Say What?

Cambodians don't like American style chips.  As a chipoholic, this was frustrating to me at first, but I have gotten used to not eating chips.  There are some chip-like snacks which the children like to eat.  However, they are always weird, squid or fish flavored chips that have the texture and consistency of Funyons.  As such, they are totally disgusting to a vegetarian.  A few times, I have found these Chinese tomato flavored chips.  I've never actually seen a Cambodian eat them, but I find them to be edible, and they have served my chip cravings a few times.  But that is not the point of this post.  The thing I find most interesting about these chips is the English translation on the front of the package.  It says, " Tomato Orchard.  Every day Every time.  How delicious it can not be forgotten, special taste, return to true flavor.  Give you the infinite feeling."  After eating these chips, I am still wondering what infinite feeling I am supposed to have.

Oddly worded English translations are everywhere.  One day, a student wore a t-shirt to class, and on the front it said, "The world is a canvas, and you must throw."  I stared at it with confusion and told her I didn't understand it.  She said, "I don't know.  I bought it at the market."  This only added to my amusement. 

Another time, I saw a guy on a moto wearing a t-shirt that read, "This is a designer t-shirt."  What designer?  I think that Cambodians just like to wear shirts with English because they think it's cool. 

I thought this was silly until I realized that I own a two t-shirts written in Khmer and one shirt written in Arabic which I can't read, but I bought them because I thought they were cool.  Now who is the silly one?

Unwelcome

Someone got a little upset when his mommy came to visit me and left him outside.  Gogo was obviously thinking, "Welcome?  I think not!" 

When we went outside, Cynthia immediately started apologizing and telling me she would buy me a new mat.  I was too busy laughing hysterically and running for my camera.  I don't care about the stupid mat.  Gogo was right.  His mommy was being kind of rude.

Roommates

My parents wondered what that noise was in the background when we Skype.  It was my geckos.  They talk to me all the time.  Clearly, they felt left out of our conversation and wanted to say, "Hello mom & dad!"

There are two families living here at the moment.  This mother is about 5 inches long, and her largest baby is 2 inches in length.  She has another baby who is even smaller.  I found him sitting inside my book cover the other night.  We must have similar tastes in literature.  I've heard of book worms before but never a book gecko.

I also have lots of spiders.  One day, I found these two "going at it" for a couple hours.  The next day, I noticed the male was dead.  I wanted to give her a high five but wasn't sure which leg to slap.

Meet Sid

No.  It's not what you think.  I'm not pregnant.  That would be impossible.  Unless of course, Jesus has been begging God for a little brother, and I was chosen for immaculate conception.  Fortunately, that was not the case.  (Also, even if this were to happen, I don’t think God would select me since he seems to prefer virgins.) 

 

On the left side of the screen is a picture of a "normal" ovary.  On the right side, is my ovary, and although I think my ovary is very photogenic and could possibly be an ovary model, there is a problem.  On the top right, you will notice an egg shaped black spot.  That is Sid.  He's a cyst.  He is like that annoying, clingy, guy who attaches himself to you and won't leave you alone, even though you want nothing to do with him.  Sid and I don't have anything in common.  His hobbies include making me bleed for three weeks straight, causing extreme exhaustion, and irritating the hell out of me. 

 

Maybe I should begin at the beginning.  One day, I drove to Sisopon to get some essentials that aren’t available in our village.  I was out of insect repellant and had been spraying Raid on my legs for a couple weeks some might consider a health hazard.  (In my defense, it was lavender scented Raid.)  Additionally, I needed some other items like strawberry jam, Mentos, tomato soup, baked beans, adding minutes to my phone, etc.  Suddenly, I realized there was a big problem.  My shorts had a big wet spot, and it was not water.  What is going on?  It was too soon for my period.  Maybe it just came early…or so I thought.  Now, I faced a dilemma.  I still needed to buy brown eggs at the outdoor market.  Since eggs are one of the few sources of protein available to a vegetarian in rural Cambodia, this was important.  I had to get them.  I decided to bolt through the market, quickly buy my eggs, and hope that nobody noticed my increasingly soggy bottom.  I was doing an outstanding performance of maneuvering through the narrow pathways between all the tiny vendor stalls, when I came upon a scene that caused me to stop abruptly.  

 

Directly in the middle of the path was a large, black fish which had clearly escaped his owner’s bowl and attempted to slither away to freedom.  I looked around and didn’t see any fish bowls.  This was one impressive fish!  It had obviously squirmed quite a long way.  This was already an absurdly funny scene, but it became even more comical when I noticed a tiny kitten, half the size of the fish, stalking up behind it.  I looked around at the nearby vendor ladies who were also watching this show with glints of amusement in their eyes.  Nobody was bothering to pick up the fish and find its owner.  It was clearly a case of “Not my fish.  Not my problem.”  Besides, it must get incredibly boring, sitting in a hammock, waiting for somebody to buy a few vegetables.  This an opportunity to view live, free entertainment.  I wanted to stick around to watch the spectacle unfold too.  However, I feared that at any moment beads of blood would begin dripping down my legs, and I would become part of the show.  So, I left.

 

For the next 5 days, I thought I was having my normal period.  On day 10, I became concerned.  On day 14, I realized it wasn’t stopping.  I told Cynthia about it, and she suggested, "You're probably going through menopause."  (Cynthia is a bit extreme when it comes to ailments.  One time she had the flu and convinced herself that she had malaria, and actually went to get a blood test.)  I bellowed, "I am not going through menopause!"  I decided that it was probably just stress.  (I, on the other hand, am an optimist, and  may perhaps tend to live in a state of denial when it comes to my own ailments.)  On day 19, I realized that I had to do what I dreaded most – visit a village doctor.   Ugghh.  I am all too familiar with the clinics and hospitals in Cambodia.  Two of the clinics in our village never have an actual doctor around, so the nurses take your blood pressure, stand around for 20 minutes staring at you, and then send you away.  The other clinic has a doctor whose only skill seems to be injecting me in the butt with some kind of pain killer which he can only describe as “medicine.”  And the hospitals are where people go to die.  None of these options were appealing to me. 

 

I told Kim and Sophert about my problem, and asked if there was a doctor for women.  Sophert knew of one, and drove me there.  As soon as we pulled up, I could tell that this place was different.  True, the clinic was inside of someone's house.  However, it was a really nice house, and I didn't have to walk by someone's entire family.  I could tell these people were rich.  They had a car (which, of course, was parked inside the house in the living room.  That's where everyone parks them, so they don't get stolen.)  The other side of the living room contained a lot of beautifully carved, and very expensive wooden furniture.  There was a couch, four chairs, a table, two large cabinets, a nice radio with speakers, and a refrigerator.  What really struck me was a box of Kleenex on the table.  I have never seen a Cambodian in possession of one.  It all seemed so civilized. 

 

The doctor wasn't there, but her husband was, and he spoke English.  He was a nice Chinese man in maybe his late 60's.  I told him my problem, and he said he would call his wife.  He picked up his cell phone, and then proceeded to tell me his life story.  It was all very interesting, but I kept glancing at his phone, wondering when he was going to make the call.  Wouldn't it be more expedient to call first and then tell me all about his visit to the United States?  Eventually, he did get around to calling her, and said she would be there shortly.  Meanwhile, Mr. Chatterbox continued talking.  At this point, I was kind of zoning out because I had other matters on my mind.

 

Finally, his wife arrived and conducted a thorough pre-examination by asking me two questions: “What is the problem?  How old are you?”  Unlike other doctors I’ve seen in Cambodia, her room was clean, she had modern equipment, and she was able to provide me an actual diagnosis.  She performed an ultrasound and spent several minutes rubbing her wand on my right side.  I could see it all on the screen, and I knew she had found something.  Then, she turned to me and said two words, “Oh-vee-an ceast.” Ovarian Cyst.   “Is it bad?  Do I need it taken out?” I asked, trying not to screech.  She said no and told me it was only a small cyst - 31 x 44 m.m. and gave me a prescription for pills called Ethinyl Estradiol which would stop the bleeding.  Apparently, cysts will usually go away on their own.  My bill for the doctor visit was $5.00.

 

We went to the nearest pharmacy, and I was surprised to see Dr. Chan.  He had visited out school about a month prior because he was wanted to enroll his child in a school that teaches English.  Once again, I was in luck.  He spoke English, and I told him about the cyst, and bought the medicine.  I'm supposed to take it for 21 days and return to the doctor for a follow-up visit.  On the way back to school, Sophert said in a stricken manner, "Ohhhh....more than $10 for medicine."  I laughed and explained that if I had an ultrasound and bought medicine in the U.S., it would have cost hundreds of dollars.  I told her it was cheap, and I didn't care how much it cost.

 

Since I was so utterly exhausted, I took two days off school.  On Friday, I was still weak, but I could only manage three hours of teaching before crawling back into bed.  The loss of blood likely made me anemic.  Add that to poor nutrition, daily stress of living in rural Cambodia, a grueling work schedule, and a number of other factors, and that's what happens.  After four days of taking the pills, the bleeding did stop completely.  Laum asked, "You better now?"  I laughed and said no.  I began to explain that the considerable blood loss has made me extremely tired, but at the first mention of blood, he got totally freaked out and left.  The other Cambodians don't understand either.  They all think that I should be fine now.  I'm not. 

 

Today, I woke up at 7:00 am when Kim called and asked, "Kerri, you want porridge?"  I started laughing hysterically in the crazed manner of a lunatic and blurted out, "Kim, when have I ever wanted porridge?"  The last thing I crave is soggy rice mixed with warm water.  When I was able to control my laughter, I said very politely, "Thank you Kim, but no.  I have some cereal."  She then ended the call in her typical way by abruptly saying, "Bye!"

 

I was finally able to get out of bed at noon, and I drove to ask Dr. Chan for some advice on my fatigue.  He suggested some multivitamins from France.  They are called Alvityl Comprime.  He told me to take two per day for five days.  He added, "They are expensive, but they are strong."  I asked how much they cost.  They were $4.50 - less than 50 cents per pill. 

Pailin

Some of my 7th graders begged me to go to Pailin (pronounced Pie-lin) with them on Sunday.  I wasn't sure I wanted to give up one of my precious days off where I could be doing something important such as lying comatose in bed.  I asked them lots of questions about this trip, but the answers were vague and confusing.  It went something like this:
Me - "Who is going?"
Students - "Students, parents, maybe teachers."
Me - "What is there?"
Students - "Mountain."
Me - "A real mountain?  Wait, not a hill, but an actual mountain?  What will we do there?"
Students - No clear answer.
Me - "Should I bring food, or will we go to a restaurant?"
Students - "Bring food."

I looked up the town in my guidebook, and this is what Lonely Planet has to say about Pailin.  "The remote Wild West town of Pailin has little to recommend...unless you happen to be an ex-Khmer Rouge commander, in which case it's an ideal place to retire among friends."  But, wait there's more!  There are several waterfalls outside town.  "The problem is that they're at their most impressive during the rainy season, when the roads are often impassable.  Also, they are not comfortable places to explore on foot due to the lingering presence of land mines."  Obviously, this is not the place for a sensible tourist, but when have I ever been sensible?

Facts:  This is located in the most heavily land mined part in all of Cambodia.  There are an estimated 4-6 million land mines in the country.  We also has the highest number of amputees per capita of any country in the world.  On average, 15 Cambodians are injured or killed by each month. 

So, here's the deal.  I was invited to go to a sketchy place, three hours away, with a bunch of students, and an unclear itinerary.  All the other teachers were invited, but strangely, they turned down the offer.  I asked the students if we could swim in the waterfalls, and they said yes.  That sealed the deal for me.  Count me in!

When I asked Monyroth what time we were leaving, she replied, "5...or maybe 6 am."  I said, "No!  If I have to wake up too early and wait for all of you, I will be mad cha!"  I gave her my phone number and told her to call me with the exact time.  She called me the next morning at 6 and said, "Hurry up, cha!"  I told her I was ready.  I asked if the taxi was there, and she said yes.  I didn't rush.  By now, I have learned that when Cambodians say, "Hurry up!" it actually means that it is now time to get ready, not time to go.  So, I finished making my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, sprayed my entire body multiple times with mosquito repellent, and walked to Monyroth's house which is only a few minutes from the school.  When I arrived, there was no taxi, no people, and her front gate was locked.  I called her and told her I was there.  She popped out, wearing a sarong, clearly not ready at all.  Go figure.  I was late, but not late enough. 

A minivan full of students and one grandmother arrived at 6:30, and we began our journey.  There were nine 7th graders, Monyroth's grandma, and three young cousins.  The driver was a friend of Monyroth's family, and he was really nice and friendly.  As the special barang guest, I was given the front seat which I appreciated because I was able to recline it and slept almost the entire way there.  Also, the minivan was not really meant for 15 people, so the kids were kind of squished in the back.

Pailin is a scenic town on that borders Thailand.  In fact, I could see the checkpoint when we stopped to buy some rambutan and durian (which the town is famous for growing).  There are lots of mountains, real mountains!  I can see why this was a good place for the Khmer Rouge stronghold.  First of all, it's right on the border.  Plus, there are many places to hide in the mountains and surrounding forest.

Our first stop was Wat Phnom Yat, a big beautiful pagoda on the top of a hill which features an imposing golden statue of Buddha with his hand raised.  We had to climb about a hundred stairs to reach it.  I walked with Nek Sok Ree, my new grandma (jia, in Khmer) and let her hold my arm.  She is a strong, old woman, but I was worried, and I made the kids stop midway, so she could rest on a bench for a minute.  We looked at all the statues, the panoramic views of town, and took photographs.  Then, we went inside the temple to pray.  We each gave on offering to a female monk.  In turn, she wrapped red string around our wrists (for good luck) and gave us a blessing.  Grandma then placed a bowl of water in front of me, and indicated that she wanted to pour some in my hands.  I assumed this was like the water spraying I have experienced before, so I cupped my hands, and when they were filled with water, I splashed it on my face.  Everybody laughed at me!  Yet again, I had made as ass out of myself.  I am used to this now as it happens pretty much every day.  I watched the others, and they poured the water on the top of their head, and spread it over their hair - perhaps because this is "holy water," and the head is considered the most sacred part of a person's body.

Finally, we headed to the Blue Mountains which is the main reason I went on this trip.  I couldn't wait to see the waterfalls and go swimming.  The weather was perfect; it was a bit overcast, but the sun was shining, and there was fresh air.  Fresh air!  You might think that I get plenty of fresh air in the rice paddies, but that's not true.  It always stinks because everybody burns their plastic trash, and the incredible amount of dust makes it difficult to breathe.  When we got to the mountains and opened the windows, I gulped in that savory air!  Soon, we saw the sign for the waterfalls, and the kids were positively twitching with excitement.  I did my own twitching at the numerous sight of the Land Mine warning signs.

Everyone was hungry, so we had lunch in one of the bamboo and thatch roof bungalows above the falls.  A series of gnarled branches shoved into the dirt at irregular intervals served as a staircase that led to the top.  I shambled up the hill with the ease of an 80 year old woman.  We all settled down on a couple rattan mats, and grandma began pulling out banana leaves filled with rice, meat, and some horrid looking vegetable type dish that she brought especially for me.  I thanked her immensely, but explained that I had brought my own lunch (sandwich, apples, and granola bar), and offered the overcooked vegetables to the kids. 

I stopped eating rice about three weeks ago when I realized that I was becoming extremely protein deficient.  Now, I am eating lots of eggs, beans, nuts, and peanut butter.  The Cambodians are very concerned and keep begging me, "Kerri, eat ri!"  No.  I am sick of "ri."  I want to eat nachos, pizza, and salad.  Of course, that is not an option, so I ate my peanut butter sandwich.

For being such tiny little creatures, they sure can pack away food.  Some were grabbing handfuls of rice and shoving it into their mouths like they hadn't eaten all day.  (This is not true.  Cambodians are constantly eating something.  They eat at least 5-6 times per day.  Every time I turn around, someone is shoving something in their mouth.)  How they remain so skinny is beyond me.  After lunch, I made a point of telling the students to put their trash in a plastic bag I brought just for this purpose.  If I had not been there, they would have just tossed it over the side.  It is going to take decades for the concept of environmentalism to take hold in this country.  But, as long as I'm around, I will continue to be the trash Nazi.

 

After lunch, we prepared for the main event - swimming in the falls.  I pulled out my swimsuit and declared, "O.K. boys, turn around!"  When grandma realized that I was about to disrobe in front of the girls, she quickly grabbed one of the rugs, and the girls held it around me like a changing booth.  Yeah...like they've never seen a naked woman before.  They all take baths in their front yards for goodness sake!  I don't know why protecting my modesty was such a big deal, but whatever.  I quickly changed into my suit, and was ready to go.  One the girls looked at me and exclaimed, "Oh Cha!  Sexy!"  Another one just stared, dumbfounded, and whispered, "I never see in Khmer before."  I knew that I would make quite a scene with my Western swim attire, but there was no way I was going to go swimming fully clothed like some Muslim or polygamist. 

Not surprisingly, I was the only white person at the falls.  I was quite aware of a Cambodian man who was walking around, pretending to take pictures of the scenery, but was really more interested in trying to slyly taking photos of the strange, half-naked barang. 

The kids loved sliding, skidding, lurching, and tumbling down the falls on the slick rock.  When they saw me begin to do the same, they shouted, "No cha!  Dangerous!"  Little do they know that I have participated in much riskier activities than this.  I promptly clambered to the top of the falls, and slid down with tremendous delight - many, many times. 

We all had a wonderful day, and since the minivan driver was a friend of Monyroth's family, he only charged us 10,000 riel which equals $2.50 for the whole day - a huge bargain for this kind of adventure!

Even my new jia enjoyed the water.  She loved posing like a model each time I pointed my camera at her.

 

Summer Solstice Picnic

Sophert invited us to a picnic at a field near her house.  She said to arrive at her house at 5:00, and we would follow her from there.  It rained for over an hour at 2:00, so I suggested moving venues because the ground would be wet, but she wouldn't budge.  She said, "No, it is all prepared."  So, I just went with the flow like usual (but brought my poncho, umbrella, and a bunch of plastic bags).  I asked Sophert what we could bring, and she gave the answer all Cambodians give, "It's up to you."  They are too shy to ask for anything specific.  I brought a bunch of rambutan and mangoes, and Cynthia brought a watermelon. 

While we were at the market, I saw some snake fruit which I have read about but haven't seen yet.  The vendor saw me eyeing them, so he peeled one and let me try it.  (They often do this to show you that it is ripe and tastes good in hopes that you will buy some.)  The outside skin is scaly like a snake.  The inside contains a white pod that is juicy but very sour.  One was enough for me.

When we arrived at Sophert's house, we noticed that my tire was going flat.  It needed to be repaired and would take 30 minutes, so I had to leave it there.  With a little rearranging of people and motorbikes, we managed to get everyone there minus one moto. 

We arrived at a place that I have passed many times before because it is on the way to Kim's house.  There are a bunch of rice paddies and two dirt roads intersect.  On one side of the road, there is a small stream.  This was our view as we watched the sunset on the longest day of the year.

Most of the people were Sophert's friends and relatives, but Bop cam along too.  It's so nice to spend time with her again.  When Tom was here, he kept her on a close leash, and we never went anywhere together.  I'm glad to have my friend back.  The food was typical: rice, eggs, some soggy onion rings.  However, it was really nice to eat a meal outside with people I love.

When the meal was over, I carefully put all my trash into a plastic bag to take home with me.  Everyone else just threw theirs on the ground of course.  I went over to talk to Bop for a few minutes, and when I returned to my place, my bag was gone.  I looked around and saw someone had thrown it one the side of the road with all the other trash.  I knew it was my bag because it was pink, so I picked it up and announced, "I am not going to leave my trash here.  I will take it with me." 

It never hurts to plant a seed in peoples' minds.  Sometimes, I do it purposefully.  Other times, I don't realize that I've made an impact.  For instance, one morning I sat down with Rana while she was eating breakfast.  It looked like two fried frogs with rice, so I asked her.  She said yes; she caught them herself.  I told her that the word, rana, means "frog" in Spanish.  We laughed, and I told her that she was eating herself.  I didn't think anything more about it until then next few mornings, I noticed that she was eating fish with her rice.  I asked, "No frog today?"  She said, "No.  I don't want to eat my babies."  I had no idea my comment would change her eating habits.  I don't know that eating fish is any better than eating frog, but it certainly was interesting that she took her namesake so seriously.

 

Culinary Delights

Summer means two things.  Monsoons and fruit.  I like both.  This is durian season, and I have already bought one.  Since durians are so large, many vendors cut them up and store some packaged pods in their refrigerator, but it is not the same at all.  I tried that once, and they were not edible.  I have to have fresh durian, or not at all.  Durian contains large white pods inside that are sweet, custardy, and extremely rich.  I can only eat two pods at a time.  Besides looking like some prehistoric monster, the most peculiar thing about durian (pronounced turian in Khmer) is their smell.  It is strong, pungent, and unique.  Eating durian is prohibited in public places like buses and hotels, but sometimes that doesn't matter.  When I was staying at the Royal Hotel in Battambang, I walked out of my room on the 3nd floor and immediately smelled durian.  A woman was eating some outside of the hotel, and that is am example of their strong aroma (which many people find unpleasant).

Mangosteeen are hard, purple fruit that must be cut in half to eat.  The inside contains about six sweet white pods that are delicious and savory.

I love jackfruit.  They are giant basketball sized fruit that contain white pods inside.  Generally, people cut them in half and start picking away the pods. 

Rambutan are weird looking red, hairy fruits that you can either cut open with a knife or just peel.  The inside contains the edible part which is slightly sweet, white, and has the texture of jello or snot.  It is not one of my favorites.  But they sure are pretty.

It's a...Date?

Dara is the part-time computer teacher at our school.  Until now, he has spoken to me very little, but recently, he has made a point of talking to me more and asking me for teaching resources and stuff.  He's shy, and I think it just took him this long to work up the nerve because he might have a small crush. 

Last week, while I was proctoring a test in Grade 8, Dara "casually" walked into the room and made polite chit-chat, but I could tell something was up.  He asked me if I had free time after school.  (Oh no.  What do I say?  Why is he asking me this?)  I hesitantly said yes.  He invited me to visit another private school where he teaches.  (Oh dear.  I hope this isn't like a date or something.)  I decided to accept the offer.  Anytime someone invites me to do something that sounds strange or uncomfortable, I always say yes.  I love weird Cambodian experiences, and this certainly had the makings for one.  Plus, it was only for an hour.

He picked me up on his moto at 5:00, and as we were driving along, Kim happened to drive by us on her moto.  She asked, "Where are you going?"  I said, "To his school."  Kim smirked and raised an eyebrow at me.  I know Kim well enough to know exactly what she was thinking.

The school was small, with about 8 classrooms, but it serves many of the poor people in our village, in all age ranges.  The students pay $3 a month to attend whichever class they choose.  Many students attend an English class for one hour each day.

I am often invited to attend outings such as this, and I'm never quite sure of the reason.  Was Dara showing off his school to me?  Or was he showing me off to the school?  I don't know.  Maybe a little of both.

His class had about 30 students, and I was surprised to see six monks.  I knew some of them studied English, but I assumed they went to some special Monk school for that.  I introduced myself to the class and told them they could ask me any questions they wanted.

Of course, the first question was, "How old are you?"  Many of the students were shy, so I kept encouraging them.  They also asked, "Do you like Cambodia?"  "Why do you like Cambodia?"  "How long will you stay here?"  "Where in Mongkol Borei do you live?"

I asked the students to guess where I was from.  Long pause.  "England?"  No.  "France?"  No.  Longer pause.  I think they ran out of countries they knew, so I finally told them I was from the United States.

One monk was particularly outgoing, and he asked me lots of questions including: "What is your favorite color?"  "What is your favorite food?"  "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"  After I told them about Tahoe, the monk asked, "What do you feed your dog?"  That was a good question because I got to explain that in America we buy special food at the store that comes in a bag, and it's called Dog Food.  I drew a picture of it on the board and explained that the dog's also eat out of their own bowl like people. 

One student asked if I was married.  When I said no, there was an audible gasp.  A 39 year old, unmarried woman, travelling alone in Cambodia - Whoa!  Then, another student asked if I would marry a Cambodian man.  (Uh oh.  How do I answer this delicately?  "Hell no," did not seem appropriate.)  I replied, "Probably not."

After class, Dara asked me if I had eaten dinner yet.  (Oh no.  Here it comes.  He's going to ask me out to dinner.)  I relented and told him I hadn't.  We went to a nearby restaurant that I like, and it wasn't as awkward as I thought.  Dara is still shy, so I carried the conversation by asking him lots of questions about himself.  I was glad to have the chance to get to know him better.  His English is o.k., but sometimes he would tell me that he couldn't answer a question because he didn't know how to say it.  When that happened, I would just tell him a funny story or something.

Overall, it was a good evening, and I'm glad I went.  I have always considered Dara to be kind of lazy (which is true), but he is a nice guy, and he really cares about helping other people.  And that is what I like most about all Cambodians. 

Forever a Student

Vanchan is one of the high school students in my Teacher Training Class.  Last week, their homework was to prepare for "Show & Tell."  They were supposed to bring in something they made, explain how they made it, and tell why they made it.  I gave a list of many examples.  Vanchan performed a magic trick.  He filled a tin cup with rice, and picked it up with a bamboo chopstick.  It was really clever and entertaining. 

 

There are three boys in the class, and they all look almost identical, so I kept getting their names confused, and it was embarrassing.  One day, I decided to make up rhymes to help me remember them.  They thought it was hilarious.  I said, "Vireak is so sweet."  "Vanchan is so handsome."  I kept the last one to myself.  "Panchack Roth is not the sharpest crayon in the box."

 

It was Vanchan's birthday this week, and since thee are only 7 students in the class, I make it a point to acknowledge their birthdays.  At the end of class, I lit my big candle that I use when the power goes out (like it just did two minutes ago), and we sang Happy Birthday to him.  I told him to make a wish and blow out the candle.  Then,  I gave him a big plastic heart-shaped box filled with jelly beans, and I gave the rest of the students chocolate cupcakes.  It was simple and silly but the best I could do. 

 

After class, Vanchan hung around until all the students had left, and he said, "Thank you teacher for the first celebrating birthday in my life."  I gave him a hug.  When he left I stood there in shock, with my hands on my heart, and tried not to cry. 

 

Sometimes, I have a bad day.  I can't sleep.  I get up cranky, depressed, and wonder how I am supposed to function.  But then, as soon as I open my door, small children run over, wrap their arms around me, and hold me so tight that I can't breathe.  They look up at me with their little puppy dog eyes, and I return the same look of adoration. 

 

I came here to Cambodia to teach.  But I am not the teacher.  I am the learner.  My students teach me every day what is important in life.  Despite all the effort, heartache, and challenges, this has been the most wonderful, amazing thing I have ever done. 

Reaksmey

Reaksmey was in 3rd grade.  She was on her way to school last Friday when she was killed in a traffic accident.  She died instantly.  I was one of her teachers for four months before my schedule changed.  Although I didn't know Reaksmey as well as some of my other students, I am deeply saddened by this.  She was sweet, bright, and too young to die.

I miss her.

Lotus Gallery

The Lotus Gallery is located in the heart of Battambang and features the work of local artists.  Darren Swallow and is wife, Khchai Touch, own and operate the establishment.  It's a gorgeous, old three story building with French colonial architecture on the outside.  The inside has been renovated to create a small café and lounge on the bottom floor.  Wooden stairs lead up to two loft spaces with high ceilings and brick walls.  The atmosphere is a blend of modern and traditional.  Natural sunlight shines in through the large windows and balconies and brings out the beauty in the colorful painting that line the walls.  Every few weeks, Darren changes the artwork, so there is always something new.  In addition, he hosts events at the gallery such as two-for-one pizza night, obscure film showings, and dinners, so there is something for everyone.

Many of the paintings such as the one featured behind Darren were created by his wife.  She has a very unusual style of painting that I have never seen before which involves using a thick paint and then making tiny swirls all over the painting with a bamboo stick to give it a rich texture.
                                        
Chov Theangly was one of the artists who was featured in the current exhibition.  His technique is superb, and his portraits are incredibly realistic.
                                        
Several of Hour Seyha's paintings were also currently on display.  His simple portrayals of Cambodian people involve a unique twist because he paints tiny circles or lines all over the images.

Road Trip!

Cynthia and I were getting cabin fever, so we went to Battambang this weekend.  We always stay at the Royal Hotel which I like for many reasons.  It's near the center of town but on a side street, so it's quiet at night.  It's clean and has a nice, large lobby.  There's a restaurant on the roof with a nice view of the town.  The room rates are excellent.  I have stayed in much seedier guesthouses for the same price in other third world countries.  However, the best aspect is the staff.  They are all so friendly and helpful, especially the owner's son, Mr. Lay, who speaks great English.  Over the past 8 months, we have stayed there at least 10 nights, on different occasions, so they have gotten to know us. 

When we walked in, they all happily greeted us, and we asked for the usual: two basic rooms with fans.  One of the staff members said, "Please have a seat.  You are special guests, so we give you nice rooms at budget rate."  I felt like royalty.

The first time Cynthia and I travelled together, we shared a room.  That lasted one night.  One looooong night.  Cynthia snores.  It's like sleeping in a room with a lumberjack and his chainsaw.  Now, we get separate rooms.  This was my room for the weekend.  It had everything I wanted - space, a comfy bed, a desk for my laptop, and free wifi - all for only $8.

It rained all day on Friday and most of Saturday as well, but I wore my poncho, and we walked all over town.  In some Buddhist countries, monks don't accept money, but they do in Cambodia.  Cynthia gave this monk an offering, and he gave her a blessing in return. 

For me, one of the best parts of getting out of my village is the food.  No rice.  Actual food!  American, Thai, Italian, Mexican...I don't care what it is as long as it doesn't contain any rice.  I love the name of this restaurant.  It certainly gets one's attention.  The name refers to a popular Khmer soup that comes in a specially shaped container with a small fire inside to keep it hot.

We had lunch at the Lonely Tree and both ordered a salad with actual lettuce (an import item), mango, cheese, cashews, and vinaigrette dressing.  It was delicious. 

I was craving pizza, so we went to Battambang Pizza for dinner.  It's owned by a sweet Italian man who makes delicious wood fired pizzas.  I ordered the margherita pizza and drizzled a ton of hot chili pepper olive oil on it.  I like the owner's sign.  That's exactly how I feel about working.  About once a month, I get "sick" and spend the day reading, watching a movie, or catching up on lesson plans. 

A new Mexican restaurant opened up across from our hotel, and it is very similar to Chipotle.  You can order a salad, burrito, chips, or rice bowl.  Then, you add on whatever extras you like.  I got a spinach burrito with black beans, green peppers, onions, cheese, lettuce, corn, pico de gallo, cilantro, and hot salsa.  It was heaven in a tortilla.  I also liked the fact that it is run by an N.G.O. that teaches young people how to work in the service industry. 

On Saturday morning, I woke early and went for a stroll down the Sangke River.  It was sunny and pleasant for at least an hour.

I stopped to take a picture of this man who was gathering leaves which I presume will be used as a kind of wrap for rice cakes, but I don't really know.  He saw me and said, "Hello!  I am tuk-tuk driver.  You want to go on trip?  You see Bamboo Train?"  I told him thanks but I was leaving soon and didn't need a tuk-tuk.  He asked me where I was from and how long I was staying in Cambodia.  He said, "I like to practice my English.  Nice to meet you.  O.K. enjoy your walk." 

This is an typical image in Cambodia.  Seriously, someone should put it on a postcard.  Granted, there aren't many public restrooms, but that is not the reason for this.  Men (and sometimes women) just prefer to walk over to a bush, tree, wall, river, or whatever, and take a leak.  I was overly excited to finally capture this image to share with everyone, but it took some time to get out my camera, zoom in, and snap the photo.  As soon as I clicked, he turned around, zipped up his pants, saw me, and groaned, "Aaawwhhhhh!"  Then, I ran away, snickering with naughty pride.

Cambodian Barbeque

On Wednesday, Laum decided to have a barbeque at school beginning at 2:00.  I was a bit perplexed because we don't have a barbeque, nor do Cambodians know how to barbeque.  I had spent the day in my apartment working on lesson plans, reading, and resting my injured foot and knee from my fall down the stairs.   

A torrential downpour began at noon and lasted for hours.  It was our biggest storm yet.  This might cause some people to postpone such an event to another day.  But not Laum.  Heck no!  This is a man who took three months to install an A.C. unit in Cynthia's apartment.  However, if there is a party at stake, he is your go-to-guy.  He showed up at my door, soaking wet, wearing only a sarong, and said, "Kerri, can I have your pot?"  Ummmm...  Apparently, cooking outside was not an option, and they had moved the operation indoors.  I gave him my electric stove, rice cooker, spatula, and big frying pan. 

Sophert and Bop did all the cooking.  Tom sat outside on a bench and chain smoked for two hours.  Roam arrived with Haylissa which was exciting because this was his daughter's first visit to our school. 

In typical Cambodian fashion, the party began three hours late.  Some of Laum's friends showed up.  They served rice, fish, fish, and more fish.  Oh, I almost forgot there was also duck.  I ate the French fries that Laum had bought in Sisophon five hours previously.  They were cold and mushy, but I was so ravenous that I ate them all.

Cynthia asked Laum what kind of fish is was.  Laum replied, "Big fish and small fish." 

Tom was as annoying as ever.  One of Laum's friends now lives in Australia and speaks some English, but she was here for a visit.  I asked her, "Which part do you live?"  She looked confused, so I rephrased my question and spoke more slowly, "What town do you live in?"  After she answered, Tom leaned over to me and said, "You don't have to speak to her like a 4th grader.  She speaks English.  I talked with her for 10 minutes earlier."  I wanted to reply, "Obviously, you didn't notice that she didn't understand my question the first time.  And I am certain that you did not talk WITH her.  You talked AT her like you do with everyone, you arrogant prick."  However, I held my tongue because Tom is leaving soon, and I will never have to see him again.  Yaaayyy!

On a side note, Tom is still dating Bop, and he recently went to Bangkok for several days because he needed some dental work.  Of course, he can't go anywhere without his arm candy, so he took Bop too.  He proudly exclaimed to the entire table, "Everyone thought she was Thai!"  He was very pleased with this because in general Thai women are considered more beautiful than Cambodian women.  He added, "She doesn't look Asian."  My head snapped around, and I snorted, "She doesn't look Asian???"  (Oh my God.  Does he know what continent this is?)  Naturally, he didn't catch the sarcasm in my voice because that would mean that he was actually listening to me. 

Poor Bop.  Her first (and probably only) boyfriend ever is old, rude, and disgusting.  Well, at least she has gotten some nice jewelry and a few trips out of the deal.

Cynthia was happily eating the fish which she said was good until Tom told her that the fish came out of the pond next to our school.  After that, I took note that she stopped eating it.  I'm not sure why.  Possibly because the pond is a cesspool.  Or perhaps because after picking away the outside flesh, we noticed the fish had not been gutted.  I have never seen a fish's colon before, and I think maybe you have not, so I will describe it in great detail.  It is a long, translucent tube that sticks out prominently.  It looks like a straw, but not a clean one, more like one that has been used for several weeks to slurp Root Beer and curry.

Cynthia tried to eat the duck, but she is a finicky eater.  Strangely, she doesn't like to eat grizzly pieces of duck that consist of more bone than meat.  She also doesn't like duck head or duck feet.  By the end of the meal, Gogo and the another dog who also attended the feast were extremely well fed. 

While we were eating (or not eating in some cases), the rain ceased, and a beautiful rainbow appeared in the east.  It was a lovely end to another interesting day in the rice paddies.

On the Road

You never know what you will find on the roads in Cambodia.  The basic rules are the same as in America.  Drive on the right side of the road...unless you drive a moto and plan to turn left soon.  Then, it is acceptable to drive on the right side of the road for as long as needed before you turn.  Also, you can drive the wrong way on a round-a-bout if it's quicker.  There are no speed limit signs.  Anywhere.  I have lived here for almost a year now and have literally never seen a single one.  There are a few Stop signs occasionally, but nobody ever stops.  They are considered more of a recommendation than an actual rule.  Helmets are optional.  People use turn signals are used about 1% of the time.  Therefore, this make passing another vehicle practically an Olympic sport.  You have to carefully anticipate the other driver's intentions because he certainly is not paying any attention. 

The one thing that Cambodians seem to be obsessed with is headlights.  If it's daytime, and I'm driving with my moto headlights on, everyone points at them and chews me out.  I don't understand this.  Who cares?  I like to use my headlights during the day because half the time the road is so dusty that it's hard to see.  If I can't see a big truck coming upon me, then he certainly can't see my little moto.  So, dang it; I'm keeping my headlights on! 

If you plan to ride a bike, moto, tuk-tuk, rice tractor, or are sitting on top of a truck filled with a bunch of crap, you should wear pants, a long sleeve shirt, and possibly even gloves.  Protect your face and head with a large karma (scarf).   It is also useful to wipe away the sweat the is streaming down your head because your head is so hot from being wrapped up in a turban. 

It is important to keep your skin as white as possible because dark brown people are just...eeewwww....gross.  (I am constantly reprimanded for traipsing about in a tank top and shorts especially by my friend, Thida, who wears a sweater and mittens in the summer.)  I explain that there is this invention called sunscreen and receive the same looks that I give the women who use whitening lotion. 

When I first arrived here, I thought I would never get used to these new rules of the road, but now I'm a pro...unless it's pouring rain, and I'm driving on a dirt path.  I recently learned that lesson.

This is our school bus.  No commentary required here.