An elephant that wears shoes?

I look up from my 900-page book and at that very moment I catch a glimpse of Sambo, Phnom Penh’s pet totem elephant parading down along the riverside on Sisowath Quay. No doubt he is making his way over to his next engagement, where he’ll make an appearance to the delight of surprised guests and where children will sit upon the red cloth draped across his tough wrinkled back.  The animal is booked solid with appointments for the remainder of the year, so I’ve been told. The fury of motos, cyclos, tuk-tuks and occasional black and gold Lexus SUVs driving past, go unnoticed, both by the giant and his guardian dressed in a red ripped shirt, ragged shorts and chequered krama trailing behind.  The moment lasted only seconds, not long enough for me to pull out my new camera and capture the scene.  I’m struck by the juxtaposition of it all.  An elephant—mind you, one wearing wooden-crafted shoes— trudging down a busy main street, seems normal to me, yet I want to giggle with joy at the silliness of what I have just witnessed.  I try to imagine a similar moment occurring back home in the northern Chicago suburb of Vernon Hills.  My parents sitting around a coffee table at the local Starbucks looking through travel books, my brothers and I browsing through National Geographic, Entertainment! Or The Economist and all of a sudden an elephant parades through the parking lot parallel to Route 60.  No doubt my mother would be quicker with her Canon camera, Papi would make a joke about the elephant’s social life, and my brothers and I would make up some story, complete with animated voices, about a monkey riding on Señor Sambo.  The thought of this makes me smile, but by now the elephant has passed by the double glass doors of the café I sit in and I’m left staring out at the dreary construction wall that blocks the view to the Tonle Sap River.