Listen to the Music

It is amazing what carrying around an instrument does to your popularity. Before, when I was walking to Sovanna Phum empty handed, I was just another westerner walking the streets of Phnom Penh. Now that I’ve bought a tro sau, and I walk to my lesson every day with it in my hand, I am stopped at least three times a morning by tuk-tuk drivers, security guards, and random people asking what it is that I am carrying. When I tell them it is a tro sau, and that I am on my way to a lesson, they get so excited. I’ve heard stories about fathers, uncles and grandfathers who play, about people who wish they played, and about people who do play. Everyone wants to see it, (if they know ho to play) to try it and compare my instrument to theirs, and they all want to hear me play.

Until yesterday, I had been too afraid to play anything when people would ask me, but I finally got up the courage to play with a tuk-tuk driver I pass every morning. I am so happy I did stop, because it was really fun, to put it mildly. I sat for a few minutes in his tuk-tuk, showing him what I could play, and he let me try his tro sau while he played mine. After about a half an hour, he had to go drive someone somewhere, but that half hour literally made my day infinitely sunnier (and that’s saying something because it is ridiculously hot and sunny here every single day).

Then today, as I was walking into my guesthouse, another driver stopped me and asked to see the instrument. So, I stopped to show him, and when I took it out, he tried to play it, but as he laughingly said, “I no play, I no play.” (I was able to actually teach him how to hold it and bow the strings.) He then asked, “You play some?” At first, I was so nervous I could not remember a single note of what I’ve learned, but then, I just started playing and let my fingers remember the notes. By the end of the minute-long melody, I had a crowd of about ten people around me (including the cutest four year old who was watching me intently with her dark, wide eyes), laughing and saying, “You play Cambodia!” They didn’t let me leave until I had played two more songs (the extent of my repertoire), and when I did finally run out of things to play, they asked, “You come back tomorrow?” Of course, I said yes.

Participating in the arts is changing my experience in ways I never even thought about. I’m meeting people in a capacity that is impossible when you are just here to see the sights, eat the food, and experience Cambodian life as simply a tourist. It is hard to fake music, especially when you own the instrument, and you have bought it to play, not just to display. Through the music, and the puppet making, I have been able to get to know a few people at a much more personal level, and it has been really, really rewarding. The people I meet are impressed that I am able to play at all and that I am taking the time to learn to play while I am here. The presence of the instrument gives us something to talk about other than where I am from, how long I am in Cambodia, what I am studying is school, or where I want the tuk-tuk to take me. Because of the music, I am able to talk to people about a subject that is actually important to them, and new and exciting for me. It makes for much better conversation, and instant friendships as opposed just the acknowledgment of people calling out “You need driver, madam? You need tuk-tuk?” Now I can say “No, thank you, I’m walking today, but I’ll see you later!” and know that I will see them later, and maybe sit down a play a little bit.