rouge and its genocidal killing fields (see the "Killing Fields Museum," http://www.killingfieldsmuseum.com/). This time around, I have been fortunate to visit Cambodia twice. The first visit was to fulfill a long-time dream to see Angkor Wat, the spectacular 12th century temple, one of the 7 wonders of the ancient world. My second trip recently was to explore a little visited temple ruin far from Angkor, and also to see a massive reclining Buddha carved into a mountaintop. What I did not expect was to find a secluded Khmer village accessible off the main road only by foot.

Typical village house. The small add-on is the kitchen.

"These people," my friend explained, "are still in the well, but they may climb out. It depends on the government." He went on to explain that many villagers still do not have the basic necessities of modern life, such as running water and electricity. Indeed, the village we wandered into had neither.

Mother and child in front of house.

Along a dusty trail that meandered first through the forest, then into a clearing, the small village of ten simple houses materialized. Each was built off the ground and consisted of a one room platform with walls and roof made of thatch, either rice straw or remarkably, woven leaves that had been picked up from the ground and fixed into place using small pieces of wood. When I asked how long the walls and roof would last, they told me "We'll have to replace them in two years."

House and potato field (Photo by M. Sabb)

The huts were surrounded by small plots of crops that sustained the village: potatoes (different than those grown in the U.S.), rice, black beans (to mix with sticky rice), bananas, papaya, and tobacco. One pen of nine young pigs provided a meat source, which was supplemented by captured mice and squirrel.

There was no well, as it was mountainous; the water was carried in 6 liter plastic jugs strung on a pole, carried over the shoulder. I don't know how far they had to go to get it. Extra rice and bananas were sold at the roadside to supplement their basic lifestyle. Despite what a westerner would consider an unacceptably low standard of living, there did not seem to be a cloud of despair over this little village. Instead, the people seemed quite happy. Children ran shoeless, caked with dirt, but their laughter rang throughout the village as they played. Adults smiled and chatted, waving us to their houses for a look.

Black beans and tobacco drying in the sun as woman and daughter rest in shade

Tending the pigs

Roof detail showing small sticks used to secure leaves

Grilled mice for dinner (Photo by M. Sabb)

Squirrel tails to be made into key chains and sold (Photo by M. Sabb)

Woman in house window

Maybe, just maybe, the frog in the well can be as happy--or happier--than the one that has climbed out. And yet, one wonders what they would choose if given the opportunity to scale the walls and peek over the rim. Perhaps we will soon find out.

Impressions of Tokyo

Traditional hand washing at Buddhist temple

Count me as a fan of Tokyo. If one were to combine five Manhattan islands, connect them with the eight most efficient rail lines known and convert most--but not all--residents to Zen Buddhism, you'd have Tokyo. It's Amsterdam with rules.

Gingko tree in autumn splendor near Imperial Palace

One cannot begin to describe Japan's capital city without mentioning its toilets. Anywhere else a humdrum topic, but honestly, nowhere else approaches the creature comforts one finds in the WC's of Tokyo. Start with heated toilet seats and a console that allows one to choose the type of warm water that gently bathes one's derriere and for how long, it is typical of Japanese efficiency and comfort. And, if ever deciding to lift off of said basin and opt for a shower, one would find, upon stepping from the steamy stall, that the mirror is foggy save for a rectangular section of clear glass right above the sink. Why this has not been adopted in western hotels is beyond me.

Toilet console in hotel room

Venturing into the streets, it is difficult to find a scrap of litter in this metropolis of 12 million, yet in a discrepant turn, it is equally difficult to find a trash bin. Where, one might reasonably ask, do the residents stow their waste paper? It remains a mystery to me. Despite the order and cleanliness of Japanese society, one unhealthy aspect has not yet been resolved: Smoking. Cigarette machines are found all over the city, and restaurants have not banned the addiction from their premises; it remains an illogical yet critical part of Japanese life.




The rail system in Tokyo reduces the traffic flow to such an extent, that the air is surprisingly clean, and I never once witnessed a backup of vehicles. Bicycles prevail, pedestrians move through the city by the thousands, and institutions find ways to use renewable forms of energy.

Solar panels and wind turbines on buildings of urban university

Japanese fashion remains an enigma. Combination of clothing that would seem outrageous or silly anywhere else seems to work in Tokyo. If I could have the rights to one economic sector it would not be Japanese cars or Apple computers, it would be ladies boots in Tokyo. It is difficult to find an adult female who does not sport one type of boot or another: knee-high leather boots and fur-trimmed calf length boots dominate ladies' footwear, even though they may be causing excruciating discomfort on the cobbles or steps of the subway.


Although a modern city, there remain pockets of tradition that balance life in Tokyo. Palaces and temples in spacious green parks dot the landscape, providing respite from the high energy of the city. Occasionally one finds a corner of old Europe among the skyscrapers where artists go to capture the serenity of an 18th century garden.

Tokyo Tower and Zojoji Temple

Artist in Marunouchi Brick Square

Names of donors at Zojoji Temple, Shiodome

It was a short first visit, but enough to lure me back. In this globetrotter's opinion, Tokyo is one of the world's great cities.