Writing Right

My 7th graders are squirmy and have limited attention spans - like most teenagers.  I held an impromptu spelling bee in class one day.  I began with easy words like:  school, study, doctor, where.  Then, moved onto more difficult words such as:  afternoon, computer, beautiful, usually, tomorrow.

It came down to the final three, all girls.  The winning student's word was " correct," which was a fitting end to the game.  She won 4,000 riel as a prize (50 cents). 

The Rat & the Moto

Once upon a time, there lived a rat.  He was a small rat, looking for a nice place to live.  He discovered a small opening under a door and crawled up inside a motorbike.  It was perfect.  The owner of the moto was gone for two weeks, long enough to make himself comfortable in his new home.  He lived there peacefully and occasionally chewed on some wires when he got bored.  One day, to his shock, his home began to move.  It got very hot and uncomfortable, so he crawled up high, under the seat.  Suddenly, the owner lifted the seat, and both screeched in terror at their intruder.  The rat scurried into the depths of the moto and could not be found.

The owner of the moto decided to drive around and either kill the rat or force him to show himself again.  She was irritated, and ready for the oncoming bloodbath.  It was a showdown like the O.K. Corral.  A duel to the death between rat and human.

However, the rat was a clever creature, and he managed to cause the moto to break down at a nearby shack that sells water and juice before escaping.

The moto owner was irritated.  How dare this rat break her moto?  It does not belong to him.  She gathered a group of six 7th grade boys, and they took a field trip to the grocery shack.  The boys got the moto started, but it required some effort.  Obviously, there was some damage.

The moto owner enlisted the help of her friend, the bus driver.  He took the moto to a repair shop where they fixed the wires and declared the moto rat-free.  The cost was under $7.

Now, the moto owner takes special precautions to prevent any more rats from taking up residence in her moto.

The End.

*The moral of the story = I hate rats.

Clang! Clang!

This is our bell.   We have an electronic bell, but it broke a long time ago.  Mr. Thang hung a long piece of metal on a tree, and after our breaks, one of the students will use a metal rod or hammer to bang it about five times.  It's surprisingly effective; I can hear it from inside my apartment.

 

Walking in Another Man's Shoes

It has been confirmed.  Building forts is universal.  I was browsing through a store in Sisophon, looking for some nice dress shoes for Laum and came upon this scene.  I wanted to get a couple chairs and a sheet and show them how to make a really cool fort, but that may have been perceived as being strange.  And I am already strange enough.  The shoe saleslady's jaw dropped when she saw me trying on large men's shoes.  (I wanted to make sure they felt comfortable.) 

Cynthia and I presented Laum with his gift, and he was so surprised.  I explained that we celebrate National Principal's Day in America, and he said this was the first time for him.  He was very happy since he needed new shoes for his wedding.  Plus, he can wear them to business meetings instead of his ratty slip-on shoes that he usually pulls out for special occasions. 

Monsoon...So Soon?

"For the ground that drinks the rain which often falls on it and brings forth vegetation useful to those for whose sake it is also tilled, receives a blessing from God."    -Hebrews 6:7

The rain assault has begun.  It seems to arrive sooner than previous years,  On the first day, we were all surprised and unprepared.  The thunder and lightening was tremendous.  The students stood under the overhang for while and watched nature's wrath.  It didn't take long before one of my 2nd graders decided to run out an play in the rain.

And it only takes one.  Before long, most of the students were splashing around, getting totally drenched, and having the best time.

The boys played soccer, and it was just one of those unexpected, joyful things that made everyone decided that, for one reason or another, the last class of the day would be cancelled.   I think it was just such a big turning point in the year, that we all just wanted to watch the rain fall and enjoy the water after a long dry season.

After the students left, I went outside in a tank top and panties and ran around too.  I wonder if that's the first time this has happened on campus.

Full Circle

Goodbye beach!  The bus rides back to school took 13 hours.  I usually buy my tickets from Capitol Tours, but they were closed, so I used Sorya.  I asked for a ticket to Mongkol Borei, and after some confusion and discussion among themselves, they gave me a ticket with the destination of Banteay Meanchey which is the province where I live.  When I arrived to the bus station that morning, there were four buses, and only one was going in the direction I wanted, which was Poipet.  I checked with the bus driver who assured me that this was my bus. 

It was a long ride, my butt was numb, and it was getting dark.  I kept looking out the window for recognizable landmarks.  All of the sudden, I  saw the bus station where I usually get off.  The bus kept going, heading to Sisophon.   It occurred to me, in a rather panicky way, that I ought to alert the bus driver.  I grabbed my purse and laptop and ran to the front and said, "Chob!  Chob!  K'nyom Mongkol Borei!"  By this time, it was pitch black and there were obviously no guesthouses around.  He looked uneasy about letting this moronic white lady off in the middle of nowhere, but I kept insisting.   He finally opened the door and let me out, probably just glad to get rid of me at that point.

I donned my headlamp and walked the roundabout and called Sophert who picked me up and drove me back to my apartment.  Along the way, I could see the fireflies and the village families huddled together in their huts.  It felt good to be back home.  I called Gogo's name, and he bounded down the stairs, gave me lots of kisses, and raced into my apartment.

Word spread quickly that I was back because children were knocking on my door at 8 a.m. the next morning.  I was not quite ready for that, so I pretended to be asleep.  Of course, they returned a couple hours later when they saw me hanging clothes outside on my drying rack.  We greeted each other with tremendous glee.  I pulled out all the new books which I bought specifically for first graders since we are really lacking in that area.  They loved them!   

They read, colored pictures and entertained themselves while I did two weeks worth of laundry.  It was nice to hear giggling in my apartment again.  I kept going outside to hang clothes to dry, and sometimes when I would return, the place would appear to be empty, but I would could hear snickering.  They thought it was pretty funny hiding under my bed, behind my bathroom door, and even behind my refrigerator (where there are a bunch of dead cockroaches).  I would pretend that I couldn't find them and call their names, and then reach out and grab one of their arms and say, "Aahhhhhh!" 

 

After a couple hours, I told them it was time to go, so I could rest and read.  When I went outside again to check on my drying laundry, I noticed that all the classroom windows had been opened, and my panties were hanging on them.  Great.  As if my underwear wasn't on display enough before.   Now, they were all spread all across the school for everyone the enjoy.   I collected them, saw the two culprits, and said, "Very funny."  They just looked at me.  There was no giggling.  That was when I realized they were not playing a joke.  They were trying to help me.  This silly barang had her clothes all bunched up together on one tiny rack.  They know better.  They see their mothers spread their clothes out, so they dry faster.

Later, I heard some rustling outside my door and opened it to find Gogo eating a dead bird on one of my bath towels.  He gave me a proud glance, as if to say, "Look what I found!" then wildly began tearing off all the feathers.

Finding Nemo

Koh Rong has the best dive sites in Cambodia.  There was a large diversity of ocean life, and it was surprisingly clean.  I didn't see any trash in the water like I did in Thailand.  There were parrotfish, grouper, shrimp, an octopus, clown fish, and varied coral and sea anemones.  The diving and snorkeling was easy, barely any current, and the water was so warm that only a light shorty wetsuit is needed. 

On the boat, I overheard a conversation.  A Finnish girl asked a group of guys, "You're all American?  Where are all the fat people?"  If there is one thing Europeans know about the inhabitants of North America, it is that most of them are fat.  One of the American guys replied, "Uh, they live in the Midwest."  Oh, if there's going to be inappropriate stereotyping, let's at least get our facts straight.  I turned to the group and announced, "The fat people are too poor to travel."  Everyone stared at me for a couple seconds, and then laughed uncomfortably.  (I guess it wasn't funny because it's true.)

Everyone on the boat fished except the two vegetarians.  What a couple of wusses.  Almost everyone in the group caught at least one fish.  One guy caught six.  I felt sad to see all these beautiful fish being hooked and slaughtered.  We had just swam with them an hour ago.  What happened? 

One day I went snorkeling on my own at a small reef that extends into a point on the island.  There were the same kinds of coral, but the fish were different.  They were smaller, but there were more schools of them. 

One of my favorite parts of the day was watching the sunset while swimming in Gulf of Thailand.  Afterwards, we ate dinner on the boat.  The crew roasted up fish, chicken, and veggie kabobs.  There was one other vegetarian on the boat, and I noticed that we got more kabobs than the others, I guess to make up for the lack of meat.  Although I don't care for the it myself, there are a couple good things about the meat in Cambodia.  First, it's not genetically modified.  Second, it's always fresh. 

When it was night, we jumped into the sea again.  This time our goal was to swirl up the plankton, so they glow.  It's like swimming with thousands of little shimmering lights in the water. 

Pero Como

Koh Rong Island is a 45 minute boat ride from the mainland.  It's the biggest island in Cambodia.  I knew it would be scenic, but I did not anticipate the pristine wilderness.  There are no roads, no vehicles, no modern convenience.  The power stops occasionally.  So does the running water.  You can walk across the island on the few trails that lead to secluded beaches.

Cambodia is so flat that every small hill is called a "mountain.  But here, real mountains rise steeply from the beaches.  A small row of guesthouses and restaurants line the beach.  Again, there was that invisible line.  Turn left off the pier, and you are in Cambodiaville.  Turn right, and you are in Foreignerville

The doctor on the island is also the receptionist at my bungalow.  He's a Cambodian man, mid 20's, and unclear medical training.  But, he has bandages and medicine.  Therefore, he is the doctor.

I loved it!  The lifestyle on the island was slow-paced, peaceful, and very casual.  It is the kind of place where you walk around barefoot all the time.  At one point, I was wearing flip flops, but took them off without thinking and walked all around.  When I realized that I did leave my bungalow with shoes, I retraced my steps until I found them scattered in the sand. 

I stayed in a traditional thatch bungalow at Coco's.  It was spacious, peaceful, and about 100 meters from the beach.  Since my room was up on the highest point, I didn't need to use the mosquito nets, and there was a cool breeze at night, so I didn't even need a fan.  It had a private bathroom off to the side and a large patio with a hammock in front.  It is definitely one of the nicest places I've stayed in a while.

The beach on Koh Rong was beautiful, had blindingly white sand, and was swarming with sand flies.  I already had a big gash in my right knee from attempting to play volleyball at school, another gash on my left knee when I tripped on some towels, and a sore on my left foot from my sandals.  Add 3 dozen sand fly bites and swollen ankles to that, and you get the picture.  I looked like some kind of accident victim.  I didn't want my big cuts to get infected in the water, so I carefully applied bandages and wrapped packing tape around them.  It was not ideal, but, as they say in Honduras, "Pero como?"  (What can you do?) 

The water was the same on Koh Rong, only calmer.  Waves were virtually nonexistent. 

One day a group of monks arrived on a boat.  They sat in the big room on the pier and chanted for hours.  Then, the younger ones explored the beach and waded into the ocean very cautiously, testing out the water with their feet.  They probably don't know how to swim, so they only went ankle deep.

The Khmer New Year celebrations take place over three days, and the Cambodians were practicing their usual traditions of slapping talcum powder on your face or spraying people with Super Soaker water guns.  One day, this Cambodian guy hooked up a hose to the ocean and started spraying water on everyone.  It didn't matter who you were, you got wet.  One white guy went totally mental because it broke his phone.  He got so pissed that he ended up hurling it into the sea.  I got the impression he was not familiar with these traditions. 

Crossing the Line

Occhueuteal Beach is a popular destination for backpackers.  At night, with hordes of young Aussies and Europeans together, partying becomes a sport, and Sihanoukville is the Olympics.  All along the beach, there are bars and restaurants thumping American tunes like Johnny Cash, Steve Miller Band, and Billy Joel.  Rattan chairs surround tables, and strings of colorful neon lights illuminate the night.  A couple places sold balloons filled with laughing gas.  I can imagine what else they sold.  Vendors strolled through the crowd, hawking everything from bracelets to fireworks.  Why not sell a device that shoots out fire to the drunk tourists? 

There is an invisible line somewhere in the middle of the beach that separates the foreigners from the Cambodians.  The foreigner side has menus in English, and they serve pasta and tacos.  The Cambodian side is quieter, everything is in Khmer, and nobody speaks English.  This is how Sihanoukville was before the invasion of tourists.  Here, the vendors sell lanterns.  You can write something on it, make a wish, send it floating into the sky, and watch the flickering light get smaller and smaller until it disappears into the blackness.  Everyone sits around and eats gigantic plates of crab, squid, fish, anything that comes from the sea. 

I sat down on a lounge chair next to a large Cambodian family.  They regarded me for a moment and then started whispering rapidly to each other in Khmer.  It was likely something along the lines of, "What's up with the barang?  Doesn't she know she's on the wrong side of the beach?  Why is she alone?  She must be deranged."  I smiled at them and said, "Happy New Year!"  Pretty soon we were bonding.  They offered me a piece of fish cheek.  I offered them a potato.  We all politely declined each other's disgusting food.  We conversed as much as possible with my limited vocabulary.  There was a lot of laughter, mostly at my expense. 

A "Special" Place

The 4 hour bus ride to Sihanoukville turned into a 5 1/2 hour grueling crawl, due to all the holiday traffic.  I had read about this highway.  It is supposed to be dangerous because it's narrow, winding, and everybody tries to pass the slower vehicles.  My guidebook advised that travelers should take a bus rather than a minivan "if you value things such as your life."  Twice, we passed checkpoints (which contained a bunch of police who were standing around, not checking anything).  At each one there was a sign that stated, "Think.  Accident bring tears.  Safety bring cheers."  There was another sign that said, "Safety starts with you."  Next to it, were three vehicles which were either broken down or had some sort of collision. 

As soon as I saw the water from my window, I couldn't wait to jump in.  I quickly found a moto driver to take me to my guesthouse.  Before I get a ride, I always make them agree to a price up front, so I don't get duped into paying too much.  We agreed on $3 which was more than fair for the brief ride.  When I got off and paid him, he said, "prahm."  (Five.)  I didn't understand.  I thought maybe he didn't understand riel to dollar conversion rates, so I gave him a lesson on mathematics.  He just looked at me and repeated, "prahm."  I brought him up to the guesthouse to sort out the isssue.  The owner told me that he wanted five dollars for the ride.  I blew up and said, "You tell him that we agreed on 3 dollars.  He didn't know where to go, and we had to stop four times so he could ask directions.  That's not my fault.  I am not paying 5 dollars!"  The owner looked down sheepishly, and there was a long pause.  Then, he said to me, "He understand."  I could tell he did not want to translate my tirade.  (Plus, there was no need since my body language said it all.) 

I had just made a big blunder.  I know better than this, but sometimes my American attitude supersedes my knowledge of Asian culture.  This is a country where it is acceptable to ask a person how many kilos she weighs, but a heated argument in public is considered terribly rude.

I decided to pretend like everything was resolved and continued with the check-in process.  The moto driver stood there the entire time and even watched me as I walked into my room.  This was unsettling.  I kept having flashbacks of that movie, Better Off Dead, where the newspaper kid follows John Cusack around yelling, "I want my two dollars!"  Was the driver going to stand out there and wait for me to come out again?  Was he going to hunt me down?  Was he going to put a curse on me?  The possibilities were endless.  I made a point of taking my time getting ready for the beach, and to my relief, he was gone by the time I emerged from my room. 

Sihanoukville is a beach town on the southern coast of Cambodia.  It is split into several small communities that surround long beaches.  I stayed at the most popular (and easiest to reach) Occhuetteal Beach.  It has a long white and golden sand beach that extends several kilometers, and I spent my first day walking from one end to the other.  It was unexpectedly clean, and later I realized why.  They hire women to walk around, picking up trash all day. 

Along with creating a rather large shell collection (souvenirs for the kids), I discovered there were jellyfish in the ocean.  They ranged in size from a c.d. to a hula hoop.  Luckily, the bath warm waters of the Gulf of Thailand were clear, so it was easy to avoid them.  The sea was calm, and you could walk out into it for about 200 meters before it finally covered your head.  The water was really salty, making me extra-buoyant.  I spent a fair amount of time floating on my back, staring at the clouds.

The town caters to tourists, so they have a variety of restaurants and different types of food.  Perhaps you are in the mood for a roasted squid kabob?  I was not. 

I decided to check out Happy Herb Pizza where they supposedly added "happy herbs."  Nowhere on the menu did it mention anything about "extras."  I ordered a small Bianco pizza, and trying to act nonchalant and refrain from giggling, asked the waiter if he could make it "special," while making air quotes with my fingers.  Without missing a beat, he simply asked, "You want mild, medium, or strong?"  I figured if I was going to do this, I might as well do it properly, and ordered it strong.  The pizza was delicious.  My favorite thing was that they had a bottle of olive oil and chili peppers which I drizzled all over, making it spicy.  Half-way through the pizza, I felt nothing.  I'm chiding myself for being so silly.  This is just a regular pizza; it's a gimmick.  Surely, they couldn't serve pizza sprinkled with a handful of ganja.  However, as I left the restaurant, I found myself walking down the street, with a huge smile spread across my face, for no reason at all. 

This trip was not only about the beach, it was a vacation to food heaven.  I ate veggie enchiladas, a black bean burger, a baked potato, and a salad with real lettuce, bleu cheese apples, raisins, carrots and nuts.  Ahhhhh!  Angels were singing.  I could see the pearly gates.  Everything I have been craving was right there in front of me.  What does one do after a long day of swimming, gorging on food?  Why, of course, one must get an oil massage.  I paid $9 for an hour long massage which was part massage and part brutal beating.  This girl had the strongest hands and she made it her goal to give me a couple bruises by grinding her elbow into me until she reached bone. 

Phnom Penh

The bus trip to Phnom Penh normally lasts 6 hours.  This one took 8 hours.  With the New Year, everyone is travelling and the buses were completely packed.  On one bus, there were 5 tiny child size plastic chairs in the aisles to accommodate the overbooked bus.  I didn't care.  I was sitting next to a nice older lady.  We shared our snacks, and I had a seatbelt.  A real seatbelt!  That was shocking.  I think I was the only one using the device.

The mythical Mekong River is unchanged since my last.  Some people live on boats like this with their family, swim and fish in the brown water. 

I always stay at the Longlin Guesthouse in town which is about two blocks from the river.  I got a room with the smallest bathroom ever, and that is saying a lot considering the dives I've stayed in.  This thing was a three ft. by three foot affair with a showerhead that sprayed in all manner of places, except on your actual body.  Weirdly, the most annoying thing about it all was that there was no mirror anywhere in the room.  I guess even I have limits.

There is a psar nearby.  When you smell something rotting, then you know you are getting close.  Here are some fish flopping around beside their dead brothers. 

Khmer New Year

                           
On Friday, we celebrated Khmer New Year which takes place on the full moon in April each year.  This mostly involved children running around with talcum power, like whole bottles of the stuff, and trying to spray it on you.

There were some games which all also seemed to include some element of powder or water.

After lunch, we had a dance party.  OK, it was mostly 1st and 2nd graders with their crazy barang teacher, but still, it was pretty awesome. 

Then, we played a game sort of like pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, but it was with a ceramic pot on a string with money inside.  I gave it a shot, and wildly pounded away at the air to the amusement of the children.
 

Go-go

One of the village dogs adopted Cynthia.  He appeared one night at her doorstep with his sister and cried until .  He must have known she is an animal lover and now, as you can see, has a really ruff life.  The other day, I saw him run across the schoolyard with something in his mouth.  It was a dead fish.  His legs weren't wet, so I figured the thing had been dead for a while and washed up on the pond shore where he found it.  He settled down on my Welcome mat in front of my apartment which seemed to him to be the perfect spot to devour this rotting piece of meat.  I made him go upstairs and show his "mommy" what he found.  He ate the entire thing from tail to head.  I have also seen him eat frogs and roaches, so he appears to have good scavenging genes. 

There are two other dogs from his litter that live with the family nearest our school.  They are half the size of Go-go.  This is a family of poor farmers.  They already have four dogs, and a bunch of chickens to feed, so I'm sure they didn't mind that one of the litter decided (for reasons unknown) to find a new home.  Go-go is twice the size of his littermates.  They probably only get rice and whatever they can scavenge.  Go-go gets eggs for breakfast and leftover meat from our meals at lunchtime.  He is very lucky. 

There are a lot of dogs in our village because of course none of them are neutered.  There isn't even a vet in Sisophon to perform the operation anyway.  The students ignore all the dogs, but because they know Go-go is special to Cynthia and me, they treat him differently and love him.  He usually follows Cynthia to her classes and then wanders around school.  Whenever he walks into one of my classrooms, I always say, "Hello Go-go!" and the kids do the same. 

"It Fields Good..."

 

The "winter" growing season is short, and I had the privilege of watching the entire process of planting the rice seeds to taking the bags of rice to the market, all from my classroom windows.  Each classroom has three un-paned windows that are always open to allow the breeze in.  It's been about 3-4 months since the seeds were planted, and I could tell the rice was ready to harvest.  The individual grains on the stalks got big and heavy.  The farmers have to plan their harvest time carefully to maximize their crop.  They must do it before the seeds crack, and beat the monsoon rains.

Our school is surrounded on three sides by miles of rice paddies.  They are large square fields, independently owned by different families.  The fields are sunk into the ground to collect the water, and there are raised dirt paths that the farmers use to walk to their field.  About a week ago, I heard a loud noise and saw the farmer had rented the machine to harvest the rice.  A crowd of boys followed it around and around the field.  They thought it was so cool!  It is the equivalent of a child seeing a fire engine or garbage truck in the U.S. 

Afterwards, only straight rows of dry straw are left.

The golden grains of rice are dispersed on tarps to dry in the sun for a few days.  Jom-ron's (our bus driver) family has a plot behind the school, and he used part of our large campus to let it dry.  Usually families will dry their rice on land in their yard because they have to guard it against thieves.  Jom-ron's family used a part of our campus because it was much easier than taking it to his house, and there is more space here.

Two days after it was harvested, it sprinkled, so he had to quickly move all the rice underneath the overhang at school in order to dry properly.  A little rain is fine, but too much will ruin the entire crop, and they will lose their investment.  I felt sorry for him when I saw him working out there all alone, but eventually six other guys showed up to help.  It was funny because it was really hot that day, and he just wore his sarong, but when he noticed that I was coming out occasionally to hang my clothes, he put on a shirt. 

The farmers also put some of the straw in large bags; although, I'm not sure what is the purpose.  They might use it for kindling.

One evening, I smelled a lot of smoke.  In the States, this would be cause for alarm.  People would run out into the streets, drive by the scene really slowly, call 911, investigate to see if anyone needs assistance, try to put out the fire, etc.  In Cambodia, it is not an unreasonable assumption that someone is just creating a purposeful and controlled fire, and you hope it's not plastic.
                          
My thought was, "I better bring my laundry rack inside, so my clothes don't reek."  When I went outside, I could tell this was no normal pile of burning trash.  The smoke was intense.  My eyes burned, and it was hard to breathe. 

The field burned late into the night, and I went up to the balcony for a better view.  It was hauntingly luminescent.