I sit down at the outdoor café in Phnom Penh, glad to have the shelter of the porch; it’s just begun to pour down rain. I breathe in the heat and the humidity. I love this city. The waiter brings me a menu. I smile and thank him. “Where are you from?” he asks. I smile and tell him the United States. He appears shocked. “The United States? Really? The way you look and dress, I thought you were from India.”

Now it’s my turn to be shocked. I’m dressed in western clothes — jeans, t-shirt, and scarf. I don’t feel I look particularly Indian. I’ve had people guess I was from Greece, Italy, Spain, Canada, Israel, but never India.