Almost two weeks spent in Cambodia. A few autistic crises along the way, but above all a lot of laughter with my friends (sometimes to the point of crying) and discoveries I had missed during my two-month end-of-studies internship in the country back in 2017. This week was also an opportunity to reflect on a number of subjects that matter a lot to me: languages, what it really means to travel abroad when you’re completely out of your depth, and even theory of mind (spoiler alert: it was the allistic side that failed this time). A rich and introspective interlude.
Languages and Biases
It all started over coffee. Someone pronounced an English word so unrecognizably that I thought they were trying to summon a demon. Something like “dollar.” Impossible to understand, right? Because they said it as “dô-lar.” It’s actually pronounced “dah-lar,” with a sort of o close to a, but very different from the French o. I reacted with a big “aaah dah-lar,” which made the whole group burst into laughter. I admit I’ve become a bit too American about this.
Later the next day, a friend with whom I had done an internship at UCPA among dozens of English speakers accused me, without blinking, of having the worst English in the group. Quite ironic coming from someone who butchers pronunciation, accent, and grammar all at once.
I was lucky enough to have an exceptional English teacher in middle school. Then I learned on my own—distinguishing tenses, vowels, and learning how to pronounce subtleties properly, like the difference between bitch and beach (it’s not just a longer “i”). Meanwhile, my friends don’t even understand what I’m talking about when I pronounce those two words one after the other.
Understanding a language starts with hearing it. Just like knowing how to code starts with knowing how to read code—understanding the logic behind it. Most people’s phonemic map freezes around age 6–8. They integrate foreign languages through the lens of their own pronunciation. An i and an ea don’t evoke the same sounds at all for an ear that has already solidified.
What struck me immediately about that criticism of my English from my friend is that he was probably deep in the Dunning–Kruger effect. It’s a cognitive bias that leads the least competent people to overestimate their own abilities (ask any French person to rate their English level — knowing full well the state of our national education system — and you’ll see).
PS: I’m not bragging about my English; native speakers have confirmed my level while also pointing out my weaknesses. I only want to learn and improve. Ri-sy-pe? Aaaah, “recipe”!
Moral crisis under the tropics
I’m hypomanic (maybe manic), I’m sleeping poorly, my medication isn’t working anymore, and I’m very irritable. The trip isn’t unfolding exactly as planned. I don’t share the same ideas or principles as some members of the group. I came on this trip for immersion: living according to the local cost of living (avoiding restaurants that charge six times the normal price in a luxury hotel), sharing modest hotel rooms, turning off the AC when leaving for several hours, and above all, refusing outright dishonesty.
But the final straw was when a poor child, probably living on the street (UNICEF’s 2023 report on the situation of children in Cambodia), came over to shake our hands, happy to see Westerners. It was a sincere, human moment — until I was asked to put on hand sanitizer once he had left. As if the touch of poverty could dirty me or make me sick. I’m at a loss for words. And I’m starting to consider finishing the trip alone. I refuse to let it be tainted by absurd social norms.
Forced calm day. I’m staying at the hotel — not to rest, but to avoid exploding.
I feel like cutting contact, because I would probably need to wash my brain with hand sanitizer after being exposed to such an aseptic worldview. But we survive.
And in a way, it’s a privilege: I get to observe, in real time and under a microscope, how a small group of Parisians on vacation collapses the moment it gets hot or comfort is no longer guaranteed. Which brings us to the next day.
Symbiosis and Ethics
The others went without me, as my medication knocked me out for half a day. Some apologized for the day before, so I eventually joined them to visit the Wooden Temple, a 300-year-old temple made almost entirely of wood (probably treated so it could be preserved). On the way back to the hotel, we stopped for a $1 iced tea.
In the morning, I called a friend to tell her about the trip and our adventures on Silk Island, where we saw how silk garments are handmade, with the thread being pulled directly from silkworm cocoons. She replied that it wasn’t very “vegan-friendly.”
That made me think about the question of exploiting silkworms, because I instinctively assumed it must be a form of symbiosis between humans and worms. I was right: silkworms hardly survive in the wild anymore and can only thrive with human assistance. We provide them with food, a stable environment, and guaranteed reproduction. In return, they produce silk thread of unique finesse. And this has been the case for millennia. Technically, they don’t have the kind of developed central nervous system that allows them to feel pain. That’s another topic, but worth noting.
What troubled me more, however, was that this remark felt a bit out of place in a country where producing silk is a form of survival for people who live on less than two dollars a day. In the end, it’s simply a different value system in which two species coexist in their own way. It’s a form of symbiosis — a complex pattern found everywhere in nature. I see things through this framework:
- human ↔ worm
- survival ↔ dependence
- production ↔ ecosystem
- modernity ↔ tradition
- consciousness ↔ non-consciousness
I’m glad, because my day ended well: I learned something that is part of Khmer heritage. It would be reductive to think only in terms of the vegan lifestyle and ignore several notions: interdependence of species, human survival, animal suffering (even though, in theory, that’s not the case with silkworms), and the value of work.
Cambodia’s stray cats
I love cats. Like Jeanne, who talked to you about autism in women (translation coming soon). I’ve lived with ten cats in total, two of which are still with me today, in shared custody with my mother: Timal and Minette. They have accompanied every stage of my life, and I keep a distinct memory of each one.
The cat who trusted me
I have a particularly touching memory with my best friend’s cat, Grimm, whom I had taken her to adopt at the animal shelter. Terrified, tiny — and likely traumatized — she eventually jumped next to my head and allowed herself to be petted after nearly two months spent hiding under the bed. It was the first voluntary contact she ever made with either of us.
During those two months, we would often sit near her and hold out our hands to gently pet her, so she could get used to our presence. She would purr from stress (if you didn’t know that’s possible — now you do). Bit by bit, she began to approach us, until that unpredictable leap next to me, after weeks of inching closer. I felt that trust forming between us, something only time could build.
Giving a little love to Cambodia’s cats
The gentleness I felt when petting her and hearing her purr — that’s what I wished I could give to every cat I saw in Cambodia. But I was repeatedly told not to touch them because of the risk of getting fleas or scabies. This is a very biased view foreigners often have about animals. Fleas do bite, but they leave humans immediately after — so the risk is already extremely low, especially if the contact is brief. The other possible risk is scabies, but it’s usually mild and requires the cat to be in poor condition, scratched, or injured.
And then I came across a tiny black kitten, probably less than a month old. Adorably meowing, and it came up to us to rub against our legs. I went for it — I kneeled down, and it walked straight toward me to be petted and to “talk” a little with me. Then came a second ginger kitten, and a third. And eventually, the whole litter. I was told once again to wash my hands afterward (which I did, since with an animal that small the risks are slightly more real). I was delighted to have met these little creatures, to take photos of them, and to give them a bit of affection they probably lack — Cambodians are not very “animal friendly” (there are articles about stray cats and dogs in Cambodia), which is why they are often very skinny.
The black kitten would follow me whenever I called it.
A stronger empathy for animals
During my first trip, a dog at the university center where I worked had given birth to puppies just as adorable. It was one of my most beautiful encounters. This time, it was cats — and here is a flurry of photos, because I can’t help but share them with you (the story continues after the next six photos).
My empathy is often stronger toward animals than toward humans. Animals don’t lie, they’re perfectly authentic, and they love unconditionally. They offer an especially powerful dose of oxytocin (the “love hormone”), so of course I wasn’t going to stop myself from giving some of that back (while taking precautions).
Maybe that’s what real theory of mind is: understanding those who don’t need words to be understood.
Reversed Theory of Mind
Autistic people are said to have a deficient theory of mind: a reduced ability to put themselves in others’ shoes and understand that others have a mental and emotional state different from their own. While our host, Thomas, was giving us a guided tour of the city, a friend wanted to ask him how much a tuk-tuk ride costs. Thomas, who has both French and Cambodian family, answered: “it brings in a few hundred dollars.” I tried to rephrase the question, and my friend told me not to, insisting that Thomas was avoiding the topic. Mayday, mayday! Intra-allistic communication failure.
Thomas had actually understood the question as “how much does a tuk-tuk driver earn?” The language barrier — even though Thomas spoke French very well — worked against him, and my friend immediately assumed he was doing something he wasn’t: avoiding the question. I was right: we just needed to reformulate the sentence for him, and he immediately understood. That’s how we learned that a tuk-tuk ride costs between $2,000 and $3,000 (for the vehicle).
A nice example of dysfunctional theory of mind. Meanwhile, for me, the language barrier worked in my favor: I rephrased things the way I always do, and communication instantly improved. Amusing.
I often observe interactions the way a naturalist observes a colony of insects: without judgment, but with a fascination for their mechanisms.
Tourists in Cambodia
When you walk around a country while being so disoriented, it’s easy to constantly comment on everything that differs from your home country. I won’t deny it: I was the first to do it — but always in a playful or kind-spirited way. My first trip to Cambodia truly left a mark on me; a few trash piles along the Tonle Sap weren’t going to shock me.
Here are a few gems I heard during this trip, and how I reacted to them.
Architectural prosopagnosia
Have you heard of prosopagnosia? It’s a condition that makes it impossible to recognize faces. Celebrities like Brad Pitt have it. Autistic people are more likely to be affected and often struggle with facial recognition. I was explaining to a friend, who was talking about how hard it is to recognize all foreign faces, that a similar documented process exists between populations. Khmers probably have as much difficulty distinguishing all Westerners easily, even if hair or eye color can help. And that’s where the joke begins.
We came across a Tesla Cybertruck, which I immediately photographed (I’m a fan of the brand) because I had never seen one before. A friend commented that we would “never see one in Paris,” unlike the temples which are everywhere: “In Cambodia it’s temples, temples, and more temples,” he said in a mock-blasé tone. I replied that Cambodians visiting Paris must say the same thing: “cathedrals, cathedrals, and more cathedrals.” And that, in fact, they probably wouldn’t be able to tell the architectural styles apart. I concluded by saying, “And they wouldn’t be wrong — even I get lost among the Haussmann buildings. They all look the same!”
Cambodian roadside pollution
In Kratie, on day 7, we were headed to a restaurant and thought the city looked cleaner than Kampong Cham. Until we came across a roadside completely flooded with plastic bottles. A friend noted that it wasn’t any cleaner than elsewhere. So I handed him my plastic bubble tea cup and politely asked, “Can you throw my cup on the ground, please?”
A bit of absurd humor never hurts — and it always amuses me to watch foreigners act like “good Western observers” in poorer countries.
The Wi-Fi bars
Being used (again) to Cambodia’s poor network, I wasn’t surprised by what happened next. People sometimes tell me to stop, when in fact I keep pushing my joke all the way through — more for myself than for others. For me, the joke is less about the social aspect and more about making myself laugh.
When we arrived at our hotel in Kratie, a friend complained that he was only getting one bar of Wi-Fi. I replied, “Jump into the Mekong, you’ll probably get more bars there » (the joke comes from French where bar can mean sea bass) Then I corrected myself, saying, “Actually, the bar is a saltwater fish, so you’ll find even fewer of them here.” And I finished the joke with: “So don’t complain, because even the fish can’t get any bars — just be happy with this network.”
I love taking my jokes and my little delusions as far as I can, pushing them to the limits of logic. Apparently, that’s a very autistic trait.
This trip is far from just exploratory. It raises questions, helps me understand what sets me apart from others, and why I think differently. I lose nothing by traveling with others — I have everything to learn from them, just as they have much to learn from Cambodians and from me.
A perfect human symbiosis.
When I found myself outside France, and people—out of politeness—asked whether I wished to be served à la française, I made fun of it and always hurried toward the tables most crowded with foreigners.
I am ashamed to see our countrymen possessed by this foolish habit that makes them recoil from any customs different from their own: they feel as though they are out of their element the moment they are outside their village. Wherever they go, they cling to their own ways of living and loathe those of others. If they happen to encounter a fellow Frenchman in Hungary, they celebrate the event: immediately they join forces and close ranks, condemning all the “barbaric” manners they see around them. Why wouldn’t those customs be barbaric, since they are not French? And these are the most intelligent ones, the ones who have at least noticed those differences—if only to speak ill of them. Most of them travel only in order to make their way back home. They travel hidden and folded in upon themselves, with a taciturn and uncommunicative caution, guarding themselves against the “contagion” of an unfamiliar air.— Montaigne, Essais, III, 9 Of Vanity
With that, I’ll leave you: I have a six-dollar burger waiting for me in Kratie (and perhaps another lesson in cultural relativity).
See you next week.
📸 Personal photographs taken over the past few days + a few AI-generated illustrations.
Originally published in French on: 24 Oct 2025 — translated to English on: 19 Nov 2025.