"No, really. I'm Khmer!"

Sunday afternoon I was speeding down the highway in a motorized tin can on wheels from Kampot province. We were going into the heart of the country; it was heading back from the beaches at Koh Tonsai (Rabbit Island) where I had passed the weekend before this week's routine checkup with the Phnom Penh doctors. The woman who organized the cab barked orders to the driver and haggled with passengers to give her more money. I paid the foreigner price, even though I wanted the local price. This was so even though I called her ming (Aunt), and claimed that I was a poor teacher. In the end we had our fun. She asked me where I was from and why I spoke her language.

"Cambodia."

"No, what country are you from?"

"I am from the country of Cambodia."

"I don't believe you!"

"Why not?"

"Because you have white skin and your hair is yellow."

"So? Haven't you heard of the lost tribe of white skinned Khmers?"

"What?"

"Many years ago, among the hill tribes of Rattanakiri province there was a tribe of white skinned Khmers who spoke their own language and had their own customs. But they disappeared into the forest because they feared the other tribes, and have only now come out of hiding. My family belongs to the tribe of white skinned Khmers, and I grew up learning Khmer as a second language. That is why I speak it so well."

Ming laughed and rolled her eyes. "That's the biggest lie I have ever heard."

"It's true! Ask an old man about the white skinned Khmers! They will know. "

"I still don't believe you."

Ming repeated this story to whoever got in the can and pressed the mass of people inside closer and closer together. They laughed as well, and in the end we had our fun. But I still had to pay the foreigner price.