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It’s not easy to leave  Cambodia. You can’t just get on a plane and go. My flight is scheduled to depart around midnight, but it does not take off. Instead, passengers are offered vouchers for ice cream with a promise that we will board. Soon. Finally, we are told that our plane needs a part that may arrive from Thailand. Or China. Probably China. It should be here any time now. Soon. We continue to wait. I strike up a conversation with a Chinese businesswoman who speaks English as well as Chinese, Khmer, and Japanese. She lives in San Francisco and works with the garment industry. Some of the foreign passengers complain loudly to each other, but the Khmer travelers are silent.

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At last, we are informed that we will be taken to a hotel for the night and depart early the next morning. My new friend has a long, silver braid down her back that twitches from side to side as she approaches the desk. She does not complain, or play the victim, or raise her voice. She simply says, “I understand the urgency of the situation, but this is not acceptable. I would like you to book me on the next overnight flight leaving Japan tomorrow.” The attendant agrees to this reasonable request and changes her ticket. I chime in, “Me too!”

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We are taken to the Hyatt Regency in Phnom Penh. A Peace Corps Volunteer in a five-star hotel? Is this a fever dream? It’s around 2 a.m. when we check in. Still in a Peace Corps state of mind, I wonder if we will be asked to double-up in our rooms, but no, I am escorted to my own suite with two queen-sized beds, a closet that could hold enough luggage for an expedition by mule, and a bathroom—with a bathtub! After two years of using benign latrines, the toilet in this bathroom seems overly eager. Whenever I get close, the lid opens, as though hopeful. Now? Not now. How about now?

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I have not had a bath in over two years. Cold water bucket showers, yes. Occasional warm water hotel showers, sure. With my village family, I learned that living in the jungle calls for more than one bucket shower a day. I can't even remember my last bath. I’m beat from being up for more than 20 hours, and the excitement of leaving (and disappointment of having to stay yet another night) but awake enough to fill the tub with the hottest water my big toe can stand. The tub looks like an oversized teacup and I am the tea bag. As I wrestle with the huge white towel I notice a scummy ring around the tub. That’s two years’ essence of me circling the drain—no doubt on its way to the great Mekong River. Part of me will always remain in Cambodia.

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The next morning, our flight departed from Phnom Penh to Japan as scheduled. Because of my friend’s calm insistence, we are given a day in Narita with hotel accommodations. I walk to the Shiinshō-ji Temple through the ancient park with ancestor plinths and worn stone pathways and inhale the misty morning. So different from the tropical urban heat of Phnom Penh where even the Mekong River moves slowly. The Naritasan Museum of Calligraphy is open, and I peek in at a class in session. The silent concentration of the calligraphers with the soft scritch of their bamboo pens is as soothing as the morning rain. The park is quiet and serene, with hardly any tourists. The village is remarkably tidy. I realized that the delayed flight and luxurious hotel bath were gifts for my preparation. A cleansing ritual is necessary when entering a new realm. Now I am prepared, ready to go home and return to the Land of Opportunity.